The longest stretch
We’re still in Nebraska, which I just learned is the state with the longest stretch of I80. Who knew?? We just stopped at rest area near Grand Island. The rest stops in this state are wonderful - kind of reminiscent of those on the Merritt Parkway - sparkling clean, with maps and pretty “pet exercising” areas. It looks and feels like it’s going to rain. And if your nose can sniff past the cow poop (a way of life here in farm country?) it smells like rain, too. Part of me wants to see a tornado on the horizon (Auntie Em! Auntie Em!) but I know it’s not something to joke about. And, yeah, an actual tornado would scare the pants off me, no matter how many Wizard of Oz references I can make. As I sit here, sipping yet another bottle of “seltzy” (as my friend Megan’s kids so affectionately call the delicious potable the rest of the world knows as carbonated water), I am itching to be outside. These fields are meant to be run through with abandon. And there are all these pioneer exhibits that are advertised on billboards along the Interstate…I want to go! But, alas, Evan says no, if we want to make it to NYC by the weekend, frolicking in the prairies will have to wait until the next time we pass by here, which I sincerely hope we do.
