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Days 60 and 61: 2,000 Miles Down
Kansas Prairie
Oil wells of the plains
The Lutheran church where I spent a night
Chanute.
This is Chanute, Kansas, my third night in the state after sleeping last night at a Lutheran Church which offers space to cross-country bicyclists. I had the church to myself. I cooked some hamburger and green beans, then retired to a couch where I read a book until I fell asleep. A thunderstorm raged throughout the night. I had strangely vivid and unsettling dreams, then awoke to pedal a fairly short day to this motel here in Chanute.
It is flat ground mostly, although each mile is a gradual climb up unto the high plains that are central Kansas. Winds were coming at me from the side, even slightly from behind at times, and so headwinds were not an obstacle. But when I turned north for a four-mile portion of the ride the headwinds hit me hard, slowing me to a crawl.
Tomorrow I want to put a high-mileage day in after three days of short treks. I have conceded three days now to short rides, unwilling to push hard and far, the result of a certain malaise that has set in just recently.
Other tourers speak of a malaise that can set in along this phase of the transcontinental trek. Know I now what they mean. Kansas, for as great as the people seem to be, is mostly featureless and boring. There are no vistas to await, no photos opportunities to expect, and a lack of towns to find interest in. It is well known among TransAm tourers that this mid-way point is bleak, and most challenging. The beginning third of the trek, no matter from which coast, is filled with excitement and anticipation, while the final third of the trek is highlighted each day by the approaching finish line. But the middle third, here in the prairie, are doldrums. I must fight through these doldrums to the west, where new and spectacular scenery awaits, and assuredly a new perspective will dawn. I long for the coast, where the ocean and sun evoke a spirit of freedom for me, while here in the middle of the continent I only feel trapped, trapped by miles and miles and miles of land.
But what helps sustain my mood are encouraging words from those I have met along the way. The fire chief in Farmington, Missouri, where I spent two nights a couple of weeks ago, commented on this blog, saying:
"The Farmington Fire Department (Missouri) are keeping up with your travels. Stay safe and keep riding for your cause, you are doing a great thing to honor your cousin, your family and yourself." Chief Todd Mecey
The wind on the prairie is a different kind of wind. It is like the wind that comes off the ocean, with a momentum to it that carries with it all the miles it has traveled. The wind here in Kansas feels like it has come from a long way away, across the continent. It is a large wind, like a tidal wave, which makes you feel small when it hits you and knocks you off course. Eastbounders who I've met along the route have complained about the Kansas headwinds, expressing relief to be facing the hills and mountains as they head east toward the Appalachian. Having pushed through some prairie headwinds I can concur, up to a point. A headwind is tough to pedal through, but it is nothing compared to the grades of the Appalachians. Pedaling into a headwind is stifling, and reduces speed drastically, but it does not demand the same level of sheer physical exertion as climbing hill after hill. In the mountains the bicycle is in terrain it simply isn't made for, on inclines that make pedaling a painful experience. Not so in the headwinds of the prairie, where slow and steady pedaling is tedious, but not physically demanding. I can only say that I am happy to be finished with the mountains of the east, and happy to only have wind to contend with.
Today I will attempt a 70-mile ride, to Eureka, where free camping is offered in the town park. Alternatively, I may pull up short and camp at Toronto, which is 50 miles away. I am growing weary of the camping. I long for the day when I can retire the tent and the thin sleeping pad. I believe that I'll find excitement again in the scenery of the west. But there is nothing that will excite me more than the sign that says "Welcome to California." I have ridden nearly 2,000 miles thus far, and there is about 1,600 miles to go. I am officially two-thirds into the trek, even though geographically I am in the exact middle of the continent. I figure I can arrive at the Pacific Ocean in about five weeks. At 1,600 miles, if I bike 50 miles per day, I will finish the trek in 32 days, not including a few rest days. I look forward fiercely to finishing.
Today is Rich's birthday. It is a day that the family will recognize the loss. I pray that, instead of sorrow on this significant day, we can instead find the joy of life as the sun gives another beautiful and precious day for us to behold and partake in.
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