The Morning After

Those fine warm, humid days came crashing to an end on Saturday, get-away-day. On the bus ride to the Kansas City Airport the ski turned dark gray and its been pelting down ever since. I'm now really glad the ride is over.

Here are a few of the high points of the trip.

Best Dinner: St. Paul's Lutheran Church, Slatter, MO. Honorable Mention - Sterling College, Baker University and the Hays Tavern in Council Grove, KS.

Best Breakfast: St Paul's Lutheran Church, Slatter, MO. (a sweep!)

Best Ride Day: Trinidad, Co. to La Junta, Co. We got pushed by a tailwind all day, except for the last few miles when it turned on us.

Best Ride Segment: Highway 181 on the way to Larned, KS. Another  big tailwind had us clocking speeds of 20 to 25 MPH without much pedaling.

Worst Day: Tie between the Philmont Scout Ranch and Raton Pass, a rainy debacle that I shall never forget, and the day of strong winds on the way to Baldwin City, KS.

Best Discipline: Wentworth Military Academy

Worst Coffee: Wentworth Military Academy

Worst Night's Sleep: Gym bleachers at Trinidad State College

Best Library: Dodge City Community College - a no hassle sign-in, good late hours.

Best Small Town Café: This one is very difficult, there were many top candidates, but I have to go with Hart's Pharmacy in Cimarron, KS., where I purchased my K-State sunglasses. Honorable Mention: Harvest Café in Inman, KS., and Patti's Snack Shack in Marshal, MO.

Best Donut: Brown's Hotel in Springer, NM, which, sadly, is now closed forever.

Worst Moment: Second after crashing near Wagon Mound, NM, and thinking I might have broken my shoulder or bruised a rib, potentially ending the ride for me two weeks early.

Best Moment: Crossing the Missouri River, anticipating the end of the trip a few miles down the road.

Best Coyotes: Arrow Rock State Park, MO

Best Bugs: Anywhere in Missouri.

Best Feral Cat Noises: New Franklin

Best Roadkill: Highway 41 to Lexington, a real murderers row.

Best pre-trip purchase: My new pair of Keen's

Best Tool: The Leatherman (it fixes bikes, it opens beer, it does everything!) and my pedal remover which saved the day in Larned, KS.

Best Fort: Bent's Fort.

Most Useless Thing Packed: Never used my long underwear and my duct tape rain paints, which are several sizes too big for me and must be fastened with clothespins.

Most Valuable Clothes: My cycling leg warmers, used constantly after about the fourth day. It was cold some mornings!

Well, we had some time to kill at the airport...

Ride's End

The last 26 miles are in the bag. We arrived in New Franklin at 12:15 pm. Sheri was waiting for us with three beers. We had our pictures taken by the big stone monument that signifies the official start of the trail, but for us it was the official end.

Russ in foreground, Steve coming up fast on the final morning ride through the soybean fields.

The day started out fine with the howling of a coyote pack roaming through camp at 5:30 am, followed by the hoot of a barn owl. Once again everything was soggy, but we saw it would be a sunny day. As rode over the last hills toward New Franklin, the day warmed and warmed. The humidity rose, hard to believe it was almost fall and that people are laying out their woolens in Seattle. The headwind picked up to remind us of its presence. But it didn't really matter today. The mileage was short and we had energy from a good night's sleep.

The Sea-Brem team poses with helmets off signifying the end of the Santa Fe Trail ride.

We rode the last nine miles on the Kady Trail, a rails-to-trail path (no cars, no trucks!), that cuts through a tunnel of trees to Boonsville, then looped around and across the Missouri River before circling into New Franklin. Even though we did the trip in reverse allegedly so we would have the prevailing wind at our back (I guess that didn't quite work as planned), I note that some of the mule trains returned from Santa Fe loaded with buffalo and beaver hides, as well as silver.

Our final camp is at New Franklin High and Junior High School. Old Franklin was drowned in one of the Missouri's frequent floods. We've lost a lot of members of our group. I know Gary and Andy, who live in Chicago and St. Louis respectively packed their panniers and headed back out on the Kady Trail for a multi-day ride home. Glenn's wife showed up to pick him up and took him back to Lawrence, Kansas. We lost Fu-Ping in Independence. I think about half of the original 32 riders are left. Tomorrow, the rest of us bus it to the Kansas City Airport for our flights home. Russ packed our bikes on his rear rack, then he and Sherri headed north to Iowa to begin a leisurely trip back to Bremerton. I'll see Bianchi in a couple of weeks. I hope she enjoys the trip home and the rest. In the interest of full disclosure, I never did change out the rear tire in Council Gove. I decided I had enough tread to make it the rest of the way. I predicted correctly for once.

How do I get all this ___ in my duffel bag? Steve gets ready to go home.

It is hot and humid here, with bugs crawling all over place. Steve's first camp site swarmed with little red bugs that overan his duffels. I've been plagued by spiders and little millipedes. They have giant Daddy Longlegs here. I spent a lot of time wrestling them out of the tent the last couple of nights. God knows what's coming out of the woods tonight to get us. I think I can stand one more night of this otherwise I will go mad. I look forward to my bed.

This has been a great adventure, on pare with my Finland trip in 2007. One of the big differences was having some friends along, Russ and Steve. I valued Russ for his steadfastness and quiet thoughtfulness and Steve for his bound-less extrovertism (is that a word?) and enthusiasm. I remember Steve high-fiving me on that horrendous 90 mile day to Baker, the one where we battled a typhoon or so it seemed to us, and saying "I think it's in the bag" when it really wasn't yet in the bag and we still had to traverse a dirt track that was worse than the Burma Highway. I, of course, thought we would die and that our desiccated remains would be found among the cornstalk stubs the following spring, yet another casualty and addition to the lore of the Santa Fe Trail ("Them dang cyclists should have never set out from Council Bluffs on a day like that; damned near killed themselves."). I know both Steve and Russ both greatly admired my vintage, time-tested equipment, as they never ceased to marvel at its lasting power, its ability to hold together for yet another day, and my self-induced 25 pound weight handicap that allowed them to keep pace with the amazing Bianchi - the Sherman Tank of bikes. Seriously, they were generous in keeping the pace reasonable as I huffed and puffed my way across a wide swath of America. I appreciated that.

Yes, there is something almost sacred about sharing a common experience that is out of the ordinary. And this was certainly out of the ordinary.

I will have more to say about the trip in the post script which I will post tomorrow. For now, I need to rest and go kill me some bugs.

Stats: 26 miles. Total for the trip, about 1,241 (according to my odometer and corrected for its error),  but will confirm tomorrow when I can find my odometer.

Flat Tire Final. This is now official. I win. Bob 5, Steve 3, Russ 1. Steve was unable to have two flat tires on the last day of the trip. However, my sources report that Gunther The Great was the overall champion with 10 flat tires, which just goes to show you that even the great ones have down days.

 

 

Last Big Ride

{First of two new posts, and photos posted to Detour to Independence.}

 



We moved out of Lexington quickly as the sun rose. The days now are starting off cool and dewy, but the fireball that rises in the East assured us we would have another day in the 80s. Russ quickly sprinted ahead, while Steve and I sank to the rear, for our usual lollygag. This was out last full day ride.

Once again Missouri offered us her hills most of which are planted in soybeans and corn. Big trucks carrying corn or ethanol roared passed every few minutes, which was somewhat unnerving due to the extremely small shoulder (about 18 inches). Precision steering was required all morning. Steve seemed to stop at every fruit stand, and there were many. I'm not sure how he managed to stuff all the jars of whatever he bought in his little rear carrier. Later in the morning, the headwind kicked in which made the last few miles to Marshal excruciating. After each rest break the stiffness and aching in my legs from lactic acid build-up takes longer to work out. Early in the trip this wasn't a problem. But now with more than 1,100 miles of relentless cycling, I feel like I am beginning to wear down. Perhaps if we had not had so many days of head-winds I would have more left in the tank. But I got just enough to finish.

Man in the corn.

 

Per chance, we stopped at a little dinner in Marshal (again, the kind with barstools) and wolfed down a couple of hamburgers, while being quizzed by the locals about our trip.

Rejuvenated by lunch, we were well on our way to closing the last 15 miles when Steve got another flat tire. This one was in the front. Tired changed, we made Arrow Rock at about 3:15 pm and found ourselves in what I would call the Mendocino of Missouri. While most of the towns we visited are decaying, this one, population 56, appeared to be thriving as a tourist destination. Who knew? The well kept Main Street boosted antique stores and some fancy restaurants. At one time, Arrow Rock was a thriving metropolis of 950. The town owed its existence to the neighboring Missouri River, where steamboats would arrive and off-load goods bound for the mule trains of the Santa Fe Trail. The decline started during the Civil War, then was amplified by the build-out of the railroads that ended the steamboat traffic. Today, the warehouses and docks that once made the town have returned to forest.

Our camp is about a mile away, a very pleasant one except for the voracious mosquitoes. I think the bugs are getting in their last meal before winter sets in.

The second-to-last supper at St. Paul's in Slatter, MO.

Dinner was several miles away at the St. Paul Evangelical Lutheran Church. We were greeted at the door by the priest wearing an aprons. The tables were set with silverware. Our last supper from a full days ride was a full-on turkey dinner, then pie. When we finished the sun was setting over the cornfields. The air was crisp and clear, the sky a brilliant melon. The wind had died. It was the perfect end to our day.

Tomorrow we ride only 21 miles to New Franklin, the first embarkation point of the trail. It will only take an hour or two, then we need to start getting ready to go home. It's hard to believe the great adventure will end.

Stats: Miles 60. Flat tire standings. Bob 5, Steve 3, Russ 1.  Steve is making a comeback, but Bob's ability to get flats in abundance early in the trip staked him to a big lead which may simply be too much to overcome. With only 21 more miles left, Steve will to need to run over the debris from a crashed pin-cushion truck to catch Bob. But it's never over until it's over.

Later that night...

I got to tell you that when night falls and there is no moon it gets pitch black around here. There is no ambient light here so the stars are brilliant. I can even see the Milky Way. And the nose from the woods. I know I have commented on this before but it really sounds like we are in the Amazon rainforest. There is the usual screeching and itching of crickets and cicadas. But now we have croaking, chirping, wheezing and honking and something that sounds like an out-of-control whoopee cushion. So picture, this Steve and I are sitting outside our tents on a picnic table in the middle of this black chaos, with only our headlamps and glow from the computer screens. We are slapping at mosquitoes, yanking ticks and jiggers off our legs and computer screens, all to bring you the latest from our adventure.

Wild About Harry

Enjoying a beer the afternoon after we arrived in Independence. We're in the back of the truck because it's raining outside. Left to right, Russ, me, and Gary.

September 25, 2013. Lexington, MO., Wentworth Military Academy. This has been a strange day. We began in Independence. After yesterday's drizzle, we were glad the sun came up and quickly chased away the ground fog and chill. As promised, we toured Harry Truman’s House on Delaware Street. It’s a large Victorian, but one of the most striking things about what it says about the man. When he left the White House, President Truman had no pension, no secret service protection and no home of his own. So he and Bess went back to their old home, which happened to be owned by Harry’s mother-in-law who never really thought Harry measured up to his daughter, though being President did help. The Trumans did not believe in renovation and pretty much left the 150 year-old as is. The original linoleum is on the kitchen floor, stapled together in sections. The room is painted green. There is a food processor which looks identical to the one I have, bequeathed from my grandmother. My favorite room was his study, which consisted of two comfortable chairs, surrounded by built-in bookshelves stuffed with books.

The Truman House

We finished off our tribute to President Truman with a visit to his presidential library. He and Bess are buried in a courtyard at the library, which through displays and mementos describes his life and his presidency.

It was after 11 am when we finally hit the road, about three hours behind the rest of the group. We only had 47 miles to cover today. Missouri has hills, bigger ones than Kansas. Gone are the wide-open spaces. They have been replaced by rolling countryside with thick woods, then smaller farms. Russ said he saw a Cardinal. Up and down we went through the countryside, We made a short visit at Fort Osage, which was established in the 1820s when Missouri was being settled and after the Osage Indians had been removed (remember Bad Deal # 1, yeah I’m talking about you Foolish Man).  To make up lost time, we stuck to US 24 which had a nice wide shoulder. Unfortunately, it was littered with so many dead animals that we lost track. Too bad I discontinued the road kill statistic.

Wentworth cadets at attention before evening mess.

Marching to mess.

We pulled into Wentworth Military Academy (the Red Dragons) shortly after 4 pm. The academy, like just about everything else around here has been around for more than 100 years. It currently is a combined high school and community college. It appears to be a fine place to go to school if want to wear a military uniform and march to your meals. But the cadets are exceedingly polite. I’ve been called “sir” so many times I’m beginning to think I’ve been knighted. (I think I should be knighted after I complete this trip, come to think of it.)  Soon after arriving we were whisked away on a bus tour of the town. Our guide, a former faculty member, told us a third of the students want to be here, a third are indifferent, and a third would bolt if they had the chance. The academy more or less is a prep school for the military academies, at least for those that don’t wash out. The school does seem to be attracting students from China, whose parents are more than willing to fork over the $40,000 a year in tuition. These students may be keeping the school afloat financially. And it is coed. In fact, I am writing this from the bleachers of the gym where the Red Dragon women’s volleyball team is taking on Graceland, which perhaps is a college founded by Elvis Presley (well, I don’t know. I’m doing this without notes!).

Lexington itself is full of very old, big houses, most of which appear to be falling apart. A few of them have been restored and they are quite beautiful, hints of the antebellum south show through the white columns and dilapidated carriage houses. Most of the stores downtown are vacant. Some fall down occasionally. The town’s population has shrunk from 6,000 to 4,000. The biggest new development in years was the recent opening of a Dollar General Store. When asked what it would take to revive the place, our guide just shrugged, he didn’t know what the answer to revival was.

We got only two more ride days left. I’m hoping the Bianchi hangs on. I hope I hang on. Just a little less than a 100 miles to go and this thing will be in the bag.

Stats: 48 miles or thereabouts.

Detours to Independence

First of all a few things to get off my chest about yesterday's taxing ride. On our approach to Baldwin City, we got hit with a detour. Steve and I ended up on a dirt road that consisted of gravel the size of small Easter eggs. We managed to stay upright and not get a flat tires. And I am told Baker University's enrollment is 800. I stand corrected. Now for the news of the day.

Speaking of flat tires, Steve got number two about nine miles out of Baldwin City. I think he picked up some glass. Other than that the day started off well. We were making good time. Mercifully, there little wind, and what was blowing was at our backs.

Flat number two for Steve.

A couple miles later we hit our first detour, which took us a couple of miles out of our way. The big farms with thousands of acres and the whoosh of corn trucks on the road was gradually replaced by super-sized houses surrounded by acres of immaculate lawn and serviced by battalions of gardeners driving pick-ups towing trailers with lawnmowers. Stone lions or other animals guarded the long driveway entryways. Development after development passed all with big houses painted various shades of brown. We had entered the far-flung suburbs of Kansas City.

We ran into three more detours, all of which managed to navigate and get back on the right track. The hills continued relentlessly, but they were not so bad without the wind. At a lunch stop at Taco Bell Steve looked up at me and asked what state we were in. Other than the state of confusion, I said I wasn't sure. I thought we were still in Kansas. He got up and asked the young man tending the counter. He said we were in Missouri. We expected more from our exit from Kansas, but that's what you get when your entry point is Stateline Road, with street straddling each state. No "thank you for your visit" or "come back and see us again" only a relentless stream of suburban malls and shopping centers that would have done Bellevue proud. It felt like we could have been anywhere. I started to miss the corn trucks and the giant cultivators that straddled the entire highway.

We found a street called the Santa Fe Trail and turned down it, escaping the mayhem of Stateline Road. Stone monoliths marked the actual trail as it wind through the pleasant neighborhood of middleclass homes. Not far away was a marker noting that this was the origin of the three great trails - The Santa Fe, The California, and the Oregon Trail. There were speed bumps in the road which must have been as much a nuisance to the speeding mule trains as it was to us. At least with the stone markers they had no problem picking there way through the suburbs.

The ride improved as we wound our way through a park-like setting on Blue Ridge Avenue. Steep stone-laced slopes covered in a thick wood of deciduous trees lined one side of the road. Then we popped out of this canyon and entered Raytown. Stopped at a light, a truck driven by a young man passed waving a huge confederate flat. Stopped at the light with us was an African-American man, who promptly flashed the designated finger. We applauded. I guess we ARE NOT in Kansas anymore, but Dixie. Russ reminded us that Missouri was a slave state and a member of the Confederacy. Apparently, some folks around here still think they are in that ill-fated union.

By the time we rolled in the RV park where we set-up camp a heavy mist was falling. We can't seem to catch a break with the weather as the forecast was for a zero percent chance of rain.

Stats: 68 miles.

The Sounds of the Santa Fe Trail

I managed to drag myself into Baldwin City at 5:40 pm. after a full day of riding that covered about 90 miles. To make matters more interesting, we had a headwind almost the entire way. It was one of the most taxing days of cycling I've experienced.


On the hill you might be able to see Osage scouts checking out our bike expedition.

We began immediately with the Flint Hills, but once those were surmounted continued to run into little hills. At times the road looked like a roller coaster. We lunched at the pleasant Santa Fe Café in Burlingame, which boosts one of the widest main streets I've ever seen. In the old days when the trail ran right through town, the 200-feet wide main street was constructed so that mule trains could turn around. It was bricked over in 1922.



Downtown Burlingame and its 200 feet wide Main Street once was used to park mule trains.

The final part of the day was a big slog, most of it on US 56 which had no shoulder and a lot of truck traffic. Besides cycling up and down over hills (who said Kansas was flat!) and getting bashed by the wind, we really needed to concentrate on staying to the side of the road. Then there was the constant shifting of gears to try and get the best ride possible under poor conditions. I continued my amazing ability to snag weird insects while riding. A cicada got stuck in the air vent of my helmet, causing quite a ruckus. My head is still buzzing from the sound.

What I really want to talk about are some other sounds. Last night in Council Grove our camp was at the edge of a wood. As soon as it got dark, the cicadas and crickets began their screeching. I'm used to this by now. Next comes hooting, gawking, and snorting of various creatures, then barking dogs. It's a cacophony that is almost deafening, particularly for someone used to our relatively quiet northwest forests. It is also somewhat intimidating. No wonder people have a fear of the deep dark forest. I think I would too if I had grown up here.

During today's ride there was the constant roar of traffic. I can pretty much tell what kind of vehicle (truck or car) and how fast it is approaching by the sound it makes.

We are currently lodged at Baker University in Baldwin City. Apparently, Baker was the first university established in Kansas, established 1n 1858 when the Santa Fe Trail was in use. Enrollment today is about 700 students. It is yet another small college on a pretty campus in a small town. I never heard of it until about 30 minutes ago.

Note sign on the left regarding guns.

Other Stuff in Council Grove

After tending to the bike I had some time on my hands so I did my test ride around Council Grove. Here are my observations.

A. Like almost every town we've crossed since Las Vegas, NM., Council Bluff's streets are red brick. I guess they don't have to worry about repaving them.

B. I visited a little cave that was occupied in 1863 by an Italian mystic turned hermit, Giovanni Maria Augostini. He spent five months in this little crevice, then walked 550 miles on the Santa Fe Trail to Las Vegas, NM., where he promptly set himself up in another cave. He found time to perform some miracles so the good people of Las Vegas built him a house.

Giovanni's cave, a fixer-up job with view, would go for about $350,000 in Seattle.

C. This was Kaw Indian Territory prior to the start of trade along the trail in 1821. Kansas derives its name from the Kaw, also called the Kansa. (This will be on the test.)

D. Bad Deal #1. In 1825, the Kaws and Little Osage signed a treaty with the U.S. government that basically granted wagon trains the right of way so they could get to Santa Fe. The trail cut through prime buffalo hunting area, but the Kaws and Osages probably thought what harm could a few yahoos on wagons do. For their grant, the Indians received $800 and some calico. By the way the names of the two chiefs representing the Indians were White Hair and Foolish Man. I will say no more on this. (I did not make up the second name. History has proven it a correct representation.)

E. Council Gove was named for the place the treaty in the above paragraph was transacted, not far from where I am camped now. There was actually a large oak under which the ceremony took place. Unfortunately, it burned in 1959, but the town fathers preserved the stump which is enclosed in a shrine like structure.

F. Bad Deal #2. A few years after Bad Deal #1, the Kaws made Bad Deal #2, not that they had any choice. They were forced onto a 20 square-mile reservation after having roamed throughout all of Kansas for generations. The settlers wanted the land and the Indians were in the way. That was that. Then later, in Bad Deal #3 they were relocated to Oklahoma, where their reservation exists today.

G. I have never seen so many vultures. They continuously circle are camp. It seems they follow us when we ride. I think they are waiting to pick off the weak ones.

Downtown Council Grove at high noon on Sunday.

What cross-country bicycle riders do on their day off.