“47 white buffalo”

“47 white buffalo”


looking for a short cut to Wall

How sane is that?

seeing yellow road gate open

it’s an irrational driving choice

Sage Creek Road under ice

lures with access

Badlands on a still winter day

5, 3, 2, 1 miles an hour

who needs speed when

47 snow whitened buffalo lounging

on, beside, across the frozen road

turn and stare



A cool gift~ Nebraska in December.

Nebraska in December

If you’re boiling and broiling like we are in the Kansas City Metro—and in Russia where there’s a deadly recipe of HEAT, drought, smog, fire, vodka–yes vodka plus swimming adds up to drowning–and a lack of firefighters, this is my little gift today. Imagine you’re driving along an old state highway  in Nebraska in December and the winds are so strong across the open road that you’ve got to stop to rest your hands from gripping the steering wheel hard in order to not have the car blown, literally blown, off the road. Then, not thinking about the fact that you weigh much less than your car, you decide to try to photograph the wind from outside the car. Quickly you realize that this is only possible from an upright position maintained by wedging yourself between the open car door and the main frame of the auto.  Yeah. Cooler?  If not, there’s always your freezer–or the freezer department in your local faux food frozen food aisle. Or Chopin on the rocks. Odd to think of drinking a Polish pianist. But add his Nocturnes to the iced distilled potatoes and–it’s not just Nebraska in December that’s chilly.

Joyride or Another Ed Adventure in Driving

Ah yes, talk about indulging in guilty pleasures: some people indulge in triple chocolate ice cream, others wallow in fine Polish vodka—yeah, all things Chopin, and others pursue an escape from the insanity of this American Life via illegal substances.  I indulge in relating  tales, not from the crypt, but from the escapades of the little brother I never wanted. It’s true, I confess to going on a tantrum deluxe when I learned that my mother had given birth to, eegads, a boy. I was swimming in boy cousins from sunrise to sunset and their nefarious deads by the dark of the moon and in broad daylight–quite gleefully too as they remind me at every funeral we meet at these days. Yeah, I helped paint Uncle Tommy’s car white, inside and out and the gas tank too. So what? That didn’t mean I needed yet another vandalizing minded imp to romp with. But I digress….back to Ed, yes, the same baby goat bottle feeder of another post.  Some people pursue their fifteen minutes of fame, catch it and are satisfied. Not so with Ed. He got his fifteen minutes of fame, albeit small town fame–or infamy depending on your perspective–several times and then again and again and again. This particular tale lasted much longer than fifteen minutes and the fame has followed him for decades ever since.  If he’d really wanted to evade it then he ought to have migrated out of them there backwoods and into a nice big big city and commenced to obey all traffic laws all the time.  He did not. He eventually got himself to the point where he was prohibited from driving even a riding lawn-mower. Yep, true stuff—no mechanical horsepower at all for Ed–unless he wanted to do time in the local pokey. 

Lots of folks like to watch cars race round and round a track. Not my brother. He doesn’t like to watch cars race at all. Nope. He likes to race them. But not around a track. And he has no interest in NASCAR driving competition methods. No, my brother has more invested fish to fry on an engine.  Now what I, a non-car worshipper–though I do relish going fast, faster and fastest too–recall about this most delightful speed demon dream was that it was a four door blue Mercury with fourth gear of 1950s origin–and the capacity to attract the jealous attention of local authorities. 

Hwy 13 is a long and often straight highway that runs past a 24/7 truck stop with a huge billboard sign squatting low to the ground at the south end–a perfect speed trap location if there ever was one. Ed knew this well. Ed did not care about this fact. Why did  Ed not care about the nearly always staffed truck stop billboard speed trap? Ed did not care because he had infinite confidence not only in the ability of his Mercury to beat out any automobile for miles around, he also had infinite confidence in his ability to out drive any other driver, local gun toting authorities included, for miles and miles around.

So, on one summer afternoon Ed gleefully offered a ride to the middle-aged farmgate peddler who made the mistake of admiring said vintage Mercury. In less than a minute the Mercury was clocked at 90 miles per  hour and rising by the truck stop billboard speed trapping officer on duty. Said small town policemen immediately went on the usual fundraiser. Brother Ed duly noted the flashing lights attempting to close the distance between him and said officer. Brother Ed grinned and assured the farmgate peddler that all would be well–as he slammed on the gas and shifted gears and increased the distance between himself and the gun toting speed trapper.  I  don’t think it’s necessary to relate at great length just what a gun toter in pursuit of a speeder who won’t stop speeding is likely to do. In short,  back-up was requested.  And back-up came in the form of State level gun toters in fast cars. This only sweetened the pot in brother Ed’s eyes. He was so delighted with the new arrivals that he decided to take them to his favorite fishing spot, then then down the dying so called road to the banned bridge crossing, and then through the dairy farm, through the cornfields, over the river and into the woods and out to the turkey farm. I suppose curiousity kept them gun toters  following him even when there was no road to follow on.  They invited some guys in a crop plane to play along and then some fellows with a helicopter too. 

It was the helicopter that put an end to all the fast fast fun when it got lucky and anticipated correctly brother Ed’s intended path and set itself down to block the way.  As all the gun toting parties gathered around with guns no longer toted but out and ready, brother Ed exited the Mercury, happy as a catnip stuffed cat, and said, “Hey, you guys wannna go again? That was fun! You’d have never have caught me if I hadn’t messed up fourth gear on last night’s run.”


More Ed: “New Star Trek Stunt brings back memories”;  “Yet Another Ed and his Car Adventure”  –and more Ed on the way–oh yes indeedy!


Agitate, Educate, and Organize ~OO~


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