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We arrived in Glenwood Springs after sunset, had dinner at a cute—but casual—steak house, then called it an early night. We slept the same way we did when Beau showed up at my place late at night, since the room only had one bed. Within minutes of taking a shower and my head hitting the pillow, I fell asleep. When I woke in the middle of the night, Wanda was nestled between Beau and me. Like always, he slept on top of the bedclothes, covered by a spare blanket.
I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of liked it. This adventure we were on was so far out of my comfort zone that having Beau beside me, even knowing he was in the room, soothed me enough that falling asleep wasn’t the problem it might otherwise be.
We left earlythe following morning, and like the day before, once on the road, I slept for at least three hours. With Beau’s blessing, of course.
We drove through Kearney, Nebraska, deciding to try to get as far as Lincoln, instead. Given it was the capital of the state, we hoped it meant it had more to offer in terms of restaurants and lodging.
Honestly, I wouldn’t have cared. There came a point when my hunger reached a level where I was ready to suggest we find a drive-thru fast-food place. Figuring Beau would be disgusted, I refrained.
“You have your choice of burgers or tacos at the next exit. What will it be? Wait. Don’t answer that. Burgers it is,” he said, looking at something on his phone.
“Is the taco place closed?”
He shook his head.
“Then, why did you nix it?”
“Think about it. Tacos? In Nebraska?”
“I’m not following.”
“The state is known for three things. Agriculture, corn, and beef production. Although they could all be considered agriculture. Scratch that.” He took a deep breath. “Nebraska is known for three things. Agriculture, Warren Buffett, and the College Baseball World Series.”
By the time he finished that diatribe, I’d gone past the exit. “What does any of that have to do with tacos?”
“It is not known for tortilla production.”
“How do you know? The second thing you listed in your initial top three was corn.”
“And?”
“Corn tortillas? Corn chips?”
He shrugged. “I suppose you make a good point. However, I’m not in the mood for tacos.”
My eyes opened wide. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”
“I didn’t know I felt that strongly about it then.”
“But you do now?”
“It’s all the talk about corn.” He shuddered. “Not a fan.”
“How about pizza?” I asked, pointing at the highway sign indicating we could find it at the next exit.
“That’s fine since we’re not in Chicago.”
I shook my head. “I don’t even want to ask.”
“Cornmealcrust.” He shuddered again.
“Snow?”I exclaimed when we were about an hour outside of Lincoln.
“I would call this a light dusting, but yes, it could be defined as snowfall.”
Temperatures in Cambria could drop as low as freezing, but that was unusual. Typically, at this time of year, lows were in the mid forties. However, it felt colder simply because of the frigid wind coming off the Pacific Ocean. I’d packed sweaters, sweatshirts, and my heaviest jackets, which Beau assured me would be sufficient. If necessary, he’d said we’d shop for warmer outerwear either in Chicago or East Aurora.
When we arrived at our destination, Beau pulled up as close as he could get to the hotel’s entrance and instructed me to go straight inside.
