After leaving North Platte,
the Hawthornes are hungry.
All we have for breakfast everyday
is a paltry Continental breakfast.
For me, that's a piece of whole wheat toast, Kathy,
with some butter, honey, and/or jelly.
Orange juice and coffee.
I snack on fruits and yogurt
snatched from breakfast.
And we don't eat again until mid-late afternoon.
So by mid afternoon,
we want nourishment.
Armed with my trusty AAA TourBooks -
which, if you're going on an extended trip,
are absolute MUSTS to have -
I locate a sandwich shop in Ogallalla, Nebraska,
which looks quite promising.
First some history.
Ogallala was named for the Oglala Tribe of the Dakota Sioux.
Ogallala became a railroad town and cattle-shipping point
after the completion of the Union Pacific Railroad in 1867.
Cowboys, drifters, and settlers
helped make Ogallala a booming cow town.
Most of the cattle were herded up from Texas
by cowboys anxious to let off steam
after the long drive.
Ogallala soon became a rowdy and violent cow town
known as the "Gomorrah of the Plains."
Trail driver, Andy Adams, wrote in his book
"Log of a Cowboy,"
"We finally scaled the last divide and there below us in the valley of the South Platte River nestled Ogallala, the Gomorrah of the cattle trail. From amongst its half hundred buildings, no church spire pointed upward, but instead, 3/4 of its business houses were dance halls, gambling houses, and saloons."
One trail boss, who let his drivers go into Dodge City for recreation to let off steam when they arrived there, refused to let his cowhands come into Ogallala
because of its wild and unsavory reputation -
thus giving rise to a phrase that Ogallala was the "town too tough for Texans."
I have a question.
Once again, as in the case of Cape Girardeau
being named for Jean Baptiste Girardot,
if the town is named for the Oglala tribe,
then why did they change the name to Ogallala?
Whatever the name,
I'm having fun pronouncing it.
All the way from North Platte to Ogallala.
I start sing-songing the name,
using different pronunciations and syllabic emphases,
and different voices,
all much to Mr. Hawthorne's chagrin.
This continues for many miles.
I notice Mr. Hawthorne's white knuckles on the steering wheel.
Nevertheless, I forge on.
O-ga-la-la
O-ga-la-la
o-GA-la-la
o-GA-la-la
And then ...
in the midst of my O-GA-LLA-LA-ing,
Mr. Hawthorne suddenly chimes in ...
"I can't stop this feeling ... "
Oo Ga Chaka!
Heh.
It was pretty funny.
Guess you had to be there.
As we eat our way across this great country of ours,
Mr. Hawthorne and I eschew "chain" restaurants
or anything that smells like a chain.
We want to try the holes in the walls,
the Mom and Pop operations -
the little people who make this country what it is.
We found such a place today -
Homemade Heaven Sandwich Shoppe
in Ogallala, Nebraska.
And what a little Homemade Heaven it is.
Over twenty different types of sandwiches were offered
with an intriguing selection of fresh breads.
It was hard to decide.
But Rosie, what was the steak bomb?
ReplyDeleteI missed that. :(
ReplyDeleteHeh, when people see me takin' pics, they TELL me to stop. And being the nice, timid type that I am, I do. Rats.
ReplyDeleteAnd what, pray tell, is a steak bomb? I think I would have ordered that just for the name alone.
..well down here in South Florida a steak bomb is a sub that is really really big...with sliced steak,grilled onions,peppers,mushrooms,bacon,tomato and pprovolone ...messy but good,and too big for 1 person
ReplyDelete