Wyoming was rather uneventful, although it did have some wonderful views; both the High Plains and the people were very attractive. There's something to be said about the corn-feeding in the Midwest.
The people in Wyoming and Nebraska were well put together, even if they were a bit ugly at times. It was uncanny. Wyoming had lovely mountains, bright plains, and a neverending horizon.
I pushed hard into Nebraska, but the now norm of apocalyptic thunderstorms with white squalls of sheeting rain pounding the slim, curvy, and unsecured mountain roads made me stop a bit early for the night.
A wet morning followed, and I drove across Nebraska, desperately seeking the sun. I finally found some relief outside of Omaha, where I stopped for steak. I found a well-reviewed steakhouse which was half high-end restaurant and half dive bar. I headed to the bar partition, where an incredibly obese woman was singing and playing guitar with her family. The steak, much like most of the food I sampled, was weak. Usually I don't complain about bacon, but my prime rib's au jus tasted like bacon, which was too unexpected.
Don't ask me how, but I powered through to Des Moines that night, where I cajoled the night manager into letting me soak in the hot tub before crashing, though it was after hours. Home was starting to sound marvelous at this point, and I was eager to see my family and my dog.
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