The Place
When you really gaze at something, you bring it inside of you. John O’Donohue
**September 22, 2020.** The COVID-19 pandemic was raging out of control, the Black Lives Matter protests continued across the country, and the nation was divided by a hate-filled presidential election. Fear and uncertainty engulfed the people.
It was also our 30th wedding anniversary. Our priority was to forget the world’s problems, let go of anxiety, and focus on each other. John and I decided to do what we loved best—ride our motorcycles.
We suited up in jeans, t-shirts, sturdy riding boots, gloves, and helmets. We packed rain gear and warmer coats into the saddlebags and left at 11 a.m. to enjoy the warming fall air. Our destination was Crawford, NE, located 120 miles south, with a population of just 947.
Eighty-five miles down the road, on Highway 385 in Nebraska, John rode in the lead on his red 2016 Harley Davidson Road King. I followed on my blue 2016 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic, feeling the strong vibrations of the engine hum through me. The wind whipped my body, the noise of the bike and road enveloped me, and the sweet smell of the land filled the air. I gently pushed and pulled the handlebars to glide effortlessly around sweeping curves.
As we crested a hill, my mind emptied, the road faded, and the pristine prairie opened before me. It felt like a place where all the stories of the past and all the stories yet to come would be held. An endless sea of green, brown, and golden grasses rippled in the breeze, blanketing the rolling countryside. Meadowlarks foraged for crickets, ants, and grasshoppers, while leafy trees stood like lonely sentinels under a canopy of cornflower blue, gradually deepening into azure as they kissed the earth on the horizon. Wisps of mares' tails swirled through the sky while hawks played high above in the thermals. The brilliant sun witnessed this beautiful unfolding.
Gratitude, joy, peace, awe, exhilaration, and connection washed over me, and tears were gently dried in the warm winds of the plains.
Fifteen miles later, we turned west and quickly reached our destination: Dairy Sweet—a small, grimy roadside café with a gravel parking lot, rickety picnic benches, and a faded sign perched along Highway 20 just outside Crawford. Two screened windows at the café allowed customers to place and pick up orders. As we parked and dismounted, the smell of deep-fried food, hot grills, and dust greeted us, and we joined a small line of patrons eager to enjoy the beautiful day outdoors.
We toasted our love with red oval plastic baskets lined with wax paper and filled with greasy burgers, fries, and onion rings. Chocolate malts in Styrofoam cups and twist ice cream cones topped off our decadent meal. We reminisced about growing up in Scottsbluff, NE, and cruising Main Street as teenagers on Friday nights. McDonald’s on 27th Street was our turnaround point. The hangout. Crowded with dramatic teens laughing and running from car to car, inside and out. The air was thick with the smell of Coca-Cola, Big Macs, fries, and malts. We recalled first dates and dramatic breakups, girls preening in rearview mirrors or crowding into the tiny bathroom to fix their makeup and hair, gossip, cry, or plot how to win over the guy they wanted. Meanwhile, the harried manager constantly tried to clear loiterers out to make room for paying customers.
We shared laughter and stories about old friendships and how we met at ages 17 and 20. John jokingly accused me of nearly running him over in a convenience store parking lot with my 1984 Toyota Celica while I adamantly denied ever coming close. This playful argument has become a cherished part of our courtship story.
As we reflected on our journey together and pondered our hopes and dreams, the sun slowly began to dip toward the western horizon—our cue to put on our helmets and gloves, throw a leg over our bikes, bid farewell to the grubby hole-in-the-wall café, and head north. At that moment, a piece of our history became part of the story of this place, where the prairie, with its endless sea of green, brown, and golden grasses, rippled in the breeze, blanketing the rolling countryside.
© 2013-2024 Kelly Marker, Charlie’s Wisdom All Rights Reserved
The information and material on this blog are based on my personal opinions and experiences. It is not intended as professional mental health advice. The ideas and strategies should never be used without first assessing your mental health situation or without consulting a mental health professional. My thoughts and opinions will continue to evolve and change as I grow and learn.
