Saturday, September 27, 2025

Kong to Casper



An unexpected surprised greeted us in the morning at hotel the next morning.  The supplied breakfast consisted of much more than the heartbreaking "continental" variety.  A wealth of eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, and waffles joined in the fray and in no time, with a fully belly, we bid farewell to our neighbor King Kong.


Rocketing down the ramp at Little Salt Creek, the interstate rolled out across the Platte River valley under blue skies and temperatures that would reach in the low 30s Celsius.  In as much time as it took to take a breath, it was clogged with high-speed traffic.  Everyone seemingly raced for the same destination, hoping to arrive first.  Construction threatened to foul the pace for all involved.  It certainly made for a more intense experience, if nothing else.  Side-by-side with unrelenting truck traffic at 120 kph can be quite daunting. Collapsing all of that into one lane, between concrete barriers can be disheartening.  One forgets about everything beyond self-preservation.


Ogallala offered two lanes and substantial relief, aiming straight for Mccconaughy Lake, as if this were the path of choice with many before.  It enabled a more windows down and music environment, skirting along the southern-most extent of the Nebraska Sand Hills without missing a beat The oppression and monotony of the interstate quickly faded from memory.


A miscalculation caused us to miss a return visit to Scottsbluff. Plans to take a quick tour to the top and break there for lunch went down in a fiery crash when a missed left turn found us on the north side of town.  While the view felt every bit worth taking the time to diverge, something told us to press on.  


Wyoming arrived shortly thereafter, unassuming and unannounced.  We hardly realized its presence until we were already well into the argument.  Fort Laramie, and our proximity to having join with the interstate again, turned the conversation towards taking a break.  It went flying by, though our maps indicated were barreling fast towards other points of interest noted during the planning process.  


Over last two hundred years or so, everyone passing through took some time to register themselves upon the nearby soft and chalky limestone formations that rise above the North Platte River Valley.  We arrived at Register Cliff State Historic Site to ensure we were properly registered but found no place left to make our mark.  Prior trappers and pioneers had consumed nearly every square inch of space available, leaving only enough room for folks through to the 1980's.  There had been a lot of traffic.


Most of that traffic occurred between 1841 and 1869, as the masses migrated along the Oregon Trail, searching for that promised land in America.  Their wagons etched an impression on the surrounding limestone cutting deeper than any of their signatures.


It is a quiet place now, atop a hill overlooking the North Platte River.  It seems odd finding these old wagon tracks up high, when a wide and flat river valley lie just below.  They were either missing the mark completely, avoiding something down there, or the landscape must have been decidedly different.


Lucindy Rollins might have been able to explain the situation, except that she passed on earlier than anticipated on these bluffs.  Her name is forever immortalized upon an obelisk dedicated to her memory here.   She never made it her appointment or to whatever it was that coerced her into making the long trek across the forbidding outback of the United States at that time.  


Intent on making our appointment to arrive in Casper prior to dusk, we turned our full attention to that task. I-25 assisted in that process, as well as a speed limit suitable to crossing distances in a short amount of time.  They should post these signs everywhere!  


We were successful in our goal.  Our camp host greeted us under a quickly darkening sky, and by the time we arrived at the recommended J's Pub & Grill, darkness had consumed what was left of it.  We survived a mediocre meal there and returned to collapse into bed without further incident.  Tomorrow would be a bit less harried, undoubtedly.

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