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.

The Parrots of Council Grove

[Found an internet connection at last, first of three new posts]

Our last rest day has arrived and never has one been needed. I am nursing a sore rear-end, an aching right shoulder and numerous other ailments. Despite the drumming of the Poison Tribute Band, who rocked out at a nearby bar, I managed to sleep well last night. Nevertheless, my body can use a day off.

Gone is the warm dry morning air of New Mexico. Now it is chilly when I poke my head out of the tent like a prairie dog peeping from his hole. A low mist hugs the grass fields of the city park where we are camped. The grass is wet. The tent is wet.

Breakfast is the usual eggs, ham and butter milk biscuit at the senior citizen center on Main Street. I guess I better get used to eating in these kinds of places. The morning newspaper is full of big news. Page 1 headlines scream-out: "Cowgirl Drill Team Expresses Appreciation for Freedom and Those Who Protect It." In the advertising section I see there are a lot of "polled Herefords" for sale, and then I spot a big ad for "Ammo" at Bob's Trading Post in nearby downtown Hutchinson. So Russ has his town, Steve has his dry county and I have my ammo dump. We are complete.

The morning chore: laundry. When I walk into the Clothes Line Laundry a parrot lands on my head. After unsuccessfully trying to eat the button from my cap, he hops onto my shoulder and rides around as I sort my laundry. That's what kind of day it is going to be.



Baby, one of the many parrots that hang out at the laundry in Council Grove.

 

The Bianchi needs tending. The Sea-Brem team has not had a flat tire in several days. Nevertheless the rough chip seal country roads have grinded all the tread off my rear tire. I have a spare and I plan to install it on this afternoon while I have time. We got a long 85 mile pull tomorrow, out last real grind ride of the trip, and the weather report forecasts a southeast wind, not good.

Steve, Russ and Sherri have off to check out a cute small town and Grasslands National Park or something like that. I've seen enough grasslands to last me a lifetime. I need to rest. I would like to take nap.

The Day of the Locust

Council Grove, September 21, 2013. Saturday. We continued to blaze our way east across Kansas. It was a perfect morning, no wind, which is probably unusual for these parts. Russ rejoined us in the morning, his bike repaired in Wichita last afternoon. The Sea-Brem team is back at full strength.

Tabor College doesn’t do breakfast so the three us bought donuts, coffee and some other goodies at a bakery on Hillsboro’s Main Street, which was lined with festival vendors. Today is the annual arts and crafts show, which will swell the city’s population by about 400%. I hope they can handle it. Parking off Main Street was going for $5 a car.

The early morning sun casts long shadows.

 

 

A Kansas moment.

It was a perfect morning for a ride. The fatigue of last night, helped by a robust sleep, was chased away by the crisp morning sun. We cut north on a country road across gently rolling fields of corn, milo and soybeans. At a bridge spanning Marion Reservoir, I asked a couple of fishermen in a skiff if they had caught anything. The news wasn’t good. One guy said they were after “swipers” and bass. The latter I know, but I had never heard of a swiper before and neither had my friends. A field of giant sunflowers passed, which more or less, was the quintessential Kansas moment.

The Meat Locker, where meat is your best friend!

A little more than half way we came to the little town of Burdick, whose welcome sign declared it was still growing. Well, if Burdick is still growing, so am I. The only viable business left in town was the Burdick Meat Locker, a butcher’s shop, where Mike the Butcher made us some sandwiches. The rest of the business district, such as it was, consisted of wood-framed building ready to collapse. I couldn’t help but wonder how these places could continue to exist.

Onward, as the afternoon grew hot. I got hit in the chest with a locust going full speed. For a few seconds, there was a struggle as the locust clawed onto my t-shirt. I didn’t know what the hell the thing was. All I saw was a bunch of segmented legs, bulbous eyes, and four inches of scaly body. I thought a dinosaur had landed on me. I finally managed to swat the monster off. Locusts continued to bounce off me throughout the afternoon, though once I took a dragonfly on the neck. Since swallowing a bug whole a couple of days ago I now keep my mouth shut as I ride, though I imagine bug protein isn’t all that bad. The trick is to swallow them whole and don't think about it.

We pulled into Council Grove at about 3:30 pm, ready for our layover day. Dinner was at the historic

Hays House, which has been in continuous operation as a tavern since the days of the Santa Fe Trail. They fed us well in a private dining room.

We are camped in a city park. Now, Steve and I are trying to finish our blogs on a couple of park benches in the dark, while mosquitoes dive bomb the computer screen and us.

The stars are coming out. The cicadas are going nuts. A bat just flew by. Crickets are jumping into my tent. And later, the howl of coyotes is heard in the wood that border our camp.

Stats: Miles 67. We are now more than two-thirds of the way to the end.

The Cafe at Inman

The wind blew today and unfortunately it blew in our face most of the time. It was a long 70 miles from Sterling to Hillsboro's Mt. Tabor College. The big morning controversy was whether the gas bubbles gurgling up from a mud pond at one of our rests was from methane or tadpoles. Steve insisted tadpoles. I said I thought it was methane. "Look at all the oil derricks in the fields," I pointed out. The issue remains unsettled, but if those bubbles were caused by a tadpole it was at least 8 feet long. Can't wait to see the frog emerge.

The real action of the day occurred in the little farming town of Inman, where we stopped for coffee and pastries at the Harvest Café, a true monument to Middle American values. This is the place that advertised 25 cent coffee between 2 and 4 pm. Inside, lining a shelf that ringed the upper walls was the finest collection of model trucks and John Deer farming vehicles I have ever seen. OK, I haven’t seen that many, but it was impressive, believe me. Then there were the pies for which they are famous. I didn’t want pie, but opted for a maple bar, which, in my world, counts as donut. That’s donut number three for this trip. Steve, as usual, made for the table where the local ladies were sitting. Later, Barbara came over and chatted with Russ and me. Turns out that we just missed the big homecoming game between Inman and Trinity Christian, as well as the Santa Fe Days parade. These events take place tomorrow. We also learned we are in Mennonite country. I don’t think they are keen on the consumption of alcohol so we will need to behave ourselves for yet another day. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand. The sign in the Harvest Café more or less explained things: We are just like Cheers except for the beer.



Steve once again chatting up the locals at the Harvest Café. 

Through Steve’s chat-up, Barbara made a call to Ralph Vogel, who had just proudly restored an early 20^th century farmhouse that had been moved to the city museum’s lot. We must see it, she insisted. So we spent another half hour in town touring the cute little restored house. Apparently, Ralph had done all the work himself; truly with loving care. Ralph tells us his son is a music professor at Mount Tabor College, our destination for the day.

It was already late in the morning by the time we rolled out of Inman. About 30 minutes later Russ had a Eureka moment. He called Sheri, who was visiting not far from Hillsboro, our destination for the day. He had located a bike shop in Wichita, which was open until 6 pm. He figured if he could get to Hillsboro by 3 pm, connect with Sheri, then drive an hour to Wichita, he could get his bike fixed and get rid of annoying knocking sound each time he pedaled. Russ was on the phone with Sheri reviewing the plan, while Steve lay out in the middle of the road to stretch. Fu-Ping and Gunther joined us. Our bikes were scattered on the ground, as if we had a massive collision. The rural mailman and another motorist stopped to ask if we were OK.

Russ sped off to his rendezvous with his wife, while the rest of us leaned into a stiff headwind. We had gone not five minutes when I heard a siren coming up fast behind us. A sheriff’s car pulled up beside Gunther who was riding behind me. “Everything, OK?” he asked. “We heard that someone was hurt.” Apparently, a passerby had called in when they saw Steve on the pavement doing his stretches. I knew this stretching in the middle of the road would cause trouble as some point. In the next 20 minutes, two more sheriff’s cars passed, and one that looked like undertaker. This might have been the biggest event to happen in Inman since the coming of the railroad. It certainly gave the cops something to do. “CSI Inman!” yelled Steve.

The wind was oppressive in the afternoon. Without Russ our pace line was reduced to two, but with the wind cutting in at an angle there wasn’t much relief for the trailing cyclist. The land seems richer the farther East we travel. The farms are big and the fields, at least the ones not fallow, are cultivated with corn and soybeans. The farmhouses themselves are big and well-maintained with expansive lawns and big trees to break the incessant wind. Every ten minutes, even on the narrow country, road large trucks passed brimming with corn.

Resting at another lonely crossroads in Kansas.

The roadsides are devoid of the beer cans and beer cardboard carriers that littered all other areas.  Could there be a connection between the ban on booze in these parts and lack of litter?

I tried to break the monotony and the growing weariness in my legs by thinking of all things Kansas. That meant humming the same verse from the rock group Kansas – Dust in the Wind. All we are is Dust in the Wind…I couldn’t remember the other words, but these few were apropos today. Then there was Judy Garland and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” But I decided to save that one for tomorrow.



Steve stretches in front of an abandoned foot market near Canton, Kansas.

By 3 pm, Steve and I straggled into the parking lot of an abandoned food mart at the intersection with US 56, not far from Canton. The weather had warmed up the chill that greeted us in the morning. We ate the last of the fried chicken we bought at the Harvest Café, its friendly atmosphere now a distant memory as we sat facing a parking lot of broken glass next to rusting farm machinery and decommissioned oil derricks.

By 4:30, we finally coax our bikes the last few miles to Hillsboro. We were escorted into town by Mike, a local, who guided us to where our group is camped on the west lawn of Mount Tabor College, a Mennonite college. It teamed with athletic looking corn-fed kids. We had 20 minutes to shower before the visiting woman’s volleyball team arrived (not exactly a great incentive to vacate the premises).

Stats: 71 miles and one sore butt.
Late Score: Inman 14, Trinity 7. A big upset. I bet the town raised hell at the Harvest Café. Congratulations Inman!



 

Pawnee Rock is Gone

[First of two new posts]

Today was one of our shorter days. We rode about 60 miles, mostly with a tailwind. A storm was moving in from the south, and from across the vast plains we could see clouds heading our way. Thunderstorms and an inch of rain were predicted for Sterling our destination.




Santa Fe Travelers would leave their mark on Pawnee Rock, a prominent landmark on the trail, that is until it was ground down for highway gravel. A few of the original stones have been preserved.

Nine miles northeast of Larned is Pawnee Rock, a prominent outcropping that was a landmark to both local tribes and to travelers on the Santa Fe Trail. It was customary to chisel your name into the rock, thus the stone itself became somewhat of a scrapbook for all who came and went during the trail's use. When we arrived, we did not find a rock. We found a platform that was constructed to the height of the rock, but the rock itself was quarried away at the turn of the century. We wandered around the platform for awhile, then left. It seems to me they shouldn't advertise it as rock if there isn't a rock.

For fans of the Parks and Recreation sitcom, I did not find anyone who resembled Leslie Knopf as we made out way through the quiet streets of Pawnee Rock, a town, like many others, that looked like it lost its will to live. We did see a guy mowing his lawn, that was pretty exciting. I thought I saw Tiny Fey near the grain silo, but I was mistaken.

Lunch at Raymond.

The other feature of this ride was a mass caterpillar migration across one of the county roads we spent a considerable amount of time on. The little guys were crawling across the road, for what reason I do not know because there were miles and miles of fields on either side of the road. Yet they insisted on crossing the road without even looking both ways. Some of them did not make it to the other side. We crossed over into Rice County, which made Steve happy and then we lunched at the tiny town of Raymond, which had about the same level of activity as Pawnee Rock. A message taped to the door of the town's Post Office announced new hours. They would be open only for 1 hour and 45 minutes on Saturdays.

We are now camped at Sterling College. Looking forward to a chilled beer when we arrived, we were shocked to learn that Rice County is dry. No beer for us this afternoon. This part of Rice County must have been settled by some distant evangelical sect of Steve's family. Now thanks to Rice County we are all on the wagon. Somehow we will survive.

Later that day...

And survive we have; just back from dinner. Sterling College, a Christian four-year school, has - hands down - the best student cafeteria we've yet encountered. We gorged like wolves after a buffalo kill, refusing to leave our seats for a long time. I can't wait for breakfast. After dinner, we took a stroll through campus. It's a rather handsome place, founded in the late 1880s. School has not started yet, but the place is teaming with athletes. When I went to take my shower I had to wend my way around piles of students being wrapped up, iced down and bandaged up - injuries from the various practices taking place. It looked like a MASH unit. Turns out 70% of the student body participates in varsity sports here. I don't know what the other 30% do, perhaps play in the marching band. The kids are incredibly polite, too. Makes me wonder with these strong winds delivered us to OZ after all.

Also around us is the Sterling College baseball team, who apparently practice in the fall. If they take batting practice, we in trouble because our tents are pitched in foul territory just to side of the left-field foul pole. I think I'll wear my helmet to bed tonight..

While strolling around campus, I came up a sword in a stone. I knew if I removed the sword I could claim to be King Arthur, and perhaps ward off the dragons lurking in the next county and drink beer there, too. Alas, I failed proving yet again I am merely mortal.

The future king; but alas the sword would not budge.

Russ is still dealing with the knocking noise in his front chain wheel area. He has called every bike shop in central south Kansas (of which there are two) and has left messages, regarding his problem. My bike appears to be OK after last night's fix. No flats today. We are on a winning streak.

We may be getting a break in the weather. The thunderstorms (and predicted large hail) may not occur here. Tomorrow's forecast is reasonably good. Yahoo!



Statistics: Mileage 60. Roadkill - many caterpillars, unintentional (I tried to weave around them, really I did.)

Don't forget to check Steve's blog at: http://stevessantafetrek.tumblr.com/

 

Camp at Sterling College in Sterling, Kansas. Note baseball players stretching beyond Glen's hammock, which is in play.

Breezing to Larned, Kansas



The Sea-Brem Team at the halfway point of the trip, Dodge City, KS. From left to right, the author, Steve Rice, and Russ Hartman.

 

Wednesday. September 18, 2013. Larned, KS. Today was awesome. A bright yellow sun rose shortly after 7 am on our campsite at Dodge City Community College. A stiff warm breeze was blowing from the southwest. These were perfect conditions, finally, lookout Dorothy here we come to Oz! We are also officially half-way to our destination, New Franklin, Mo., the original starting point for the Santa Fe trail.

We sped out of Dodge, or at least we tried to, but Steve in the lead managed to get us a little lost in one of the city’s twisty subdivisions. He quickly found his way out of the labyrinth, then got us back on US 50 to join the truck brigade. The shoulder was wide and we were off. The morning’s primary feature besides the usual sorghum crop was windmills, hundreds of them cranking away in the same breeze that was pushing us east.

The sun finally shines outside of Dodge City as Steve and Russ consult the tip notes.

 

 

 

 

Tumbleweeds bounced across the road. At the hamlet of Kinsley, which bills itself as the exact halfway point between New York and San Francisco, we cut off the main road and bumped down pleasantly deserted brick streets in search of the town’s Deli. We found it, in a shop that also served as a beauty salon and tuxedo rental shop. Judging from the décor in the little deli it appears that the Kingsley Coyotes are a big deal. We also discerned that my fancy dancy sunglasses purchased in Cimarron a few days ago do not represent the Kansas University Jayhawks, but the Kansas State Wildcats. So I stand corrected from my previous entry.

 

 

The afternoon was mostly pure bliss as far as biking is concerned. We left Highway 56 and turned north on State Highway 183, which headed due north for 12 miles. The wind was really whipping up now and lucky for us it was pure tail wind. We barely pedaled as the landscape of farms and cottonwoods flew past at 20 mph. The stretch ended when we turned east toward Larned. Now we were buffeted by a powerful crosswind. Keeping the bike on the road was a challenge.

We stopped at Fort Larned National Monument. The fort was one of several established during the heyday of the Santa Fe Trail.  It would have been rough duty to have been an enlisted man at that time. I peeked into the old barracks building and it was clear that two soldiers had to share a bottom and top bunk (four per bunk). They slept head to foot.

On the final few miles as battled a very bad crosswind, I started hearing a pinging sound coming from my bottom bracket. This was disturbing because I had spent considerable effort overhauling the bottom bracket (new bearings, etc.) before I left, so this development was not a happy one for me. I figured I would troubleshoot after dinner.

Steve chats up the Larned Lions Club, whose members served us dinner. Note the abundance of Ranch Dressing.

Dinner, by the way, was served by the Local Lions Club in the basement of the 4-H club building adjacent to the city park where we are camped. The brisket was great.

I solved the bottom bracket problem by prying off the chain wheel and cleaning up the axle. I thought maybe some grit got into the crank. I took it on a test ride. No pinging. Let’s hope that solved the problem. Russ is also having problem with his crank, but on his fancy bike a homemade fix is not easy.

Statistics: 77 miles. Roadkill. 2 deer, 1 rabbit. Tumbleweeds: two fly into my tent last night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Much Needed Rest

We are having a down day in Dodge City, a place famous for its notorious lawlessness in the 1870s. Having just visited the Boot Hill Museum I learned a few interesting facts about this place. For instance, Bat Masterson, who had a TV show fashioned after his career, was only sheriff here for one year, then lost an election for a second term. He ended up as a sports writer in New York. No one knows how he got the name "Bat" but the museum thinks it may have had something to with him hitting bad guys over the head with a club. Big Nose Kate really didn't have a big nose, but was nosey. Marshall Dillon is fiction. The mayhem more or less ended when the cattle drives of Texas Longhorns stopped in the 1880s and the cowboys stopped coming into town to spend their earnings. And one last bit of trivia, Dodge City is the windiest city in the U.S., and right now as I write this it is blowing hard outside. Fortunately, the sun is out and the wind is now to our backs again. Tomorrow's forecast is for 91 degrees, so we go from freezing to roasting.

(Note to readers: To make photos bigger just click on it with your mouse.)




J.M. Essington death shows us that you should never bad mouth the cook.

What Dodge City must have looked like in the 1870s

A Cold Day in Kansas

(Dear Readers, this is the first of three new entries. I finally found an internet connection at the Dodge City Community College Library.)

I felt like crap when I awoke at 6:30 to pitch black skies that slowly lightened to show thick gray clouds. We had been spared the sprinkler ordeal that we suffered through in Lamar, but got old fashioned rain during the night that was preceded by a thick London mist-fog. My flannel shirt on Steve's clothes line did not get dry during the night. And, did I mention, it was cold.

We had 78 miles to go Dodge City and we all knew this was going to a tough day given that the wind was blowing from the north and east, basically a headwind. Steve suggested we ride in a strict three man formation with the pacer dropping back every three miles so as not to get too tired. Then, the second rider would cut the wind for his turn. It seemed about the only way we could get to Dodge City. My legs were stiff and the cold wasn't helping me warm up. We creaked out of Latkin and started our day.

About the Kansas landscape, I do not have much to add that I haven't already mentioned. It is flat, and with a leaden sky it looked even flatter. We passed stockyards, a slaughterhouse (how lovely), some horses, sorghum and corn fields, as well as just plain nothing in the fields interspersed with an occasional oil derrick and natural gas compression installation. And have I mentioned the trucks? It seems as if every second Kansas male is employed as a driver of a rig either carrying cattle, cattle effluent or farming apparatus of some sort. They roared passed all day. Lunch at the grain silos of Pierceville (see photo left) were ham and cheese sandwiches packed by the nice ladies who feed us dinner at Latkin High School last night. The three of us are devouring everything in sight, so the ham sandwiches disappeared quickly. It seems as if my body has recognized the new insane routine I have assigned to it. I crave food every few hours.

The sandwiches perked me up. The three of us began to make good progress. The wind died down, but the day seemed to get colder and grayer. It was like biking on the Oregon Coast, except for the lack of an ocean.

In Cimarron (Kansas has a Cimarron, too), we stopped at a corner drug store that had an old fashioned soda fountain and the checkered tile floor one associates with era of Eisenhower. Russ managed an ice cream sundae, while Steve and I warmed up on hot chocolate. When I mentioned I needed a new pair of sunglasses, two of the employees nearly fell over themselves to show me the fine selection of University of Kansas sunglasses they had on stock, adorned with Jayhawk colors. I now own a pair. Some day the sun may shine again, here.

Cimarron, by the way, was the place where the Santa Fe trail separated into two branches, the mountain branch which we have been following and the flatter and easier path that avoided Raton Pass. To be fair, the so called easier branch had issues with water and good pasture for the hundreds of animals each wagon train required to make the trip.

After Cimarron, we powered our way through the final 20 miles and arrived in good spirits at Dodge City Community College. The wet tent is up. We ate. I have to say that the DCCC student cafeteria has the number one rating so far on this trip. And they have hot water in the showers, too. What a deal!

Stats: Mileage 80. Road kill: 1 rattlesnake, 1 rabbit, lots of birds. Best moment of the day: Hot chocolate at Hart's drug store in Cimarron. Worst Moment: Waking up knowing I had to bike 78-80 miles with a headwind.

 

                                        Russ enjoys an chocolate sunday at Hart's Drug Store in Cimarron

Stats: 80 miles. Number of consecutive days without consuming beer: 3 (probably a record). I'm tired of stats. Check in tomorrow.

Geysers and Wind

 

Sunday, September 15, Latkin, Kansas. The day started early, way too early. At about 1:30 am I wedged myself out of my tent and made the trek to the Wellness Center, whose back door had been propped open for us to us the bathrooms. When I got there the door was locked. This wasn’t a complete disaster, as I being male, knew what to do. About 20 minutes after returning to my tent I awoke to the patter of raindrops on my tent’s rainfly. I quickly closed the rain fly opening, as I had left it open for circulation. I returned to sleep. About 30 minutes later, I awoken by what sounded like a geyser shooting water onto my tent. “My can it rain here, and quickly, too,” I thought. Water quickly pooled in the vestibule where my head goes and where I had stashed a sack of clean clothes, which quickly got wet. I retreated further down into the tent to the areas still dry. Then I noticed a curious thing. It was only “raining” on the front and right side of my tent. Now I realized it wasn’t rain at all, but the college’s sprinkler system. Our entire camp was in chaos, as most of the tents got doused. Bill, one of our amazing 76-year-olds, dragged a cart from a nearby maintenance yard and capped one of the fountains.

By morning we couldn’t wait get the hell out of Lamar. The city seemed cursed. After a quick breakfast we were on the road by 7:40 am, following Highway 191 east. Today, the wind was blowing from the north, northeast, not good. It was a crosswind, but did us more harm than good. The blue skies of the early morning quickly turned gray.

We passed a bunch of lamas, and were chased by dogs, a big one and a little one. The landscape was flat, though cultivated in areas with corn and some other crops I couldn’t identify. The land was flat with occasional gentle hills. At the small town of Hartman we stopped for Russ, as Hartman is his last name. He had never heard of Hartman, Co., before, population 122, but decided it was worthwhile to check it out as long as we were there. We toured the cemetery, but found no Hartmans. “Apparently, they were smart enough to leave,” quipped Russ. The cemetery was the best, most maintained part of the town. Steve and Russ pulled into a park-like area, with a “welcome to Hartman” sign. This is where Steve incurred his first flat of the trip. He quickly changed the tire, as I snapped a picture of Russ beaming with the Hartman sign and water tower in the background. Dogs barked. Someone started a chainsaw. We saw no Hartmanians. “Look,” I said. “If we come to the towns of Rice and Goldstein we are not stopping again. Every time, we do something out of the way something bad happens to one of our bikes.”

At 11 am we rolled into the side yard of United Methodist Church, where parishioners had prepared us lunch. Egg salad sandwiches, fruit and cookies never tasted so good.

 

The church volunteers have been doing this annually for the Santa Fe Trail ride for many years. We reluctantly left about 45 minutes later, facing an increasingly pesky head wind. The rest of the day was truly a struggle. We entered Kansas, but it made no difference with the wind. Our pace slowed, though we pushed to stay at speeds of 10 to 12 miles per hour. The lone highlight was the generous shoulder provided by Highway 50. Large farm trucks heading to the stockyards screamed past, coating us in a rain of corn husks. When we rested biting flies feasted on us. The skies turned grayer and the temperature dropped. I was starting to think of the opening scenes of the Wizard Oz. To make matters worse, we also lost an hour as we entered the Central Time Zone near Kendall.

 

For nearly 50 miles we battled the wind and climbed up and down gentle hills. Russ went ahead, but Steve, Bill, who joined our little group, and I straggled into Latkin, where we have pitched our tents for the evening. At least we weren’t in Lamar anymore and the volunteer ladies who prepared us an excellent spaghetti dinner in the school gym assured the sprinkler system had been turned off. Unfortunately, someone forgot the turn on the hot water, so we screamed through cold showers before bed.

Statistics: Mileage 88. Too tired to think of more.