One of the joys of being a full-time writer is the location freedom it offers. After writing for most of the morning on Thursday, Janet and I packed up the camper and started north into the pan-handle of Nebraska. Happily surprised by some of the best roads we’ve pulled our camper on, we quickly chewed up the miles and after only a couple hours, we started seeing signs for towns I’d never visited but had written about.

Like the nerd I am, I couldn’t help myself when we arrived in the very small town of Hemmingford. At close to fifty feet of camper and truck, I must have looked rather odd as I pulled over and snapped a quick picture of me standing next to the town’s welcome sign. To the citizen’s of Hemmingford’s credit, I only received a few questioning looks.

Sun in my eyes as I snap a quick picture in Hemmingford.

It was a cool day in the mid seventies with relatively low humidity, which added to the drive’s overall enjoyment. As we headed west out of Hemmingford, I started thinking about the most memorable trips Henry had taken out of this small town. First thing that became immediately clear was that my fictional universe had a lot more trees. Having studied google earth while writing the books, I knew this, but I was a little disappointed.

Turning north towards Crawford and the national forest, this disappointment was quickly replaced with an unfolding sense of awe as we started into the National Forest and the buttes common to this part of Nebraska. Probably the most disappointing thing about the trip is the discovery of how poorly pictures taken by my phone communicate the scale things.

As you probably recall, Janet and I a relatively new to camping with a trailer. In the last two years, we’ve put on some miles, but pulling a camper through unknown parts can be a bit challenging, especially when working around road construction. Upon arriving at Fort Robinson, we were immediately presented with narrow bridges ( < 10′ ) under construction. To make matters worse, I missed the turn into the campground and passed over a second narrow bridge, only to execute a 5-point turn on an equally narrow two-lane highway to head back through that same narrow bridge.

With narrow bridges behind us we settled into a very well maintained campground and headed up to the museum area. The campgrounds are on the once-active fort that played an active role in the conflict between native Americans and the US Army. Honestly, I wasn’t prepared for the emotions I was forced to process as I considered Crazy Horse’s last stand, which took place on the property.

For only fifteen-bucks, we signed up for a jeep-tour that would take us from the campground up into the surrounding buttes. I haven’t done a lot of four-wheeling and was surprised at how aggressive the tour’s route had been cut into the hillside. More than a few times, I found myself staring over a couple hundred foot cliff with little more than a mound of gravel between the Jeep’s tires and nothing.

The image at the top of this post was taken from the top of the butte we climbed. Along the tour we passed bison, prong horns (antelope) and a small group of deer. Our guide mentioned a recent sighting of big horn sheep, but they must have been hiding.

We stayed two nights at Fort Robinson and we could have stayed a week and enjoyed every moment of it.

My next post in this short series is about our trip over to Chadron State Park, which is only 40 miles from Fort Robinson, but has a completely different vibe.