The Plastic Cow

“We’re staying overnight in Omaha.” Hmmm. Tickety-tickety-tick, my brain started going around and around so fast I couldn’t stop it, in a Pengo Janetto sort of fashion. I’ve driven across the plains and back a handful of times and a few of those trips involved traversing the endless state of Nebraska. Omaha, Lincoln, Grand Island, Kearney, Ugly Lulu Ogalalla. Sorry, that’s what Duke used to call Ogalalla. (Duke was my uncle, Radical Betty’s husband. He died in 1983, shortly before a bunch of us Fin G3ers invented babies and poop and all that good stuff.)

Hmmm. Tickety-tickety-tick. Suddenly my brain stopped, Pengo Janetto style. It stopped on Grand Island. There is a Grand Island in Lake Superior but the city of Grand Island is in Nebraska and I dunno where “island” came from because there isn’t a whole lot of water in Nebraska. Liz might not share that opinion, having camped in a rainstorm somewhere near Omaha all last night. Anyway, on an infamously glorious Fin family ski trip to Colorado, the itinerary was carefully planned so that we could eat at a particular steakhouse type restaurant in Grand Island both going out to CO and coming back.

I couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant. My brain was going around and around so fast I couldn’t stop it, Pengo Janetto style. Tickety-tickety-tick. Then it stopped, Pengo Janetto style. It stopped on The Plastic Cow! Or not. I mean that wasn’t the real name. I think the place had a plastic cow sign outside it that prompted another Duke-ism. So I went on the Internet. Some searching around for Grand Island and restaurants turned up nothing much and I soon gave up and went to bed.

The next morning, I was driving around the planet and my brain was going around and around so fast I couldn’t stop it, Pengo Janetto style. Tickety-tickety-tick. Part of Dexter Road was *totally* blocked off by emergency vee-hickles of all sorts as well as tree cutting trucks and I don’t know what was going on there but I actually had to get off Dexter and drive down Linwood past the Burling’s and then get back onto Dexter. I was fiddling around doing that when suddenly my brain stopped, Pengo Janetto style. And, guess what? It stopped on DREISBACH’S!!!

And that was it! More googling turned up a picture on some random person’s (but looks like good folks) blahg. Scroll down a couple/few times to see it. I don’t actually remember it looking quite like that. Where the heck is the plastic cow? Further googling revealed that multiple tornadoes rolled through Grand Island back in about 1980 or so. I couldn’t exactly tell from the articles I found whether or not Dreisbach’s had been damaged or not but it looks like the place got a facelift in any case. Eventually, it seems to have been closed and auctioned off. I’m sure Liz isn’t too upset that she missed out on eating there.

That was a fun trip out to Steamboat Springs and I had really all but forgotten about it but now some random memories are coming back. Eating at The Plastic Cow is one of them. The rest would probably fill a whole ‘nother entry. Fried egg boobs anyone?

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