When it was finally time for us to say good-bye to Chimney Rock and move on to the Pawnee National Grassland, we took an unnamed gravel road south to Reddington. (Don't be surprised at this; a lot of roads in rural Nebraska are unnamed. Instead, a sign will say something like, "This way to Cheyenne County.") I can really recommend this route— one look at a topo map and you'll see why! The gravel road rises in elevation considerably, through some of the most beautiful grasses and geologic formations imaginable. You'll pass such features as Bedding Canyon, Roundhouse Rock and the Pumpkin Creek, before descending again to the sprinkling of houses called Reddington.

Anyway, it was a beautiful drive. As we began our descent, with a few twists and turns thrown in for good measure, we came across a cattle truck (filled with cattle, of course), tipped and stuck in a ditch off the side of the road. Ruts all over the place indicated that the driver had done his best to maneuver out of the situation. Looking into the far off horizon, I saw a spec of a person hoofing it down the road. So we continued on toward him.

When we pulled up, here was a short little, wiry rancher with bowed legs, outfitted in western working gear. I asked, "Are you okay — do you need a lift?" And he responded laconically, "I've walked this many miles before."

Well, actually, it was a pretty hot and dusty day, and obviously the only sign of civilization was a lone house some several miles away. But this guy was clearly used to doing everything himself, never relying on anyone for help. Despite this show of independence, I was pretty sure he would welcome a bit of respite from the blazing walk, so I said, "Well, we've got room, I'd be glad to give you a ride to the nearest house or town." He accepted.

Now came the logistics! When we travel, we gut the minivan of its benches. The back was stuffed with tents, sleeping bags, cook stoves, telescopes, books, etc. So, my travel partner worked her way on top of all this junk, freeing up the front seat for our rancher in distress. He seemed a little amazed, either at the quantity of stuff we had in the minivan, or at the fact that tourists would actually be out in this neck of the woods. But I need hardly mention that he was a taciturn one; I read the amazement in his body language only.

...a lot of roads in rural Nebraska are unnamed. Instead, a sign will say something like, "This way to Cheyenne County."

Speaking of bodies, when he got in, well, how can I say this diplomatically? Phew! It was pretty obvious this guy had been working hard with his cattle over the past several days, and hadn't been able to manage a shower yet!

Anyway, we got him to a house down the line, so I think he was able to rescue his stranded trailer and cows. We continued on to the Pawnee.

It was the most natural thing in the world to help out someone here in the boondocks of Nebraska. As I've mentioned before, I like these people, and this wiry little guy with his independent spirit was a real hoot. I felt like we had just met someone straight out of James Michener's Centennial. It would never dawn on me to pick up a vagabond or hitch hiker on my home turf — this was different.