Ogallala to North Platt
We awoke in the morning rested and ready to rip. We both slept soundly. The weather was OK although the winds would again be less than favorable. We packed quickly, rolled our bikes down the motel stairs and began a push that would over several days take us to Storm Lake Iowa with little let up. The rest energized us. This was the point in the trip that could have been bad. We still struggled with headwinds, this part of Nebraska was mostly a bombed out relic of the industrial age gone bad. The once vibrant farming communities had been replaced with giant mega-industrial operations with no humanity to be found between the fields and the towering grain elevators. There was an enormous amount of obesity in the population, a sign of boredom and pointless lives. The people seemed dazed and dumbed down.
We pedaled east with the feeling of being totally in our element. We had already been tested, we had pedaled through the barriers the held our imaginations captive. Now we settled into a rhythm that propelled us with a sense of strength. We would need it. The highway was flat and smooth. There was little to no traffic. What vehicles that did pass, yielded the entire roadway to the left side of the left lane. Since Boulder we had only seen one bicycle, an Indian. He was a cool guy. We talked with him briefly.
We had been following the South Platte River. The North Platte River angled towards us until the two river valleys joining. Now the greenery extended twice as wide as previous. The trains continue to be our companion. We traveled many miles with a slow moving freight.