When in Nebraska, eat as the Nebraskans do

A Nebraskan epicurean delight (and it really is good) is the Runza sandwich.  Runza is a Nebraska restaurant chain featuring a Russian-inspired sandwich of the same name made of ground beef, cabbage, onions, spices, stuffed in dough and then baked. Runza also serves Polish dogs, chili, burgers and other fast food. A story  appeared in the Lincoln Journal Star  the day after our Runza visit; it said there are 82 Runza stores with 76 in Nebraska.  A new store recently opened in Mission, Kansas near Kansas City (the second biggest Cornhusker enclave outside of Nebraska other than the Denver metro area, said the article). The restaurant was so busy the police had to cut off the drive through line because it interfered with neighborhood traffic.   

Jim, my sister-in-law, Trudy, and brother Don right before we dove into our Runza sandwiches.

Oh No! We're in Lincoln, NE

Bev and Don at Don's house in Lincoln, NE in front of his hydrangea "Mr. Bill."  More blog to come after we are done eating and talking.  Go Big Red and Big Scarlet and Gray.

Detour and a lesson in floods

We took northern Nebraska’s Highway 12, called “The Outlaw Trail” from Valentine toward Niobrara State Park, about 150 miles due east.  The road goes from Valentine to Sioux Falls and was said to be a hide out for Jesse James and other bad guys.  About 40 miles east of the park was a big “road closed” sign; we called the park, found out that the recent Missouri River floods still covered Route 12 both west and east of the park, and took a 70-mile detour.  Lesson learned: always check a Department of Transportation web site before heading across a state.  But the bigger lesson is just how devastating a flood can be to a local economy.

Near downtown Niobrara’s mall (a big, low building housing the post office, a grocery and hardware store, bar, and a couple of other small shops) we met the owner of the grocery store.  She said she was down five employees; she’d either let them go because of lack of business, or they quit because they could not afford gasoline to make the detoured drive.  She and the remaining employees are working extra hours to make up for the staffing shortage -- no time off for even new grandchildren -- and the store has a third fewer customers.  She told us of a day care center owner who declared bankruptcy, people whose homes were still under water since the flood hit Memorial Day weekend, and the high financial cost the flood caused the locals.  

We were going to wait until we got to Lincoln to buy supplies, but Jim and I decided to support the local economy and bought groceries.  Then Jim went to the “carry out,” where selection was limited and my IPA-loving husband bought a six-pack of Budweiser (if it’s really cold and you drink two of them, he says, the third one tastes pretty good.) 

The grocery store owner said the local cafe owners had lost their home in the flood, so we decided to support them, too, and purchased a restaurant meal for the first time since we left home.  The fiancee of the owner’s son waited on us; she said their home -- which was 50 feet away from the river -- still had three feet of water inside.  They plan to burn it when the water recedes and the house dries out (which could be a long time, she said) and maybe rebuild. Or maybe not.

View from the back of our rig:  Where the Niobrara River meets the Missouri.  The campground at Niobrara State Park in Nebraska has 76 RV spots but only 11 were filled.  Highway Route 12 -- the only way to get to the park from the east and the west -- has been flooded since Memorial Day.  The only way to get to the park is a single highway from the south, or a gravel road from the west, and town has been severely hurt by the lack of tourism. 

The Missouri River as seen from Niobrara State Park in Nebraska.  Notice the house in the middle of the photo.

A similar shot as above, but wider. 

The Sage Cafe where we ate lunch.  Piles of sand that protected the building from the flood circled the building everywhere except the entrance.

 Jim and Cooper at Highway 12 just west of Niobrara. 

Blinkers, bloopers and brake lights

If an electrical cord is involved, instructions often say something along the lines of “Important!  Do not disconnect by pulling on the cord.  Remove only by grasping the plug!”  Apparently there are reasons for that.  One of them is if you pull the cord that makes your toad brake lights and turn signals sync with your rig lights, you’re likely to rip the whole thing apart and have to spend an extra half day in Chadron, Nebraska. 

The Chadron Home Center in Chadron,  Nebraska.

Not that we don’t like Chadron.  We do.  We spent two nights at Chadron State Park and everyone ... and I do mean everyone ... who passed us in a vehicle when we were walking on the park roads waved at us.  Old folks, teenagers in pick up trucks, young adults with kids.  Everyone.  Chadron is Nebraska’s oldest state park (established in 1921); I wonder if it’s the friendliest one, too.  Plus, they have a great hike to a Black Hills overlook.

View on the way the the Black Hills Overlook.

View at the overlook.

Our camping spot at Chadron State Park in Nebraska.

We also got a chance to really explore the town while looked for a place to repair the result of the afore mentioned no-bodily-injury mishap (this time from unhooking the toad instead of hooking it up) and Chadron State College looks very big considering that Chadron has less than 6,000 residents.  We found a great repair place in the Chadron Home Center and their mechanic, Scott (shout out from Jim and Bev to Scott!) as Scott spent over an hour trying to find out why our sync lights are so screwy.  He kept saying “I don’t know why it’s not working” but kept trying until he figured it out.  

After Chadron, we made our way to the Fishberry Motorhome Park just north of Valentine, NE ( located in the Nebraska Sandhills, the largest tract of grass-stabilized sand dunes in the Western Hemisphere says my AAA book) and just a couple of miles from South  Dakota.   

You spell tomato...

After two days of being in Casper, Wyoming, I finally understand (I think) that the town and fort (that was there before the town) are both spelled Casper with an “e”, while the museum next to the old fort and  the campground we stayed at are  Caspar with an “a.”  The Army wanted to name the fort after Caspar Collins, a 21-year old lieutenant from an Ohio calvary killed in a battle along with four of his soldiers in 1865,  but had already named “Ft. Collins” in honor of Caspar's father.  So the army went with the young man’s first name ... and a paperwork snafu changed the “a” to an “e” and Ft. Casper was born.  Ditto the city.  The museum corrected the mistake -- and apparently the RV park, which is right next to the museum, followed suit.  Adding insult to injury, a portrait of young Lt. Collins in the museum was based on a misidentified photo.

View on the Platte River Parkway in Casper, WY.

View out the back of our rig ... not the usual scenic beauty we like,  but it was clean, quiet,  and had a laundry.