Day 54 Martin, South Dakota to Cody, Nebraska

 

Day 54 Martin, South Dakota to Cody, Nebraska

     I have decided to head south and to make my eastward journey through the state of Nebraska.  I was saddened to have missed the reservation and the kind people I had met there, but the distance between communities made cycling concerning.  I said farewell to the Daytons and headed south to cross the border.

     There are still rolling fields, though the change in vegetation makes for a very different sort of landscape. There are easily 20 shades of green which give testimony to the powerful life forces at work in this place.   The first town I hit as I crossed the border was Merriman, Nebraska (which made me think of Robin Hood’s band).  Like many of the towns along this stretch, it was named after a railroad official in the late 19^th century.  Even the smallest towns in this part of the world have an historical museum.  In these museums, the creation story of the town is retold (i.e. the story of the Europeans who have settled in that place).  The railroad looms large in these creation story and many of these small towns were growing cities in the early part of the 20^th century.  The Chicago and Northwest Railroad was abandoned 40 years ago and made into a bike trail (which is one of the reasons I chose this route).  Merriman (population 87) has lost 80 percent of its population since the closure of the rail line.  When a town shrinks below a critical mass of people necessary to maintain a municipal infrastructure, things become difficult.  The surrounding towns all realized that they could not each maintain a public school.  The town which wins the fight to have a school has the best chance of surviving.  Once the school closes, the banks, churches, libraries, and grocery stores soon follow.  Merriman lost the fight to retain a school and now the 20 children (25 per cent of the population) have significant bus rides.

     One can still see the gracious buildings which have housed the commercial life of community.  They are abandoned and people are trying to find creative uses for them.   There is a gas station which, like all rural gas station, has a room with microwave sandwiches and a table and chairs.  While there, a local man came up and chatted with me.  He shared with me the sadness he had felt about the close of the local school.  My bike and cart and intrigued him, so he asked about my trip.  He seemed a bit incredulous when I described it to him.  “You are not a young man, you know!”  This stung more that I thought it would.  “How are you going to be able get all the way to Boston?”  I answered “’tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”  He smiled, uttered an expletive, shook my hand, and wished me well.

      The cowboy trail goes through beautiful countryside.  Unfortunately, the surface is coarse sand which makes peddling difficult.  I made the calculation that insofar as the parallel highway has very sparse traffic and a wide shoulder, it would be preferable to stick on the road.  The scenery is lovely and Nebraska is not the flat place I thought it would be.  The gentle rolling hills are very soothing to the eyes.

      There are towns every 20 miles along the rail line.  In an attempt to bolster tourism in the region, every town has a lovely park and cyclists are invited to camp there at night.  There were no hotels along this stretch, so I thought this would be my best option.  Upon arrival in Cody, Nebraska (population 168) looked for the campground.  The town, like many of the towns along the line, was named after a railroad foreman).  Cody won the competition for the high school, so its future is more secure than that of the surrounding communities.  The grocery store, however, had closed several years before.  Someone had the creative idea of having a grocery store run by the local high school students.  Under teacher supervision, the students order the food, stock the shelves, clean the store, and perform all the tasks required to have a functional place of business.  They also get paid for the time they work there.  Not everyone in town decides to be a rancher, and this teaches a skill set which gives the students some life options.

     When I arrived at the campground there was sign containing the phone number to call to register.  The call went directly to voicemail.  I looked and saw that the toilet and shower were out of order.  This was problematic.  I climbed on my bike looking for some office (or some sign of life) which might offer some counsel on what options were available.  There was not a soul in town.  After a few minutes, a pickup truck stopped and the woman driving rolled down the window and asked if I needed some help.  When I told her that the bathrooms were out of order and I was seeking options for the night she said “I’m on the village council, and we have been arguing about this for months.  The money has been set aside, and we just need to get this done.”  This was interesting, but helpful.  She continued “I have several apartments overlooking the park, one of which is currently vacant; you are more than welcome to use the bathroom there.” 

    I asked her if she would be willing to rent it out for the night, she replied, “Fifty dollars, but I don’t want to push you into renting it.  It is close to the park.”  I said, “I’ll take it!”  She tried once again to dissuade me; she did not want to be pushy. She introduced herself as Pat Miller and had a wonderful conversation about the history of the town.

    The place was wonderful.  It was a newly renovated 3 room flat with two large beds, a kitchen, and large living room with a huge television.  I purchased some food from the high school grocery store and settled in for the night.  As I read my book a violent thunder storm shook the ground and the rain pelted against the wall gratitude for Pat welled up in my heart.

     The rain had slowed down by morning, but scattered thunder storms were predicted for the entire day.   I was packing up preparing to weather the elements to bicycle 40 miles to Valentine, Nebraska (also named after a railway worker who later became a state representative) when Pat stopped by.  She informed me that she was driving to Valentine and would be happy to bring me, my bike, and my stuff.  I was exceedingly grateful and we had a wonderful conversation along the way.

     She had always lived in the area and, in addition to having full time jobs; she and her husband had 500 head of cattle and 250 bulls.  They also renovated local houses and sold them.  They also served on town council and had in interest in the long term prosperity of the town.  We spoke of the difficulty of maintaining some of the smaller communities in the state and of the resilient spirit which became evident in difficult times.  We spoke about the importance of kindness and how this has become a rare commodity. 

     Later that night, after she had returned to her home, she called me up and told me that I had left some items in the room I had rented from her.  I told her that I could live without them, but she said she would drive them to me the following day.  She laughed as she recalled a time when she and her husband had been away in Omaha, and she had left all of their clothes in the hotel room when they returned home.  I am grateful for her kindness, humor, and infectious hope.