Rain, snow and wind to take you there

Central Colorado Springs offers zero predictions for the weather swirling around the town. Ten miles east near Peterson Air Force Base, the rain that pounded the central city for almost 24 hours began turning into snow. 

The hills and tablelands that rolled through Calhan, Simla and Limon were coated in snow even as the road stayed mostly dry. Almost two years passed since I took this route west into Colorado Springs, Pikes Peak looming larger all the while. Today, clouds blotted out everything but the wind turbines gently hazing them away. I had never entered Kansas heading east. In fact, I had never driven through the state without planning to go elsewhere. This time, Kansas earned a starring role, even if I had to drive out of state on my first night of vacation.

This hadn’t been the original plan. I plotted a loop across the Texas and Oklahoma panhandles with a swing across southwestern Kansas. My second vaccine shot complicated that trip, and a Saturday where I found myself without energy killed my interest. 

So I plotted an alternate a trek across the plains. A vacation that looped through the two states suddenly emerged. Why not? Too often Coloradans only looked to the mountains, when a range of adventures lied just east on the plains of Nebraska and Kansas.

I found myself booking hotels that covered reasonable distances each day. Originally I planned to leave Colorado in the early a.m. and realized it was foolish not to take an afternoon to get up to Nebraska and make this a true two-state trip. Colorado’s eastern plains had patches of white and green in their grand stretches of brown, signs that winter’s endurance might slightly relieve the drought-touched region. 

Once the wintry weather and rain subsided not far into Kansas, the wind kept gusting. Every passing truck spoke to the wind. I had to grip the wheel with both hands and await the burst of air. This continued all the way to the Nebraska border.

The land grew greener and lush not long after crossing back in Central Time. I’d head north at Colby, winding northeast on a series of state and federal roads. I stopped at a diner and all of Colby felt deserted in the relentless wind. I hit the edge of town and more or less left the map. A number of reservoirs, small towns with soaring grain bins, railroad lines and yards competing for the most Trump flags. I wanted to reach Holdrege before dark, and only stopped at Prairie Dog State Park, a picturesque reserve that includes Keith Sebelius Lake and some wild land along Prairie Dog Creek. 

I found myself lost in thoughtlessness, a joy for someone whose mind never stops racing. The landscape swallowed any attempt by my brain to divert to weighty matters. Focus on how the land ripples, grip the wheel a little tighter as the trucks pass, watch the miles click away. I didn’t waste a neuron on work, COVID-induced isolation or anything else. 

At the Nebraska state line the highway cut through hills dotted with cattle, grazing in the golden hour. Holdrege loomed. I could smell feed lot in the air, with note of bloody iron that left me wondering if a slaughterhouse sat close by. The town of middle-class homes and a sturdy business district of brick buildings was sedate on a Monday evening. I checked into my hotel and headed for Lost Way Brewing, a reward for 350 miles of wicked winds on the plains.

Nebraska sky near Holdrege