The Platte River Gazette

By Matthew Scott

“Rollin’, rollin’,rollin’. Keep those RV’s rollin’! Road trip!”

[OK, I really shouldn’t call this account a ‘gazette’. It’s something of a journal or a diary. But I can’t write in a ‘stream-of-consciousness’ style when I’m up the creek without a paddle.]

A great gathering of recreational vehicles. A mighty motorcade. A caravan. A celebration of the epic 19th Century journeys to the faraway, legendary Willamette Valley. Not the cumbersome covered wagons of yesteryear (with their tattered canvas covers),nor the stodgy station wagons of the last century, but the sleek SUV’s and mammoth RV’s, the land yachts of today’s America.

Do we need a scout, a guide for our journey?

How about Natty Bumppo? He spent some time on the prairie.

Problem – he was a fictional character, not real. Besides, I think he retired to a cottage near Walden Pond in Massachusetts.

Well, then, what about Davy Crockett? He was a real person.

I hear he’s gone soft. Since he returned from Texas, he just spends his time driving his Corvette around Chattanooga.

We don’t really need a guide anyway. We have some good road maps and GPS. We’ll do fine.

Scores of travelers, dozens of large vehicles. We, the Scott family (myself Matthew, my wife Betty, pre-teen daughter Scarlett and young son Wyatt) were part of this procession across the plains. The group set forth upon the Oregon (or Emigrant) Trail from Council Bluffs, Iowa to the Willamette Valley in Oregon. Our journey began when we crossed the Missouri River on the Mormon Pioneer Memorial Bridge between Pottawattamie County, Iowa and Omaha, Nebraska. In Omaha, our group split into two portions; the largest RV’s continued on major highways to Fremont; smaller vehicles (including ourselves) took to city streets to reach a portion of the original alignment of the Lincoln Highway. This historic bit of roadway is paved with bricks!

The two sections of our cavalcade reunited at Fremont, on the Platte River. From there, we traveled west on the Lincoln Highway (at this point, designated US30) toward Grand Island. About an hour after leaving Fremont, we reached Columbus! WTH? Did we somehow turn east and, with amazing speed, find ourselves in Ohio? Now, calm down! Betty examined the road map and found that there is indeed a Columbus, Nebraska.

From Columbus, US30 took us southwest along the Platte River. After about 50 minutes, as we neared Grand Island, we reached the turnoff for Marquette. NO!!! We can’t possibly be in Wisconsin! On our decades-old CB radio, I asked our traveling companions where we were.

Another member of our caravan responded.

“I’m from Marquette, in the Mitten State. I have a cottage there.”

“Huh? The Mitten State? Do you mean Michigan? But Marquette University is in Wisconsin.”

“Yes, Marquette University is in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. But, my hometown is Marquette, a port on Lake Superior, on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Actually, there are quite a few places named after Pere Jacques Marquette, a 17th-century missionary and explorer. In a way, it’s like the dozens of places named after DeWitt Clinton, the New York governor who promoted the Erie Canal.”

Near Grand Island, we had the opportunity to get onto Interstate 80, which runs along the Platte River to the city of North Platte. However, we decided to take the older, slower (and parallel) US30, which is still the route of the Lincoln Highway. Either road would take us to North Platte and on to Ogallala.

Wyatt and Scarlett soon lost interest in the sight of cottonwood trees by the river, and of reddish Hereford cattle in nearby fields. “Hey, when do we get to see some bison?” “And I want to see buffalo!” However, they continued to be thrilled when large insects, such as grasshoppers, splattered on the windshield.

We took a break for lunch and general R&R at Kearney. First, we visited the Great Platte River Road Archway, a large monument celebrating the history of the Platte River valley as a transcontinental travel route. Then, we drove into Kearney. At a supermarket, we bought the ingredients for a picnic lunch – a fresh baguette, soft white bread for the kids, peanut butter (and jelly, of course), eggs, and bottles of root beer for all of us. Then we drove over to Yanney Heritage Park for a picnic lunch.

In our vehicle’s minuscule galley, Betty prepared PB&J sandwiches for the kids and omelette baguettes for herself and me. After lunch, our bairns ran off to the playground, with its slides and swings and climbing towers. As Betty and I relaxed in the shade of a massive cottonwood tree, we were joined by another family, the Pattersons, who were also making the great road trip to commemorate the Oregon Trail. Their Irish Setter, Reagan, chased squirrels and small birds around the park, while their adolescent daughter, Charlotte, sat quietly under a tree and read a book of poetry. When the children and the dog had worn themselves out, our two families strolled through the gardens, chatted, and watched the butterflies as they fluttered about.

We enjoyed our visit to Kearney so much that we decided to stop there for the night. We found a campground that accepted our RV. That evening, we attended an open-air musical performance in one of the city’s many parks.

In the morning, after a breakfast of omelettes and buttermilk biscuits, we decamped and hit the road on our way to North Platte and Scottsbluff. Just west of North Platte, we passed the town of Hershey. The kids were excited by the idea of stopping there for chocolate; they were crestfallen when I explained that the chocolates came from Hershey, Pennsylvania, not from this small town on the Great Plains.

At Ogallala, we left the Lincoln Highway, and turned northwest, taking US26 along the North Platte River towards Scottsbluff. What’s this? Not quite 45 miles from Ogallala, we came to Oshkosh! By Gosh! We drove past Chimney Rock and the impressive rocky outcrops at Scotts Bluff. Although the day’s drive had taken only four hours, we were all a bit grumpy when we stopped for the evening.

“Daddy, we’re bored! Can’t we do something fun, instead of just riding in our RV all day?”

“Well, I guess this trip hasn’t turned out to be as interesting as I had expected. Maybe we’ll head home tomorrow.”

“Yaayy!”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea for a game for you two. How many words can you think of that have two “t’s” together, like ‘bottom’ or ‘lettuce’?

“Oh, I know! A litter of kittens”

“Wow, that’s really good!”

“Can we use names, like ‘Scarlett Scott’?”

“Sure!”

Scarlett took out her smartyphone and accessed my ‘Plate River Gazette’. She ran a quick character count and found 75 examples of the double ‘t’ scattered throughout that short journal entry.

The next day, we headed home. The kids were quite absorbed in their quest for double t’s.