from the San Diego Reader

In celebration of the 7th anniversary of the Bearded Odyssey, I am re-running the series throughout the summer. This chapter was originally published in The Daily Nebraskan on June 15, 2003.

Just a kid without a beard.

Obermeyer family lore has it that Buffalo Bill Cody’s favorite niece married into my Grandma’s family long ago. My own travel lore has it that, since I was in Huntington Beach on Memorial Day, I didn’t have an opportunity to visit any departed relatives.

Driving out of Denver on I-70, I saw an exit that said “Buffalo Bill’s Grave.” So here was a chance to make up for the missed holiday and visit an honorary Obermeyer.

There had been signs for the Mother Cabrini shrine grouped with the signs for Buffalo Bill’s Grave, and I was only seeing signs for Mother Cabrini, so I kept going with those. I took a horrible winding road up the side of a mountain and cursed Buffalo Bill for getting buried in such a hard-to-reach place — I fear winding roads, particularly those that cling to sides of mountains.

Off in the distance …
it’s a giant white statue.

I finally arrived at a nun convent on the top of a mountain far above Denver. There was a little chapel at the base of the peak where, in the early 1900s, Mother Cabrini supposedly struck a stone with her cane and water sprung forth that still flows to this day. Up on the peak was a big white statue of what I presumed to be Mother Cabrini. Thinking maybe there was a cemetery up there where Buffalo Bill was buried, I started up the steps.

Now it did occur to me that it would be rather strange that this army scout-turned-showman would be buried at a convent, but here I was, so up I’d go.

It was a creepy walk up, to say the least. Beyond the monuments and decorations along the trail, there were also a lot of signs saying “Beware of dangerous snakes.” To prove my fearlessness (please note sarcasm), I took a picture of one of the signs. I did see one crude, handmade sign that said “Beware of the snake,” so I took a picture of that too.
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from the Lincoln Journal Star

I tipped my hand a little bit on twitter the other day. And don’t forget to get your I KNOW ABOUT THE HOLOGRAMS t-shirt!

from the San Diego Reader

In celebration of the 7th anniversary of the Bearded Odyssey, I am re-running the series throughout the summer. This chapter was originally published in The Daily Nebraskan on June 8, 2003.

There comes a time in a man’s life when he must stop fighting nature and accept his destiny.

There comes a time in a man’s life when he must accept the master plan of those little things that grow out of his face.

There comes a time in a man’s life when he must grow a beard.

I’ve never had a beard, and to be honest, I’m not sure I ever will, at least as far as true beard aficionados define them. I’m not the most facial-folliculated person. In fact, I’m probably one of the least facial-folliculated people I know.

Mine is not one of those peach-fuzz babyface problems - more a case of some severely dry patches in the field.

My dad has a great beard. He’s had a beard as long as I’ve known him. My grandpa never had a beard to my knowledge, but he had some great chops for a while. My dad took over farming from my grandpa, and took those chops and turned them into a great beard.

He’s been thinking about retiring from farming and wanting to lose the beard lately. I consider it my role and my destiny to take over in his footsteps; I will let my beard grow, and one day I will have a yard in which I may proudly mow perfect diagonals.

A lot of great men beyond my dad have had beards. Abraham Lincoln. Jesus. Moses. Other Biblical characters. Randy Savage. Jamie from the Real World/Road Rules Battle of the Sexes.

Will I be remembered as a great bearded man? Probably not. Most likely, my beard will look like I slept in some hair clippings after accidentally splattering a few random patches of glue on my face. But it’s not really about how beautiful and/or manly my beard is; it’s about the quest.

While some may grow a beard out of some statement of manhood or to hide nasty facial scars, my beard will be part of a much bigger process.

You see, the beard is a way of separating oneself from the world. The most unique, personalized thing any of us have is our face, and growing the beard is like nature’s way of taking that away from everyone else. It’s pulling your hairy hankie over your mouth before you rob a bank, like bandits did in the Old West.

It is that withdrawal from society then that motivates me to use my beard to jump in — to take this newfound anonymity as an opportunity to head out on some truth-finding adventures.

I will road-trip to the four corners of the United States and places in between, such as Idaho, seeking adventures of danger and enlightenment wherever I may find them and wherever they may find me. All the while, as my experience grows, so shall my beard.

We will grow together, in fact — the reader, the author and the facial hair.

When I tell people my plan for the summer, the typical response is “Oh, you’re following Kerouac’s footsteps?” or they try to relate this to some other beat-poet yippie-doo.

No. I just want to drive around the country, get in adventures and grow a beard. Any connection to anything hippie-related is an unfortunate coincidence.

Weekly(?) updates in the Summer Daily Nebraskan will keep you posted as to where I am, what’s happening to me, and how the beard is doing. I have a natural tendency to meet strange people and get into strange situations; hopefully these will outweigh any bearded deficiencies.

Join me, my friends, as we embark on The Bearded Odyssey.

Reader Matt writes:

Neal,

Like many people, I enjoy a good sandwich, and Subway restaurants have never let me down. Seeing as they now offer breakfast, would you be so kind as to try one of these Subway breakfast sandwiches and share your experience? I am most interested in the Western Egg White Muffin Melt I see advertised, but I welcome any input and value your choice in sandwich to review.

Matt

I need to start off by acknowleding that Matt asked this question almost a month ago and I’m just now getting around to answering it. My apologies, Matt. What started out as good intentions — wanting to try multiple combinations in order to give Matt a very thorough response — ended up getting way too drawn out. But not all of this was my fault. I discovered that some Subways aren’t open for breakfast. Others are open, but they’re drive-through only during breakfast hours. And for some reason, I felt like the sandwiches would be best judged by ordering at the counter o’ ingredients and consuming it there in the restaurant.

So my first bit of advice — if you want to sit and eat your breakfast sandwich inside the Subway restaurant, go to one that doesn’t include a drive through. My best luck in the Omaha metro was with the Dundee location and the one just northwest of 76th and Dodge.

Western Egg White Muffin Melt
This was the sandwich that most captured Matt’s imagination, so I wanted to try it first. As someone who is used to ordering my McGriddle or Sausage Biscuit sandwich off the menu with no questions asked, I was caught a little off-guard by how customizable these sandwiches are. It’s great for the picky, but somewhat tricky for the reviewer who wants to review something general enough so as to be able to comment more on the sandwich than on his or her individual preferences.
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from the Lincoln Journal Star

from the San Diego Reader

Seven years ago, it was safe to say I was a little lost.

Over the course of this summer, as a tribute to 2003, I’m going to re-run the original Bearded Odyssey columns in director’s-cut format — including stories that had to be trimmed, an adventure that never saw print and photos that never ran. They’ll run in the same weeks they ran originally, with the official intro debuting on June 8. Here is Editor Lippincott himself to kick it off: (more…)