Dear Mom,

There's nothing quite so bizarre as Carhenge. Not to say it's not impressive. It's an incredible work of art. There's other words that have been used to describe it, but I have to call it art. Classic cars, all spray painted gray, set in the same exact pattern as Stonehenge. It's mad, but it's magic. It was a pretty quick stop on the road. I wandered around for about thirty minutes, but I was excited to see the Strategic Air Command and Aerospace Museum, and it was almost all the way across the state.

I've always loved flying things, you know. I love everything about the skies at all times of the day and night. The planetarium was amazing.

I enjoyed the stories about the constellations. My favorite has always been Cassiopeia, who in a fit of arrogance bragged that she and her daughters were more beautiful than the Nereids, the nymphs of the sea.

Of course, Poseidon couldn't allow such slander to be cast about his people and he sent a sea monster to destroy the kingdom Cassiopeia and her husband ruled.

It goes without saying they sacrificed one of their daughters to try to get out of it, and in the end, with the sea monster banished, Poseidon took out his wrath by casting Cassiopeia into the stars.

Her curse was that during the summer when everyone is outside looking at the stars she is upside down, and during the winter, when she's upright and ready to show her beauty to the cosmos, no one is watching.

Hers was always my favorite constellation even before I knew the story. I also liked being able to find Andromeda.

I like her less now that I learned she has a black hole under her arm that is slowly sucking the Milky Way in.

At least that's what I understood.

I wish you could have sat with me in the planetarium seats, leaning back and learning about the stars.

It reminded me of the hikes we would take up into the foothills to camp, and lying next to the campfire with the stars spread out overhead and the wide white belt of the Milky Way cascading across the sky.

You pointing out the constellations you knew, educating me on the mythical references as well as the biblical ones.

You always believed I should know everything I could. Knowledge gives us the opportunity to make good decisions, and it all starts with the basics.

Astronomy was a good basic for me.

The rest of the Aerospace Museum was also fascinating I'd never learned so much about the Cold War before. Somehow I always ended up forgetting it just because it never turned into an all out bloodbath. I don't suppose that made much of a difference to all the people building and stocking their bunkers because nuclear war was coming.

It must have been a frightening time to live. There may not have been the school shootings and terrorist attacks in cities all over America, but they never knew if there might be a nuclear missile heading their way.

It's almost a relief to be back near the path the Oregon Trail took. It's still hard to believe the deep tracks the wagons left.

Fort Kearney is my last stop in Nebraska before I head south. The town is just Kearney now, but I remember from the old computer game that it was a Fort where people on the trail to Oregon could stop for supplies. The Fort is now a State Park, and they have rebuilt two buildings to show a little bit what it was like.

I can't imagine packing my whole life into a wagon, hitching it to oxen or mules, and starting out across completely unknown territory. They not only had to fear the elements, sickness, animals, and Native American's, but also how could they know it would be worthwhile?

I have trouble picking a college major for fear it won't be what I want. It's not even in my realm of thought to pack up my whole life and go thousands of miles from home without a chance of ever returning. That would take guts.

I wonder if we'd lived back then, if you'd have packed us up in a wagon and taken off for new adventures and opportunities.

You were always so strong in the face of everything that came at you in life.

It's too bad you didn't see death coming. I'm sure you would have faced it down and lived to tell the story.

I love you,

Bo.

It's a little weird to me that I've written sixteen letters to Mom. Stranger still that it's been four months since I left home. This life on the road is something I could get used to, I think. Sometimes though, I feel a bone deep exhaustion again, and some nights, tonight even, I can't stop the tears that gather in my eyes.

I've set up a camp chair outside my trailer and the stars above me are shining bright. There's not a lot of light pollution here and it's a gift to be able to see the stars so clearly. I can see Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper.

The North Star is holding position just like always, giving a strange confidence. I know it does move, but it doesn't seem like it to me, and I like always knowing which direction is North.

I remember reading a book about Nathaniel Bowditch as a kid and deciding I was going to learn to tell time by the stars. It's still something I've only learned in my own head, and it requires far too much changing around of the stars for me to think I have it right.

The stars always make me feel adventurous. Like I could take on the world if I wanted to, and nothing could stop me.

I suppose in a way I have, but it's nothing compared to what I want to do.

I don't know what I want to do. I never really have, but I have this gut feeling that I want adventure.

Like Belle, I want adventure more than I can tell.

But for now I need to fold up my camp chair and stow it in the storage compartment. I need to brush my teeth and curl up in my blankets so I'm ready to face Colorado come morning. Whatever you're facing, I hope you have the courage to conquer it without cringing.