For the last week I have been on a short tour, including sections of the Great Divide. While I'm well adjusted to long days, I'm still toting a heavy load. Nonetheless, my route has taken me through Kansas along the Transamerica Trail -- what better place for a century than the Great Plains?
Photo: the current setup, at the Rio Grande in Colorado.
The morning in Scott City Kansas was cold, but there were a lot of miles to go and, supposedly, an early morning donut shop to help me out of town. I fold up a dewy tent and don long gloves and a jacket. Main Street is a half mile west - the wrong way; the donut shop was closed. Twenty-four miles to the next town.
On the way to Dighton, I pass a westbound cycle tourist. Aside the normal pleasantries, he warns that the coffee machines at the convenience store ahead are out of order -- he was right, but at least the cappuccino machine worked great. A bit of extra sugar couldn't hurt; it was thirty more miles to Ness City.
It was about noon, five hours riding, and I was due for lunch. It was decision time too. I could stop for the day, but it was early. I could camp in Rush Center, but even water might be difficult to find there, much less dinner. Otherwise, Great Bend was still another 60 miles ahead, but the city offered excellent amenities.
With a slice of pizza and a Coke put down and some gummy bears packed away, I set out from Ness City for the second half of a long day. If I could manage 15 miles at a stretch -- a little over an hour each stint -- I could be in the city in about five hours.
After the first stretch I arrive in Alexander and a very modern highway rest area. Pavilions there offered shelter from an incoming drizzle; the forecast called for full sun!
Fifteen more miles -- about 85 for the day -- and I reached Rush Center. The public park is just aside the highway and held grass taller than the picnic tables. I was thankful I had already psyched up for the thirty miles left to go.
Around mile 92, the sky north and east turned ominous. I tried to stay optimistic: grey skies don't always mean rain, maybe I could sneak through before any real rain. My optimism ended when the rain began.
With wet feet again, I talk myself into a motel room. Luckily, Great Bend is a major travel center, and room rates are cheaper than anywhere in the region. I picked a cheap room with laundry service on site.
Every mile past 100 was a bit slower than the last. The slow pace feels off, at least until I reached the first stoplight -- once in the city I rolled slow just to look at all my options for dinner. I settle into my room quickly and immediately start on laundry. Within an hour, I'm wearing a warm and dry shirt for the first time in a week.
