Ode to Arnold Heights

If you drive out of downtown Lincoln on West "O" street, past Capital Beach, past the white underclass neighborhoods, past the random car places and small scale industrial shops. Go all the way to West 48th, the extreme edge of town where the big truck stop is. Than turn north and go past the interstate junction. After a mile of country, you will hit a long, skinny, section of town.

On the E. side of West 48th is the air park, so called because it is an industrial park on the west side of the airport. Most of the buildings are abandoned or waiting for a tenant. So you can drive around empty streets dotted with stop signs and turning lanes that serve no real purpose. It's as if you made a wrong turn in Grand Theft Auto.

On the west side of West 48th is the Arnold Heights neighborhood. It is seven blocks wide, from 48th to 55th, and 3 miles long, from Holdredge to Fletcher. It's not a particularly poor neighborhood. It's not a particularly rich neighborhood. Somehow, it doesn't manage to be a middle-class neighborhood either.

The only interesting thing about Arnold Heights is its isolation. It's a good two miles from continental Lincoln. It has the feel of an outstate prairie village, colonized by Lincoln for reasons as unfathomable as the invasion of Ethiopia. I believe I even saw a Pump-and Pantry there, the ultimate icon of Nebraska's very small towns. One expects to see a sign listing 8-man football triumphs along West 48th.

I like to drive through Arnold Heights a day or two after a hard snow, once the streets have been cleared. Some hills that rise maybe 30 feet above plain level hide the neighborhood from the interstate. Driving between the artificial plow drifts and on into Arnold Heights makes me feel as if I've conqured a Himalayan peak, and then chanced upon a hidden civilization.

Then I go back down to the Truck stop on West O for a bowl and Chili and a big cheeseburger, listening to the truckers rail against the smoking ban.