Highway 77, Nebraska

Highway 77, Eastern Nebraska

Highway 77 is a beautiful two-lane highway through the farmlands, towns, and a couple of cities in eastern Nebraska. Back in my hippie days, we hippies would drive it north to Vermillion, South Dakota, and back to Lincoln, Nebraska, over and over and over…
The town of Wahoo, Nebraska, is 31 miles due north of Lincoln. That town has some history with me and my friends.
I remember one trip from Vermillion to Lincoln very well. It was in the late summer of 1972 or 73, I’m not sure. My good friend, Mark, the draft dodger, asked me to go with him as he delivered his marijuana crop from South Dakota to Lincoln to sell.

I said, “Sure.” Hell, I had nothing better to do. We took the bus up to Vermillion and the Yellow Farmhouse. Mark brought along his underage girlfriend, who was 17. Her name was Allgood. She looked pretty good to me.
When we got to the Yellow Farmhouse, Mark told me that the Mudhen he bought would take us back to Lincoln with the crop. The Mudhen was a brown 1961 Studebaker Lark four-door. Mark had left the car sitting in a field all winter.
I looked the car over, and all the freezer plugs in the engine had blown out. This meant that the engine coolant froze during the long, cold South Dakota winter. I pounded the freezer plugs back in and added new antifreeze and water to the radiator.
Then, Mark told me that he couldn’t find the ignition key to the Mudhen. He’d hidden it with his stash last summer, and now couldn’t remember where it was. So, I had to hotwire the engine to get it to start. I used wires and alligator clips. It’s pretty simple to do on those old cars.
This took all afternoon, so we got a late start and headed for Lincoln. The weather was perfect. It was 75F with clear skies and a full moon. The pot was in the trunk. Allgood was riding shotgun. Mark was driving. I was in the backseat and soon fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was dark, but the full moon illuminated Highway 77 as we headed south. It was then that I noticed there were no headlights or dash lights working in the car.
“Don’t worry.” Mark said, “I can see just fine by moonlight. If we just get past Wahoo, the coast is clear all the way to Lincoln.”
It was about then that the Nebraska State Trooper pulled us over.

The trooper was very kind. He understood our predicament. We couldn’t shut off the car because it wouldn’t start again, and it was down to 50°F. The trooper escorted our car into Wahoo and told us we had to stay in the Wahoo Motel until daylight.

We parked the Mudhen in the motel parking lot and got a room. Mark and Allgood took a shower. I soon heard them banging way in there. I tried to distract myself by reading the Gideon Bible in the dresser drawer.
The next morning, Allgood, because she was 17, went out to wait for us by the highway. Mark and I went out to the Mudhen, and I tried to hotwire the car in the engine compartment, but the battery was dead. I looked at Mark behind the windshield. He looked like a doomed man headed for prison.
Next to us was a black Cadillac. A woman in her early forties wearing a leopard skin coat and a black beehive hairdo showed up to get in the Caddy. She’d been having a dalliance at the motel no doubt. She was very friendly. I begged her to give us a jump start.
She said, “Yeah, sure.”
I quickly got the jumper cables from under the pot in the trunk. I hooked up the jumper cables to her battery, and then my jumper wires and alligator clips to the battery, starter solenoid, and distributor.

Mark cranked the engine. No go. Cranked it again. Nothing. Two more times…
The beehive gal is getting nervous. “I’ve got to go.” She said.
“Just one more time!” I begged.
Mark cranked the engine. It caught. I quickly disconnected the jumper cables and the jumper wire to the starter solenoid. The beehive gal left in her Caddy in a hurry.
Mark and I drove out to the highway and picked up Allgood. It was another beautiful, sunny 75°F day. We had it made, now just 31 miles to Lincoln.
About 15 miles later, the engine began to clunk and lose power. Then it lost more power, and the engine noise got louder. The engine gave out on an uphill grade. Mark coasted over to the shoulder.
It was about noon. I saw a farmhouse a quarter mile away. Time for me to do my song and dance again. I walked to the farmhouse and borrowed the phone. I called our friend, Patrick, in Lincoln and begged him to come save us. He borrowed a pickup truck and headed north on Highway 77.
Mark and I sat on the side of the road up against the barbed wire fence. Allgood stayed in the car. Sure enough, another Nebraska State Trooper showed up. He was also very friendly. The trooper asked us if we were okay. I told him that we’d called for a tow and a friend to come get us.
The trooper left. Patrick showed up soon enough. We offloaded the pot and our gear into the pickup truck and headed for Lincoln.
That was the end of the Mudhen. I still regret leaving my sunglasses in the Studebaker, but all things considered, the trip turned out pretty well.TJM