The fog belt



The traditional first night stop on the way to Arizona is York, Nebraska. The way I take is to go to Sioux Falls, SD, take I-90 west a few miles to a little past Canistota (home to the famous chiropractic clinic where my grandmother used to take weeklong cures during the 1940s, weeks she called "the best time of my life"), then down to Yankton on 81, across the Missouri on a one-lane two story bridge, and then south to the intersection of 81 and I-80 at York.

From Canistota to Yankton, it was pure fog. It always is on that stretch of highway. I think it should be called the fog belt, where the transition is made from snow to wet ground. Dreary. Wearying.

Then we crossed the Missouri, and within three or four miles, the fog suddenly disappeared and this was the scene--a sunset about as grand as you could ever expect. I was driving, so Lance rolled down the window and took about 50 pictures with his Nikon, and then snapped a few with my Canon as well.

The stripes in the picture are all vapor trails from jets, even the large ones. We're right under the coast-to-coast flight routes, so the sky is full of vapor trails.

York was much farther than I thought. I don't know what I was thinking, but I thought we'd get in about six tonight and it turned out to be 8:30. Thank goodness Lance could relieve me driving for a while.

We ate in Johnny Carson's hometown of Norfolk, NE. When we were leaving the Country Kitchen, we looked at poster in the entry advertising the Johnny Carson museum, and said almost in unison, "Here's Johnny!" Well, a guy in front of us bolted around. His face looked just like Johnny Carson's--but with shoulder length hair. It looked like Johnny done up in a wig for one of his skits.

Must be a small gene pool.

Tomorrow, Denver.