It was now Wednesday I’d run one last time in Thornton, before heading to Hastings. I decided to run through the areas of the park that Brendan had enjoyed so much. I realized the other times I’d run in Thornton I’d not run through the whole park and around the pond in its entirety. I’d been running on the outskirts of the northwest side of the park, onto the paved bike trail and then into a quiet residential area. This time I took a different route.
As I was ready to exit off the park’s bike trail and
maintain running on the bike path that went into a residential area, I double
backed towards the park. I then ran multiple loops in and around the park and
the park’s pond in the center of the park. It was calm, birds chirping were
heard. People were already out walking, and a child was seen here and there
playing in the playground areas.
Afterwards, I had plenty of time to retrieve more ice
for my cooler and gas up the car before heading to Hastings, since this drive was
not a 500 mile or more days drive. I was in luck this time in Thornton too. The
service station that was a driveway away from the hotel was open, it hadn’t
been last year at this time. As I was about to pump gas into the car, I heard a
woman ranting quite loudly. It was a tad disturbing. I had no clue who she was
talking to. So, I just kept my eye contact on the pump while glancing over
towards her one pump across and a pump away from where I stood. As I entered
the shop to purchase some water bottles and ice she’d finally left. Evidently,
she was on her bluetooth phone in her car having an argument as she pumped gas
into her car. It made her seem scary and humorous all at once.
Soon I was on the CO-128 which led me to Sable Road
then a convoluted out and back per the GPS in my car which cost me a buck or
two passing through EZPass twice to get onto I-76N for a short stint then the
I-80E for over 200 miles. The drive on I-80E was enjoyable. I’d later take the exit toward US-34S/US-281S
towards Hastings. The route turned onto
the Tom Osborne Expressway, yet still part of routes US-34/US-281.
This area was mostly rural for nearly fourteen miles.
Soon I was on 33rd Street and headed to an area of multiple strip
center like store areas. There were camping and lake signs. I couldn’t imagine
a lake being there, especially in this part of Nebraska. However, I realized as
I’d driven through the rural areas leading to 33rd Street that it was
possible. It peaked my curiosity.
Before I knew it, I was checking in at the hotel. It
was quiet, the hotel was surrounded by eateries and little clothing and
merchandise shops that curved in and around the twisting and turning parking
lots which were just 250 meters from the main roadway that led back onto the
US-34/US-281 routes about a third of a mile down the road.
After I got to my room, I got my running gear on for
my second run of the day. I went back down to the reception area to find where
some good running places could be had within running distance of the hotel. A
woman, who was about in her late forties to early fifties, short in stature,
well-quaffed and well-dressed had a caressed pleasant smile as if permanently
planted on her face. It appeared as a constant guide of joy that radiated from
her. That being said, I had no clue how we started talking about children. Then
we got onto the subject of adoption and here I was telling a total stranger
about our first child’s adoption. She was captivated to the point as I’d
expressed how the whole process in China went down, she was in tears. She asked
questions about it. Then finally as I finished the story of Sarah’s adoption,
and unfortunately the passing of the only father she’d known—the lady behind
the desk asked, “Can I hug you?” I replied, “Absolutely.” She came out from
behind the front desk, and we embraced. It was a great hug.
Eventually, I had gotten directions from the woman at
the front desk, upon checking in, but I couldn’t figure it out. So, I asked a
man at the front desk, about what direction to go. To my surprise he walked
outside with me to show me the bike path that the lady at the front desk had spoken
about. He walked 250 meters with me on this quite hot, and humid afternoon. I
was immensely grateful.
I thanked the young man and forged ahead on the bike
path. I came to a light, where I crossed and ran northwest. I soon arrived at a
residential intersection. To my left was the lake. The road sign to my right
said, ‘Fisherman’s Lane’. I took a right. The street was tree-lined; then all
new residential construction appeared.
The houses were aesthetically pleasing to the eye.
They all had similar formats in shapes and height, yet the colors varied and
blended in with the low landscape and sky. The houses that were built appeared
to all be occupied. It seemed as if it were a peaceful neighborhood. As
fatigued as I was—the curiosity of the landscape, incited me to run more for
sight-seeing purposes. I wondered if they had basements which from the street
weren’t that visible. I had questions about the construction too.
I got back after running about six miles—I thanked the
man at the desk. I went up to my room and cleaned up for my search as to where I’d
walk to for dinner, there were so many choices. I saw a Hawaiian restaurant and
had seen one of a different brand in Utah—yet I hadn’t dined there in the times
I was in Utah.
As I’d arrived early in Hastings, it was just over a 400-mile
drive from Thornton. I anticipated a city like atmosphere—which I was uncertain
if I’d enjoy it. It was based on two things: first the unknown, second a young
lady at the front desk of the Bellevue, Nebraska hotel I’d stayed at on June 6th
gave a wrinkled nose when I’d expressed that her hotel was already booked up
back in March when I went to register at her hotel for June 18th. She remarked,
“Hastings, ugh.” She’d expressed it was unfavorable to her. And of course I
made a mental note of that. Yet I decided that I wouldn’t change anything, get
there, take a chance and decide for myself upon arrival at the Hastings hotel.
To my delight, the area and the hotel was a treat.
After cleaning up and getting to the lobby of the
hotel heading out for dinner, I decided to ask another front desk person about
the houses and their construction that I’d seen on my run. She expressed, “All
new construction around here have basements.” She smiled. I replied, “Cool. Whoever
is the builder, the construction is genius. Quite aesthetically pleasing.” We
said ‘good-bye’ and I parted.
I exited the hotel to the calm, quiet parking lot. I
wanted salmon. I double checked four eateries that I’d seen as I’d done my cool
down walk after the run within the parking lots. I focused on the “Blue Fork”.
It was a Hawaiian restaurant. I’d not recalled ever having Hawaiian eats in the
past. It appeared a mellow place for groups, and people to get to know each
other. They placed their ability to produce exotic drinks with a light fare as
a priority, so it appeared such.
I entered, seated and soon my waitress arrived. She
looked age 28, her name was Heather. I ordered a salad, salmon and hot
vegetables and a glass of club soda and a glass of wine. She was an excellent
waitress.
I was contented as I sipped the club soda and then the
wine and looked out the front window that canvassed the entire front of the
restaurant. I listened to two men to my right a couple tables away and a group about
three table behind me and two tables to my right.
Soo, the two men who’d been sitting nearest, had
finished and exited to the parking lot section about fifty feet from the front
of the restaurant. They were still chatting at the back of the one man’s car.
It was an even paced conversation, calm. Just as my dinner arrived I saw the
two men shake hands and then embrace and pat each other on the back. It was
nice to witness that. Heather eventually asked how everything was. It was
perfect.
Soon, the group behind me had parted. There was
practically no one left, it was now nearing eight in the evening. Heather had
come back to clear my dinner plates and
asked if I’d like to order dessert. Doing so, we struck up a conversation. She
revealed that she was a mother of a seventeen-year-old. And that she herself
was age 41. I was blown, and I told Heather that I’d figure her not past age
30. She smiled. We spoke about teenagers and also toxic family members. In
doing so, she’d revealed to me how she’d had to distance herself from her
father and then her one sister. I could absolutely relate. We agreed that we’d
both had done such difficult things. “Therapy is good.” We stated to each other
in tandem. ---Jody-Lynn Reicher
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