Michael:
We drove into Gering, Nebraska on Thursday at 6:00. The Oregon Trail Days (OTD) festivities were just getting underway. I projected a tangible buzz on the Gering streets. A Conestoga Wagon stood at the corners of 10th and M announcing the OTD. The crowds on 10th were gathering.
But first we had to drop off our stuff at Kenny’s family’s house. We exchanged our hellos with Kenny’s dad who looks remarkably like character actor Philip Baker Hall, and thanked him for his generous hospitality. Kenny’s step-mom was at the Gering Civic Center, displaying her work at the OTD Art Show and Sale. We were so eager for $2 Barbecue Beef Sandwiches.
We left the house at 7:30, right after what would be the nightly hour-long severe thunderstorm. “That’s the panhandle weather,” our Nebraska hosts assured us as we parked a block from the street party. We left the car and immediately lost Kenny. It would not be the only time.
Gering is a small town. While the Twin Cities (Scottsbluff and Gering) are Nebraska’s 8th largest metropolitan area, they are only slightly more populous than my hometown Harrisburg school district, Susquehanna Township. 22,483 to 21,895. Needless to say, everybody knows everybody.
Within an hour we were the “couple from Pennsylvania”. No need to explain where we were from. No need to explain who we were with. No need to show ID’s to get into the beer garden the following night. We were new faces in town. Thursday night was lots of fun.
Friday went as planned. We saw Trail Ruts created by the early pioneers. We hiked to the top of Scotts Bluff Monument in the searing dry 98° heat, intently listening to the rattling sounds all around us. “Is that a rattlesnake?” we must have asked our friends 18 or so times. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” was what I gathered from their taunting answers. Midwesterners are very funny. Oh, and in case you were wondering, there is no such thing as a jackalope.
A helpful National Parks shuttle bus picked us up at the top of the Monument. We were the only group who had utilized the bus in our curious manner. All other parties had shuttled up and walked down. We walked up and shuttled down. The young volunteer girl driver chuckled at our route before agreeing that it was a good way to do it.
Gab asked her about the rattlesnakes. We had stopped trying to get a straight answer from Bruce. “Were there a lot?” “Oh yeah,” she said. “I saw one on my third hike up the Monument. It was just as scared as I was.” She went on to explain how they don’t even bike up the Monument anymore during OTD because they don’t want to harm any rattlers. Bruce asked, “are they endangered or something?” His question went unanswered. We had just entered a tunnel and our request to beep the van’s horn was being fulfilled.
We returned to the OTD beer garden later that Friday under ominous navy blue skies. “Tornados?” we asked. “Probably not, just thunderstorms. The lightning looks to be north of here,” Bruce answered, but it might as well have been anyone else in Gering. All Nebraskans seem to be amateur meteorologists.
Of course he was right. We stood outside in awe for nearly an hour. The lightning struck in formations I had never seen. Sky-wide cobwebs, thick jagged cylinders, massive fluorescent bursts, light switch on brightness. Amazing stuff. Grander than any fireworks display. Gab and I just watched, mouths agape. Gering just mingled; backs turned and heads down. They were used to it.
Then the skies opened up. We rushed underneath an awning, securing a crowded but dry spot. We had just missed the deluge. Others were not so lucky. We spent the next forty-five minutes in the same spot unable to move. We were bumped and jostled by people trying to find shelter. We played the wall to an amorous, tipsy couple. We shared conversations with the lucky ones surrounding us. We became unofficial citizens of Gering. It was great.
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