Today, more than 4000 years since the Chinese observed the eclipse of 2136 BC, millions of Americans are flocking to cities and towns along “the path of totality” to witness this celebrated celestial event. Today is a Woodstock of sorts.

“. . . and the Sun has perished out of heaven, and an evil mist hovers over all.” Homer, The Odyssey.

Homer is said to be describing a total solar eclipse of April 16, 1178, BC. But for a few historical texts and records, modern man can only imagine how early societies interpreted this astronomical wonder. The Old Testament credits the Lord God for making the sun go down at noon. Greek poets cast blame on the Olympians. “Fear has come upon mankind,” they scribed.

Enter modern-day Alliance, Nebraska, the home to Carhenge, a replica of the Druids’ most famous and mysterious structure, Stonehenge. Built by Jim Reinders in 1987, it’s what you imagine. Old cars, a classic Jeep, a Pinto, and other faceless vehicles placed where the towering pillars of Stonehenge cast shadows thousands of miles away in Southern England. Drawing visitors from near and far, Carhenge is a monument to the country’s weird and wonderful roadside attractions and a testament to the great American road trip.

Alliance is a small, dusty Great Plains town of just under 8500 hardy and kind souls, where cornfields and tractors far outnumber hotel rooms, booked for months, maybe even years, before today. The few hotels are at capacity due to the curious pouring into the town by cars, buses, and vans marked with out-of-state plates.

Alliance, nestling the western edge of Nebraska’s Sand Hills, has provided a quiet life for the folks in this Box Butte County town.

Days before the countdown to 11:49:09 AM on August 21 (the magic hour of totality), this small Nebraska town was overrun by space tourists hoping to catch even a glimpse of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the sun go down at noon.

“Come on clouds, go away! I’m missing school for this,” a couple of kids chanted as they skittered about Carhenge. Adults too, openly speculating on the weather. All eyes on the sky head in the clouds. The anticipation of totality was palpable, the pulse of excitement was hard to explain for totality veterans, but you could see it in their eyes. This dusty town was in for something special.

Clouds are damned. Rain, always useful in a farming town, still damned. The weather gods answered with a partly cloudy but glorious day, a subtle nod to the terrestrial that they are still in charge. Enjoy the gift, remember to wear sunblock.

Campsites dot church grounds, and local bars feature live music into the night. City parks, backyards, mowed oat fields, and harvested corn rows host tent camping for these tourists. The Governor of Nebraska, Pete Ricketts, makes an appearance, wearing a blue sports coat, creased jeans and cowboy boots per the political uniform of western standard. We all have a front-row seat to this high plains spectacle.

And what a spectacle it is.

Explaining the science behind a total solar eclipse is hard. Succinctly describing why sitting in a cornfield to witness the eclipse of our star was a good idea is easy yet as distant and challenging as actually landing on the moon. For two and a half glorious minutes the world around us is set on pause and there are collective gasps.

“Holy shit,” a family sitting behind me says repeatedly. It is only joining the chorus of cheers, clapping and shouts of approval that ripple through the crowd reminding me of the many concerts I’ve attended in my life. You can feel the energy release at 11:49:09.

Entire families rise from their picnic blankets and camp chairs into the eerie darkness of totality as a 360-degree sunset unfolds around them. The dusk-like light was warping and bending, racing to reach us, peaking around the moon 238,900 miles away. The temperature drops, the wind had picked up an hour before. But at the moment of totality, it was calm, or I didn’t notice or care to be bothered by the dusty air because everything was fresh and pure.

1128:10, 1131:25, 1131:27

In a text from a lifelong friend, he asks how Nebraska is? My reply was simple, “life-changing” and it is the truth.

The universe will always call the shots. I saw two sunrises and two sunsets today. It’s like eating the best dinner with your best friends, drinking the most exquisite wine with your wife, sipping bourbon around a campfire and hearing your favorite song at that perfect moment. All the feelings, all at once as if shot by a bazooka. They come at you fast.

How was Nebraska? How was the eclipse?

For millions of Americans, it will reach deep to hopefully feed a sense of wonder that every generation worries that the upcoming will lose. It will feed that sense of feeling small and being humbled by the universe, and that is OK.

It's obvious in life that some experiences and feelings are never meant to be fully explained. Science predicted today’s total solar eclipse 85 years ago because that is what science does. It’s a perfect union of organized knowledge and testable ideas no matter how crazy they may sound at the time.

Witnessing a total solar eclipse is not going to help answer all of life’s questions, but the millions of newly minted fellow travelers and space tourists don’t need an answer and are already making plans for 2024. I know I am.

My one tip, see it with friends, family and loved ones.

Share the experience with the people you treasure. Because every time you see the sun, moon and the stars (which is hopefully often), it'll remind you of the time you all stood and marveled at the universe high above and swirling all around us, every day and at every moment.

One last thing, listen to Willie Hewes of Safford, AZ cover Cat Stevens’ “Moon Shadow.” It’s pretty awesome but caution it’s an earworm that will eclipse all other thoughts. Boom.