O!

It got dark in a hurry.
Like the clouds had somewhere to be.
They seemed pissed about it.


The van headed into a hot black fog.
Tornado Alley they call it.
A giddy fear goosed my heart.
The windows misted.


I jabbed at the AM dial for answers.
Sports, static, religion, static, religion, sports...
They refused to mention weather.
Staccato noir dialogue played out on a nostalgia station.
Maybe The Shadow knew.


There was no tornado.
Just visible humidity.
Tongue-ish weather.
And for some reason, Omaha was alive.
Cornhuskers everywhere.
I parked the van in the Old Market.
Sweating and starving.
It was 11pm.
I asked the parking lot slouch if there was an event going on.
"Saturday night," he deadpanned.
Omaha.
That 'Tude'lin Town.


I went to one of those downtown brewery places for a hot meal.
Flat screen TV's in all directions displayed every sport ever played by Man.
Fresh, young, hot scientists invented new kinds of corners just to display these sports on these TV's.
I witnessed the brewery chef using the warmth generated by these TV's to cook hamburgers.
Then he pitched the hamburgers to a ballplayer on the TV.
The ballplayer hit the hamburgers all the way to Africa, solving current famines.


"The future is the present.
The present is a gift.
A gift is the future."


- Tony Mendoza
Omaha '011

The Lincoln Highway

I got a double shot of espresso from one of Nebraska's many Photomat-sized coffee huts.

The Lincoln Highway provided a respite from the tedium of the interstate.

The scenic Nebraska byway ran side by side with the Union Pacific Railroad, which on a Saturday afternoon was as busy as I've ever seen a railroad.

It seemed each town had its own seed mill that the trains just had to toot about.

It got hot.

I turned off the radio and listened to Nebraska.

The squeal of the railroad.

The whoosh of an oncoming car passing.

I came up with some ideas for the writing project that won't leave my head.

I yelled them into the movie recorder on the camera.

It got really hot.

I kept going with the windows rolled down.

What I wouldn't give to have AC in my van at home.

But this wasn't my van.

And I wasn't home.

So the windows remained down.

That's how the Lincoln Highway felt today.

Out of nowhere, the most scantily clad town I've ever seen in the midwest happened.

Young men and women, tanned crispy red, strutted around shirtless or in bikinis.  

I actually hooted out loud.  

Like a dog.

A front yard was rock show packed.

Some burly dudes with super soakers sprayed the sea of skin.

Suddenly I found myself on some sort of cruise strip.

Classic cars, sluggy folks in lawn chairs, goons on the beds of pick up trucks.

The corner of my eye caught a carload of teenagers looking at me and laughing.

What are you laughing at?

You live here.

That espresso went through me.

 I found a McDonald's to put it into and headed to Omaha.

Sod House Museum

The Sod House Museum was closed.
But I am an asshole.
So I walked on some crackling hay over a mucky marsh to get onto the property.

The sod house looked like a house with a sod roof.
Cool.


Sod house security consisted of a barb wire buffalo, and a barbed wire Native American on horseback.
Upon closer inspection, the tribesman's cigarette of choice was a Marlboro menthol.
He Who Smoke Mint.




Why do you insist on making these racist type of jokes?
Because I'm alone.

Pony Express Station

For seven years I worked as a bike messenger.
So I feel a connection to the Pony Express.
The pay was about the same.

I stopped in at an original Pony Express station in Gothenburg, Nebraska.
Well, sorta original.
It had been moved a few times.


It was a small wooden cabin.
They probably did a lot of sorting.
And then they were off.

I guess it would be like visiting "the base" at my messenger company.
It's just a room where the dispatcher yelled.
The stories all happened outside of the office.
Which is the allure of that kind of work.


But if you want to visit it, it's at 449 N Union in Chicago.
Only it's not there anymore.
They moved.

Fort Cody Trading Post

I took a break at the Fort Cody Trading Post.
North Platte's big log frontier fauxtress.
A towering Buffalo Bill guarded the parking lot.
Making sure varmints didn't shoplift.
If you did, you got a hot arrow in your butt.

The trading post was a giant gift shop.
Fair enough.
I couldn't find anything to waste money on.
I considered getting some kooky candy.
I forget what.
Horse flavored gum or something.
But all the candy was under glass.
I'm not going to ask someone for assistance in purchasing a pack of gum.
That would be trading my dignity.
No way, Buffalo Bill.
Up yours!

Just then the Buffalo Bill Miniature Wild West Show began.
A tiny replica of his 1877 touring cavalcade of lasso prowess, buck riding, and trick shot showmanship.  Positively goofy!

I walked out of there with a few chuckles without spending a dime.

Ole's Big Game Steakhouse

In Paxton, Nebraska there's a steakhouse filled with all kinds of game.

Big game.

Everywhere you look, a once living animal meets your gaze.

The room is dark.

The beer is cold.

And the steak is all Nebraska.

For decades, Ole Herstedt went crazy traveling the continents, killing every animal he saw.  Bears, giraffes, elephants, zebras, emus, tigers, gazelles, pythons, iguanas, he didn't care!

Ole is the reason the unicorn is extinct.

Then he displayed their severed heads on the walls of his exclusive outdoorsman's bar.

A grumpy man's lounge.

Full of scars and farts.

And occasionally Robert Duvall.

Then in the (and his) late 80's, Ole closed shop.

They were going to ship all the animals to South Carolina until a religious twentysomething stepped in, cleaned it up, and reopened it as a family restaurant.

Now everyone is welcome to eat under the head of a buffalo.

Or by the cute little ears of a dik-dik.

Grandpa can play keno by the elk antlers.

And your troubled cousin can snort blow off a leopard's tits.

Lunch at Ole's was invigorating.

I wolfed down a quality steak sandwich in a living diorama of frozen death.

Biting into the tender 6oz sirloin, I felt the rush of adrenaline that hunters get when killing a large animal.

I felt like a man.

What was your side dish?

My, my what?

Your side dish.  What was it?

It was um... What was my side dish?

It looks like cottage cheese.

Cottage cheese?

Isn't cottage cheese kind of a sissy thing to eat at a big hunter's steakhouse?

No!!  Besides.  That wasn't even cottage cheese.

Then what was it?

It was the sperm of a mongoose.

What?

Yeah.  You heard me.  Mongoose sperm!

So you had cum as a side dish?

From a mongoose!

It makes you a better hunter.

Good Riddance, Colorado

Well, Colorado.
I guess we had a bad date.
I'm aware that many people find you attractive.
And yeah, on the outside, you're very pretty.
But you're an asshole.


You think you're in the WWE.
And that the WWE is real.
Reality TV taught you that dramatic white trash behavior was acceptable.
So you rev your motorcycle and buy your guns and intimidate decent folk with how shaved, tattooed and full of meth your head is.
You're stupid.


Also, you chose drug dependency as your disease.
I don't feel sorry for you and you aren't entitled to my dollar.
You wasted your privileged upbringing for nothing.
You're pointless.


And spandex bicycle shorts still look terrible.
You take cycling too seriously.
You're boring.


And yeah, I'm an asshole, too.
For reasons that I'm well aware of.
But we're just different types of assholes.


Sorry it didn't work out.
On the way out of you, I'm going to listen to a breakdancing compilation I made.
And breakdance all the way to Nebraska.

1. Grandmaster Flash - The Message
2. Herbie Hancock - Rockit
3. The Adventures of Grandmaster Flash On The Wheels Of Steel
4. Twilight 22 - Electric Kingdom
5. Freeez - Pop Goes My Love
6. Newcleus - Jam On It
7. Double Vision - Clock On The Wall
8. Whodini - Magic's Wand
9. GLOBE and Whiz Kid - Play That Beat Mr DJ
10. Grandmaster Melle Mel & The Furious Five - Step Off
11. UTFO - Roxanne, Roxanne
12. Alex & The City Crew - Boogie Head
13. Alex & The City Crew - Shake Your Arm Down Up & Down With The Boogie Speed
14. Alex & The City Crew - Let Electro Beat Make Your Body Move
15. Alex & The City Crew - Space Walk Action

Big Mama's Burritos

For breakfast I had a hankering for a burrito made in a fake stationary stagecoach.
So I went to Big Mama's Burritos in Wheat Ridge.

For a little over $3 I enjoyed a delicious egg, potato and ham burrito and endured a cup of non-dairy creamer quality coffee.
The burrito packed a subtle spice.  
More a nudge than a Bronco buck.
It hit the spot.


In the shade of a Big Mama's umbrella, I watched a roughneck in a bandana outside a gun store, where he stood arms crossed, waiting for it to open.
It was 9:45am.

The seconds counted down like spent shell casings.
Soon he would be legally able to get his hands on some guns.
His boot tapped impatiently next to his giant motorcycle.
One less Prius.
And counting.

One Less Prius

I saw a sticker on a four-door Suburu.
ONE LESS PRIUS
Hmm.
The message wasn't clear to me.
Did this driver hate the Prius because its drivers have a reputation for being pretentious?
Was this driver a tea party supporter?
Or did she just hate the concept of a car that gets good gas mileage?
I couldn't figure it out.

It seems this sticker has been around for a couple of years.
It was created by a cyclist in LA who got tired of Prius drivers being douchebags.
He believed that just buying a Prius is not enough, and the environment, and "I risk my life every day on my bike", zzzzz, etc.


So it's a pro-biking sticker.
On a Suburu with no bikes.
And no bike rack.
M'kay.
I heard that when you buy this sticker it comes with another one that says ONE MORE ASSHOLE.

Lookout! Mountain!

Lookout Mountain.
That's where I spent Saturday morning.
The twisty trek was dense with cyclists.
The power bar spandex types.
Having once been a professional cyclist myself (thank you yes), I gave them the space they deserved.

At the top of the mountain lied Buffalo Bill's grave.
Not far from the Buffalo Bill Museum & Gift Shoppe.
Museum and gift shop?
Didn't Buffalo Bill murder a bunch of innocent people?
I'm pretty sure he killed the Brady Bunch during that old time train robbery dream sequence.
What's next, the Richard Speck Hall of Fame?
Thank you, thank you very much!
You're thinking of Jesse James.  William "Buffalo Bill" Cody was a decorated soldier, world renown for his skills as a bison hunter, and later as a showman.  He is a respected figure in American history and was never considered an outlaw or a murderer.
Oh.
I guess I'll buy some gift shop crap then.


The gift shop's false comforts and touristy tchotchkes made me feel like I was really seeing America again.  I bought a boot magnet for the fridge, some Annie Oakley postcards, a sheriff badge with my fiancé's name on it, and a fake brothel token.  Now that's Colorado!

Nonsense aside, Lookout Mountain proved mighty and wonderful and breathtaking and refreshingly not Chicago.