Getting out of Dodge

Wichita, KS – I couldn’t resist saying to Val as we headed out this morning “Let’s get the heck out of Dodge!” while he rolled his eyes and groaned. When else could it possibly be more appropri-ate? So, we drove down Wyatt Earp Boulevard one last time, past Boot Hill and the statue of a longhorn cow, past the enormous grain elevators and meat processing plants, and out into the country.

More huge feed lots, peppered with cattle in their pens, covered the hillside by the highway as we approached and passed the site of Fort Dodge, which we’d tried to see yesterday. The day was cool and overcast, and a fine misty rain splattered on the windshield.  When we filled up with fuel I remarked to the cashier how chilly and wet it was, and she said she wished it would rain harder. All around here they’ve been enduring a prolonged drought.

The Arkansas River, that runs south of Dodge, was a welcome watering hole for the Texan longhorns when they were driven here in the 1860s, and finding a safe spot to cross it was a challenge, but when we drove over it today, all I saw was a muddy ditch with a few puddles. Our hosts at the RV park told us they were dreading the day they’d be ordered not to fill the swimming pool that is such a draw for summer guests, though that hasn’t happened yet.  But water shortages weigh heavily on people’s minds in so much of the southwest.

Our route took us along Highway 400, and Val kept an eye on his altitude watch as the numbers descended from the 3000s to the 2000s of feet above sea level.  The predominantly flat terrain began to undulate after a few miles, and the flat, yellow fields stretching to the horizon became green in places, some due to irrigation but some apparently thanks to Mother Nature.  More clusters of trees also came into view, and streams that were actually flowing, as well as a few ponds.

We passed through a few small towns, with lots of estab-lishments catering to the agricul-tural sector. At one cross-roads, our eyes popped at a lengthy array of wrought iron signposts with whimsical silhouettes of dancing figures, railway crossing signs and other curios, lined up along the perimeter of someone’s property.

In Greensburg there were large signs inviting visitors to see the “World’s Largest Hand Dug Well”, just three blocks from the highway, but we weren’t intrigued enough to alter our route.  It made me think of the Prairie Dog Town signs leading in to Oakley a couple of days ago, and how exaggerated their claims had been!

After supper we checked out the weather forecast for the next day or two.  The local stations are very thorough with their analyses of high and low-pressure areas, winds and temperatures, in a land where tornadoes are a distinct possibility.  In one of the towns we passed through, we saw a big sign that said “Storm Shelter”, with a large arrow pointing to a low, concrete bunker with very solid doors.  We will be ensuring that conditions are favourable for travel before we set out on the highways around these parts. So far, so good.