Monday July 16th

When I awoke Monday morning, considerably earlier than Kevin Shaw, Richard had packed most of his gear and was taking down his tent..I went to fetch my bike from where I'd left it the night before, to start trying to sort my stuff, shortly being joined by Kev. When Rich was ready to leave, for his hike back to York, PA, we went round to the house to blag some coffee from John and Tasey and see Rich off. As we walked down, Clive, Brian, Jimbo and co. were almost ready to leave, so we said cheerio to them.

 

Whilst we swilled coffee, on the porch, John gave Rich directions to avoid Omaha and he rode off.

We spent a few minutes with Buzzurd, Jeff and others, while Black Shovel Paul and his cat left, bound for Baltimore. 

How would you like to come home and find these two sitting on your porch drinking your coffee?

We went to finish packing but didn't leave for quite while. Having bid adieu to Greg and Julia, John and Tasey and those others remaining, we set off for Dillon Brothers, an Omaha Harley dealer, where we wanted to buy some oil. The two Shovels were now our responsibility and we would need to look after them. Whilst in Dillon's, we bought some new shades (a third of the price of those I'd lost and still have a set of clear and a set of amber lenses for, as well as a goggle strap as they had detachable arms) and a couple of bottles of oil.

Having paid for these, we were on our way to get some H-D designer-coffee, when a guy in the shop started chatting to us. Somehow he already knew about the two English guys, who'd bought Shovels in Pennsylvania and were shipping them from LA. He owns a Shovel, too, but was unable to get to Shovelfest as he has two jobs and was working. While a fresh pot of coffee was brewing, he sent us upstairs for a look around the second-hand stock. There were lots of Baggers up there.

When we came back down for our coffee, the Shovel guy was there with a goody-bag for each of us, containing a tee shirt, coozy, keyring and poker chip. How cool was that? We'd never expected that kind of behaviour at a dealer's. I didn't catch your name, but hats off to you and thank you very much! Swag safely secured, we drank our coffee, topped-up our oil and hit the highway, heading back up to Yutan and the west.

Still in the outskirts of Omaha, I had a moment's panic when, after an emergency stop, my front brake was binding, applying itself harder and harder as I tried to catch up with Kev. I had to stop, as it was not releasing at all. After a couple of minutes to cool, it freed-off and I could rejoin Kev. The lever soon regained pressure and all seemed well, as we headed towards Wahoo. Shortly after passing Wahoo Airfield,  we found ourselves heading the wrong way, east rather than west! We turned around and headed back to the right road. 

The remainder of the day's journey was pretty uneventful, but very hot and tiring. At first we went past miles and miles of corn, followed by miles and miles of sand hills and cattle, then just miles of sand hills. 

The sand hills reminded me of Dartmoor, at first, but soon took on their own identity. We had stopped for lunch in Osceola at Terry's Broasted Chicken Diner and refuelled. The road was mainly straight and undulating, with miles of open country which, most of the time, looked really bleak. 

Shot from bike looking ahead

The day continued to be very hot, so we were constantly needing to rehydrate. We carry sports bottles of water, on the bikes, which we can easily get at while riding; a bonus of wearing an open-face helmet. There was very, very little traffic, so the road could get monotonous and mesmerising, which isn't good.

Shot looking back from bike. Ohhhhh, the traffic!

Although we'd intended getting as near to Alliance as we could, progress had been slow and uncomfortable, so we decided we'd stop for the night at Broken Bow. We ran through the strip, looking for accommodation. We saw a few shitty looking motels but then spotted the Arrow Hotel.

Although it looked a bit up-market, with its Bonfire Bar and Grill it offered us everything we wanted, after four nights' camping - bath, bed and beer, with food, too, of course. After some negotiation we got a two-roomed suite, with a queen bed in one room and a convertible double couch in the other, at an acceptable rate, plus ten bucks to rent a garage big enough for a dozen bikes.

Kevin chose the couch, but of course later moaned about it. nd the shObviously, he'd chosen it because it meant he controlled the kitchen and Mr Coffee, the bog and bath, the vanity sink and the TV. So, although he bitched, he'd done it very deliberately - knob!

After I'd caused some drama by losing my room key as soon as I got it, we cleaned ourselves up, hand-washed some clothes and had a beer on the patio, with a rancher and his wife and some other guy - maybe the rancher's son? They told us that the local steak was the best in Nebraska, that Nebraska reared the best beef in the world and that the hotel grill cooked it well. So we ordered two rib-eyes and returned to the patio until our dinner was served. The steaks, 12 ounce, were a little small and dear, but they were what was needed. 

The rancher, whose name I never caught, and his wife, Karen, were still on the patio when we returned after dinner. They'd been joined by another couple, from Kansas, they'd just met, the They were cattle ranchers, too. We found out that just outside Broken Bow was the biggest, or second-biggest, feed lot in the world. The local guy was passionate about his animals and he and his Kansas compadre had a lot to talk about. Karen was passionate about horses. She is a tiny but determined woman who's had horses all her life. She had been a barrel racer for many years, but had to give it up due to back injuries. She had only just recently begun to ride again, after her injuries meant she had to wear a steel brace for a long time,

Somewhere along the line and before the ranchers went home, we began to chat to a bloke at the next table. He rode a late bagger, with custom luggage and stereo, which he showed us videos of.

He came from Oklahoma, looked quite like Kinley,  had friends in East Sussex, near where I live in England, and worked for one of three franchises licensed to sell tee shirts to Harley dealers. He travelled around various states, supplying dealers. When we told him how the Dillons' guy had given us stuff, he gave Kev and me a tee shirt each and two for my granddaughters. Of course, we stood him a couple of Jims.

When we went to bed, I tried to blog but was just too tired. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...........

Here's today's route.