What I did on summer vacation -- Part 1, There goes the sun

Here comes the sun 

We've long been fascinated by astronomy. Sharon being a former science teacher may have something to do with that.

We own a small telescope, binoculars suitable for viewing the moon and finding comets, and H.A Rey’s book that teaches kids and adults about the constellations. We stopped off at the Very Large Array in New Mexico on our way back from a trip to the Grand Canyon. 

We traveled to the countryside outside Abilene to find clear skies so we could see Halley’s comet, and I was able to capture photos of the once in a lifetime passing. I've way too many pictures of lunar eclipses, including those involving so-called super moons. We’ve even sought dark skies so we can watch the International Space Station pass overhead. 

So when we heard about the total eclipse for this year, we began talking about how cool it would be to see it. Discover magazine advertised tours that included eclipse viewings, but I procrastinated in looking up the information about them. 

When I finally checked, I discovered the tours were fairly expensive -- the cost would have been comparable to our Ireland trip. And I'd missed the initial deadline for signing up. But some openings were still available. 

We discussed it and decided to try to plot our own trip. We figured it would be hard to find hotel rooms, but I dove into the internet to find the nearest sites with open accommodations. 

Missouri and Nebraska seemed to be the closest, and I discovered that Homestead National Monument was a host site and would have personnel from NASA and Bill Nye on site. Beatrice was the nearest town to the park, and its eclipse site indicated that obtaining a hotel room was an iffy proposition. 

But Lincoln is close by, about 40 miles, and the hotels had available rooms -- at a premium, of course. I immediately nailed down two nights at the least expensive over-priced room. The rest of the plan would be formed later. As long as we’re going that far, we might as well see some other attractions. 

Saturday -- Sunday (Aug. 19-20) 

We're on our way to Wichita, Kansas. I'd looked at the map and decided that Wichita was about halfway to Lincoln, and that each day's drive would wind up being about the distance from home to Lubbock -- a drive we make a couple of times a year. I was wrong.

Wichita turned out to be more than half the distance, and added to a mistake I made at the outset, we wound up being on the road a couple of hours longer than I anticipated.

What mistake, you may ask? Let's just say that I forgot that when dealing with DFW traffic, Google maps may be a handy resource but not for soothsaying -- a traffic accident can seriously extend your day.

Our route took us straight up I-35. We've only traveled that way as far as Oklahoma City before, and we quickly learned why this part of the country is known as The Great Plains -- heavy emphasis on plain. Pretty much the only thing that broke the long, straight, fairly flat expanse of highway was the occasional construction zone. Seems as though no matter where you are on I-35, you run into construction. 

Sharon brought along a small quilt to work on and her iPod, which has much more music on it than mine. We bluetoothed the ‘Pod into the car stereo and drove until we needed food or a break, then drove some more until we reached Wichita. 

We didn't really do much there except have supper and sleep. We did visit a Walmart, using Google maps to direct us to the store. Strangely, the route put us right in front of the store, with entrances to the lot, but the voice kept trying to convince me to drive past the store to the next cross street, then turn right and come into the lot from the entrance off the cross street. Go figure. 

The next morning we saddle up and head out again. The drive to Lincoln will be shorter by almost a hundred miles, which should make for a much easier travel day. 

But we’ve been seeing highway signs -- you know those lighted signs that alert you to accidents and Amber Alerts -- that suggest we could run into an unusual amount of traffic because of eclipse traffic.

It’s Sunday, and we’re traveling through low population states, so eclipse or no eclipse, I’m not expecting much until we reach I-80, and I’m right. Unless, of course, what we saw was unusual traffic. Even after we merge onto I-80, the traffic doesn't seem to be that bad. A lot of semis, but the average Sunday in DFW is worse.

We encounter a couple of unexpected sights along the way. First, in Concordia, Kansas, where we’ll stop for lunch, we spy what appears to be an enormous church atop the highest rise in the town. We eventually spot a sign that says it’s the “Motherhouse” for the Sisters of St. Joseph, a convent that has a significant history with the Orphan Train, for which the town also houses a museum. 

I knew nothing about the Orphan Train, the term applied to a time in U.S. history when orphan and displaced children were sent west from the East, many if not most, from New York, to work mostly on farms. 

We didn’t take time to visit the museum, so I googled it. It’s a fascinating story; you should look it up. 

The Motherhouse

Entryway closeup. I walked a short way onto the
grounds, even though a sign told me I wasn't allowed to.

These statues are of two girls who came to the area as
part of the Orphan Train, but their families decided they
couldn't support them. The sisters at the Motherhouse
took them in, and they eventually joined the order. 

Next, as we drove into York, Nebraska, we thought we saw a hot-air balloon floating above the town. Turned out it was the town's water tower painted to look like a balloon. It’s the town’s second water tower and was supposed to be painted the same color as the old one. But some residents thought it should be painted with more flair. Now, if you’re traveling east headed for Lincoln, you know you’re an hour away when you see the tower. 

We relied on a TomTom GPS to guide us to our hotel. Not sure of that was a mistake compared with using Google maps, but we took a scenic tour of Lincoln before arrival. Our hotel was situated across from a giant Walmart Supercenter (I know that sounds redundant, but its size communicates “supercenter” better than the ones we have at home.) Immediately in front of the hotel is a large but well maintained empty lot that’s part of a commercial area under development. 

A restaurant located on the strip will be having its own watch party, and for a short while, I discuss the merits of staying put and being able to walk out the front door to an ideal viewing point. In the end, we decide to stick with Beatrice. (BTW, for the uninitiated like me, it's pronounced bee-AT-tris.) 

Monday, Aug. 21. 

This is it. The “Big Day.” We’re up early but are already too late to find a seat in the hotel’s breakfast area. The place buzzes of talk about, well, you know. 

After a nice breakfast we pack up the stuff we’ll need for the day, program the national monument into the GPS and head out. I try to tune in a radio station that's supposed to be providing information on the situation in Beatrice, but it's a low-power station, and we'll have to drive about halfway there before being able to pick it up. 

When we do, the various reporters stationed around town indicate that the traffic is steady and flowing smoothly. Good news. The amount of traffic steadily increases the closer we come to town, but it's never as bad as a morning commute in Fort Worth. People are already staking out spots in the motel parking lots and along various grassy rights-of-way. 

We’re headed for the fairgrounds, where the city says plenty of parking will be available, along with shuttle buses to take us to the monument. Lots of people are already in line, but it seems to be moving well. There are gaps in the bus arrivals, though -- fairly long gaps actually. The line forms a long “U” shape when we arrive, and though the line moves fairly quickly when we join it, we stall out at the top of the curve because of one of those arrival gaps. 

Eventually, buses start appearing again. By the time the bus we boarded leaves, the line has become a long “S” shape. 

The line with us stalled at the top.

The monument is located about 4 miles from town, and as we drive along, we pass a goodly number of folks who’ve decided to just hoof it out to the park. They may well have chosen the best travel method when it comes time to leave the park. Hoofing it back will definitely take less time. 

We arrive at the park around 9:30, and it's already packed. An area has been set aside for telescopes; tents for displays and vendors have been set up; a couple of hundred port-a-potties line some of the walkways; and a stage has been erected with I don’t now how many folding chairs placed in a semicircle facing it. 

We wander about and finally stake out a place clear of the trees and near the stage, though we can’t see much of what’s going on up there. 

Clouds build and thin as the morning progresses. One of the park rangers announces that we will be rained on, but the storms should pass quickly. The big hope is that heavy clouds won’t stick around and ruin the event, but that hope often seems dim. In fact, rain falls on us twice, the second time heavily enough for us to dig our ponchos out of our backpacks and hope it passes without turning the park into a quagmire. 

Sometimes threatening weather can be pretty.

Much of the early involvement on stage is given over to a band dedicated to leading children's songs and promoting a PBS program called Ready, Jet, Go, starring a character named Jet Propulsion. 

Jet Propulsion

Someone in an outfit similar to a mascot’s costume -- complete with a big, rubber head -- makes a couple of appearances that cause a modicum of stir among the crowd. But the real celebrity is Bill Nye aka The Science Guy.

Shortly before the time for the eclipse to begin, a big stir crops up on the sidewalk to our right. People begin murmuring, and a large group of folks begins trooping by. Turns out to be at least a hundred Nye fans who crowd about the stage, followed by others who’ve figured out what’s going on and have pressed forward for a better view. 

Nye participates in a panel discussion about the eclipse and helps lead a countdown to a start that is unfortunately obscured by clouds. As he talks, though, the clouds begin to thin, and Nye grabs his eclipse glasses and rushes to the front of the stage in hopes of seeing the eclipse, to no avail. 

Shortly after he left the stage,  the clouds did thin out enough to reveal the beginning stage of the eclipse. People around us begin shouting, “There it is! There it is!” We all grab our glasses and gaze skyward to the sound of cheers and applause, a process that will be repeated each time the clouds clear. 

At some point, a weather balloon is launched that carries a camera broadcasting a video signal. A large screen set up on the far side of the stage displays the images, but we can’t see much because of the position of the stage and the crowd in front of us. Would loved to have seen the feed once it cleared the clouds and beamed back pictures of the sun. 

Nye returns to the stage several minutes before totality -- retinue duly in tow -- and again leads a countdown. The clouds play with us, clearing just before totality and teasing us with the possibility of seeing Bailey’s beads, especially the part of the effect known as the diamond ring. If that was visible before the clouds cover the sun again, I missed it. 

But when totality comes, it's like someone's flipped an off switch on a room light. We don’t have long to wait to actually see totality, though. The clouds thin sufficiently, and the cheering breaks out again. Cameras are pointed skyward; Nye enthuses on stage; and we experience two of the phenomena associated with this kind of cloudy eclipse show: a 360 degree “sunset” and prisming around the corona. 

The clouds will thicken and thin throughout the two and half or so minutes of totality, again eliciting cheers from the crowd at each clearance. With a warning from the NASA moderator, we put our glasses on to see the end of totality, which the clouds most kindly decide not to obscure. 

As soon as the merest sliver appears, the switch is flipped again. The contrast is startling. At this point Sharon and I agree the experience has absolutely been worth the long drives. 

You’ll hear people talk about what a great spiritual experience viewing a totality is, how profoundly they are affected -- some even calling it life changing. I can’t say I felt that, but it did rise to the level of awesome that word is meant to convey, ranking up there for me with seeing the Grand Canyon, the glaciers in Alaska, the vastness of the Outback, that view of Halley’s Comet. I’m a sucker for grandeur, I guess. 

Almost there. 

What we came for. Click the photo for a larger version.
You should be able to see the prism effect.

Most attendees began packing up and heading for the exits as soon as totality ended. We knew that was a sucker’s bet, so we decided to wander about and look in the exhibition tents. We have our picture taken as we stand by a sign advertising the event, and keep gazing up each time the clouds thin to catch the moon’s progress in unveiling the sun, catching a view of the last tiny bite before the two separated to go their own ways. 

Eventually we wound up in a line to catch a shuttle that turned out to not be an "official" line. We’ll spend a couple of hours waiting to board, having the opportunity to watch some folks make asses of themselves. It's a long story that I’ll not recount here. Suffice to say we made it back to the car and headed back to Lincoln. 

Sharon had seen hand-written signs advertising T-shirts on our way to the fairgrounds, but I hadn’t decided I wanted one. Now, on our way out, I decide I would like one if it mentioned Beatrice. So she starts scanning for the signs. When she spots one, she also notices that we’re on the street the shop is located on. 

We don’t have to travel far before we understand that the shop is on the other side of town. At least it's a straight shot. The shop is located in a small strip mall, and when we enter the parking lot, no other cars are in sight. I’m afraid the shop is closed and drive up close to the door so Sharon can check the hours. 

They’re still open, and should be for another 5 minutes. Sharon jumps out and goes in while I park. A couple of nice, young women are obviously trying to prepare for closing, but one of them is also helping Sharon when I walk in. They have a limited number of shirts in my size and only one choice of color, but I’m happy with the choice. 

While we’re checking out, more customers arrive and come in the shop. When we leave, a couple of other cars pull into the lot. Hope the women didn't have to stay too much longer. 

The drive back to Lincoln was quite pleasant as most of the traffic had cleared by the time we left the town. We returned to our motel delighted with our choice of viewing areas and the day we’d spent.