Shamrock Texas, Highway 83

Covered most of Highway 83 in Texas this time around, with a few Route 66 side trips along the way, but had trouble knowing where to start reporting on this leg of the journey.  So after months of indecision, here I am, at the nexis/cosmic convergence/belly button of the American Highway system, where those two mythical roads, the Highway 83/road to nowhere and the Route 66/mother road meet, in Shamrock, Texas which was the focal point of our trip after all.  This is a factoid that would be of interest to only a select few for whom this intersection would be of interest, but if you are one of those people, here we are.  I have dreamed of this moment for years, staring at maps, planning, scheming, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before (with apologies to E.A.P).  Letting my mind run wild with speculation.  Would 2 days in Shamrock even be enough?  Jackie said it would be more than enough, and as always, she was right.

Its always good to have a marker of where you are, and the folks in Shamrock obliged, well aware of their significance.

The next group of postings, starting in Shamrock will cover the trip, but in no particular spacial or chronological order.  Tried that before and it was stifling so will just follow my nose.  Like all historical towns we have visited, Shamrock is a shadow of what it was both functionally and as a practical entity. At one time, anyone heading west on 66 passed through Shamrock, ate, slept, bought gas and provision and communed with fellow sojourners for a precious few hours.  Now interstate 40 has rendered Shamrock invisible and irrelevant to all but the true believers.  Now its all Taco Bell, McDonald's, Holiday Inn/Hampton Inn/Motel 6 et al, at the outskirts of an eviscerated downtown pocked by empty store after empty store, clustered around a Dollar General, which is nothing more than a downsized Walmart.  

That's Highway 83 running through the middle of town...

The ubiquitous Dollar General, at the center of all small towns, providing minimum wage to the thankful otherwise unemployed who they put out on the streets when they sucked the life out of local small merchants and then held themselves up as saviors providing shit jobs selling cheap chinese shit at cheap prices.  Pay them low wages, sell them the cheap shit they can afford, and everyone is happy?

The Conoco station.  Now a visitor's information center and the reason most people stop here.

And finally, this fantastic grain elevator.  I was not disappointed with Shamrock as you might imagine reading this.  It was just as one might expect in this day and age, and I have now seen it after all these years.

                                                                           Pablo

Highway 83...When you come to a fork in the road...

take it, as Yogi Berra is reputed to have said.   Our fork came at the intersection of the 2 and 83 in Thedford.  Although we were planning to do the 2 from Alliance to Grand Island as the last leg of our journey, we followed this often photographed sign which contributes nothing new and interesting to those familiar with  Highway 83, but is important for continuity.

So, first to Thedford on the 2 to check it out with apparently unremarkable results and no pictures to show other than this Highway 2 sign...

and then north for 66 miles as the sign says, to Valentine.  This is a particularly lonely stretch of Nebraska with no towns along the way.  If you are at the intersection of 2 and 83 and need time to plan your next move, you can have a coffee at the Arrowhead Cafe and motel...

Unfortunately, the signs are alot more interesting than the motel or cafe which appear to be part of a

plain, boxy 1970's vintage motel that seemed clean and serviceable, but not much more.  Would have taken a picture anyway, but the sun was behind the building, with the facade in the shadows, so, no picture.  The elevated highway over the tracks is the 83 which we took as soon as I got these pictures.

You would think that with 66 miles of Sandhills ahead of us I would have more than these few pictures to show for it, but I don't, I still didn't have any idea about the significance of where we were.

How could a person be blogging about Nebraska and not have at least one obligatory photograph of the omnipresent windmill water pumps that dot the landscape, so here it is!!!  Needed to get that out of my system, but till now, couldn't find one that fit the paradigm.  Was lucky to find such a fine example, so well situated along the way.

Or another photo of the landscape, although admittedly, this one was taken on last years trip.  Somewhere about 17 miles south of Valentine, we turned onto the 16 B spur, thinking that we wanted to see something there, but changed our minds and got back on the 83.  This is the last picture I took before we got to Valentine.

                                                                             Pablo

Highway 83, Thedford or bust...

Out of Stapleton, and back on the 83 on our way to Thedford, 35 miles  to the north, we were enjoying the monotony of the Sand Hills and the fields surrounded by millions of miles of barbed wire...

when we came upon a sign for a turnoff to a scenic overlook.  Along the road you see many such signs announcing historic markers half a mile ahead, authentic pioneer homesteads two mile in on route 92, scenic overlook, half a mile ahead, etc.  After one or two disappointing experiences you tend to overlook these enticements at 65 mph, but as fate would have it, Jackie and I looked at each other and said lets check it out.

Don't know what's going on with the exposure here, maybe its the altitude, but this overlook afforded us a birds eye view of Highway 83 overpassing the Dismal River which runs about 10 miles south of Thedford and converges with the Loup River soon after that.  Did a lot of googling and looked into a guidebook or two, but could find no real explanation of why the river is called Dismal.  It is certainly nice enough and the surrounding landscape is lush and fertile.  Maybe it was just how the pioneers were feeling after traveling in broken down wagons for a thousand miles and they were still in the middle of nowhere, but then again that could describe just about everything they experienced on the westward journey back then, and that's if they were lucky, and certainly there are a lot more dismal places that this along the prairies, so there goes that theory.  Anyway, on to Thedford.

Not sure why, but the only picture I have of Thedford is this sign welcoming us.  I know we stopped in town, as we did last year while doing Route 2 before turning north to the Dakotas, but no picture then either, except the sign.  Don't know why, but there is a pattern here that needs to be checked out next time around.

I'm no cowboy poet, but I do write when the spirit moves me, and I mean that literally.   All that heat, it averaged over 90 for most of our visit, quite unusual for early June, all that barbed wire, the pervasive smell of the prairie air, maybe some sense of disappointment regarding Thedford, whatever...

                                               Even here, in the midst of these

                                                       soft rolling waves of indecision,

                                               punctuated by barbed wire and

                                                       menacing signs of exclusion,

                                               it was the silence, above all

                                                       that prevailed

                                               and the warm persistent hum

                                                       of curried air

                                               hanging soft and heavy in the hypnotic 

                                                       shimmer of that midwest afternoon

                                               that induced a reluctance to be even

                                                       a small part of those whispered remnants

                                               of old conversations.

                                                                           Pablo

Highway 83, North through Logan County...

If I had only known that it was "that" Highway 83 at the time, I would have paid more attention as we zipped through the city of North Platte, stopping in some little park only long enough to have a sandwich, but not long enough to take a picture.  In my defense, it was quite overcast at the time with a light drizzle, so as always, next time....

About 30 miles north, in the heart of Logan County, where the sun seemed to be shining,

was the town of Stapleton, about half a mile west of the 83, and a small town full of surprises.  After passing the gas station at the start of town, we didn't expect much, and were glad we still had half a tank.

But they have a post office, a great specialty food/gift shop selling mostly Nebraska made stuff called Heavenly Creations, a very stylish woman's clothes store/design studio with an interesting selection of fashions called Sublime Boutique, a hair salon, Frey's general store, that was authentically right out of the 1940's, a CPA, and a great little mini supermarket with a good sandwich shop inside and an engaging funny staff, and some other shops that slip my mind at the moment, but considering the location and my lowered expectations it was a pleasant surprise.

And a VFW Hall that serves beer and burgers to all, no questions asked, regardless of your status as a veteran or non-veteran.   Remaining viable is the name of the game in this tough economy.  And besides, we all do our part in our own ways to keep America, America.

Its hard to tell by looking at the east side of the main drag that was sun llit when we were there, but this is an interesting place to visit.

On the left, you  can kind of see the market.  Great sandwichs!!!  As far as isolated small towns go, this place is doing a good job in the struggle to remain relevant.  Stop by and give them your business.

Pablo

Highway 83...Mayfield

Somewhere about 32 miles north of McCook, about half a mile off the 83 is the town of Mayville, "Nebraska's Best Kept secret", self proclaimed, but an attribute that could easily be attributed to most of the towns and villages of Nebraska and even Nebraska itself, "Nebraska, America's best kept secret".  But maybe that is the magic of the place.

About a quarter mile in from the 83, as we headed down the side road into town, was this barn.  Nebraska is full of barns of all sorts, and coming from upstate New York, barns are ubiquitous and hold no particular interest to me in general,  photographically anyway, so I rarely if ever take pictures of them.  But for some reason, this Mayville barn caught my eye, and the rest is history, as they say....

Down the road you could see the town, the grain elevators, a church steeple, and the main street which was at least 50% abandoned.  There was a small market and a bar, both on the right side of the street, so I'm not sure who was getting the Bud Light delivery, maybe both.  This is the main street.  I guess people make the drive down to McCook for everything else.

These buildings are to my left, next to the metal shed of a structure on the left in the Bud Light picture, empty, and there's not much else, except of course the post office rounds out the picture of what was once a vibrant little agricultural community. 

Still, if I had realized that Maywood was going to be part of a bigger picture, I would have spent more time.  There's always the nagging feeling that I should have done more.  Next time, as always.  I'm starting to think there's a Highway 38 project in my future .  

                                                                       Pablo

North on Highway 83 from McCook...

Spent the night in McCook, the "Go To City of Southwestern Nebraska".  Don't know what it means, or who makes these things up, but I suppose it makes sense to someone.

McCook is one of those moderately large sized towns that were once railroad hubs, were quite prosperous centers of commerce and community, and while they no longer serve the function for which they initially evolved , they are still well maintained and struggling for an identity and sense of purpose.  Just spent the morning, walked around and had coffee at Sehnert's Bakery which I had been looking forward to.  Just about everything there that was not bread was deep fried, but our travels through rural Nebraska would indicate that out there, this is considered good eatin'.  The main reason we look forward to our stays in McCook, is the great Sumatra coffee at Sehnert's.  Always pleasant surprise.

While I did mention below that I needed to take some pictures of the other side of the street some afternoon, next time around,  I did find this photo I took last year sitting under the tree at Snert's, as we like to call it, drinking a cup of sumatra.  As I imagined, the other side of the street looks about the same as this side.  That's our rented car in front there.

While this is not meant to be an exhaustive overview of McCook, the rest of the town does not vary much from the photos shown, so you get the idea.  Clean, and well maintained for the most part, like so many once important main streets, and in search of an identity now that the soul sucking box stores parked along the highways at the edge of town have stolen their reason for being.  The main street in McCook, Norris Avenue is paved in brick and gently slopes down to the railroad tracks.  These photos cover close to one block on the side of the street the sun was shining on.  The other side, which was shadowed, and not photogenic at the time, looked kind of the same.  Lots of empty storefronts,  lots of people trying to make a go of it.  Didn't know I would be doing a Highway 83 thing when we were in McCook, so I will try to get back,  next time as always, if there is one.  

                                                                   Pablo

Nebraska, Highway 83...

                                                             

As you can probably tell from the last posting (Sinclair Gas), we are back in Nebraska for another extended amble around the state.  The Sandhills are addictive.  It is always hard to know where to start but it turned out that Highway 83 seemed as good a place as any.  I'm sure that by now, we have seen more of Nebraska than almost any one who is not a state employee, and since I got side tracked and distracted somewhere during my report of our last trip,  I hope for a more comprehensive report this time, but who knows.  Anyway, here's hoping...

     

There are many historic roads in America with stories to tell and sights to be seen, ranging from the A1A that runs along the Atlantic coast of south Florida all the way down to Key West,  to the Pacific Coast Highway along the ragged California coast, and everything in between.   We didn't know it until we were at the end of our journey along the way, but the "in between" route we were on was Highway 83, one of those quietly cult, hypnotically captivating, very American, roads that literally take you through the middle of nowhere,  which was where I needed to be and you probably do too if you had any sense.  If I had only known at the onset, I would have paid a little more attention, maybe.   As it was I did a pretty good job of seeing what there was to see, but to paraphrase Pierre Teilhard de Jardin, experience produces evermore perfect eyes in a world in which there is always more to see, so as always, next time..next time...next time.  It would be nice to get it right the first time.  Till then, intellectual rationalization and quoting obscure 20th century philosophers will have to do.  

Originally, called the Great Plains Highway, before they started to number US roads, the 83 ran in fits and starts, from Swan River,  Manitoba, Canada straight down through the Dakotas, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas,  into Mexico where it enters at Matamoros,  where I lost track of it, possibly because of all the murder and mayhem going on down there,  I won't be going down there anytime soon.   Our time on the 83 was primarily in Nebraska where it bisects the Sandhills, and actually the entire country,  as you can see if you felt like looking at a map.

Throughout the states, it has been designated as a Blue Star Highway to honor those who have served in the armed forces.

I'm not always as attentive to details as I should be, particularly since I did not find out the significance of the 83 till we were at the end of it (for us) in Valentine, NE,, so I had to backtrack on map and cross reference things with my photos to get things right.  It would appear that we picked up the 83 in Northern Kansas after a quick jog south on the 383 into Kansas so that we could check out a little town called Long Island since we come from L.I., NY.  

It was neither long, nor an island, nor much of a town, and it was quite overcast when we got there, and the only person I saw in town to ask questions about this was quite pleasant and engaging, but didn't speak any english.  Go figure.  So I took this overcast picture of the post office 

which I like to do, and we continued on in a mostly cloudy Kansas along the 383 to the 36, where we picked up the Highway 83 in Oberlin and headed north  crossing the border at about 2 pm.   I know this because as we crossed over, the sun began to shine and the first 2 photos I took were of route 89 which is the southernmost intersecting road in Nebraska

and this beauty, about 3/4 of a mile north of the 89, which I did make a point of noting ...

Still south of the Sandhills, this section of Nebraska is good farm land for growing wheat, corn, hay, and whatever else.

 I didn't seem to take any other photos of note on the 27 mile stretch between the Kansas border and McCook, the town where we were spending the night, because it had been a long day, having traveled all the way from Red Cloud that morning and I seemed to spend the day playing hide and seek with the clouds which can be exhausting and frustrating in ways only another photographer could appreciate.

Thus began the beginning of our journey on the historic Great Plains Highway, the 83, little did we know at the time.  To be continued.  Also, thanks to Stew Magnuson for the great background information on his U.S. Route 83 Travel Page web site.  Check it out!!!

                                                                Pablo