Flying solo now, having dropped Belinda and the boys at DIA. From Denver, I could theoretically make it home in two days of hard driving (I once drove from Lander, WY, to Atlanta in two days), but I headed northeast into Nebraska, planning to wander through Nebraska’s Sand Hills on my way to Iowa and the Mississippi . . . a little out of the way to the north, perhaps, but not that much in the big scheme of things.
The Sand Hills are every bit as lonely as I had hoped; imagine a huge dune sea like the Sahara (that’s what it was in the last ice age), only covered in grass. But I found myself missing the boys . . . they really enjoyed Nebraska on the way out, and this part of the state is something special, again. Plus, I had huge thunderstorms going off to the left and right for hours (nothing scary, though . . . how nice that my Subaru radio includes NOAA weather along with standard AM and FM so I’m able to keep up). And my road follows the BNSF main line bringing Wyoming coal to the rest of the nation, so I see train after train after train. The boys would love this, I think.
But then I get a call from Belinda in one of the few places where I’m able to get a cell signal . . . she and the boys are on the ground in Atlanta but are on the way to the hospital, as Andrew’s foot has been grabbed by an airport escalator (evidently, Crocs are known for this) and his toes are messed up. I get intermittent updates for the next couple of hours as I put the pedal to the metal (like it makes any difference) and drive on into a stormy night. Last I heard, he was going to have surgery tonight but that things were hopefully going to be okay.
I get no cell signal here, and my room in this otherwise cute little hotel (has to be the only one for fifty miles around . . . I was starting to get worried) has no phone. Talk about feeling alone and helpless. Andrew, hang in there, little guy! I’ll get through to you tomorrow.