Newton, Kansas to Sterling, Kansas

Buhler, Kansas

Which is flatter? Kansas or a pancake?

Turns out Kansas is flatter.

"On the whole, Kansas has never really been thought of as a driving challenge. A glance at a state road map reveals a grid-like layout with relatively few twists and turns. Doctoral student Brandon Vogt knew that from personal experience. He frequently drove the width of the state, making the trip from Boulder, Colo., to Colombia, Mo. And he began to wonder just how flat Kansas really was. Vogt's research now confirms his suspicions: Kansas really is flatter than a pancake. Robert Siegel talks with Vogt about his findings, which are published in the Annals of Improbable Research."

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1370041

We have been skirting larger cities throughout this trip with the exception of Charlottesville, VA and upcoming Pueblo, Colorado.  So we are, for example, skirting between Hutchinson, Kansas in the south and Wichita, Kansas to the north.

Hutchinson isn't that far off and it had two attractions that merited a quick look and deviation.  First there was a Cosmosphere and Planetarium (Second only to the Smithsonian).  Second there was the Strataca - the underground salt mine.

The Salt Mine looked interesting because it goes down 650 feet and 500,000 tons are removed each year.  (Mostly used to de-ice roads).  The temperature and humidity down there are so stable several organizations use space there to archive including several Hollywood Studios for their original films.

Lew and I decided to go for it - it would be an extra hour or hour and half of biking, but worth the deviation.  However heading south out of town my rear wheel went flat so we pulled over to the Nursing Home and I flipped the bike over and went to work.  It was a sharp piece of gravel, still lodged in the tire, so I removed it and pulled out one of the two spare tubes Mike had for his bike.  It wouldn't fill.  It had a large gash in it.  I pulled out the other - it too had a gash.  Fortunately Lew had a spare tube that fit my bike and that worked.

In the meantime the folks in the Nursing Home came out and they invited us to fill up on water and use the restrooms.  Marsha Farr, the Receptionist showed us around, including their Sunny Cafe which is open to the public as a stand alone cafe.  Ms. Farr told us that all the big trucks that we have been encountering on the roads are for the wheat harvest which is going on now.

Bike tire repaired, water filled, Lew and I decided to forego the Salt museum - because the tour would be two hours and it was just too much, so we kept heading west on route.

Near Nickerson, Kansas

Wheat fields.  We're starting to more wheat than corn along our route.  It adds a khaki hue to the trip rather than the eternal green of the East.

Sterling, Kansas

Coming into town I see my favorite reward - an ice cream place that makes a wonderful blueberry shake.  It always goes thus - I order the shake and then fill up two bottles of ice water.  If I'm hot enough I'll squeeze one of the bottles on me, and then drink, or nurse, the other bottle to cool the insides.  Then the shake arrives and there really is no better peace.

62.36 miles west today from Eureka, Kansas to Sterling, Kansas.  It's a good ride and today.  We have been staying City Parks mostly since entering Kansas and that has also met town pools with bathrooms and showers.

The Sterling Lake Park Pool is your typically pool with the same characters and things with a few differences.  Three diving boards.  Two small sides - one of which almost everyone tried - and it bangs and slams you around like you owe the mafia money and dumps you ungracefully into the pool.

After dinner we went back for night swim.  One of the lifeguards, Maddy, was funny and nice and judges a "Biker's Tan Contest" and inexplicably she picked Lew - the whitest guy of us all.

Eureka, Kansas to Newton, Kansas

Today is going to be a long day, mileage wise, we are told about 75 miles.  On one stretch there will be 40 miles without services, so when we reach Cassoday, Kansas we'll need to stock up.

So we (Jim, Bill, John, Barry, Lew & I) left early today, about 6:30 which is a huge improvement from past starts particularly because it isn't as windy or hot in the morning.  Tom had left around 5:30 we think.

We expect it to be hot, in part, because last night there wasn't much of a wind, and it was warm.  It was the first night I did not get into or under my sleeping bag.  Not a good sign.

We are in cattle country and and the vistas of the Flint Hills, dotted with grass feeding cattle is just wonderful and beautiful.  So much nicer than the massive, dirty, feedlots of Colorado.  Here the cattle just roam with nothing but sky, occasional trees or ponds, and grass, grass everywhere.

The wind was still present, blowing relentlessly from the South, but at Rosalia we turned North toward Cassidy - about 18 miles away and suddenly the wind was at our backs and we were making 23 to 26 miles an hour effortlessly.

One of the strange (but in retrospect ... obvious) observations is that when we bike with the wind, there is no wind.  We can see it, the grass is bent over, waving, the trees rustling, but to us going the same speed of the wind it is weirdly dead still and quiet.  Usually if I am going more than 20 miles per hour I'm getting a cool down - but not this way.

Cassoday, Kansas

After fifteen years Pat Cross and I meet up for lunch. Pat has been a strange but loyal, college friend and he is such a good character and soul.  We've kept in contact with each other through Facebook, and he came driving an hour and 45 minutes up from Oklahoma to visit me on the bike trip.

Since today was a long day, I suggested lunch because in the evening we'll get in pretty wiped and tired.  Pat apparently got there early enough to meet everyone in our group because he talked with Norm, Christine, Jim, Bill, etc.

Nice but simple lunch - egg salad sandwich and ham & cheese sandwich for Pat.  He is the most non-linear talker I know, He still is full of jokes that only Pat can come up with.  He met Barry, pronounced him a limey, and then gave Barry his own accent that does for people called British Latino, which is Pat saying, "Como esta Matey?"

Took pictures by the massive prairie chicken outside the Country Store since Cassoday is the Prairie Chicken Capitol of the World.

A long overdue visit.

This is a grueling day,  Hot. Long. Windy. Trucks that displace so much air passing by or in front of us that we have to just lock down and wait for it to pass.

In addition we have 40 miles to go without many obvious water sources.

The Wind is a challenge and I am tired of it.  At least with hills there was a finite amount, even with the ambiguous turns and twists, you knew eventually that the hill climb would become a hill coast.  Here the wind is always and everywhere.  Eventually if you climbed the hill you get the reward of the descent.  With the wind you go in it's direction otherwise there is never an immediate reward.

It's eternal.

There are moments of beauty here in the feeding hills of cattle.  Beautiful animals, so Tao or Zen like.  They are curious, but more standoffish compared to horses.

After 40 miles I pulled into Newton a little ahead of Lew and Barry and saw to my great delight a Braum's Ice Cream shop at the entrance of town just West of the Overpass with I-35.

These are photos of pure bliss and comfort.  Sitting on something ... anything... other than a bike seat.  Cooling down with water bottles filled with ice water.  A Peppermint shake.

On the road, that hot strip of asphalt I could just feel the sun baking down, and reflected back up from the road, baking up upon me until I felt my body just pulse heat like an embeGetting into Baum's I felt like a speechless refugee and incredibly grateful to any establishment that actually serves ice cream and ice water.

Body sufficiently cooled, I went to the Newton Municipal Pool filled with kids and teenagers.  They let cyclists shower and swim for free.  Took a great shower  and then floated in the pool feeling extraordinarily wealthy and rich to be cool and wet on such a hot day.

Tonight we stay at the St. Matthews Episcopal Church.  It is a lovely building, cool, and dark except for the wonderful kitchen and fellowship hall.  Peggy, the Church Secretary kept us company and asked us lots of questions for the city news article she will submit.

For those unwilling or unable to go to the town pool, Chris set up an outdoor shower by the building.  It's cold and bracing, but as Lew said, "After a hot day like this it's wonderful."

Chanute, Kansas to Eureka, Kansas

Today we hit sixty-four miles from Chanute to Eureka and except for the upcoming Flint Hills, it's mostly flat and West but we are angling to the North quite a bit which is nice because the wind is coming from the South.

When we bike West we get the wind coming at us from our left. It's a constant slight push with some occasional gusts but it caps our (my) speed to 11 to 15 miles an hour.  When we turn North it's just amazing because it's as if the wind disappears.  It hasn't of course, becoming a tailwind it pushes us along the road and suddenly speeds of 20 to 25 miles an hour seem effortless.

The ground is rocky so occasionally we see these circular cages of rocks that act as posts, or entryways to farms.  We should start seeing some limestone posts. The early pioneers would dig down to the limestone beds and chip out posts to use for fencing because there was no wood to be had.

Lunch today at the famed (at least to cyclists) Lizard Lips Cafe. It's a convenience store, DVD rental place, and cafe with four tables.  When we arrived we met up with Tom and Rick.  Tom had inexplicably rented another hotel room last night, and then didn't come for dinner or the map meeting.  He left early of course, about 5:30 AM with Rick.  Rick is another cyclist doing a modified self contained ride from Missouri (where he is from) and is going to Pueblo and then from there West and South.  The Lizard Lips Grill serves a good strawberry shake and cheeseburger.  Very friendly and they have cyclists sign their book which flies back to 2010 and then give out little plastic "lucky" lizards.

Bill.

Teller of Ribald and Randy Tales of the Park Service.   Also, teller of kind of mostly true stories.   Bill is seventy years old and has been mostly a Naitional Park Ranger, a Ranger up in Texas, an airplance piolt (small craft) and mechanic.  He is full of tales that typically center on either sex or puns.

Out here in the prairie the ingenuity and necessity have created the rock cairns to help mark the property lines.  We've passed a lot of these.

Hot windy road to Eureka.

When you have 64 miles to go you break it down and soon we had just twelve miles to go which is really nothing.

This area is the cattle livestock feeding area of the nation.  We are seeing a lot more cyclists including Rick again (2nd from left) and Henry, from Belgium (3rd from left) who started from Astoria on May 3rd.  He ran into blizzards in Yellowstone.

Rick is, to put it mildly, exuberant friendliness on hyperdrive. He talks constantly and in such an abruptly personal level that it quickly feels weird.

I first met him last night when he inexplicably showed up for dinner at our campsite and began glomming onto Christine. He would talk with her in the most familiar way that I thought at one point he was her brother. He suggested to Norm that he thought Norm and Christine were brother and sister.

We met up with Rick again in Eureka and again his constant chatter drove us mildly bonkers. We kept quiet when he mentioned he was staying in the park. No one invited him over.

“I was worried that if he came over that Norm would have to molest Christine to keep him at bay,” John said.

Lew joked that we go to Dollar General to buy faux wedding rings.

•••

Jim just came back from the Pool. He says that he and Tom ran into Rick. “He cornered Tom,” Jim said, “Rick really opened up.”

The last few miles were worrisome because the trucks came in so fast and quick and the air currents really buffeted us about.

Tonight we're staying at a Bike Hostel run by hospitable Robin who not only makes sure the house is air conditioned but there is laundry and shower and she made lasagna for us.

She told us how the town got its name, yes, they did discover a clear spring water source here. Eureka! The town, like many we bike through, struggles but there are always true believers in such towns that put on neat events.

Up until last year, Robin could boast that Eureka lay in the blessed or lucky circle in that no tornado had ever touched down within city limits.  That change in July of last year.  The damage was significant.

Pittsburg, Kansas to Chanute, Kansas

Girard, Kansas

A large stone courthouse dominates the town square of Girard, Kansas.  There is Vietnam Era Helicopter next to the ever present small town Veterans Memorial.

We switch maps here from Map Nine to Map Eight so we've stopped at the Eastside Cafe.  Stocked with fabulously lush and plump cinnamon rolls and a multitude of pies, the small restaurant is the dream and sweet of nineteen year old owner Andrew and Ariana Fawcett.

The restaurant itself had been opened for decades, but when the owners died there were no interested family members to carry it on so it closed.  Andrew pooled savings and a successful business proposal to a bank and reopens it four months ago.

The breakfast was great, the pie excellent and switching over to Map 8 (it's a count down. We started with Map 12) is a nice milestone.

Walnut, Kansas

Biking in Kansas has been great so long as we are heading North. There is a 20 to 30 mile an hour wind from the South that makes topping twenty miles an hour easily.  When we head West the wind comes at our left and it drops our speed by seven to ten miles.  But the road is flat, mostly, and a pleasure to bike.

In Walnut for our near obligatory stop for drinks and Gatorade we met up with Mark Royden from the U.K.   Barry, who claimed to smells out fellow countrymen, much like the giant from the Beanstalk, started talking and found out they lived in the same area.  Once you start talking about specific buildings on specific streets you know it's a small world.

Since Kansas we have experienced a bit of preening accomplishment having started in Yorktown, Virginia.  Back four weeks ago we were still interminably cycling through Virginia so it wasn't as impressive.  Now we get surprised looks and even we feel, now that we approach our midway point, a sense of accomplishment.

Then Mark crosses our path.  He is heading East. He started 279 days ago IN LONDON.  He biked through Europe to Istanbul.  Through India to Thailand.  Australia and New Zealand.  Suddenly our 36 days and 1500 plus miles seem a little small.

His blog:  http://withersonwheels.tumblr.com/

Chanute, Kansas

THE CENTER OF (Google) EARTH

At the crossroads of the downtown Chanute (pronounced Shanute) there is a large geodesic disc on the pavement putting this city at the center of the world.  While all major ancient cities indulged in the we-are-the-center-of-world, Kansas at least has geography and math on its side.  It is, after all, the geographical center of the contiguous United States.

Now Mac Users of Google Earth in the US have yet more of a reason because the default centers over Chanute.

According to the Google Blog:

If you're in the U.S. and you have a Mac, try this: Launch Google Earth, wait for the zooming to stop, and then press the + button to zoom closer. You'll arrive at the small town of Chanute, Kansas, nestled in the southeast corner of the state. I doubt you've ever noticed this before now. But even if you have, you're probably wondering -- why Chanute?

There are several reasons. The most important reason is that I was born and raised there. I grew up on a small farm, and while everyone else was out feeding the ducks and milking the cows, I was inside making electronic contraptions and eventually programming computers (which would scarcely be recognized as such today, since my first computer had only 256 bytes of memory and a dual hexadecimal LED display).

The second reason I chose Chanute is that it's near the geographic center of the 48 contiguous states. If I had been born in, say, New Hampshire, I never would have thought to tamper with the Google Earth coordinates.

And the last reason is that my co-worker Brian McClendon, who grew up in Lawrence, Kansas, had already positioned the Windows version of Google Earth (which shipped a few months earlier than the Mac version) at his hometown. I guess you could say that Brian's shenanigans inspired my own.

But the choice of Chanute is not without controversy. Because it's farther than Lawrence from the geographic center of the 48 states, and since (as of this writing) the satellite imagery at Chanute is not as crisp, it could be interpreted as a less user-friendly choice, which is not in keeping with the Macintosh tradition. But don't let that fool you -- the people in Chanute are as friendly as they come. Stop by sometime and say hello -- and be sure to tell them Dan sent you."

Posted by Dan Webb, Software Engineer, Google Earth for Mac OS X

THE SAFARI MUSEUM

At the age of twenty five in 1911 Martin Johnson applied to be on Jack and Charmaine London's ship the Snark to the South Seas.  When he was hired as a cook, he convinced a San Francisco Chef to give him four week cooking lessons.

When he returned, he took his photos and put on a vaudeville travelogue show where he met his wife, OSA, the age sixteen.  The eloped after three weeks and she became his constant companion in adventure.  They travelled the globe to Borneo, the South Seas, and particularly Africa shooting extraordinary documentary footage.

Through the journeys and safaris of Martin and Osa, and until their deaths, the Johnsons were in the public eye.

This couple was the pride of Kansas, although in the early days, people "on the stage" were not considered quite as "decent" as their "stay at home" contemporaries. But their performances, lectures, films, and books made them admired as two small town people who followed their dreams of adventure—and set an example for an entire generation of budding explorers in the United States and Europe.

The untimely death of Martin in 1937 and the onset of World War II, which sent Americans to fight in the same South Sea Islands that had seemed so exotic in the pages of the Johnsons' books, obscured the Johnson legacy and fame.

TONIGHT IN CHANUTE

Cycling back from the hotel we spotted Dick Liquors - the most obscene name for an alcohol store I've seen yet.

It's still windy. So much so that our group has zealously staked out our tents so they don't blow away.  On my end I found one place to hang the hammock.  So thus far I've avoided the tent.

Showered and then plastered my wet clothing against the fence with the wind. It'll dry in minutes.

Pittsburgh, Kansas (Rest Day)

Pittsburg, Kansas

Rest Days.

It's become a familiar routine of laundry, bike shops, lunch, naps, and other wished-for plans.  After laundry Barry and I talked about lunch.  There's a good Thai place but it's on the southern end of town.  Barry instead wanted to to go have lunch at that restaurant known for it's fabulous vegetarian options....Wendy's.

CYCLING THROUGH A VEGETARIAN FOOD DESERT.

Going into this trip Barry knew that it might be challenging to find vegetarian options.  In practice it has meant that he has become an unwilling connoisseur of grilled cheese sandwiches across America because that appears to be the extent of thought put into it at these smaller city and town cafes which have become our respites while biking.

Despite Barry's complete confidence that Wendy's in Pittsburg Kansas would have a black bean burger, I instead went to the bike shop (Replaced chain and rear tire)  and then to a local BBQ place.  I was really happy with a mixed slider meal with little sandwiches of brisket, pulled pork, and rib.

Barry on the other hand was not so successful.

Wendy's:  Welcome to Wendy's.  How may I help you?

Barry:  I would like your black bean burger please.

Wendy's:  I'm sorry?  What would you like to order?

Barry:  (Now unsure if the clerk doesn't understand his accent or if he has seriously misjudged the Black-Bean-Burger-Participation-Rate in Kansas). It's a black bean burger.  A burger without meat?

Wendy's:  (Brightening) Oh yes sir.  All of our Burgers can be ordered without bacon.

Barry:  (Now feeling he is back in uncomfortable-food-desert-territory). Not just bacon, a burger without meat.

Wendy's:  You just want lettuce and tomato?

•••

Such is Barry's dilemma coming from a Country and large city where vegetarian options (he claims) is the norm and one must actively pursue and request a meal for which a creature has been killed.

•••

Group dinner tonight at a pizza parlor and then desert at Baum's - an apparent Kansas favorite ice cream establishment.  We held our map meeting out on the lawn.

We have ingrained in ourselves such a routine.

Breakfast 6:30 AM

Start cooking dinner 4:00 PM

Dinner 6:00 PM

Map meeting - sometime after 7:00 PM.

During the map meeting we cover:

How to get back on route from where we are staying.

Where we are ending.

Where we are staying and how to get there.  What are the amenities...showers, bathrooms, inside, outside, laundry, kitchen, etc.

What places on route can we stop for water and if there are notable historic or tourist stops along the way.

Ash Grove, Missouri to Pittsburg, Kansas

This morning we had our breakfast burritos which Delores had brought over last night. They were delicious.  Tom had head out around 5:10 AM so I was eager to get going because it was 70 miles ahead of us, and I have to cook tonight.  Still we all left about 7:30 and for a brief while all of us (Norm, Christine, Jim, Bill, Barry, Lew, John and I) biked out together in a long line.

In Everton we quickly stumbled upon a large sign criticizing the game warden.  Jim, who daily searches for the weirdest or funniest sign of the day quickly declared victory for the day.

"I think I don't need to look further," he said.

"You can shut down that part of your mind," John added.

Setting out from Ashland we were warned (promised) that the first 23 miles would be hilly and that held true.  Twice I needed to walk the bike up.

Right at the 23 mile mark, here was a Farm Supply Store - a welcome beacon because we had been told they sell drinks.  Powerade for one dollar.

Then straight, flat, and prairie as if a switch had been thrown.  It's beautiful country, cattle country, and farming country.

Proudly protected by the Second Amendment, Cooky's Cafe has served Golden City, Missouri since 1942.  Cooky, if he or she really existed, is long gone now - and no one we asked knew Cooky.

Not even resident Ed Sprague, 92, born in 1925 who was there to eat lunch with his lady friend Gail, herself 90 years old - remember who Cooky was, but the his or her restaurant is award winning for their pies.

Mr. Spague served in the Airforce during World War II flying the B17 Bomber over Germany three times.  He told me that only once did a single bomber ever return completely intact.  They lost 10% of their planes each mission.

Gail, 90 as married twice before.  Once to the Mayor of Golden City who served twenty-two years.

Cooky's for lunch became wildly packed.  Good hamburgers, and brisket sandwhich.  They do pies there - about twenty different varieties.  Despite Mr. Fortner's heartfelt prediction that a Cooky's Pecan Pie with ice cream will solve any problem that ails you - I opted for the vanilla shake.  They do shakes perfectly bringing you not only the shake, but the left over in the metal mixing cup.

Liberal, Missouri

After leaving Golden City, Missouri five of us (Bill, Jim, Barry, John, and I) headed West along State Highway 128 which, unlike all of the roads we have seen before, went straight, straight along the Earth's shell untrammeled by hills, rivers, or other considerations that bend roads to them.

We are going up, but the grade is so slight that we can keep up fabulous constant speeds in the 15 to 18 miles an hour.  So even though this a 70 mile day we knocked out half of the remaining 35 miles in just an hour.

Still it was sunny and Jim pulled over  under the shade of a tree by the farm and in no time,  we were off bike, helmets off, and lying down in the shade.  We could have slept here easily, but our destination is just ahead maybe an hour at the rate we are going.

But for a brief moment we could have slept there and been very happy.

Kansas!

This new state represents so much.  It is fifth state out of ten.  We are now firmly out of the Ozarks and now the roads and terrain are mostly flat, and hills - to the extent we come across them are b tied and not so steep.  It means wind becomes the new obstacle.  A sad is the geographic center of the contiguous United States, so we are crossing a point where we have cycled over half of the country.

It also means that shortly we will be in Pittsburg, Kansas and that means we have a rest day.  This will be our fourth rest day and after 70 miles today, I am looking forward to it.

Got into town at about 4PM.  Checked in, showered, and biked over to the Park where the trailer was to make dinner with Philip.  Swedish Meatball and an excellent Spinach Salad with strawberries, mandarin oranges, chopped walnuts, red onion, bacon bits and sesame seeds with a raspberry vinaigrette.  Great raves.

At a prior map meeting about our upcoming rest day here in Pittsburg we were told that we would be camping, instead of staying at either a Hostel or Hotel as had been previously been the case.  Then Philip advised us that the Leader's Notes from prior trips had complained that the park was starting to get overrun from vagrants and homeless, and full blown mutiny erupted as everyone (except Bill) quickly jumped ship and booked their own rooms at hotels.

I asked Gina if she would help me and she booked me a room at the Regency which is just down the street from the Super 8 where everyone else is staying.  Gina's rationale being that the cleanliness reviews were higher at the Regency and it has one floor so I could bring my bike straight in.  They also have an onsite laundry facility and the other one in town is a mile away so that's a plus.

Leading to the next observation that rest days are a bit of a fib, because while we do rest (I slept ten wonderful, stretched out, blissful hours last night) we also do chores.

Laundry is an absolute must because we had eight cycling days since Carbondale.  Despite whatever little ad hoc measures I try to clean clothes in showers or sinks, I have to admit we smell like sweat.  Our cycling gloves, Barry Points out, probably shouldn't even be allowed in restaurants or other places of public accommodation.  The smell could strip paint.

The Bike Shop is another obligatory stop to tweak, tune up or in my case today, to ship back home my old bike so that we are not carrying that, while I continue on cross country with the Mike Bike that I have dubbed the Yeti.  Sad and frustrating to have to switch bikes, but I am extraordinarily grateful and fortunate to be able to do so and continue the ride.

Perhaps some shopping, A Movie (really a pipe dream but one can hope.). A Nap.  Then tonight's dinner at 6 PM.

My hair is still too short to have a meaningful haircut, so that will wait until our next (5th) rest day in Pueblo, Colorado.  In the meantime I have helmet hair - even today when I haven't yet put on the helmet - my hair seemingly has started to grow more, like grass or weeds, in the gaps in my helmet.

Ennis, Montana to Dillon, Montana

Along Highway 287

Day 63.  Just about everyone recommended leaving early.  Partly to get over the pass to Virginia City before the weekend traffic or heat kicked in, and secondly to avoid what Philip called near certain afternoons headwinds coming into the final stretch into Dillon.

I think the wind spooks us more than anything because of what happened coming into Fairplay and Rawlins. A bad headwind can turn an hour into three and it just drains you.

Leaving in the morning before 7AM has its advantages because we beat the heat and most of the traffic.

We are turning West this morning but it's only so we can hop into the next north-south valley and continue our northwest arch up to Missoula. After that we turn West like we mean it.

In the meantime we are in cattle country although we are told the famed Blue Sky Ski Resort is close by.  It is, one of the folks at the Distillery told me, where the rich send their kids who are too naughty to be in Aspen.

No matter. We are climbing out of the Madison River Valley and Montana 's moniker as Big Sky Country doesn't fail to disappoint or take your breath away.

Virginia City, Montana

The ascent up the pass took a while, but more important, it was doable.  I would be curious about how well I would handle the Appalachians now, after 63 days on the road and with a bike with a third front gear.  They were so grueling and draining at times.

In the west there are gradual inclines up and up but you throw it into a comfortable gear, pop in some good music in one ear and bike away.

After the pass there was a thrilling, laugh out loud descent into Virginia City. The terrain and history is all mining now and for a while Virginia City was a bustling mining town. Many of the buildings are preserved and it has taken to mining the pockets of tourists now.  The downtown screams old west without being tacky.

Still we were so early that most stores were closed.  However the cafe and adjacent bar were open. The bar or saloon boast an incredible wood backbar from the 1800s.

Good breakfast with Jim, Bill, and Barry.

Dillon, Montana

With few exceptions people leave to bike in one order, or group, or by themselves and end up with a completely different group.  There are exceptions of course. Norm and Christine start out together and typically pull in together.  Tom, who not only tends to leave incredibly early, but recently has stopped camping with the group or even coming to the dinner, he is almost a ghost to us.  It's as if he has become a rare bird, and we look to see if there are any Tom-sightings.

Today I left with Bill and Lew but both of them took the hill much quicker.  Then I met up with Jim and Bill in Virginia City for breakfast.    Then Barry joined us. During breakfast I saw John and Tom  pass through without stopping.

After breakfast I went first letting gravity and my size work in pleasant tandem.  Immediately after Virginia City, there is Nevada City.  That has a bakery but since we had just ate, I coasted past.  Down the Ruby River Valley and I found myself alone again.

The Ruby River Valley is called that because of all the garnets that have been found here. We are firmly in mining country now.  Down hill from Virginia City and Nevada City is the town of Alders Gulch which also was a big mining boom town.  The area around the town is filled with mounds of rock and debris, dredging remains from gold mining the river - the proceeds of which went to fund Harvard University.

I caught up with Lew and John in Sheridan.  We bought some Gatorade and I got a chicken salad sandwich. We then kept going as a group going 20 to 26 MPH between Sheridan and Twin Bridges.  Beautiful ride.  It was almost as nice, but no tailwind on the last leg to Dillon but it was getting hot.

We pulled into town - it's a large place with a massive white old style railroad hotel downtown and I-15 also comes by here.  The Western University of Montana is here too so there is a cool young vibe.  Lew, John and I looked for ice cream but couldn't find any.  I stumbled upon the Patagonia Outlet, Factory Store and next to that was a lovely coffee place serving fresh squeezed lemonade.  A real refresher.  John said he needed it because he was getting too hot.  The young lady behind the counter had a book for cyclists to sign and I noticed that John had written it was his 71st Birthday.  I called him on it, and congratulated him, and characteristically he said, "Let's leave it at that."

Tonight we're staying in Dillon at the KOA Kampground.  Our site has too many mosquitoes and the camp pool has been taken over by kids here on a Basketball Tournament.  There is also ten our so free range chickens that come over from next door, clucking, and searching, but Bob - who runs this KOA campground - gives out the unprovable statistic that the chickens eat 68% of the mosquitoes in our area.

Bob also loved talking about the area.

In the late 1800s the area was terrorized by a band of robbers calling themselves "The Innocents."  I'm not sure how the name played out.  In court you could say I'm innocent and maybe it would be an admission.

The Sheriff and law enforcement seemed powerless to stop these highwaymen who preyed on miners and travelers, until the locals banded together, calling themselves the Vigilantes.  They must have been successful, because the Innocents fled but most were captured and hanged, including the Sheriff who cried and asked for "a good drop" but instead was just slowly pulled up on the noose, asphyxiating him.

Marshfield, Missouri to Ash Grove, Missouri

Fair Grove, Missouri

Wesley's Restaurant and Bakery which makes their own massive blueberry turnovers and sells  Louisiana oysters on the half-shell.

Inside each room is decorated for a different branch of the armed services.  There's the Navy hallway, an Air Force themed entryway.  One room has a set table and empty chair with the POW/MIA flag on it.

We only found Wesley's because a local had recommended it.  It is behind a convenience store without any signs from the main road telling passing motorists that there is a cafe just off the road.  It's one of the small town quirks we have seen every now and then where businesses seem to flower up in places and then make no effort to advertise.

Willard, Missouri

Wayne Fortner has lived in the Willard area his entire life.  His great Grandfather came out here in the mid 1800s by foot, traveling the thousand miles from Georgia by foot in thirty days.  We can only imagine how he crossed the Mississippi then.

Wayne Fortner

His Grandfather fought for the Confederates, and his grand Uncle for the Union.  His Grandfather was ordered to burn down houses in a village (the Civil War here in Missouri was a mostly rabble and guerrilla affair) of a small town.  He saw in one house there was a small child, so he moved the child out of the house before burning it.  His commanding officers tried to get him punished for not strictly obeying the orders, so he fled to Texas, served there, and got an honorable discharge.

Mr. Fortner has worked cattle and dairy his entire life and while we ate our lunch on the bench in front of this country store he regaled us with tales of his family, and the coming and goings of the area.  Everyone who came in or pout seemed to know him.

He no longer farms, but he wears the boots, yet no one would say he's all boots and no cattle.  The man is genuine.

Ash Grove, Missouri

Tonight we are staying in Ash Grove, Missouri.  It's our last night in Missouri, since tomorrow we'll be crossing the state line into Kansas.

Ash Grove, like so many little towns and cities on the route has made itself bewilderingly hospitable to cyclists.  At the city park, next to the ubiquitous Midwest town swimming pool, filled with kids and teenagers, the town has made available the Barnham House with cots and a great shower (including towels) and volunteer hosts.

We are promised only twenty three miles more of hills and then the Ozarks will recede behind us giving way to the windy plains of Kansas and eastern Colorado.

Ashland, at one time, had a huge thriving downtown and nearby former bordello with seven bedrooms,

I decided I would look about the downtown area.  John asked if I found a place to get nail clippers - to buy them.  unfortunately the downtown was fairly closed or closed up except for Mama Locas.

On Thursdays through Saturday there is an incredibly bustling Mexican Restaurant called Mama Locas - complete with a perpetually parked former police car out front.  Mama Locas serves four different margaritas in addition to the typical fare - including strawberry, peach, mango, and raspberry.

We have decided to do dinner here tonight so I introduced myself to the chef and owner, Delores to see about doing spinach enchiladas for Barry, our obligatory vegetarian.  Delores and I started chatting and somehow the conversation turned to flan, and she didn't know how to make it from scratch, and before you know it she was sending one of the staff to the market and I was cooking.

I got to meet her husband Mark, a nineteen year police officer veteran who has served in Aurora, Colorado (great place), Wichita, Kansas (Rough Place) and nearby Springfield, Missouri.  He and Delores have poured their savings and hearts into this bustling little restaurant where most of their customers travel more than 15 miles to reach.

The flan, happily turned out well, and Mama Locas will likely have a new addition to the menu.  I can't think of another trip or mode of transportation other than crossing the continent by bicycle that would have had me preparing and cooking Flan in a Mexican restaurant in a small town in western Missouri.

John commented, What is about this trip that you couldn't find nail clippers, but found a place to make flan?

Houston, Missouri to Marshfield, Missouri

We are in lovely but poor country.  The industries of the small towns we passed through were cattle ranching, dairy farms, forestry and depending upon the teller, meth or welfare.

We see lots of cows, a near constant since east Virginia with the exception of Western Kentucky where it was too hilly and mountainous.  Here they graze in wonderful expansive grass meadows, and when its hot they congregate under trees, or, my favorite, several hang out in the local pond.

Almost universally they ignore the cars, but will look up and regard us cyclists passing by somewhat noiselessly with great interest.  Whatever lies in the secret life of cows is unknown to me, cows would make great poker players as they watch me pedal by.

Hartville, Missouri

Grueling bike ride today more so because of the horrible pavement around Hartsville.  It was so bumpy, pocked, and laden with potholes that the jarring sensation did a number on my hands and my rear.  Usually one thing hurts, and the rest fades until the next day.  Today it was the bum and the hands.

Lunch today at the LJD Cafe - named after the initials of the owner - Linda.  It's funny how we all start out at different times, but inevitably seem to end up at the same places at more, or less, the same time.

I started with Tom at 630 in the morning.  When we hit the Country Store at Bendavis we met up with Jim, saw Norm and Christine go whizzing by, and then left and saw Jim, Barry, John and Lew.

Getting into Linda's cafe, Jim was still there.  Norm and Christine had just left, and then as Tom and I got our food - Barry, John and Lew came in.

We are still in Amish and Mennonite Country. This buggy passed us heading East.

There are four universally acknowledged great bikers in our group:  Norm, Christine, Jim, and Bill.  Then there is Barry, Lew and Tom.  Then John and I.  But we're close enough that the four of us - Barry, Lew, John and I typically coalesce for the ride and getting into town.

The roads are better west of Hartsville and the roads are lined, for a long time, with a pantheon of wild flowers.

Marshfield, Missouri

After 65 miles, much of it up, we're home for the next fifteen hours. Marshfield, Missouri is a bedroom community for nearby Springfield, Missouri.  Tonight we are in the Webster County Centennial Building, put up in 1955 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the county.  There are bathrooms and shower facilities that the town has unlocked for us.

Eminence, Missouri to Houston, Missouri

Welcome signs.  As cyclists some signs mean different things to us.  The truck going down hill means a glorious descent awaits.  The school bus loading area means that a crest of a hill is coming up and (hopefully) the end of the climb.

The Alvey Springs Mill is the poster child of the Ozark Scenic Rivers National Park.  It is on our map for this part of the country so I could not help but to stop at the Alvey Springs Mill.

Alvey Springs puts out 81 million gallons of water a day, and the three story red grist mill.  As I was crossing the bridge to get closer, I came upon two maintenance workers who told me that I had missed the big event.

"What was that?" I asked.

"The Mill quarter release," they told me.

"You'll have to pretend that I am an idiot when it comes to mills and their releases."

They patiently explained that yesterday the US Mint released the quarter commemorating the Ozark Scenic Rivers National Park. Yesterday and there was a large ceremony here at the Mill.

At the Visitors center I picked up my commemorative copy and the Ranger then rolled back the date stamp on the passport stamp for yesterday and stamped my coin set.

Up on Flat Rock, just before I leave the Ozarks, there is a Fire watch Tower.  Up the stairs, leading from dwindling platform to even more dwindling platform I finally reached the top.  The top was locked, but it was high enough, and moved ever so slightly enough in the wind that I kept hands on the rails the entire time.

A lovely view all around, and there, etched in the metal beams graffiti signs and dates extending back into the nineties of teens having come up here to drink beer and make out.

Summersville, Missouri

Biking we see a number of creatures crossing the road, other than us humans, mostly deer, frogs, birds, frogs, and turtles.  We never see live possums or - now that we are in Missouri - Armadillos but we see remnants of them as roadkill.

Roadkill for cyclists is another retrospectively obvious difference from driving a car.  In a car roadkill is a momentary visual trajectory.  Sometimes Mother and I would cry tears of anticipatory grief over a huddled black mass on the road ahead, only to find that it was a blown tire tread.

There is no confusing tire treads for road kill as a cyclist.  In a car there is no smell.  On the road you can smell the roadkill, depending upon the wind, ten to twenty feet away.  It's unmistakeable.  There are times when I can't see what's dead - possum, deer, or armadillo - but it's there somewhere in the underbrush.  Now in Missouri, it's never possum, just armadillo.

Occasionally it's a turtle, which is sad and perplexing. It's baffling why evolution or turtle common sense hasn't weeded out the propensity for turtles to start waddling out on the blacktop.

When we see them, we move them along, the general rule being to move them to the side of the road toward which they are pointed.

I found this red scaled little fearless one, crossing the road.  Never did he withdraw completely into the shell, even as I picked him and put him on the other side.

Still continuing on the road by myself I arrived in Summerville - the last big town before Houston, Missouri - our ultimate destination tonight.  Norm and Christine had already been through and texted that the restaurant was closed, but there was a food truck which might open later in the day.

It was open when I got there.  Had a cheeseburger- tasty.  Today was Taco Tuesday and they offered a free taco if you wore their sombrero and let them take your picture.  By then, John had arrived, so we had lunch together.

Eunice, Missouri

The land is flattening out now that we leave the Ozarks behind us.  John and I are cycling together now.  At one point there was a scary looking dog, but it was quiet - normally a dangerous sign.   The ones that bark, typically are harmless.  It's the ones that, as Barry described it once, the silent "furry cannonballs" that come at your side.

I just stood still, bike between me and it, and John came up without incident.

In Eunice we met a lady whose husband (former Navy) carves massive sculptures out of logs.

Houston, Missouri

Tonight we pitch camp at the city park here in Houston, Missouri  (pronounced just like the major city in Texas).  Perhaps deliberately, this smaller version of Houston, population 2,000, is the county seat for Texas County Missouri - the largest county in the State.

We are under the the pavilion, however because of the warm pleasant wind, and the sun - we've pitched our tents and dragged out anything that needs to be dried up after the rain from the day before yesterday, and the massive overnight dew from last night.

Cities along the TransAmerica Bike Route are almost uniformly accommodating to cyclists letting the camp in designated city parks.  We're a fairly harmless group of travelers as city park campers go.

The city pool is next to us and it is crowded with young kids, and teenagers.  There are a thousand city pools just like it dotted across America.  While we (older)  cyclists bobbed in the pool, enjoying the change in core body temperature, the cool kids studiously ignore us keeping court in the deep end.

Barry and Bill came in last today bringing with them a self-contained Westbound cyclist, Pat from New Jersey.  Pat is thin, tall, sixty-four and recently retired Claimants' Workers Compensation Attorney.  Taking my post-pool shower with Lew, Pat was there, and I told Lew that Pat also was a workers compensation lawyers.  "What are the odds," Lew exclaimed, "that you would have three workers compensation attorneys from different jurisdictions taking a shower together."