Author: hint1965

The day we had spent nearly 3 weeks gearing up for (literally) was now upon us. 

There had been a moving ceremony the evening before in Carson City, Nevada where all the cross-country riders,  complete strangers just three weeks earlier, celebrated our small and huge achievements like a family. 

We also celebrated the induction of our last (but not least) honourary Canadian, Vivian Gerstetter. (pink crocs)

As with every other morning on this journey we were not entirely sure what to expect. This day was different though, plans that had been put in place months, maybe even years, before were now coming to fruition. There was to be a group photo under the Golden Gate Bridge at 2 PM. Press from around the country were going to be in attendance. We were then scheduled to ride, as a group, across the illustrious Bridge at 2:30 PM. Since Colorado, we had been joined by dozens of new riders doing the last leg of the ride. A rough count had us at 200 riders going across the Bridge. But I’m jumping ahead. We still had to get to San Francisco on time. 

Olivia, one of the original 7 Sisters’ Rogue Riders, approached Zandra at the ceremony and suggested we ride to San Francisco and across the GGB as a group again. A wonderful idea. With the welcomed inclusion of Dan and Sofie Ruderman, the group from the first days in Massachusetts, which seemed like a life time ago, were rogue-riding again.  We were also thankfully joined during the ride by one of the Sisters’ staff and ride leader extrordinaire, Lisa Malachowsky, but I’ll get to that in a minute. 

Today’s ride was entirely goal-oriented. Get to the Golden Gate Bridge before 2 PM. California traffic had an entirely different goal – make it as difficult as possible to reach our destination. 

Zandra did an amazing job getting us out of Nevada and past Sacramento but about 50 miles from San Francisco we hit our first traffic jam. 

While we might be very proud, even a bit smug, about how polite Canadians are, it is no match for California traffic. Fortunately, Olivia, our New Yorker who had lived in California, saw the Canadian hand-wringing going on at the front of our group. She maneuvered up to Zandra and yelled “lane-splitting”. Seeing the confusion on our faces she proceeded to ride between two lanes of stopped cars while summoning us to follow. Yikes!! 

Poor Zandra had to hear my panic through our intercom. “I’m not comfortable with this!”, was the understated but rather shrill statement that came out of me. But, seconds later, there I was riding up the middle of two lanes of traffic focussed on Zandra ahead of me and doing my best to alert the drivers by growling my throttle. Pathetic sounding compared to a Harley but the best my Suzuki cruiser could come up with. And while I am loath to make biblical comparisons, I was shocked when the sea of cars parted willingly for our rogue ride along the broken white line. I was no longer a lane-splitting virgin!

Full disclosure here. As much as it felt very daring, rogue, and a little cheeky to ride through the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic it is actually legal for motorcycles to do this in California. There is a practical reason for this. Many bikes are carbureted, requiring air circulation and cannot sustain sitting idle in traffic for very long without over-heating. 

Regardless, I was very relieved when the traffic started moving again and I could take a break from being hyper-vigilant to being just vigilant. 

My relief was short lived. A few miles ahead the traffic started slowing down again. By this time I spotted Lisa, one of the Sisters’ ride leaders, in her florescent yellow ‘ride marshal’ vest winding her way through the traffic like a professional hockey player with the puck (that one is for you Andy). Zandra caught up with her, exchanged some words and hand gestures and then dropped back signalling me to keep going behind Lisa. At the time, I had no idea that Zandra’s iPhone had over-heated leaving her without GPS. After a few confusing minutes I reached her on the intercom and she yelled “follow Lisa”. So I followed Lisa. 

For the next 20 miles or so (could have been 5 or 500) I stayed on Lisa tail, ducking and diving through the traffic and so focussed that I thankfully didn’t have time to think about what I was doing or the possible consequences of doing it. 

Finally, after what seemed like both minutes and hours, we got off the highway and pulled into a gas station for much-needed fuel and, more importantly, to decompress. 

There were many high fives, hugs and selfies. I inhaled the last piece of my Milky Way to try and normalize my blood sugar. Dawn, a sister rogue rider who was behind me during our lane-spitting adventure, laughed at how Canadian I was with my waving and flashing peace signs to drivers who moved out of my way. All agreed that we had done an amazing job under the circumstances.

While we still had 22 miles to our destination, the tension was now broken. With Lisa leading the pack we arrived at the staging area in the park under the Bridge about 20 minutes before the 2 o’clock deadline. Wow!!!

Great pic of Johanne and Zandra in the staging area. (Photo credit to Tina). Zandra had the flag signed by all the cross-country riders – it will have pride of place in our home. 

Stay tuned for the next post, working title: Shutting Down San Francisco. 

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen

Leaving Ely with 50+ riders the next morning didn’t feel particularly lonely but facing 317 miles, all on Route 50, seemed more than a little daunting. 

I couldn’t find the name of the photographer to credit for this image but it totally captures Route 50. 

With clear instructions on where the very few fuel and food stops were on the 50, we set out determined to make the best of this long, hot, lonely ride. 

If memory serves me, the first 150 miles were only broken up by a few twisty mountain passes, a quick fuel stop, the wonderful smell of sage and several roadside memorials marking the life of someone who sadly didn’t survive America’s loneliest road. 

At about the half way point, we stopped to fuel up at the Chevron in Austin, Nevada. A tiny gas station with a large selection of “I survived HWY 50 the loneliest road in America” paraphernalia. I bought the t-shirt and even Hippo got in on the fun. As I said, diversions were few and far between. 

Zandra had done her best however to find a few more interesting tidbits along the way including the shoe tree. This was not the original shoe tree as that was chopped down by vandals on December 30, 2010. Who does that??? But the ‘reborn’ shoe tree, just east of the original, did not disappoint. (Albeit, our diversion bar was not particularly high – see above). 

We then spent almost two hours at the Old Middlegate Station restaurant – the only game in town. We hadn’t really planned on spending that long for lunch but with the limited food opportunities on the highway, all the Sisters’ riders seemed to descend on the tiny place at about the same time. With few seating options, we asked a non-rider if we could share his table. We quickly started with the “where are you from?” conversation that should have led as quickly to the “how did you come to being in the middle of nowhere?”  Our pat answer was now Ontario, Canada because we had yet to meet an American who had even heard of Ottawa. They do “know” that Toronto is the capital and that we have a “really hot new president”. 😄 So we were very surprised when this fellow asked “whereabouts in Ontario?” “Ottawa”, we replied and lo and behold he was from Hamilton and his sister had recently retired from the City of Ottawa (where Zandra works). I think we all should have gone out and bought lottery tickets. What were the chances that the guy we would ask to share a table with in this quirky little restaurant on the loneliest highway in Nevada would live only a few hours from us? Bizarre. 

The wall. 

The ceiling. 

The phone box. 

Looks like we not only survived the loneliest highway, we conquered it. 🇨🇦

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen 

Birthday morning sunrise in Bryce Canyon. 

“Long stretches of desolation abound, be sure to watch your fuel and know you can make it to the next known stop. Take snacks and lots of water.”(Sisters’ Ride guide book)

This was the sage advice given to us before embarking on today’s ride. We were heading to Ely, Nevada and starting the two-day journey that would take us on the infamous US Route 50 or as Life Magazine declared in 1986, “America’s Loneliest Road”. 

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._Route_50_in_Nevada

At this stage in our ride Zandra had become an expert in finding interesting alternate routes or at least an interesting landmark or quirky roadside attraction to break up the more monotonous miles. 

Alas, alternatives were limited on the long, hot ride through Utah to Ely (pronounced elee), just over the state line in Nevada. This was especially true as we needed to be  cognizant about finding sufficient fuel stops and water. 

Riding into Ely however was enough to break up 100’s of miles of monotony.  Quirky didn’t begin to describe this town. It really was like a scene out of a B-western from the 1940’s.  A casino on every corner and the strong scent of bygone days of grandeur.

We were booked into the Nevada Hotel and Gambling Hall with its 3 story high, buff, neon miner ready to defend us (or brain us) with his pick axe. 

The first thing we noticed when we went to check in was that Nevada has apparently not joined the international movement of protecting its workers and the public from second-hand smoke. The haze and smell coming from the gambling hall put many of our riders off completely. A few were lucky enough to move to another hotel around the corner. 

I’m not sure whether it was because I told the young woman at the desk that it was my birthday or because there was a minor screw-up with our reservation but it seems, after conferring with other riders, that Zandra and I lucked into the best room in the house. 5th floor, non-smoking and a giant four-poster bed that required a running jump to get on. I was delighted. 

After we settled in we went to check out the town. We found some of our folk in an old-school soda fountain and ice cream parlour that seemed far too wholesome for this town. 
Curiosity then led us to a very brief encounter in a restaurant called Racks – apparently a euphemism for game hunters stuffed ‘trophies’. Yeeeckkkk. A picture I will unfortunately not get out of my head anytime soon. 

Heading back to the hotel I felt it was necessary to at least try my hand at gambling. Neither Zandra, nor I, had any experience with the rows of brightly lit, loud machines that lined the room. I tentatively read the instructions and stuck a dollar in the machine. Zandra suggested I press the ‘bet max’ button and I promptly lost my whole dollar. Sheepishly she handed me another dollar. This time I was a little more careful, starting with penny bets and then, as my confidence grew, I moved up to a nickle. When I won 2 dollars and 5 cents I cashed out. Quit while you’re ahead. 😉

Anticipating our long ride on America’s loneliest highway the next day we turned in early. It was a birthday I will never forget and hey – I was up 5 cents. 

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen

After our adventures in Arizona, two days in Bryce Canyon, Utah brought some off-the-motorcycle relief and time to celebrate with new friends. 

The ride into Bryce Canyon Park was breathtaking – great pic Tina. 

But the ravages of the drought didn’t go unnoticed. Right beside the miles of beautifully maintained bicycle path leading into the national park was a completely dry riverbed. Each hotel since Colorado had notices about the importance of conserving water. 

With our side trip to the North Rim we arrived in Bryce Canyon late on the first night and pretty much ate and crashed. A theme we had come to expect. The next morning brought some welcomed relief from the routine. A bunch of us took a bikers’ holiday and after breakfast jumped on the free shuttle bus into Bryce Canyon National Park. 

Even Hippo came along for the tour. 

(For those following my ride on Facebook you will know that Hippo  has been along for the ride since day 1 and when I get home to Ottawa he will be sent to Aaron in Switzerland to continue his travels as euroHippo.) 😊

After our wholesome fun in the park we went back to the motel for some less wholesome fun.  “Twins in trouble” was Susan Smith’s Facebook title for this photo. Dan Ruderman and Zandra Charbonneau. (Dan is Adeline Van Buren’s grandson and a bad influence on my wife). 😉

July 20th was also the 70th birthday of Adeline and Augusta Van Buren’s great nephew, Robert Van Buren, who had traveled on this journey from day 1 in Brooklyn, New York. We were honoured to also have his incredible daughter Sarah on the ride as well. She got her motorcycle license last fall just for this ride. Robert’s wife Rhonda had joined us in Colorado Springs to continue the journey to San Francisco. 

The following day was my birthday and knowing that we had a very long, hot ride ahead of us I (gently) suggested to Zandra that a small celebration in Bryce Canyon (with cake) might be a great idea. 

Kudos to Zandra (and other supportive friends). We had a great celebration at the local Cowboy Showcase with not 1, but 2, huge birthday cakes. 

Thanks for the great pic Susan Smith. 

On a sadder note, Bryce Canyon also meant saying goodbye to two of our new friends. Barbara had been an original Sisters’ Rogue Rider since Springfield and sadly had to leave us because of the death of a beloved aunt. Mary-Beth had a happier engagement to attend, the wedding of her niece. 

Mary-Beth had ridden with ‘the Canadians’ for some of our most memorable rides. Breakfast with the cowboys of Haigler, Route 66 and the monsoon of Arizona. She had clearly become an ‘honourary Canadian’. (Note that we put the ‘U’ in honour). 

We look forward to meeting up with Mary-Beth in Long Island, New York (I said that with an accent – did you?) and riding with her again on the upcoming (date to be determined) Canada ride. 

Onward to Nevada…

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen

By this time in the ride we had our ‘sea legs’. What would have been at least an overnight trip from Ottawa a few weeks earlier was now our daily regime. So when you’re this “close” to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon you take the detour. 

Only open seasonally, the North Rim is the lesser travelled side of the Grand Canyon but as I’d not seen either side, this was going to be a new adventure.

After the long and eventful day yesterday I realized that I hadn’t really ‘seen’ the Arizona desert.  I was only making the comparison between the lush, cool greens and blues of yesterday morning to the desolate, flat, seemingly endless shades of rust, beige and brown. 

Through fresh morning eyes I noticed so much more. So many shades of green dotted the landscape and as much as the rain had made our ride so challenging the day before, it had brought the desert to life. Most refreshing were the bouquets of purple flowers that had popped up randomly along the roadway. I unfortunately didn’t take the time to stop and take a photo but here is a stock image of Rose Sage which I believe is what I saw. 

About 70 miles into our journey we came to Marble Canyon where the Colorado River cuts through the desert like a huge green vein. 

We took some photos (and a Zandra selfie of course – more about that in another blog post) and continued on to the Grand Canyon. 

As much as every day of this trip had been a new experience one thing that popped into my head often was that we were always moving forward and rarely retracing our route by more than a mile or two. The detour to the North Rim (as we experienced folk like to call it) was an exception to this, taking us 50 miles into the Park and then the same 50 miles out. It was worth it. 

We had a good lunch and well-deserved break in the lodge and then convinced Zandra that notwithstanding her fear of heights, she had come this far and must see it for herself. 

However, seeing this on the horizon we made it a swift viewing with the requisite oohhs and  awwes, threw on our rain gear and started another round of storm racing. 

We were much luckier than the day before, either we rode around the storm or it blew around us, either way we got through it unscathed. 

Onward to Bryce Canyon, Utah for the night. As I’ve mentioned before, my American geography was seriously lacking prior to this trip and as we moved further southwest I had even less knowledge of what to expect. Having now ridden through miles and miles of desert I was startled when we were merely minutes over the state line into Utah when we rode through a small town with huge, shady, green, leafy trees on every street and in front of every home. Not the fake-looking, landscaped kind but the 100 year-old solid trees with deep roots finding every drop of water in spite of the years of drought that has so obviously devastated this region. It was truly a breath of fresh air. 

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen

Arizona ☑️

After a tough ride through the Colorado mountains the day before I convinced Zandra that we really didn’t need to tackle the “million dollar highway” the next day heading to Page, Arizona. http://www.dangerousroads.org/north-america/usa/635-million-dollar-highway-usa.html

The alternate route started off beautifully and gave us the opportunity to check out the Bridal Veil Falls in Telluride, Colorado. 

As we continued on our journey southwest, the changing landscape and temperature made it hard to believe that we had just left this lush, green, cool view mere hours before. 

Shortly after crossing the state line into Arizona we stopped for lunch at Jack and Janelle’s Country Kitchen where we received a hearty welcome from Janelle herself. Discovering we were Canadians they asked for some Canadian currency to add to their collection. Being Canadian, we obliged of course. 

About 5 miles from the restaurant it was like a wall of heat dropped from the sky. It became abundantly clear that we were now in Arizona. Another 30 miles or so of riding through my first experience of desert we found the infamous Four Corners Monument where four state lines meet. Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Utah. 

It may be cheating a little but we stepped into New Mexico so I’m counting it. 😉

After leaving the monument in the  oppressive heat we were thrilled and relieved to see what looked like rain on the horizon. We happily rode through a sprinkling of rain without even considering stopping to put on rain gear. Five minutes after it ended I intercomed Zandra to say “…and I’m dry”. 

That relief turned into dread a few miles further up the road when fast-moving, dark clouds came over the mountains and lighting lit up the sky. The skies opened with a torrent of rain. We were drenched in minutes and stopping to put on rain gear seemed fruitless. We continued to push through, hoping it would move past us as quickly as the last sprinkle. It was not to be so. The rain and wind were relentless. Those of us on smaller, lighter bikes had the very real fear that our bikes would be tossed into the ditch, or worse, into oncoming traffic. We pulled over. 

Standing on the side of the road as 18 wheelers flew by spraying us it was clear that we hadn’t pulled over in the safest location. When there was a brief lull in the storm we moved further down the hill to a little pull out. Still not under cover but better than where we had been. 

As we stood on the side of the road considering our options: rain gear, no rain gear, continuing on to shelter, staying put, going pee in the ditch or holding it until whenever, we were strangely light-hearted. We were all ok, the storm would pass and we would continue on. Mind you, I was happy that it wasn’t until the next day that we found out it was actually a monsoon and not just a run-of-the-mill thunder storm. (Note to my family reading this – I am fine and it was 10 days ago). 

And so we continued. The air, the land and our clothes dried up. We rode through terrain that I had only ever seen in photos or sci-fi movies. In my mind, I revisited the most recent Mad Max movie which I hated at the time but now have a new respect for. 

It was hard to believe that it was still the same day and the same planet as the one we left at Bridal Veil Falls that morning. 

After one of the longest riding days so far we finally ended our day at Lake Powell resort. As we rode into town it was reminiscent of my first visit to Iqaluit, Nunuvut – only a 3 hour flight from Ottawa but might as well have landed on Mars. 

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen

Colorado ☑️

New Mexico ☑️😉

Here is link to the LA Times article published yesterday about the Sisters’ Ride. We are in the group photo under the Golden Gate Bridge. 

http://www.latimes.com/business/autos/la-fi-hy-sisters-ride-20160721-snap-story.html​

After a few days of excitement and a little recuperation time in Colorado Springs it was time to keep moving west. We had a long days ride to Ouray, Colorado, “the Switzerland of America”. 

Along the way I started to notice some of the most dramatic changes to the landscape. As much as riding into Colorado Springs was a visual feast, heading west was breathtaking. Unfortunately, with hand on throttle and heart in mouth on those curvy, mountainous roads there was no time or safe place to stop for photos. Luckily Tina caught some great moments from the back of the Goldwing. 

On the long descent down the mountains we got our first real glimpse of the more desolate reality we were moving towards. Miles of dry, flat terrain sprinkled with cattle, several RV’s and a few more permanent structures. 

Finally we spotted the tiny town of Hartsel, stopped for a coffee, stretched our legs and tried to digest the previous 50 miles. 

The cafe was surprisingly lively for such a tiny town. Staff and customers alike were chatty and friendly. Obvious regulars and those of us who were obviously not  regulars got the same smiles and great service. 

After a much needed coffee and bagel we went back to our bikes and got chatting with Hazel (above).  She was thrilled to hear our story about commemorating the Van Buren sisters ride. She told us she was 83 and still working and keeping cattle. She took a particular liking to Tina and Johanne’s shiny white Honda Goldwing. She also mentioned that the western side of the mountains where we were headed were “much prettier”. She was born there. 

Prettier for sure but also far more challenging. Even having some experience riding in the Adirondacks didn’t prepare me for the kind of mountainous roads we came upon on our ride to Ouray. Twisty curves and steep descents. Warnings about checking truck brakes and more ‘runaway truck lanes’than I could count. Definitely my most challenging riding day “so far” as my cowboy friend in Haigler would say. 

On a much lighter note, a few miles outside of Ouray and our stop for the night we fueled up and Zandra got a photo with this cast of characters. 

They were self-declared mountain men who had just come into town after being in the bush for 3 weeks. The funniest part of the discussion was Zandra’s concern about having helmet-head hair for the photo. That garnered great laughs all round. 

Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen

After over a week of riding all day and sleeping in a new bed every night I was ready to actually unpack, do some much needed laundry, and relax in Colorado Springs for 3 glorious nights. 

For many in our group I imagine Colorado Springs also brought significant anxiety. There was a pre-planned motorcycle ride up to the summit of Pikes Peak – all 14,110 feet of it. 

Back in 1916 the Van Buren sisters were the first women to reach the summit on motorcycles. An impressive feat back then and an equally impressive feat today. 

Before we left Ottawa, Zandra, Johanne, Tina and I had decided that riding up Pikes Peak wasn’t something on our bucket list and bought tickets to go up on the cog train. Johanne then bravely changed her mind leaving Zandra, Tina and I to the train. 

Turns out it was a good thing Zandra didn’t ride as she succumbed to a pretty serious bout of altitude sickness. She did bounce back a few hours later when we got back down closer to sea level. I didn’t feel great either and was very happy with my decision not to ride the summit.

Johanne and our new-found friend Susan from Toronto (turanna) did an awesome job representing Canadians at the top of the mountain. 

What an amazing accomplishment for all the riders and a special congrats to Johanne and Susan. Bad-assed Canadians🇨🇦

The next day we were treated to a great breakfast and bike tour of the Garden of the Gods by one of our group who is a Colorado Springs local – thanks Chris. 

It was then back to the hotel to do that laundry and pack up for the next day. 

As I started packing my clothes I realized I was missing a sock. Wouldn’t have been unusual or a big deal at home but on the road I only have 3 pairs and they get pretty ripe in hot motorcycle boots. 

The hotel we were staying in was a huge maze so trudging back to the laundry room took some effort. As I walked in, a couple was just loading up the dryer I had been using. I asked if they had noticed a sock in the dryer. They didn’t think so but I took a peek before they shut the door and there was my sock mixed in with their unmentionables. We all laughed as I pulled it out and they agreed it was not one of theirs. 

We then got down to the usual chatting that I imagine happens in hotel laundry rooms.  Where are you from? Where are you going? Telling the story of our ride once again garnered great interest from the couple. They had sold their Harley’s a few years ago before they went to Kenya on a mission – this did not immediately register with me.  We talked some more about bikes and I gave them more details about our trip and how many of us were travelling – mostly women – all the way to San Fransisco on motorcycles. They thought it was a wonderful adventure. 

As I was about to turn and leave the woman asked if she could pray for me – the penny dropped about the “mission” in Kenya. With sock in hand I was backing out the door and saying “sure, if you want to.” She then grabbed my hand (without the sock) and she and her husband bowed their heads, closed their eyes and started praying to Jesus for his blessing and to keep us all of safe in our journey…etc… I was admittedly in a state of shock. Keeping my eyes open I just kind of stood there for what seemed like a very long time. When she finally finished, opened her eyes and dropped my hand I found myself saying thank you and as I turned to leave my last words were “and I found my sock”. 😄

Onward to Ouray, Colorado. 

Whatever you ride, ride safe. 

Helen

The one thing I noticed about the ride from Omaha to McCook, Nebraska was that the corn got shorter and the hills got higher. While it was not an unpleasant ride, it wasn’t the most exciting either. Zandra tried to make it more interesting with a detour through the sand dunes – alas, in July apparently, the sand dunes are covered in grass and don’t look so sand-duney. 

We did stay at a funky motel in McCook. It had once been a regular motel with rooms on 2 floors in a U shape with an outdoor pool in the middle. Not sure when they transformed it by building a roof and siding over the entire area. The now indoor pool was a welcome relief after a long, hot day of riding. 

As I was not enamoured with riding through Nebraska and we were headed to Colorado Springs for 3 – count them – 3  – glorious nights in the same hotel, I asked Zandra to navigate the quickest and easiest route out of Nebraska. 

The first hour of the ride was not unlike the last hour of the day before but there were some daunting looking storm clouds to the west. 

After another half hour of doing our best storm racing – not chasing – we were finally defeated as we rolled into the tiny town of Haigler (pop. 220 – I asked). Not surprisingly, on the main street (ok, the only street) we came upon the Haigler Country Cafe. 

As we had just crossed into Mountain time we gained an hour so it was roughly 8:30 AM Haigler time. 

We walked into the small cafe in our leather and neon yellow rain gear – helmets in hand. 5 women bikers seeking refuge from the storm. We got a hearty welcome from Barb, the owner and waitress Stephanie. The 7 gentleman sitting around the closest table were clearly as surprised to see us as we were to see them. 

Zandra quickly went into action declaring that these were the first official cowboys she had ever met and asked if she could take their picture. They were happy to oblige and commented that this was great for them because they had run out of stories years ago and needed some new ones. 

Turns out these were real Haigler cowboys who came to the cafe for coffee every morning. No one gave away exactly how long this ritual had gone on but I’d guess many, many decades. They even had their own coffee cup rack. 

They asked us questions about our ride and we asked them questions about being cowboys. I asked the oldest looking gentleman (guessing late 80’s) if he had lived in Haigler all his life. His answer – “so far”. 

As they were finishing up their coffee and getting ready to leave one of them asked to take our picture because otherwise “no one would believe them”. 

After hearty “goodbyes” and “ride safes” the gentlemen all left to get on with their day. In the meantime, Barb had been checking the weather radar and told us to sit back down and they’d feed us pie because it was really bad out there. How could we refuse such kindness (and pie)?

This gave us a great opportunity to look around the cafe. It was like a museum. Old photos and newspaper clippings from the late 1800’s. 

And photos of some of the very same cowboys we had just chatted with as young men. 

There were even two very fine drawings of John Wayne. 

Here’s Deputy Z posing with the badge she picked up at John Wayne’s birthplace and museum the day before in Winterset, Iowa. 
As the weather cleared and we needed to continue west we said our goodbyes to Barb and Stephanie and headed towards Kansas. (With a fresh cinnamon bun in tow for me.) 

So much for a quick exit out of Nebraska. Turns out Haigler (pop. 220) really was a silver lining under those storm clouds.
Whatever you ride – ride safe. 

Helen