Never Underestimate Kansas

Kansas proved to be more pivotal than anyone would have anticipated.  I embarked upon the venture with resignation, asuming ignorantly that an entire state could realy have nothing to offer me.  And despite the ultimate outcome, I admit that I actually came to appreciate the Sunflower state for its simple beauty, good people and the challenges it offers.

I'm not typically one to go for sunflower seeds, but I was inspired to purchase a bag as soon as we crossed the border.  I reasoned that the ride was bound to be dismal and cracking open several hundred seeds would at least be distracting, and meditative at best.  In truth, those first few days, as we attempted to cross the vast expanse of the state as quickly as we could, the distraction was hardly necessary.  See, Kansas is not flat, that is a stereotype which has gotten a strong foothold.  In fact, the plains do not begin until two-thirds of the way (west) into the state.  The Eastern portion of Kansas recalled the beautiful rolling hills of Kentucky, where over each rise was another picture-perfect bucolic scene - if you're into that sort of thing.  The strong cross-wind slowed us down and ultimately factored into my crash.  But the wind also proved beautiful, as it animating the vast fields of wheat, bringing them to life, a sea of green.

It doesn't surprise me, though, that most often, Kansas is regarded as a flat expanse, a wasteland of sorts.  I, like many who have preceeded me, found the plains enrapturing and painfully boring - perhaps meditative like solitary confinement may be viewed as medidative.  As you ride, you suddenly become aware that the view that surrounds you is lacking in depth, an infinite flatness.  You recognize an object in the distance, a grainery perhaps, that pierces the sky like some kind of skyscraper.  You are overjoyed at the recognition, until gradually you become aware of the gulf of space and time that separates you and you search for anything else to distract you, but there is nothing.

Unless, of course, you are lucky enough to run into some inclement weather.  Herein lies one of the hidden treasures of the plains.  It surprised me, too, at first, this sudden shift of revelry for storms, which I previously would have done anything to avoid.  Yet there was a beauty in seing a storm passing in its entirety through the plains, or the whisper of cirrus clouds at the edge of space.  Clouds decorated the sky like the Gods had commissioned a great work.

One day, one of these storms suddenly came upon us, but we did not seek shelter.  It was as if the Gods had honored us with a test of our courage and resolve.  Zeus hurled bolts of lightning all around us, rain turned the day to night, and hail fell from the sky.  Through rolling hills, the awesome power of the Gods was unleashed upon us.  We came through the curtain of rain in time to arrive in the next town.  Coffee warmed our bodies, but our hearts burned with the conquest.  The Gods, satisfied with our determination, opened the clouds to let the sun shine upon us once more and devined a gentle breeze to blow at our backs.  We rode 120 miles that day.

And then, my adventure - by bicycle at least - was brought to an untimely end.  I like to imagine that Kansas,sensing eminent defeat (we were a trifle 12 miles from the border) decided to play dirty and take me out in some Tanya Harding-esque move.  My left humerus was the casualty.  While I am down, I'm certainly not out, and I will be back on the road as soon as the cast comes off.
Thank you to all who have been so supportive of my trip and followed along.  I will ride into the wind again and my tales will apear here once more.