Preamble to Trans-Am Five

                                              Installment V 

                                Part 5 of a Bicycle Tour Across the USA 

                     Scheduled to resume in Kansas City, Kansas in May 2021

Introduction (originally written on 12/31/19)


"The prairies are as patient as time and as mysterious as the stars, with as many moods as the wind, drawing you on.  And suddenly you know that this is what you have wanted all your life."  - Zula Bennington Greene, aka, Peggy of the Flint Hills. 


The Great Plains.  The Old West.  Land of Cowboys, Indians, pioneers in covered wagons, homesteaders, and cattle drives.  Accompanied only by silos, windmills, corn, wheat, sagebrush, and the rustling wind, a cyclist can feel pretty small out there.   Today, this is flyover country.  Crossing the plains is the epitome of wasted time for many.  An endless empty expanse to be put into the past tense, as quickly as is possible.  Spending hours trying to stay awake while driving through a featureless, empty land is not any normal person's idea of an adventure.  Is it?



Above: I-70, Kansas - this is what many people have experienced and associate with the plains, miles and miles of boring highway leading to nowhere.



Once upon a time, I crossed this part of the USA on a bicycle.  On that journey, I learned that contrary to popular belief, a unique way (these days) to see the Great Plains is on two wheels, of the non-motorized variety.  The land between Kansas City and the Rocky Mountains presents itself in an entirely different manner than what is experienced in a climate controlled motor vehicle at 75 miles per hour.  From an old (and currently un-published) personal travelogue comes the following entry;

"Once we got West of Olathe, the land started opening up with broad vistas, green fields, small ponds, and cattle. It was sunny and warm, with an ever-present wind. There were repeating series of rolling hills that we had not expected to see. They were not difficult to crest, looking worse from a distance than when actually ascending them on a bike. At that time (June 1978), I had no prior knowledge of these Flint Hills and was surprised to see such geological formations in a Kansas that was supposed to be flat! Since then, I've learned they consist of residual flint that has eroded from bedrock lying below the surface. These little hills contain some of the most dense coverage of tallgrass prairie remaining in North America. The prairie grass persists because neither the early settlers nor the more modern farmers could successfully plow and cultivate the land.

Some years later, I read a negative account of an automobile trip to the Flint Hills. The author expressed disappointment because the 'hills' apparently did not have enough dramatic scenery to warrant the long trip made to reach them. While reading about his disappointment, it struck me that to fully appreciate the Flint Hills, one must experience them on their own terms. The early settlers did so.  On their horses, on foot, or in Conestoga Wagons, they traveled slowly through these 'hills.' We biked over them... over and over again, at 12-15 miles per hour! The slower pace of travel is a catalyst for the development of a deeper appreciation of where you are and what you are seeing. In a car, the Flint Hills area, and most of Kansas, all looks tediously the same.  Out in the open and at a slower pace, the beauty sort of works its way into your consciousness and you see the Flint Hills for what they are, anomalies that provide some pleasant variety in the vastness of the Great Plains. Great memories of those days in the Flint Hills have stuck with me for all of these succeeding years."


For that matter, all of that ride across the Great Plains, from Kansas City to the base of the Rockies, has stuck with me over the years.  Sure, there are long stretches of lonely highway but there were also small towns, friendly people, good diners, wildlife, beautiful sunrises and sunsets.  I remember places where no vehicles passed us for long periods of time and where the only sounds were the wind rustling of the tall grasses, the birds, or an occasional deer running off into a wheat field.  When a vehicle did pass, there was almost always a friendly wave from the folks inside.  It was anything but monotonous and I can't wait to go back!

Location: Kansas, USA

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