Cindy Lange-Kubick walks 27th Street

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By the Lincoln Journal Star

At 10:40 a.m. on Thursday, Dec. 14, Journal Star writer Cindy Lange-Kubick started walking south along 27th Street from one of its northernmost points -- 7000 N. 27th St. About five hours later, she finished her 12-mile walk when she arrived at one of the road's southernmost points -- 8400 S. 27th St.. Over the next week, Cindy will share pieces from her travel diary as she makes her way down The 27th Street Stretch.

10:42 a.m., Wildcat Drive, 7000 N. 27th St.

The green sign points up a concrete ramp, letting the world know it’s 97 miles west to Grand Island and 52 miles east to Omaha.

I am heading south.

Straight south on a mid-December day with a north wind at my back and Merrell clogs on my feet.

I’ve got until dark to make it from here — where the cows once grazed and the corn once grew and the wildcats once roamed — to Yankee Hill Road, where the cows once grazed and the corn once grew and the wildcats once roamed.

I’m keeping this journal in case I get blisters on my feet and collapse in a McDonald’s bathroom along the route, and rescuers don’t find me for days and wonder: Where was she going and why was she going there?

And when they read my coffee-stained notepad, they will know I wanted to walk where no woman had ever walked, along sidewalks few had ever tread, seeing what there was to see at 2½ mph on 27th Street.

I’ve got 12.91 miles to go.

Let’s trudge.

10:43 a.m., Wildcat Drive, 7000 N. 27th St.

I am alone amid the new crop growing on 27th Street: cars.

 I can buy a car, fill my car with gas, wash my car, change the oil in my car, park my car, lube my car, repair my car, drive my car.

How do I know where the car lots are? I look for the giant American flags.

Because I have no car, I pass by Anderson Ford Lincoln Mercury Mazda and Husker Auto Group and the silver 2007 Lexus on sale for just $41,746. I note the price of regular at the Conoco station: $2.39.

I notice a street called Whitehead Drive in the middle of this herd of cars. Hmmm. The U-Stop owners are Whiteheads. Coincidence or no?

I see a sign ahead: 29 Years Tree City USA.

I see very few trees, but I do see the Christmas-tree-shaped roofs of row after row of apartments.

I see Best Western is having a seasonal special: $59.95.

Just past Fletcher Avenue I see there is still land available, big enough for a 6,000-square-foot restaurant.

And on the west side of the street, the last of the places the wildcats roamed, I see cattails, scrubby pines, a meandering creek and golden grasses blowing.

I find old McDonald’s cups, broken beer bottles, a page from Tanner Littrel’s homework assignment.

Just north of Folkways Boulevard, Lloyd Stice is replacing the intake manifold gasket in his Ford. The retired railroader can remember when 27th was a dirt road.

“There was a brick house where those pine trees are. It was the only residence this side of Cornhusker.”

Now all those cars, early in the morning and after work.

“It’s a fit, to put it mildly.”

The good thing, he says, is Wal-Mart up the road, “seven financial institutions of varying degrees,” Super Saver and Hy-Vee.

I head that way.

Past the big boxes: Slumberland, Sofa Mart, Toys “R” Us.

I stop to talk to a guy who calls himself Joe, standing on the grass where the cars pull in to shop.

He has his cardboard sign. And he’ll stay until he gets the $20 or $30 he needs to get through the day, he says.

On a good day that would be 45 minutes, maybe an hour.

I’ve walked two miles. The price of regular at the Mobil station near Ticonderoga: $2.36.

11:36 a.m., Ticonderoga Drive, about 4600 N. 27th St.

The wind still at my back, I keep walking.

 Ahead I see a sign with an arrow: To I-80.

Apparently, it’s not too late to buy a car and head north.

Instead, I stick to the sidewalk next to this six-lane super street.

The price of gas is down another 2 cents: $2.34.

All I have is my backpack and my sweater, but if I had more, this would be the place to leave it. Storage barns everywhere.

Up ahead, the Golden Corral lot is filling, and the only smell for a block is sirloin.

There is a Goodwill store and the Bridal Gown Outlet and the lonely Rod Kush Plaza. Rod Kush, why hast thou forsaken us?

The billboard claims the Powerball jackpot is $43 million. (A few miles ahead another Powerball billboard will claim it is just $33 million.)

Smaller strip malls compete with stores on steroids.

 Taco Bell across the street from Taco John’s? Menard’s and Home Depot sharing the same parking lot? May the cheapest chalupas and sturdiest table saws win.

Another sign with arrows: University of Nebraska … Zoo … Museum.

Someone wants the guests of the Country Inn and Suites to know this isn’t all Lincoln has to offer. Keep going, the signs seem to say.

In the distance, the sound of a bell ringer at Super Saver. And up ahead a landmark: Cornhusker Highway, God bless it.

Shortly after noon, Cornhusker Highway and North 27th Street

For the second time in two hours I am nearly hit by a car turning right as I cross the street.

This time, I dodge the 11 county Oldsmobile and then take a chance to stop and pick up a dime that appears to have been run over by a coal train.

Village Inn is advertising holiday pies and Frontier Harley Davidson looks like an abandoned saloon. (They've packed up and headed to West O.)

I feel sentimental for two seconds when I pass the building where I worked in my youth and which is now either 2nd Wind exercise equipment or Custom Floor and Design. (Both look the same, long and boxy).

I feel even more sentimental at the day-old bread store where I once snarfed Hostess cupcakes for breakfast and where Salle Sinner is now emptying a grocery cart filled with bread — $2.14! — into the back of her station wagon.

She lives north of here, off 27th and Superior. The street has everything, she says.

And now that the city is closing the Starship Theatre, where she loved to take her grandkids for $2 movies, she'll never have to go downtown again.

Moving on.

Past the muffler shop and a trailer park, the "exotic piercing" shop and what appears to be a graveyard for Pepsi vending machines, I begin to smell what can only be described as A VERY BAD SMELL. It is either the Cargill elevator to the east or the Theresa Street wastewater plant to the west.

Time for the overpass. I meet a single jogger, dodge a few piles of dog do, and stop to read the graffiti: Hail to the Thief.

When it seems safe to take a deep breath, I do.

And I keep walking.

12:32 p.m., heading to Orchard Street and beyond

A few more blocks and I arrive at the lovely Pentzer Park, grass and trees and toys, where two bundled-up kids play on the slide.

Then it’s past the lovely Northbridge Community Center, where the old Safeway store once stood, and then past the lovely new police substation.

This is the heart of North 27th Street, a mecca of small businesses and humble restaurants.

At T’s Stop and Shop, Terry Rupert is frying up chicken at the business he’s run for 15 years. He’s got the cheapest gas on 27th Street: $2.25 for regular.

The smell of chicken reminds me it’s time for lunch: a falafel sandwich and sweet tea at Sinbad’s.

Fueled up, I press on, hoping to reach the bright lights of Williamson Honda by dark.

Past the Alps grocery store, Kim Son Video, Hair by Lana, past the filled parking lot at People’s Health Center, down a street of new and old, brick and frame, where Immanuel Temple once held services in a former used furniture store that once was Chubbyville. Past a new Walgreens across the street from the old Wagey Drug.

The 27th Street bus chugs past heading south, and a woman clutching an Alcoholics Anonymous book runs to catch it.

I’m moving out of the Clinton neighborhood and into Malone, advertised by a pretty blue sign. And another sign: Crime Stoppers Pays.

I see a block of Asian stores and restaurants: Vina Market, Pho Nguyenn, the Thai House.

Then I move into the Middle East: Alzahra Market, Holyland Cuisine, Baba’s Bakery. Mohammad Alhaidari and his friend carry bags of tea, flour, cheese, meat.

I move into the foods of Mexico: El Rancho and Tacos el Pueblo.

I pause to mourn the long dead Donut Stop just north of O Street, home of the best chocolate frosted cinnamon rolls in the world,  now Cricket National.

I’ve reached the north-south divide. Only  — only? — 84 blocks to go.

Passing O, about 1 p.m.

A porch with a blue couch. A porch with a white cat. A porch with a bicycle that has lost half its seat. A porch with a fat squirrel eating what is perhaps an acorn.

There are more trees here and more leaves on lawns.

A guy in a red sweatshirt puts his hood up when he exits Exotic Gift Express.

I notice the First-Plymouth Congregational Church tower ahead and over my shoulder the state Capitol.

I notice Ideal Grocery has 59- cent buttermilk and Shullsburg Swiss for $5.49 and — blasphemy — a sign that says “Open Sundays in December.”

The Amigo’s across from the Sunken Gardens has a blizzard of bird droppings falling from the giant Pinnacle Bank billboard overhead.

I pick up four pennies in the parking lot and cross Capitol Parkway.

The garden has been put to rest for the winter, and across the street an orange construction fence protects the soon-to-be new and improved rose garden.

I’ve been walking downhill, and now it’s time to go up.

I see a mailman, but I can’t catch him. Houses on the west side, zoo on the east, an empty Amoco Station on the corner of A Street.

I’ve seen five police cars. A dozen American flags. Two motorcycles.

I’ve heard one horn honk and one dog bark. I’ve passed four joggers. Seen five grocery shoppers on foot.

I’ve spilled coffee all over my white shirt and blue jeans. I’m waiting for one of the people driving and talking on a cell phone to call the police and report me.

It’s nearly 2. I see a purple house, a green house, a yellow house, a blue house, a house with a crumbling roof and down the long side streets houses, houses, houses.

Too much coffee. My goal is to take shelter at the South Street Library, and soon.

1:56 p.m., 27th and South streets

The library. Quiet and warm and, as an added bonus, bathrooms.

A librarian checks in books in front of the “Cat in the Hat” welcome sign, and I lounge in front of the new book section — “Eat Smart Walk Strong” catches my eye —  as the cars whiz by outside.

Have I mentioned the traffic on 27th Street? Many cars. Many cars going fast. Many cars making noise.

The librarians and I check a map. Is this the halfway point? Turns out I crossed it near Randolph Street. They point out the drinking fountain and send me on my way.

Uphill all the way to Sheridan Boulevard.  Houses get bigger. Trees close in. Near 27th and Manse Avenue, Victor Lind is building a 7-foot-4 brick wall for a homeowner.

If I come inside the wall, he says, the sound of the cars disappears.

I keep walking. The houses grow.

I long for the days when the city ended at Highway 2.

To amuse myself, I search for golf balls outside the Country Club.  A foursome finishes up on a par three.

I notice two things: No matter where you go, people litter, and the fence along the golf course is topped with barbed wire.

The 27th Street bus passes, heading north. There goes UPS. Fed Ex. The Pepsi man.

Gas at the U-Stop on Stockwell Street: back up to $2.39.

Here come Ted and Laurie Kessner walking down the sidewalk. Their backyard faces 27th street. They love living there. They don’t mind walking along 27th on part of their regular route, but crossing it? Not so much.

The street slopes down. I rest on a retaining wall at Woods Boulevard.

I count the cars in the left-turn-only lane. Thirteen. Two make it through the light. Two! Where is the left-turn-only arrow? Where? I’m upset, and I’m not even trying to get to Russ’s for milk.

One more leg in the journey. Yankee Hill, here I come.

2:44 p.m., 27th Street and Highway 2

Cars everywhere, but the walk is growing lonely.

I see two people walking on the bike path to the east. A guy hitting golf balls in Tierra Park. Two men  spraying weeds.

The tennis courts: empty. The skate park: empty.

Pine trees to my left, the backs of houses to my right. It’s uphill all the way to Old Cheney. All The way.

No one is outside at La Petite. Naptime, perhaps.

There’s a church for sale: Southwood Lutheran.

I spot more flags ahead. Banks and car lots love flags. The bigger the better.

I see a sign: Fire Station 4 Welcomes You.

I stop. The doors are locked. When I knock, they don’t let me in. A firefighter answers and stands outside, the way you might when someone comes selling magazine subscriptions.

I explain what I’m doing. I think maybe he will ask if I need a drink. No offers are forthcoming.

Up ahead, I see a little boy skipping. I see a big girl running to catch up.

Elizabeth Nelsen and her brother Matt are on their way home from Hill Elementary School.

They live off 27th Street, just past Old Cheney.

Cars zoom past.

Pssh, that’s nothing, Elizabeth says.

“It’s a lot busier in the morning.”

I tell them goodbye and head toward SouthPointe. The cars seem to be getting LOUDER in these open spaces.

I look to my left: Private Street. DO NOT ENTER Lone Tree Residents Only.

I enter, just for fun. Then I turn around.

I spot traffic lights in the distance.

I pass Ridge Drive. A Navigator. A Lexus. A warning: This area protected by Neighborhood Watch.

The time and temperature sign at Union Bank gives me an added bonus: The Dow 12417.

I pass Taco Bell, Chili’s, Macaroni Grill, another McDonald’s. SouthPointe looms.

The Foot Pleaser is on sale for $39.99 at Walgreens. Sounds like a bargain.

Village Inn is still selling holiday pies.

U-Stop gas: $2.39.

Runza has great bathrooms and free water, served with a smile.

I’m back to car land.  Chevys. Subarus. Hyundais.

The sidewalk ends.

I twist my ankle.

I consider stopping at Life Pointe for some “Urgent Care,” but I walk it out instead.

I scour the litter: a squeeze pop wrapper, a nasal spray bottle, a beer can, a Viagra brochure.

I see shiny Hondas to the left, the boulders of Wilderness Ridge to the right.

And some big boxy building in the distance, beyond Yankee Hill Road, where cows still graze and the corn still grows and wildcats are sometimes  (allegedly) still spotted.

I check the time: 4:06 p.m.

One hundred eight miles to Grand Island and 64 miles to Omaha by my best calculations.

Reach Cindy Lange-Kubick at 473-7218 or clangekubick@journalstar.com.