The small towns along Highway 20 here in Nebraska serve as bowling pins for the really crummy weather bowler in Denver who is only capable of hitting one pin at a time. Watching the weather radar and the little storm cells only about a mile or two wide work their way to the northeast, its pretty easy to picture that being the case. Despite only hitting one town a night, the bowler seems to never have any trouble finding the one I'm in.
The morning rains, a continuation from the cell last night, led to another late start. I walked from the park to the highway and continued down the familiar path. At my first break I was passed by the first cyclist I'd seen in a long while, Sariann. She was hauling across the country with her boyfriend, who was several miles ahead, at over 100 miles a day. I was telling her that I don't think very many people have run across the United States pushing their own stuff in a stroller, but she said she had seen two people doing it near the Painted Hills in Oregon. We came to figure out that she had seen Sam and I! I quickly remembered her and her boyfriend on our run over the Ochoco Pass to Mitchell while she was on a ride from Prineville to the Painted Hills and back. Our crew was halved, our stroller switched out, and I look about 13.9 times more homeless since then. It was pretty easy to see why she couldn't recognize me.
I stopped into the town of Ainsworth for another Dr. Pepper float and a grocery store run. I realized I hadn't done much of a shopping trip since Casper, and I was actually running close to dangerously low. I was out of M&Ms and even resorted to eating a package of raw oatmeal that had always been buried at the bottom of the bear canister. I could actually see the bottom plastic of the canister for the first time.
After the resupply, I finished the last eight miles to the state park I would be camping in for the evening. This marked the longest stretch of continuous running without a break perhaps of the entire trip. I settled for an amazing camp site right along Pine Creek at the base of the valley where the town sat atop of. It was quite warm out and the cool fast flowing waters were a great shower.
The morning rains, a continuation from the cell last night, led to another late start. I walked from the park to the highway and continued down the familiar path. At my first break I was passed by the first cyclist I'd seen in a long while, Sariann. She was hauling across the country with her boyfriend, who was several miles ahead, at over 100 miles a day. I was telling her that I don't think very many people have run across the United States pushing their own stuff in a stroller, but she said she had seen two people doing it near the Painted Hills in Oregon. We came to figure out that she had seen Sam and I! I quickly remembered her and her boyfriend on our run over the Ochoco Pass to Mitchell while she was on a ride from Prineville to the Painted Hills and back. Our crew was halved, our stroller switched out, and I look about 13.9 times more homeless since then. It was pretty easy to see why she couldn't recognize me.
I stopped into the town of Ainsworth for another Dr. Pepper float and a grocery store run. I realized I hadn't done much of a shopping trip since Casper, and I was actually running close to dangerously low. I was out of M&Ms and even resorted to eating a package of raw oatmeal that had always been buried at the bottom of the bear canister. I could actually see the bottom plastic of the canister for the first time.
After the resupply, I finished the last eight miles to the state park I would be camping in for the evening. This marked the longest stretch of continuous running without a break perhaps of the entire trip. I settled for an amazing camp site right along Pine Creek at the base of the valley where the town sat atop of. It was quite warm out and the cool fast flowing waters were a great shower.
Settling under my covered area, it quickly became clear that the bowler in Denver was going to hit Long Pine tonight. Right after making this realization, a big Ford pickup came down the hill to the creek and bearded man with a pipe and two chihuahuas got out and headed towards the water. As the rain started to pick up, Don, his fishing pole he called a great lightning rod, and the rainbow trout he just caught joined me under the shelter. He was from Banks, Oregon and had moved to Ainsworth ten years ago with his wife to take care of his mother in law. We talked about the differences between the two places and how, despite being not very similar at all, he liked them just the same.
Don left in between rounds one and two of thunderstorms. The wind would be a lot heavier tonight so I tied all four corners of the tent to permanent objects with parachute cord given to me by Jeff in Dubois. I piled all of my stuff into either the tent or cart, strapped on the tarp to the cart, and took shelter in the tent before the show of round two. The lightning lit up the sky, but the bolts all appeared to be content to stay in the clouds. The thunder never followed by less than ten seconds, so my fear was nowhere near where it has been in the past.
View from camp of Pine Creek
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