For those of you retracing your steps on Brucefest: do not stop in Cozad, Nebraska if you need gas late at night. The one gas station there is probably closed, and the attendant on duty, inexplicably sitting in the lit-up interior? Well she doesn't much care what you need.
So the RV had to get back on the highway and hit up the next booming metropolis of the Nebraskan countryside. I can't believe this is the state we're excited about inviting into the Big Ten. The only thing Big about Nebraska is the reek of its bovine and ovine denizens.
But as we continue our plight back home, things have gone fairly smoothly. We remain a few hours from Omaha, where we will bid a tearful goodbye to Air Force One and his deep baritone perfect-for-narrating-movies voice. Allegedly, our good friend Boyd has a 7 a.m. meeting -- which is in less than six hours -- so he's going to have a tough turnaround. I'm still dreading our 6 p.m. softball game, and that's nothing by comparison.
The Architect was disappointed that my last post offered a bare minimum of information. So as an additional note, I should point out that the Architect's new shorts are very cute.
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