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.