On the Road: North Platte, Nebraska

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote:  Originally published on Blogger on July 11, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Almost through Nebraska, Littourati! Click on the image to see how far we've come!

Book Quote

"The greatest ride in my life was about to come up, a truck, with a flatboard at the back, with about six or seven boys sprawled out on it, and the drivers, two young blond farmers from Minnesota, were picking up every single soul they found on the road....'Whooee, here we go!' yelled a kid in a baseball cap, and they gunned up to seventy and passed everybody on the road....I was glad when the two Minnesota farmboys who owned the truck decided to stop in North Platte and eat...'Pisscall!' said one. 'Time to eat!' said the other. But they were the only ones in the party who had money to buy food....Montana Slim and the two high school boys wandered the streets with me till I found a whiskey store....Tall sullen men watched us go by from false-front buildings; the main street was lined with square box houses. There were immense vistas of the plains beyond every sad street. I felt something different in the air in North Platte, I didn't know what it was. In five minutes I did....'What in the hell is this?' I cried out to Slim. 'This is the beginning of the rangelands, boy. Hand me another drink.'"

On the Road, Chapter 4

North Platte, Nebraska

Once again, we are left with these little snippets of towns in On the Road that don't really correspond to the rich details that are available. Of course, simply passing through town, Jack Kerouac may have not picked up this information -- Sal certainly didn't. But the North Platte Canteen, as you can see below in the links, served up beverages and food to 6 million soldiers passing through by train during World War II, closing in 1946 (just a year before Sal travels through).

In Sal's mind, he is looking on "sad" streets filled with rows of box houses. In reality, from everything I read, this town was full of spirit, with up to 50,000 volunteers staffing the North Platte Canteen during the time it was open. Perhaps Sal is overwhelmed by the plains just beyond -- the rangelands, as Slim calls them -- and in his hurry to get to Denver does not get a true feel of the town. I don't know any of this other than that delving into the places he stops, I find a lot of things that Sal (and Jack) miss about the America that they profess to want to discover.

On the other hand, it is easy for me to be hard on Sal for not being me, for not responding to a place like I would. Sal's goal, to get to Denver, is within sight. He is passing time with a number of other "beat" characters on the back of a flatboard pickup driven by two slightly insane farm boys. After a ride like he describes, perhaps I too would get off and look for the nearest liquor store. And truth be told, with the North Platte Canteen having been shut for a year by 1947, North Platte may have gone through an economic and social slump -- 6 million visitors in 5 years tends to bring lots of economic activity. Once the soldiers were gone, there very well might have been little activity and lots of sullen men glaring from storefronts.

Be that as it may, I hope following Sal through these places yields a little bit more about the America that he discovered, and that he could have discovered. Hopefully, this will enrich our understanding about the book, and about the places mentioned in it.

If you are interested in learning more about North Platte

Bailey Yard: Largest Railroad Classification Yard in the World
City of North Platte
City Data: North Platte
North Platte Bulletin (Newspaper)
North Platte Canteen
North Platte Telegraph (Newspaper)
North Platte Convention and Visitors Bureau
Wikipedia: North Platte

Next up: Ogallala, Nebraska

On the Road: Gothenburg, Nebraska

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote:  First published on Blogger on July 11, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Here's the map -- crawling across Nebraska at the speed of Sal Paradise. Click on the image if you want to see where we are now!

Book Quote

"I waited in our personal godawful Shelton for a long, long time, several hours, and I kept thinking it was getting night; actually it was only early afternoon, but dark. Denver, Denver, how would I ever get to Denver? I was just about giving up and planning to sit over coffee when a fairly new car stopped, driven by a young guy. I ran like mad.

'Where are you going?'
'Denver.' '
Well, I can take you a hundred miles up the line.'
'Grand, grand, you saved my life.'
'I used to hitchike myself, that's why I always pick up a fellow.'
'I would too if I had a car.'

And so we talked, and he told me about his life, which wasn't very interesting, and I started to sleep some and woke up right outside the town of Gothenburg, where he let me off."

On the Road:  Chapter 3

Gothenburg, Nebraska

I just learned this, and Sal Paradise doesn't mention it, but Gothenburg, the town he gets left off at, lies very close to four major historic thoroughfares across the United States. The Oregon Trail passed very close to Gothenburg, about 4 miles south of the town. The Mormon Trail also passed very close, following the north bank of the Platte River which flows just north of Gothenburg. The Pony Express Route also ran through here, which though short lived thanks to rail service that began a few years later, opened up the possibility of a country that could be unified not only in words but in commerce and communication. Also, the Overland Trail Mail Route also ran along here, following the Oregon Trail until splitting off and heading south into Colorado.

I'm not sure if Jack Kerouac knew that these former pathways were in the area when he was writing (it's kind of hard to believe that he didn't considering that he most likely completed a similar journey himself), but whether he did or not it is another important symbolic representation of Sal's journey. Sal is following in the footsteps of thousands of others who left the East and made their way, for reasons documented and undocumented, to what they hoped would be better fortunes in the West. For Sal, the reasons are more nuanced than immediate - he is not planning as far as he knows to settle in the West and make his living. But he is looking for something that will similarly bring him better fortune, and looking for people, specifically his friends, who are somewhat like himself and who had made their way West also. And as we'll see, after Shelton, where he seemed to be stuck physically and in other ways, Gothenburg becomes the opening stage for "the ride of his life," a quick burst across the plains toward his first major goal, Denver. Perhaps the confluence of all these thoroughfares, and the travelers who traversed them, reached across time and brushed Jack and his character Sal with their ghostly fingers.

If you want to know more about Gothenburg or the Oregon, Mormon and Pony Express Trails

City Data: Gothenburg
Gothenburg city website
Wikipedia: Gothenburg

All About the Oregon Trail
American West: The Oregon Trail
Oregon Trail History Library
Oregon Trail - Midway Station (near Gothenburg)
Wikipedia: The Oregon Trail

Overland Trail

National Park Service: Pony Express National Historic Trail
Pony Express History
Pony Express Trail - Gothenburg Station
Wikipedia: Pony Express

Next up: North Platte, Nebraska

On the Road: Shelton, Nebraska

Click on the Thumbnail for MapNote: First published on Blogger on July 7, 2006

Unfolding the Map

We keep inching along across the country, rolling along the Nebraska plain. Click on the image. Do it -- now!

Book Quote(s)

"Then an old man who said nothing...took us to Shelton. Here Eddie stood forlornly in the road in front of a staring bunch of short, squat Omaha Indians who had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Across the road was the railroad track and the watertank saying SHELTON. 'Damn me,' said Eddie with amazement, 'I've been in this town before. It was years ago, during the war, at night, late at night when everybody was sleeping. I went out on the platform to smoke, and there we was in the middle of nowhere and black as hell, and I look up and see that name Shelton written on the watertank. Bound for the Pacific, everybody snoring, every damn dumb sucker, and we only stayed a few minutes, stoking up or something, and off we went. Damn me, this Shelton! I hated this place ever since!' And we were stuck in Shelton.

"A tall, lanky fellow in a gallon hat stopped his car on the wrong side of the road and came over to us.... 'I own a little carnival that's pitched a few mile down the road and I'm looking for some old boys willing to work...' I said 'I don't know, I'm going as fast as I can and I don't think I have the time.'"

On the Road:  Chapter 3

Shelton, Nebraska

I can relate to two things that Sal says about Shelton, Nebraska. The first is the boredom of being in a small town where nothing is going on. His friend, Eddie, who went through once before during the War, obviously had such a reaction to the place that he remembered how much he hated it.

This is probably not the reality of Shelton. I find that when in small towns, your mood to start with helps determine how you feel about a place. If I were to put myself in Sal's shoes, I might want to hate Shelton too. Here it is, on the middle of the plains in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. Sal has been dreaming of getting to Denver and hooking up with his friends, and has made it this far. But, he's stuck in a town with the possibility that he will never get a ride, and he has a bunch of people staring at him. This combination of wanting to get to the goal, and feeling stuck, would definitely color the way he feels about a place.

The other thing that strikes me is the carnival. Places like Shelton, and the small town I grew up in, were fertile grounds for the traveling carnival. Often, small towns are hours from any type of amusement of the kind. I remember growing up that we might make a trip to San Francisco once every two to three years. The closest amusement park, Marriot's Great America, was down in that area. So for us, it was a big deal when the carnival came to town.

I have ambivalent memories about the carnival. It was a break in the old routine. Usually, some area in town was suddenly converted into a large playground, with fantastic machines whirling around and large booths filled with toys and edible treats. As a kid, I never noticed what I would notice now -- the unsafe looking machinery, the stale smells. My sister, who has a much better memory than I do about the look and smells of such places, remembers vomit smells from the poor, sick kids who went one too many go-around on the Tilt-A-Whirl. I remember being somewhat afraid of the carnies, who often appeared to be old, dirty, lacking teeth, tattooed, and often lame or with some other bodily injury. Most of the time they just did their job, until you pissed them off, and then they'd scare the crap out of you when they barked something your way, usually in a raspy and menacing voice. I also remember that when I would want to get something to eat, a cotton candy or a caramel apple perhaps, my mother would steer us away because she felt the food was dirty and unsafe.

I also remember a distinct excitement and a distinct sadness, not my own but just in the air. Excitement as the carnival set up, and sadness as the carnival broke down and left town. I think the excitement explains itself. The sadness? Well, maybe the sadness stemmed from the fact that after the carnival left, we'd go back to our dull, boring, never-changing lives again. Or maybe it was a sadness emanating from the carnival itself -- always traveling, never settling in one place, a kind of poor man's version of a circus that seemed caught in its own era of time, never moving ahead but always cycling through town after town, setting up, entertaining 3 days of visitors, and breaking down again and moving on to the next town.

In Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury, the carnival brings its own (in this case malevolent) spirit. Those who join the carnival are caught up and trapped in a version of hell. Of course, carnivals are neither evil nor good, but what we make of them. But for some, they may indeed be a trap. Perhaps Sal, when he refuses the offer to join the carnival, senses this as he envisions miles of dusty prairie and rosy faced Nebraska cherubs and their moms being rooked out of their money by carnies.

If you want to know more about Shelton and the surrounding area, or traveling carnivals

Buffalo County, Nebraska
City-data.com: Shelton
Wikipedia: Shelton

Carnival Midway Photos
Photos of Carnies and Carnivals
Traveling Carnivals

Next up: Gothenburg, Nebraska

On the Road: Grand Island, Nebraska

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote: First published on Blogger on July 6, 2006

Unfolding the Map

As always, you may click the image at right to get yourself to the map, which is keeping track of Sal's (our) progress across America!

Book Quote

"...another cowboy, this one six feet tall in a modest half-gallon hat, called us over and wanted to know if either one of us could drive....His wife was at Grand Island, and he wanted us to drive one of the cars there, where she'd take over....Of course Eddie could drive, and he had a license and I didn't. Eddie drove alone, the cowboy and myself following, and no sooner were we out of town than Eddie started to ball that jack ninety miles and hour out of sheer exuberance. 'Damn me, what's that boy doing!' the cowboy shouted....

"We stopped along the road for a bite to eat....and Eddie and I sat down in a kind of homemade diner...and here came this rawhide oldtimer Nebraska farmer with a bunch of other boys into the diner....He came booming into the diner, calling Maw's name, and she made the sweetest cherry pie in Nebraska, and I had some with a mountainous scoop of ice cream on top. I wished I knew his whole raw life and what the hell he'd been doing all these years besides laughing and yelling like that. Whooee, I told my soul, and the cowboy came back and off we went to Grand Island."

On the Road: Chapter 3

Grand Island, Nebraska

A couple of things come to mind in reading this excerpt from On the Road. First is the sheer exhiliration of being on the open road. I have a love-hate relationship with car trips. The hate part comes in two flavors: I hate getting ready for car trips, and I hate packing things up after a car trip. I usually love the act of being in a car trip.

I remember at home, when I was growing up, there was something intangible about car trips. I remember that there was even a smell that I associated with car trips -- I would be helping to put things in the car, or I would be around the car, and it just smelled different. I can't describe the smell, other than it was sort of sharp and metallic, but I only smelled it just within an hour before we left somewhere.

By car trip, I mean any extended trip anywhere. Not just a trip into town to the store, but a trip where we actually went out of town, and we spent more than one-half hour in the car.

There was something about being on the open road, about the new sights, about other cars moving past us at fast or slower speeds, that just captivated me. Of course, I also had a tendency to get violently carsick on roads that had sharp turns, so I also had unpleasant memories of car trips as well. But mostly, my memories were great. I always had a great gift of recall, so if I had been somewhere once, I could usually direct my parents back to it (when they would actually listen to me). I was captivated by freeway systems, how in the cities they bent back and around each other as onramps and offramps wound around, and I loved bridges, especially the Golden Gate and the Richmond-San Rafael bridge that looked like a big roller-coaster.

As an adult, I still find myself captivated by car trips, especially over new territory that I haven't traversed before, or for a while. I also find that it's easy to do what Eddie (in the quote) did. On a recent trip from El Paso to the Guadalupe Mountains in west Texas, we were literally "balling that jack" at 90 for a good half hour before I noticed. We were so caught up in the scenery and the endless vistas that the speed just escaped our attention.

Of course, I have said it before in this blog and I'll say it again. Finding a good local food place, with the emphasis on good, is a treasure in itself. We usually take a chance. Sometimes we get unlucky, like our last car trip down to Mountainair, New Mexico, where we stopped in a local cafe only to find the food greasy, spicy, and despite that, relatively tasteless. At other times, we hit the jackpot and find a great eatery and even hints of an adventure. A year ago, we stopped in Pietown, New Mexico, after a weekend camping trip in the Gila Wilderness and had a great meal when the managers of the place decided that they would stay open a few extra minutes with us. Not only did we get the meal, we got pie and we got the very interesting story of the couple that managed the place. We usually don't find that mixture of luck, adventure and mystery in McDonalds or Burger King, and therefore, we don't stop there often.

If you want to know more about Grand Island

City of Grand Island
Grand Island Chamber of Commerce
Grand Island Convention and Visitors Bureau
Grand Island Independent
Wikipedia: Grand Island

Next up: Shelton, Nebraska

On the Road: Stuart, Iowa

Click on the Thumbnail for Map

Note:  Originally published on Blogger on June 25, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Time to discuss small towns, and the fact that sometimes you just have to break down and take the bus. As usual, click on the image to go to the updated map.

Book Quote

"We stood in front of the railroad-ticket shack in Stuart, waiting for the westbound traffic till the sun went down, a good five hours, dawdling away the time...I decided to spend a buck on beer; we went to an old saloon in Stuart and had a few...We got back on the road in the darkness, and of course nobody stopped and nobody came by much. That went on till three o'clock in the morning. We spent some time trying to sleep on the bench at the railroad ticket office, but the telegraph clicked all night and we couldn't sleep...so when the Omaha bus came through just before dawn we hopped on it and joined the sleeping passengers...."

On the Road: Chapter 3

Stuart, Iowa

I'm a little at a loss as to what to write about for this point in Sal's journey. I already wrote about waiting for a ride while on the west coast of Ireland. I've written about bus journeys and my experience with that.

Perhaps I can write a little about small-town America. Sal is from the big city, or at least close to the big city. When he lived with his aunt in Paterson, New Jersey, he indicates that he spent a lot of time in New York. Thus, he's really a big town man.

I can imagine that alighting from cars and buses into small towns where the sidewalks roll up at dark was quite different for him. New York, as the song goes, is the city that never sleeps. But small towns sleep all the time. They sleep at night, and even during the day many of them seem to be dozing in somnabulent bliss, waiting for either something exciting or for night to fall so they could once again drift off into a kind of dream.

I grew up in a small town in Northern California, and in the days before it became a major tourist destination for Bay Area folks, it was very quiet. Only a few people were on the street at any one time. What kind of exciting thing was needed to wake our town out of its stupor? Outsiders were one thing. The sight of a couple of unknown guys hanging around on Main Street all day waiting for a ride would have engendered discussion and comment. Later, as hippies became more common in my hometown, people around town became more blasé about such sights. But I can imagine that in the late 1940s, in Stuart, Iowa, the sight of Sal and his newfound Irish companion lounging around town with their New York accents probably brought them notice from many people. These same people would probably have talked about them, but not with them, watching but avoiding them until eventually they slipped away and the town could go back to dozing or sleeping.

Don't get me wrong. Small towns are anything but dead. Behind the scenes, small towns are hotbeds of activity. If the National Security Agency really wants to spy on all Americans, as one side of the current debate argues, then they should really tap the small town gossips, who keep eyes on everything and really do know everyone's business. One thing I've learned in growing up in a small towns is that they have their deep, dark secrets and structures of society that outsiders will find it hard to learn and penetrate. But even if small towns are very good at keeping their secrets from outsiders, within them there are very few secrets: Mr. Johnson knows that Mrs. Smith is an alcoholic, and Miss Jones knows that Mr. Johnson is sleeping with Miss Thomas behind his wife's back. These facts will be common knowledge that nobody talks about, until a blow-up occurs, it becomes very public for a day, and then all goes back to normal.

It is no secret why many of the 50's horror films were set in small towns. They were inscrutable, dark and somewhat menacing places, difficult for city dwellers to understand, where anything, even an alien invasion or an attack of some sort of terrible monster, could happen. Is it any wonder after 5 hours or more in town and no ride available, Sal and his friend grab the bus?

If you want to know more about Stuart, Iowa

Stuart Chamber of Commerce
Stuart, Iowa
Stuart Region: Adair County
Wikipedia: Stuart, Iowa

Next up: Council Bluffs, Iowa