In the enchanted past, with my sweetheart-wife driving a 1971 VW Van down the street of wheat, listening to new 8-tracks of Harvest and Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, we experienced Bents, a portal on the edge of time. I revisited that enchanting time recently on my easel.
My father rode his Harley-Davidson across the prairies in the depression of 1935 before there were conventional road maps. Did he stop in Bents to get gas at 25 cents a gallon, or to have a full meal at 20 cents, or 25 cents at a Chinese restaurant to stay the night upstairs?