I am holed up for one more day at Eugene T. Mahoney State Park in a lodge overlooking the Platte River. Quite a view, quite a park, too. And the little town of Ashland, three miles away, is so Mayberry, that the people even talk like the characters from that TV show. The cops, however, stop people for running stop signs. No Barney Fifes running the gendarme shop in this town of 2,700.
After leaving NYC and my stop in Bloomsburg, Penn. I barreled the rest of the way dodging rainstorms with stops in Fremont, Ohio and Rochelle Illinois before getting here.
Thursday and Friday I expect to be in Western Nebraska at a place called Lake Ogallala, a place we stopped at in 1970. It's the place where I swore I would never use a gasoline lantern again. That story is for another day.
And then to the mountains, Vail and Edwards, Colorado to be exact, to visit with son Jason
Below are four photos: The view from the lodge deck where I am writing this, the temperature yesterday in downtown Ashland, a photo special for Scott Adams and Brett Beardslee, and one last shot from a Mexican restaurant in Rochelle, Illinois as evidence life on the road can be filling.
And there I had probably the best margarita I have imbibed in a loooooooong time.