Sur La Plaque!

Miles: 96
Total: 2,302

I’ll be honest, I flirted with SR 96 before. Nothing too heavy, just a few miles here, a few miles there. There were plenty of other highways, byways and county roads involved. We kept it light. No one got hurt. That ended today, and I’m on a short leash. Outside of La Crosse, I hooked a right on SR 96 W and will be on that road for more than 300 miles, across two states and time zones, all the way to Wetmore, Colorado. It makes navigation easy.

I was off to a late start this morning. The weather continued through the night, and the pavilion’s lights were hardwired on, so I settled down just as my alarm went off. I lazed around another hour or so, enjoying the cool before finally turning the cranks at 8 a.m.

The storm put a damper on the heat and wind — extremely pleasant riding in the mid-60s and with a whisper of wind from the north for the first few hours of the day. It sprinkled a little outside of Alexander, where I changed maps to section 7, with instructions to Pueblo (spoiler: west on SR 96 — if you’re looking to save weight, leave map 7 at home and write those four quasi-words on the back of your hand).

I hit Ness City for lunch at Pizza Plus, and walked up to an 1890 bank building, known as the “Skyscraper of the Plains,” architecturally interesting, though it’s dwarfed by every grain elevator across the great state of Kansas.

I planned to call Dighton home for the night, but it was only 85 degrees when I stopped for ice water and banana Laffy Taffy 70 miles in. Two older ladies at the convenience store told me I’d like Scott City — it has more going on, including an alleged dollar store. They asked where home was, and said they’d been to Pittsburgh. Said they enjoyed their visit. I told them to come back sometime.

I’m sprawled out in Scott City’s park on 12th and Main tonight. The pavilion’s got a nice roof, so I didn’t bother with the tent. It’s also got ground-level outlets and a deposit on the concrete that’s either vomit or ice cream with what looks like cookie topping. I’m giving it a wide berth. No shower in the park, but the kind folks at the nearby pool invited me in.

Elaine’ll treat you right. I didn’t stay, but folks say it’s a nice B&B.

Dighton’s 1890 bank building is stunning, but dwarfed by grain elevators.

There are lots of these around, but this was close enough to the road for a decent photo.

Great place to sleep.

Miles: 93
Total: 2,206

On a clear day in Kansas you can easily see ten miles. This reality is driven home every time you spot a grain elevator, look at the map for the next town and think, “Wow, I’m getting close.” Ten miles. Every time. It’ll slowly creep closer, from a prick on the horizon, to a 130′ tall, reinforced concrete complex.

I got an early start and managed to dodge the sprinkler system at Sterling Lake. It was cool and pleasant, but a note on the maps about no services for 58 miles had me pack a little extra water. I thought I was finished with dogs, but two gave chase. The first, a golden retriever modeling a menacing bandana, the second a good-sized Rottweiler who squeezed under the fence (!). Luckily, neither had the tenacity of an eastern-KY hound and I escaped intact.

Fifteen miles into the day I entered Quivira National Refuge, an area established in 1955 to protect migratory birds. It’s a mix of prairie and marshland, and is gorgeous. Spaniard Francisco Vásquez de Coronado visited the area in 1541, hunting for gold. He came up empty. While reading a sign about various waterfowl, Robin and Brian from Newton caught up. They stayed in Nickerson last night. We rode together for a few miles, but I kept stopping to look around and take photos, so they got ahead of me.

I had thought of quitting in Larned (where I saw, and smelled, my first CAFO), especially as it was over 100 degrees by lunch, but it was early, and I wanted more miles. Rehydrated by a giant Sonic slush, I got back on the road long enough to make Fort Larned, an 1860 installation designed to protect the Santa Fe Trail (which ran from Independence, Missouri, to, you guessed it, Santa Fe, New Mexico), and its commercial traffic, from Indian attack. In 1868, local stone and Michigan timber (no trees in central Kansas) buildings replaced the original adobe.

By now it was an indicated 102 degrees. Five miles past Fort Larned, I turned right onto highway 183. This is one of two extended northern vectors in Kansas, and the wind was at my back. I cruised 20 miles into Rush Center in an hour-ten. There’s nothing in Rush Center, so I filled my water bottles at an auto shop and talked to the receptionist. She gave me the scoop on La Crosse and told me to check out the Dew Drop Lounge in Pueblo, if it — and the bus station it calls home — are still open.

I made quick work of the four miles to La Crosse, where I had time to visit the Kansas Barb Wire Museum. It’s home to more than 2,400 barb wire samples, antique tools, and other errata, including a 72-pound barb wire crow’s nest, recovered from a utility pole in Greeley County.

Camp tonight is the city park adjacent to the museum. There’s a pavilion, electricity and bathrooms, but no shower, and the pool’s closed Mondays. I called the police as requested on the map to note arrival, but never got more than a busy signal.

I had dinner and birthday beer (a New Belgium 1554, promising, but nine months out of date, and a perfectly fresh and predictable Budweiser) at Cozy’s Bar and Grill, and went next door for groceries, including dessert/birthday cake/breakfast cinnamon rolls. My evening was immeasurably brightened by a pair of singing phone calls, one from my parents, aunt and uncle who are on vacation together, the second from Sara and my roommates in Pittsburgh. Thanks for thinking of me.

Interesting to see old, abandoned buildings along the route.

There’s a salt marsh in the back right of the photo.

Radium? Damn near killed ‘um.

Because there are few trees in central and west Kansas, Settlers quarried posts out of the rock just a few feet below the surface for fenceposts. Each post weighed between 350 pounds and 450 pounds. La Crosse also has a Post Rock Museum. I didn’t visit.

The museum has more than 2,400 types of barb wire, many rare and valuable.

This nest’s made of barbed wire and weighed 72 pounds when it was pulled off a utility pole in Greeley County.

Shared my picnic table with this guy.

For my Dad.

The lights are hardwired on, but otherwise a pleasant enough place.

Miles: 68
Total: 2,113

Brian and Robin said the Breadbasket, across the street from the fire hall, serves a breakfast buffet, starting at 6:30 a.m. Tempting, but I’ve learned buffets are best left to the end of the day. I had a bagel with peanut butter and was rolling by 6:45 a.m.

The morning was cool, with a slight crosswind out of the south, which turned to my favor as I headed north through Hesston. I stopped at Casey’s for chocolate milk, and had my eye on the day-old doughnuts, but the manager wouldn’t sell them piecemeal, just by the dozen, which is probably for the best.

I ran into a threesome about 10 miles out of town. They stayed over in Nickerson, and recommended I stop at the exotic-animal-farm-cum-B&B, especially if I hadn’t seen a zebra or giraffe before. Never in Kansas, I said.

By this point I was hungry, with an eye on pancakes, and stopped in Buhler (Bueller, Bueller?), but everything was closed this early on Sunday, so I polished off an apple and bag of Cheetos in the park. Outside Buhler, I ran into a cyclist. He’s riding with his brother and father, SAG supported by his mom. They’re relaying through Kansas, each taking 30-mile stretches to “get through it.” To each, his own.

We rode together for a few miles, till I detoured off route to Hutchinson, a fair-sized city of 50,000, home of the Kansas State Fair, and my motivation, the Cosmosphere. The museum’s Smithsonian affiliated, and contains the largest collection of space artifacts (including German and Soviet examples) outside of the Air and Space Museum in D.C. It opens at noon on Sunday, so I had time for a couple of burgers at Bogey’s, a shake-and-burger joint reminiscent of In-and-Out.

The Cosmosphere’s special in that it takes you from the dawn of the space age, when the Germans put together the V-1 and V-2 rockets (at more than double the cost of America’s Manhattan Project!), through the post-war years, into the Cold War, and beyond. The exhibits are set up and explained by great narratives from both sides, explaining the Soviet and American approaches and motivations.

I finished up around 4 p.m., and hoped to escape the heat of the day nerding out, but it was still 95 degrees. Bottles stuffed with ice water, I got back on route and made for Sterling. I rode past the back of the exotic animal farm, spotting zebras, camels, giraffes and emus. None posed for photos, but this blog being on the internet, I’m sure you can make do.

The wind ran with me the last stretch into Lake Sterling, home for the night. I pulled up to the pool and parked next to a Pinarello Dogma. Fancy. Travis, the pool manager, told me it’s a knockoff, complete with an English-threaded BB shell. He rides with a guy who has two legit Pinarellos (good problem to have) and he says it’s pretty close. In fact, he has one as a rain bike.

We kept talking, and then mentions the grocery store closes at 6 p.m., which is in seven minutes. I blast out of there, moving way faster than I had all day. Luckily, it’s a small town and I make the mini-Dillons with a few minutes to spare.

I’m set up in the park’s pavilion. The pool closed with the grocery store (and you can’t buy beer on Sunday in Rice County), but the bathrooms are open all night, so I grab a warm shower later in the evening and wait for the heat to die down. There’s a grain elevator here, complete with rail line, but it’s quiet all evening. No need for ear plugs.

It’s the law. Great to see these signs in the middle of nowhere (outside Hesston).

Midwestern humor. Kansans are a wry people.

I’m sure this works as a great billboard for the museum.

Home’s Sterling Lake Park. Electricity, bathrooms and a hot shower. Heaven. I rolled the dice and slept under the stars.

Miles: 75
Total: 2,045

Back to tarmac.

Kelly ran me the 40 miles to Council Grove’s Sonic parking lot, where I loaded up and headed out. I’m really pleased things worked out that I could visit him and Dawn over the Fourth. We couldn’t have planned it better.

I’m glad Google’s gravel directions got me to Council Grove, but I’m taking oil road to Newton. Enough playing with cattle. I ran Kansas 177 about 20 miles south to Highway 50 west. Riding along 177 was great — in the heart of the Flint Hills, and I passed through the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve. This land is set aside for research, recreation and conservation. The visitor center also has an ice-cold water fountain. Prairie once accounted for 200 million acres in Kansas, but farming and ranching have reduced that number by 95 percent.

I spent about 50 miles on 50W, and saw a handful of three-person teams racing east, supported by multiple branded vans. We exchanged waves, but I never figured out what the event was.

I stopped for a break in Florence, which was a very cool, very closed town. I was hoping for chocolate milk, but settled for water from a spigot in the town park. A great pavilion, FYI, and I’ve developed quite a discriminating pavilion palate over the past month. It’s a shame nothing was open, but the town has some great architecture, including an opera house.

The wind was unrelenting out of the southwest all day long, and of course I was headed southwest, all day long. Nobody likes a whiner, but this was my hardest day on the bike so far. I averaged 9.8 mph over a flat 75 miles — after a full day of rest — and only due to the grace of the half gallon of Gatorade I drank in Walton. For perspective, today was just under 30 percent slower than I’ve been averaging, trip-wide. Complaint over. Wind is a different challenge than climbing. With hills, you can see why you’re moving slowly, you eventually get to the top, and then you usually get a nice downhill reward. At least wind keeps you cool.

I was thrilled to arrive in Newton, a great town of just under 20,000 people. Historic downtown, crisscrossed by rail (and an Amtrak station!), with an enormous grocery store –I’m in Dillons country now. I’d planned to stay at the Newton Bike Shop, but the owners are out on holiday, so I’m bunked at the fire hall, sleeping in air-conditioned comfort, with a hot shower, full kitchen and great company in Brian and Robin.

They just graduated from Shippensburg University, working their way to Oregon, and then Washington, where they hope to find work. They left Yorktown about 10 days before me, and are taking time to see the country. Robin’s riding a vintage Univega, while Brian’s on your more standard Trek 520. They spent the Fourth in Eureka, and said it was spectacular. The whole town came out.

Nice visitor center, including ice-cold water fountain.

Mural in the city park. I stopped here for a snack, but the whole town was closed.

This is probably the most idiotic idea KSDOT’s ever had. Rumble strips are already a terrible idea; this takes the cake.

A bright spot in the wind along highway 50.

Home tonight. Sleeping inside in air-conditioned luxury. Met Brian and Robin here, too.

Miles: 0

Total: 1,970

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.

Miles: 73

Total: 1,970

I went off the reservation today, and didn’t see a stitch of asphalt for more than 60 miles between Eureka and Council Grove. It dewed heavy overnight, and was a chilly 48 degrees leaving Eureka. I’m deviating from the TransAm, heading north about 70 miles to Council Grove to meet friends who live in Manhattan. The ACA maps are great — they indicate road type, where you’ll find gas stations, restaurants and give generally good directions. I’m armed today with Google Maps bicycle directions and a Kansas State highway map, picked up in Chanute’s tourism office. Usually I travel with two large Camelback Podium insulated water bottles, giving me a volume of 50 oz. Today, I filled up two spare 20-oz. bottles. These usually sit empty, since water’s heavy and I rarely worry about running out. The ACA maps are a comfort blanket, and I’m anxious in their absence. I have no idea what, if any, services will be available. This turned out to be a good idea, because homes are few and far between out here, and I didn’t have a chance for resupply until arriving in Council Grove.

The first 60 miles today were all on gravel farm roads. Pleasantly devoid of traffic, I can count on one hand the number of cars and trucks I saw. Being out in the wilderness has its perks, but on some of the loose-gravel downhills, I couldn’t help but think about how long it’ll take someone to find me quivering in a pool of my own blood and urine at the bottom if I wipe out. This tends to temper speed on descents.

Lots of locusts — they’re everywhere: on the road, in the grass, on me (and a grasshopper has enough weight that you take notice when it lands on you). Grasshoppers and cows, your two major Flint-Hills food groups. I saw a huge number of cattle today, and for a time rode over a few cattle guards and into the arena with the herd — no barbed wire separating us. Big creatures, and a some posted up right in the middle of the gravel, and off to the sides. I figured we’re at an impasse, but they tottered out of the way. For being so big, they’re not especially brave, and for that I’m thankful.

Eventually I turned off Road A, on to CC Avenue. Avenues should be paved. This is fact. Avenue CC is gravel. This was a downer. Luckily, a mile down the line I turned right on Dunlop Road, and that was blessedly paved. The last 10 miles into Council Grove flew by as I pedaled through the floodplain. Kelly met me in Council Grove (he served as the college media editorial adviser when I was in Blacksburg, and moved to Manhattan for work a few years ago). We loaded up and hydrated with Sonic Limeades during the 40 mile drive north. Moving at 65 mph is a rare treat.

Home tonight and tomorrow is Kelly and Dawn’s very nice home in Manhattan. I’m looking forward to catching up, taking a day off the bicycle and spending time in a soft bed.

It’s hard to capture the Flint Hill aesthetic. But it’s gorgeous.

I didn’t bag a “Welcome to Kansas” sign, but I did find the state flower.

He didn’t want to come out and play.

One of the most exciting parts of my day: choosing between gravel or gravel.

Miles: 65

Total: 1,897

Spotting a cyclist on tour is a curious thing. In Eastern Kansas, where slight hills and straight roads make for long sight lines, you first see a speck off in the distance. It could be a a signpost, a piece of oil-well plumbing, rogue bovine or maybe, just maybe, a person. I don’t have the greatest eyes, and it takes a little while, but perhaps an oncoming car or truck pulls into the opposite lane and passes said speck. This is a pretty good clue that it’s not (a) a signpost or (b) piping and probably a member of the chordate phylum. Then you close the distance a little more, and spot bit of reflective tape, or some garish spandex. Since cows have yet to master the zipper, odds are good it’s a human being.

I saw more eastbound touring cyclists today than the last week combined. A couple of singles, a group of four middle-aged women, then more than a dozen supported tourists, all of whom were coming straight across the U.S., doing the ACA’s Western Express. It’s considered rude to ride by a loaded cyclist without stopping to say hello, so I got plenty of breaks today.

My ride took me through Toronto, never a big town, but it was totally closed up this morning. It looks to have (and the maps indicate) several restaurants, shopping, a library and post office, but no signs of life. Kind of creepy to roll through all these weathered buildings and not see a soul. Banners advertised Toronto Days, July 4-5-6, so perhaps everyone’s resting for some truly bacchanalian Independence-Day feats. I was hoping for chocolate milk.

That wish was granted a few miles down the road at Lizard Lips Country Junction, on the corner of 106 and 54. You can get your hunting license, night crawlers, car battery and a gallon of milk along with your deli sandwich and super unleaded. One-stop shopping. I was greeted by the proprietor’s granddaughter who brought me a cyclist logbook to sign. The owner let me know I was heading into the Flint Hills, one of the last stretches of true prairie. Named for the flinty chert at the surface, this area’s too rocky to plow — its 4.5 million acres of bluestem grasses primarily serve as pasture for more than a million head of cattle each year.

I’m calling it quits in Eureka. Home’s the pool and city park two blocks south of Main Street. There’s a pavilion, but the roof doesn’t look so great, so I’m putting my tent up again. There’s a cold shower, but I’m too sweaty to care. Whatever cyclist came through last left a pavilion-warming bottle of Fat Tire behind(!). Coming back from the library (where you can check out designer cake pans) and grocery store, I’m joined by Rob, a well-bearded Maryland cyclist who grew up in Herndon, Virginia, and went to James Madison University. He’s been to Foamhenge. Rob’s riding the Western Express across, and hopes to ride up the coast to Portland, where 2014’s World Beard and Mustache Championships are being held. He works at an outdoor ice rink, which doesn’t exist five months out of the year, so he’s got the time. A couple of hours later, a second Rob rolls in. He started in Vermont before riding south and picking up the TransAm to Pueblo, where he’s also opting for the Western Express. The Robs began today in Pittsburg, and rode more than 120 miles to Eureka. Big days. Rob No. 2 doesn’t have the ACA maps — he’s navigating by rough descriptions from the ACA, combined with an iPhone and state maps. He spent some time on the interstate today.

Wildflowers are great!

Luckily, not going this way.

You can take these fun cake pans out on loan from Eureka Public.

Sharing with Rob and Rob.

Miles: 50

Total: 1,832

You’ve gotta love Kansas weather. I was talking to the pool manager last night, and he told me the forecast called for sun and wind. We had thunder and lightening overnight, and then some quick showers this morning. The state’s flat and it’s easy for wind to bring weather across in short order. I stopped in Walnut for a cup of coffee and found a TransAm racer waiting inside. He’d spent the night in Walnut, and got soaked. Still, he’s in 16th place with a target of 150 miles a day.

The thunder took some of the oomph out of today’s wind, and I made good time into Chanute. It’s named for Octave Chanute, a railway engineer, who designed many bridges, stock yards, developed a method of pressure-treating railroad lumber and was a huge fan of aviation, exchanging hundreds of letters with with Wright Brothers during their tests, and is considered to be the father of aviation, though being too old to fly himself (he died in 1910 at age 78). Chanute’s also the center of Google Earth.

Home tonight is Santa Fe Safari Park. Exotically named, it’s a great park complex on the edge of town with RV hookups. The first two nights are free for RVs, which I’m sure helps bolster tourism. Tent camping is also free (with shower, electricity and wifi), and I set up next to the softball fields. I knew I jinxed myself when I said I hadn’t put my tent up since Murphysboro. Down the way a bit is a Lake Chanute. Quiet when I set up, the park was positively bustling with activity in the evening with a half-dozen ball games in full swing. It’s good to see so many of the parks I stay in actively used by the community.

They missed out on the 0700 rush.

Octave Chanute helped advance the idea of aviation, though being too old to fly. He wrote hundreds of letters to the Wright Brothers.

On Safari by the softball fields.

Miles: 53

Total: 1,782

“The one in Pennsylvania. With an H.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, that’s a ways.”

“Yeah.”

I was good this morning. I didn’t stop at Cooky’s for a slice, though I was tempted to take one for the road. It was cool, and as I rode out of Missouri, the hills became lower, with slacker angles. In exchange for the flat, I had 20- and 30-mph gusts out of the SSW. There’s not much around to block the wind, and it pushed hard on my left side. Turning right to track north through Pittsburg, it positively pushed me along. It surprised me how silent a strong wind can be when you’re riding with it. From a rustle and roar, 90 degrees later to a soft whistle.

I stopped in Pittsburg for a $5 large pizza, and went to the (architecturally magnificent) library to digest, where I struggled to stay awake in the cool air. I’m working on plans to detour to Manhattan, Kansas, probably just past Eureka, to visit a couple of friends over Independence Day. The hunt’s on for a Kansas map. The hunt’s also on for a WELCOME TO KANSAS sign, because I didn’t get one today. A pair of bare posts hint at a past home, but it’s a serious bummer to skip a state sign. I’ll have to cheat and grab a photo heading into Colorado. Now through Missouri, I’m pleased to note that every single turn’s signed. Kudos to the state for doing that. It’s a pleasure to get lost in the scenery rather than stare at a map. I ran into Adam on my way to Girard. He started in Astoria on May 22 and was calling it quits in Pittsburg after a couple of high-mileage days.

I’m stopping tonight (a short day) in Girard, the end of map segment 10. Tomorrow I’ll start segment 9, taking me to Alexander, Kansas. Home is Girard’s City Park, attached to the public pool. Cyclists can use the hot showers and swim for free. A gaggle of 11-year-olds gave me the scoop on the town. Told me where to go to eat, where the grocery store is, where to buy shaved ice. They were impressed by my load. I was impressed by their bikes and wheelie skills. They also told me that Girard is boring, but pretty safe. But then one kid said someone got stabbed in the neck a few days ago. They’re pretty sure he had it coming. Home tonight is the pavilion attached to the park. The last time I put my tent up was in Murphysboro, about a week ago.

Missouri’s put aside prairie, and I’ll be riding through the Flint Hills in Kansas, one of the few places natural prairie exists.

Without a state sign, these enormous bovine mascots’ll have to do.

P7-F90 KG&E. This post’s all that marks a turn.

Cherry Limeade tastes pretty good on a hot afternoon.

Home for the night. It’s attached to the city pool, where I had a shower.

Miles: 86
Total: 1,729

The morning a rum-heavy dark and stormy. Potential rain is paralytic. A string of storms passed through while  packing up. I waited till half-past eight, when antsiness overcame anticipation and hit the road. The skies stayed grey most of the morning, and I got caught in a couple showers but avoided a soaking. Aside the rain, cloudy mornings make for cool, pleasant riding. I was looking forward to wrapping up the Ozarks and moving on to a new state.

Shortly after stopping for a Choco TruMoo in Fair Grove, I ran into Johan, an Ent-like Dutch cyclotourist. Closer to seven feet than six, with the skin the color of an expensive mahogany coffee table, he’s 70 and left Portland, Oregon, 8 May. He says America’s enormous. Enormous mountains, enormous heat, enormous wind and enormous people. He’s enormous. We talk for a little while and compare notes on what’s coming up. He has an interesting perspective, and is curious how so many young people can afford to tour. He also finds Americans very friendly, but superficially so. “Everyone is very nice, saying hello and asking, ‘how are you?’ but they never share anything of substance.”

Past Fair Grove, it’s onto Walnut Grove, and then Ash Grove (sense a theme?), where I break for lunch at Deli Dazzle. Cold lemonade never tasted so good. Enterprising second-graders, take note. I have many quarters.

I was surprised by the number of hills today. My maps show a general elevation trend, and I expected to sneak out of the Ozarks, but Missouri wasn’t finished with me. Eighty-two miles into the day, the route turns north onto SR 37, where what’s been a brutal crosswind turns into a blessed tailwind. I’m ushered into Golden City at 20 mph. It’s no secret that you’ve got to stop at Cooky’s Cafe for pie to have the Complete TransAm Experience, and I’m relieved the cafe’s open till 8 p.m. I had a slice of Dutch apple and a slice of chocolate pecan, and noticed they’ll be open at 6 a.m. Monday morning.

I’m staying in Golden City’s excellent city park tonight. There’s a pavilion with picnic tables to sleep on, electricity, lights, bathrooms and hot shower. The park’s busy, with kids playing basketball and a father giving his son semi-abusive/character-building baseball lessons. I meet April, who lives next door. She teaches third grade and races chuck wagons for fun. The mosquitoes are out tonight.

Perfect pies.

Home tonight. Hot shower, picnic tables, a roof over my head and electricity. What else can you want?