Marvin, SD to Omaha and Lincoln, NE

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I was about 90 minutes from Omaha when I got a message from my friend, Sarah, who lives in Lincoln. I called her back and we chatted for about ten minutes. Sarah and I did a show together in Washington, DC in the summer of 2005. She moved to NYC a few months after we returned to the States, then back home to Nebraska a while after that. We kept missing each other when she lived in New York, so I haven't seen her in over two years. We made plans to meet for lunch tomorrow, and since my schedule is more flexible, I decided to drive on through to Lincoln and stay at the Motel 6 there.

A quick side note about Motel 6 - they are cheap, they are clean (usually), and they all accept dogs. I'm not a stockholder, nor am I fan of Tom Bodett, but it is awfully convenient to know that I can bring Quincy. However... we'll come back to that in a sec.

Nebraska was not originally part of the plan. However, sometime before I left Indianapolis for the Western leg, I caught an episode of "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives" on Food Network. On this particular episode was a segment on Amato's, a cafe and catering company in Omaha. I've seen plenty of food porn that made me think, that looks pretty good. But there was something about Amato's that made me decide to drive about 450 miles out of my way and add Omaha to my itinerary.

However, I had to make sure that Quincy was taken care of first. When we got to Omaha, it was about 6:15. I figured we could be at the Motel 6 in Lincoln around 7:00, and I could be back at Amato's around 8:00. Although I did not know their hours for certain, I figured it was safe to assume a restaurant would stay open until 8:00 or later, even on a Tuesday.

We did make it to Lincoln by 7:00. But by the time I got checked in, moved our gear into the room, set up the crate, took Quincy on a walk, double-checked the directions, hit the restroom, remembered to bring Quincy his food, refueled the car and made it back to Omaha, it was about 9:25. Amato's was completely dark.

I found another restaurant up the road. Their door said they stopped serving at 9:30. Not wanting to be "that guy," I headed toward the Old Market section of downtown Omaha. What I found was a nice-looking selection of bars, taverns and restaurants, many of which appeared to be a bit on the spendy side. The places that specialized in serving food were all shutting down for the night - flipping chairs, mopping up, rushing the stragglers out without looking like they were rushing them. There were several bars that were still doing a pretty steady business for a Tuesday night, but I wasn't really in the mood for the deep-fried pub fare that many of these places seemed to offer. If their kitchens were still open, that is; I didn't check.

As I drove back to Lincoln, I thought that perhaps I should have gotten a room in Omaha. It would have definitely cut an hour and a half off of my driving time. However, I started to think that if it hadn't been for Quincy, I could have been at Amato's by 6:30. I wouldn't have had to check into a hotel first at all.

Traveling with Quincy requires a certain amount of planning. Everything in the car has to be placed in such a way that he can't get his teeth on it. He has a particualr affinity for things made of plastic and paper. Aside from the upholstery, theat encompasses about 75% of the stuff I brought with us. If he is with me in the car, I have a few choices to make: do I crack the window and leave him inside or do I tie him to something outside the car? If it's outside the car, I then have to select a parking spot away from traffic. Close to the building and I may be able to keep an eye on him, further away and there's less traffic, less chance of him getting hit, but then he panics more because he doesn't see me. Keep in mind, this thought process takes place every time I go into a building.

When Quincy sees me after an absence, whether for 20 minutes or four hours, you would think that I had been gone for a year. Quincy is 75 pounds of loyalty and love, jumping and licking and pawing to show how much he has missed me. It usually takes about 5 minutes to get him to calm down. I have to keep one hand on his collar in order to keep all four paws on the ground or else I could get a painful headbutt to the chin. (It happened once when he was a 30-pound puppy. I can't take a chance of repeating the experience now without proper medical coverage.) Then, once the initial desperation has passed, Quincy will do everything he can to rub against me and lick every square inch of exposed skin.

Taking a trip of this type - staying in a new place almost every night and spending so much time in the car - is stressful to a certain degree. My mother asked me the other day if I was having fun. I don't think "fun" is quite the right word for it. I am enjoying the experience, but it is still hard to travel every day. I'm still not entirely sure why I am taking this trip. However, I have a goal in mind - to travel as much of the country as I can in one go. Even though I haven't quite figured out the spiritual or intellectual portion of this trip, I have the luxury to figure it out as I go. And if I am not fortunate enough to sort it out by the time I finish my lap in New York, I have the rest of my life to look back on these weeks and figure out what it all means.

Quincy's purpose in all of this is tragically simple: he goes because I tell him to. As soon as he starts to become comfortable in one place, I pick him up and take him to the next. He doesn't get a chance to figure out the network of smells anywhere we go before I introduce him to a new one. Right when he adjusts to a new environment, I take him out of it. And when he returns to Indianapolis, he won't reflect on the trip. He won't ask what it all means. Where I can rationalize the stress that I feel, he can only feel it.

Less than a week into the trip, and I now think that it is a good idea to send Quincy back home to Indy. If necessary, I can lose a couple of days and drive him back myself. My mother may meet up with us halfway, somewhere near the Quad Cities on the Illinois/Iowa border. I may also put him on an airplane back, but I'm waiting until tomorrow to figure it out. Mom called a couple of the airlines tonight to see what the possibilities are. When you factor in the cost of fuel and time versus the cost of a doggie plane ticket, the cost is about the same.

I'm feeling guilty for not following through with my plan to travel the country with my dog, but I think that is less than the guilt I feel every day at not including him in the experiences I get to have. It's better to send him back to Indiana, to his home, than to drag him along on a trip in which he has no interest.