Thirty: Independence Day (Manhattan to Manhattan)
The only time I did so much as look at my bike was getting in or out of Kelly’s Xterra. Otherwise, it slumbered in his garage.
We whiled away the day eating, wandering around a mostly closed Aggieville, committing alien genocide/playing Halo and generally being deadbeats. It was perfect. We also watched 12 Years a Slave, a powerful movie, and awfully appropriate considering the holiday.
No Manhattan business stepped up to sponsor a fireworks display, so we posted up on the porch to watch nearby Wamego’s offering. Unfortunately, the trees separating the towns have grown up, and we couldn’t see much. We settled for the neighbors setting off fireworks in terrifying fashion, including an errant fountain that put an adjacent fence aflame. You can really get professional-grade pyrotechnics in Kansas — even the local fire department is selling as a (two-pronged?) fundraiser.
I’ll be back on the road tomorrow, but am deeply enjoying my visit, and A-OK forgetting about the bike for 24 hours.