Kim Huskers

Avoca Quack Off 2010

Despite living in on 30 minutes west of Avoca for nearly three decades, I'd never heard of the Quack Off. We ventured east on HWY 34 not knowing what to expect, we found adventures we couldn't have imagined. Avoca is a village of less than 300 people, reveals itself over a ridge south of the highway. The houses are small, there isn't really much of a main street, and on this grey dreary January 30th Avoca looked like the least fun place on earth. But it's not the facade of a town or the weather which make a Quack Off, it's the people and the event itself.
Brent, Adam and me trolled the streets looking for a parking spot. We got in too deep and found ourselves boxed in by twenty parked busses that came out of nowhere. Some busses sported the name of a bar from Lincoln or Omaha. It was then we realized that there was going to be some drinking going on. We found a spot a block away from the City Hall and started our walk into the mob. The city hall wasn't much to look at, but it is old and had a certain charm. It contained the duck rental center and some cheap, good grub. We skipped the food and ducks, our plan was to be observers during our first go 'round. As we picked our way to our friend Brian's tailgate spot (yes, and he wasn't the only one tailgating, a few parking lots were full of cars) we noticed copious amounts of beer being consumed on the street. Everywhere we saw full koozies and even a few liquor bottles. A few police officers walked by smiling. It really is a revelation when you can drink a beer on the street without repercussions, a freeing experience during which you are released from the bonds of repressive society and accepted into a camaraderie of like-minded duck racers.
We passed a packed bar and made it to the tailgate. Brian, his wife and a few friends were gamely prepping for their duck heats. We soon started back for the bar to warm up. I'm not even sure if the place had a name, but it was out of control. People in winter coats elbowed their way through the crowd. Some sported sharpies to write messages on the ceiling, others hung their cans by the tabs under the framing on the drop ceiling. As we surveyed the crowd we realized these weren't farmers fresh out of the fields, it was as if O St. had moved their party to Avoca. The average age hovered around 24, and people were drunk. Like, really drunk, and it was noon. After much drink spilling, elbowing, and singing "Livin' on a Prayer," we finally left to head back to base camp to get more alcohol.
On the way we stopped at CIty Hall to get some eats. The pork sandwich, beans and chips combo ran $6. I tacked on a $2 hot dog. Though not spectacular the fare was filling. Brent and I snagged a couple of baked goods from that table and paid the two seven year olds who were in charge there.
After filling our pockets with booze we headed to the worn down basketball court that served as the duck race track. There were 90 heats of 5 ducks each. Nearly every duck name was a pun on "duck" or "quack." "Quack to the Future," "Tiger Woods Likes to Duck" "Baby's Got Quack;" the list goes on and on. The lanes were demarcated by orange plastic fence material. An announcer in a small trailer next to the court announced the competitors and a whistle set the off. People held their ducks and, upon release, chased them down the lane. Fire fighters waited at the end to corral any runaway ducks. People were into these races. There were chants, cheering and lots of drinking. A man in assless chaps and another in an Andre the Giant style singlet with duck wings shaved into his head were among the racers. Lots of people proudly wore duck related clothing and hats. I can't imagine how long 90 heats took, we made it though about 15 races before we decided to start heading home. The throng at the track remained as rowdy as when we got there.
All the action took place over 4 hours. Our first Quack Off was a resounding success. Lots of drinking, lots of crazy stuff to see, and lots of fun. Our route home took us through the tavernless hellscape of Elmwood before we mercifully arrived at the One Eyed Dog Saloon in Eagle, a nice little bar and grill with a friendly staff.