DAY NINE – OMAHA, NE TO NORTH PLATTE, NE

In Omaha we checked into the Magnolia Hotel, which turned out to be one of those places with way more history than you expect when you’re just dragging your bags in after a long day on the road. The building started life in 1923 as the Aquila Court Building, designed by Holabird & Roche — big names in early American architecture — and modeled after the Bargello Palace in Florence.

Back then, it wasn’t a hotel at all. It was a full city block built around a courtyard that looked like someone had dropped a little Italian garden right into downtown Omaha. There were stone paths, goldfish pools, canals, and carefully manicured greenery tucked inside the U‑shaped layout. Offices, apartments, and shops wrapped around it, all connected by marble floors, mahogany woodwork, and those early electric elevators that were considered cutting‑edge at the time.

The gardens disappeared in the 1970s, and the building cycled through a few identities — Westin Aquila, then Sheraton — before finally becoming the Magnolia in 2006. But even with the changes, you can still feel the bones of the original place: the arches, the brick, the way the building seems to hold its own little world inside its walls.

So staying there for two nights didn’t feel like just another hotel stop. It felt like slipping into a piece of Omaha’s past — a century‑old landmark that’s been standing here since the early Lincoln Highway days, watching travelers come and go long before we rolled in.

And now that you know the lovely history, let’s get down to brass tax… beyond being historic, the two reasons I booked it were simple: valet laundry and valet parking. Two things I find very important when traveling. Not so much the valet parking, but if you’ve followed my trips, you know I have to do laundry halfway through. And today is literally the midway point. Two nights in Omaha… perfect timing. And if someone else could do it for me? Even better. We’ve been arriving late and leaving early, so there’s been zero time to do it ourselves.

So I get to the front desk and ask where valet is… and the guys goes, “We have self‑parking.” I said, “I paid for valet.” He said, “You paid for self, but it’s a secure lot” And he said it in a tone that made me feel like an idiot. Please remember this moment for later.

Fine. Maybe I misunderstood the website. No big deal. I move on and ask about laundry. He says, “We don’t have laundry service. We have dry cleaning.” I said, “That’s not what your website says.” He looks at me like I’m a blithering idiot, but says he can call housekeeping. I told him he had my cell phone number… I never heard from him. Again… remember this.

I go upstairs, tired and cranky… and find a laundry bag in the room. How do you not have laundry service if you have a laundry bag? Right?

The next morning before leaving for the zoo , I go downstairs and ask the new woman at the desk about laundry. She says they contract with other places. I said, “Okay… that’s laundry service.” She hands me a laundry itemization sheet which means I would I have to unpack my entire laundry bag and itemize every single thing??? Then she looks it up… “Oh… it needs 24 hour turn-around.” To which I say, “exactly why I brought this up yesterday!” Are you kidding me? I also mentioned the guy last night tried calling housekeeping to see if they could do laundry. Does anyone in this hotel know what’s going on?

We head to the zoo. But when I get in the car, the exit gate is wide open. Strange, considering it’s supposed to be a locked lot… and I paid extra for it. I tuck that away in my brain.

We enjoy the zoo, come back, park… the exit gate is open (still?). We go upstairs to use the bathroom… and my room hasn’t been touched. Nothing. No bed. No towels. No shower ge that I mentioned to the housekeeper on our way out this morning… Nothing. And that’s when I lost my mind.

I go downstairs and say, “Hi… remember me?” I tell her the gate has been open all day. I tell her the website says valet and self‑parking in the same paragraph. I tell her my room is untouched… she says that’s by request only. To which I reply, that’s not what the FAQ sections of the website says… I do a lot of research before staying anywhere and so far they are three for three. The website needs serious updating. Nothing.

We go out for our amazing burger at Block 16. We come back… ready for a relaxing night… and there’s a bug on my newly made bed. Not a jumper, so not a bedbug, but still. I call the front desk. “Hi… not trying to be the worst guest ever, but there’s a bug on my bed.” New person I have not spoken to asks if I want to change rooms and I say not particularly because all y stuff is organized… he sends maintenance.

And here’s where everything comes full circle.

The maintenance man—nicest man in the world—tells me they have a new GM. Amazing guy. They’re deep‑cleaning the entire hotel. He’s been here two months. And two months ago, they switched from valet to self‑parking.

So you’re telling me the guy last night and the woman this morning had no idea the hotel changed policies two months ago? And they looked at me like I was crazy? They couldn’t have just said, “Oh wow, we just changed that and haven’t updated the website yet… we’re so sorry”? A simple apology… a one‑night credit… anything.

THEN … we do get moved to a new room, just three doors down… and not only does it have a laundry bag, it also has the itemized list!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Are you picking up what I’m putting down?

This GM is getting a letter from me. This was one of the worst hotel experiences I’ve ever had… second only to the Virginia Beach potato bug / backup toilet incident.

But it really was a beautiful hotel!

Day Nine starts with one of those moments where the Lincoln Highway brushes up against a piece of American history I somehow managed to live my whole life without really knowing. Boys Town has been sitting on the edge of Omaha for more than a century — founded in 1917 by Father Edward J. Flanagan, who believed every kid deserved safety, dignity, and a chance to build a life. He didn’t build an institution; he built a village. Homes instead of dormitories. Schools instead of holding pens. A community instead of a correctional facility.

And yet, despite all that history and all that meaning, we basically rolled in… and went straight for the Stamp Ball. The world’s largest ball of stamps. Millions of them, layered into this giant, weirdly mesmerizing sphere that looks like something a very determined child would make if given unlimited craft supplies and zero adult supervision.

Then we headed toward the Elkhorn bricks—the most pristine section of the Lincoln Highway that exists. East of Elkhorn sits a 3.6‑mile stretch of original 1920 brick pavement, often called one of the most famous brick roads in America. About one full mile of this alignment is officially listed on the National Register of Historic Places, preserved exactly as it was laid more than a century ago. Hunter got out and walked a portion because Pops walked a portion in one of the videos, and he was very proud of himself.

Finding his way on The Lincoln Highway

Then I was starving… like eat my left arm starving. The owner of the Lincoln Hotel in Iowa told me to go to Casey’s for breakfast pizza. She was right. It was a heart attack on bread… gooey, cheesy, salty… delicious. I’ll need five gallons of water to recover, but wow.

Fremont was a quick Lincoln Highway stop, anchored by its 1921 Abraham Lincoln statue with the Gettysburg Address carved into the base. A nearby neighborhood still holds a short stretch of original brick pavement, plus an old opera house and a Lincoln Highway marker that round out the town’s early‑highway history. It’s small, but it packs in a surprising amount of Lincoln Highway texture.

We passed the spot where the Meridian Highway and the Lincoln Highway cross … nothing there to mark it, just an unceremonious intersection of two huge pieces of early American road history. The Meridian Highway was the north–south counterpart to the Lincoln Highway, running from Canada all the way down to Mexico, meant to be a true international route long before the interstate system existed. After that, we stopped at Glur’s Tavern. Opened in 1876, it’s the oldest continuously operated tavern west of the Missouri River, and we would’ve gone in, but it was closed.

In a teeny tiny town called Duncan, we found the Avenue of the Trees tucked behind the fire department — a straight, quiet corridor of tall trunks lining the old Lincoln Highway alignment. It was small, simple, and very cute, the kind of stop that feels like a secret only the highway people know.

Lots of research said we had to eat at Runz… the Nebraska‑only chain described as a hot pocket of beef and cabbage. I told Hunter he had to get one, and we negotiated our way into a beef and cheese with a side of chicken strips. I ordered mine as a meal (I thought) but flustered and somehow ended up with two Runzas and chicken strips — no frings (fries and onion rings) I forgot everything.

The Runza itself was really good… until it wasn’t. When it stopped being good, it really wasn’t good. Am I glad I tried it? Yes. Am I going back? For Frings… Absolutely. Am I getting another pocket? Absolutely not.

And I loved this display in Pioneer Park in Grand Island!

I like to think of myself as a reasonably well‑educated human being, but the number of things in this country that I apparently know nothing about is absolutely gobsmacking. And I don’t mean quirky little roadside oddities or the kind of thing you only know if you already know. I mean a full‑blown museum whose entire building spans over a highway — an enormous, impossible‑to‑miss piece of American infrastructure that somehow never crossed my radar until now.Then we finally arrived at the Archway Museum. I’ve been looking forward to this. It was phenomenal. So many audio exhibits… Hunter listened to fifteen in a row at the beginning, so by the time we got to the Lincoln Highway section, he was done. I listened to most of it. It’s dark inside, so the labels are hard to see. They should promote using your phone instead of the handheld device. And apparently Kearney is pronounced Car-nee.

And then… it happened. Hunter and I hit Cozad. the midpoint of the Lincoln Highway. And yes, The Lincoln Highway Association claims that this sign is the midway point. We made it. We are proud. We are exhausted.

Cozad is also famous for being the 100th Meridian… the traditional dividing line between the humid East and the arid West — the point where the landscape, farming, and even settlement patterns shift. Crossing it on the Lincoln Highway means we’ve officially stepped from the Midwest into the Great Plains.

One more thing in Cozad… specifically for Anna’s mom, Mary… The 50 States Barn Quilt Mural is a long, bright wall of painted quilt blocks downtown, each one representing a different U.S. state. Artist Rose Mapel used patterns from the United States Patchwork Pattern Book to create a six‑by‑fifty‑foot installation on the Mead Lumber building. It feels like a modern take on old barn‑quilts

We ended the night at a mom‑and‑pop Italian place called Luigi’s, where I had a really good Greek salad. I asked what they used for dressing and the waiter said oil and vinegar (not my favorite). Then he listed ranch, blue cheese, Caesar, Dorothy Lynch. I said, “What now?” Dorothy Lynch. It’s a Nebraska salad dressing. I asked if people would know what I meant if I ordered it somewhere else. He said yes. I tasted it… not bad. Like a sweet French with spices.