Wild Hogs

It sounded just like the soundtrack in the movie when the Harley's took off. Laura was riding on the back of one of them, even going so far as to wear the German WW2 style helmet. A bicycle helmet would have been more appropriate, but the Harley driver, which happened to be Keith, wouldn't have it. We were at a state park west of Omaha for a night of roughing it. Most of the campsites were occupied with RV's, accompanied by boats, motorcycles, canoes, fishermen, golf carts, trailers full of more motorcycles, and every other kind of thing you can find at Camping World. The only thing rough about it was keeping enough bug spray on. They've had so much rain out here there is standing water everywhere and a west nile virus outbreak is imminent.

The park is next to the location where Major Stephen Long started his expedition up the Platte river in 1820. He eventually arrived in the area around Denver and named a mountain after himself. After turning south to find the Red River he got lost and had to eat his own horses to survive in the desert of the Texas panhandle. The steakhouse we had dinner at didn't have horsemeat, so I had a locally caught catfish. Laura rode the Harley back, her legs pedaling just from habit. Sitting around the fire we couldn't help wondering about the fireflies. There aren't any in Colorado for some reason, but out here they light up like the little sparks you see when you strike a match. We googled the question, and it turns out they are looking for mates. A horny males lights it up, and the females give their best flash if they like what they see. What happens next is up to the imagination.

We are going to cross the Missouri today and ride to Missouri Valley, Iowa, where we hope to meet our DLO bike team. We're staying with the team at a house there arranged by the team. Our tent and sleeping bags are coming from Denver. Showers may be by garden hose, as cold as the Super 8. By the end of the week we will be in the Davenport, Iowa area on the border of Illinois.