Michael:
The Oregon Trail Days (OTD) website proclaims, underlines in fact, that “We do not require talent to compete (for Miss Oregon Trail Days).” They were so wrong. On the front page of the Scottsbluff Star-Herald was Sara Ensrud, Miss Oregon Trail Days. But she wasn’t adorned in her tiara, she was crossing the finish line in the Don Childs Memorial 5 Mile Run.
Sara finished first among women and fourth overall. The paper continued. Sara has won numerous Nebraska State Gold Medals. She holds the state Class B record in the mile and will attend the University of Virginia next year. Wow.
I asked Kenny if he knew Sara. “Oh, sure. She lives down the road, what a nice girl. I’ll introduce you to her later.” “What, what, what,” I thought, more than flustered. She’s royalty and well, this sure is a small town. Let’s go to the Pancake Feed.
Gab, Bruce and I arrived for breakfast at 9:15. Just in time to miss the crowds, drink at least a gallon of Sunny Delight and eat enough breakfast sausages and pancakes to get our softball team donation’s worth.
After scarfing down the benefit’s last remaining morsels we met up with Kenny and took our place on Main Street to watch the parade. We were positioned just in time to see the first set of fire trucks processing down the street.
All at once, everybody stood up and either placed their hands over their hearts or saluted. What was going on? Bruce explained, “it’s what you to when an American flag passes.” “Are you sure?” “Uh, yeah. Where are you from?”
I don’t ever recall this flag reverence, but I haven’t actually been to many parades in my lifetime. I quickly stood up, genuflected and sat back down when the first fire truck passed. Soon another truck came. Everyone got back up. And then back down. Another truck followed. The routine continued.
In fact, nearly every float, car and marching band carried an American Flag. The orthodox workout took on a farcical air. Grandmas wheezed, knees cracked, and many a corpulent people grabbed at their lower backs in pain. After about 10 minutes of up and down flag veneration, the crowd collectively decided that it had had enough.
The parade was lots of fun. Each float threw copious amounts of candy to scurrying kids. Other more devious paraders suckered the kids in with candy and then doused them with super soakers and water balloons. Yes, even at 10:30, the heat had already climbed above 95°.
Former Nebraska head coach and current U.S. Representative Tom Osborne passed by. I not so secretly wished to have my own set of water balloons. All weekend I told whoever would listen how Penn State was robbed of a rightful National Championship in 1994 because of the NCAA’s sympathy towards the perennial loser and aforementioned Mr. Osborne. They responded without fail with “what about 1982, you’re guy was out of bounds when he made that catch.” Dedicated and smart lot, these Cornhusker faithful.
Soon after Coach Osborne followed Miss Oregon Trail Days and her court. Kenny loudly yelled out, “Hi, Sara.” She looked over our way with palpable trepidation not once losing her perfect posture and royal wave. What a talented girl.
After the parade, we moved on to the Nebraska State Championship CASI Chili Cook-Off knowing that it would be our downfall. The $2 price of admission included as much chili as you could eat. OTD euphemistically called it “Public Chili Tasting”. Bruce, Gab and I would make it gluttony in its purest form.
The madness would begin at 3:00.
At 1:00, however, we were frenzied, but calm. The crowd was still sparse. We were close to heat stroke, red as beets, and very sticky from liberal amounts of sunscreen. We looked a ragged mess.
Just then, Kenny spotted Miss Oregon Trail Days. “Come over here Sara,” he yelled. Sara had no clue who Kenny was. They had presumably never met. Kenny hadn’t been in Gering in ages; he knows her family (Bruce note: actually, she really did know Kenny). I was tongue-tied. I wanted to congratulate her. I wanted to say good luck at Virginia. I said nothing.
Kenny asked, “Can we get a picture?” She smiled and acquiesced. God bless her. She looked like a porcelain doll, we looked like we were about to eat a ton of chili. We went our separate ways. She left to go to booth and paint children’s faces. We gravitated towards the chefs.
We watched, mingled with and admired the over 40 booths. Some of the chefs even made sly offerings in an attempt to garner our vote for “Best Chili”. Free water, free Doritos, and free buffalo jerky paled in comparison to one booth’s bribery: pickled jalapeños covered with peanut butter. We could not believe how good it was either.
In fact, by the time the gluttony would begin, we were full from the handouts. That did not stop us in any way. Once the plastic spoons were distributed, we went on an ungodly tear from booth to booth. All in the name of science.
The first chili we tried was exquisite. Subtle at first with a powerful cumin aftertaste. Its chipotle flavoring kindly spread through both tender meat and the not too thin sauce. The chef had earned the many CASI awards that adorned her booth. We continued on, hoping that another would top her delicious bounty.
Ounce cup after ounce cup. Green chili, red chili, beanless chili, Texas chili, we ate it all. We were quickly becoming experts. Taste, Color, Consistency, Aftertaste, Aroma, we mastered them all through sheer volume of practice. We took a break half way through and plopped ourselves down on the lawn. My hand involuntary started shaking. I don’t want to know why.
Most of the chilies were not very good. Too hot, not spicy enough, too bland, too something. Very few got it right. Ironically, the first cup we tried was clearly the best. After our final taste, the three of us were in pain. We sat down under a tent and went into a mild vegetative state. Kenny found us and asked how we were and which chilies we had tasted. None of us could even talk. My face was ablaze and my head spun incoherently. Rest was in our future.
We all retreated to Kenny’s parents’ house. Kenny went back out while the chili consumers fell asleep with fond memories of their first Oregon Trail Days.
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