Myron and Byron

Forest City, IA – It’s almost a giddy feeling having so much space to move around in, here at the Knights Inn Lodge in Forest City.  After three months in our compact little motor home, we have a two-room suite, and we can actually not see each other for several minutes at a time!

When we pulled away this morning, we headed north on Interstate 35 toward the Iowa state line, passing several construction crews at work. Most of the time this just meant we had to squeeze from two lanes to one for a certain distance, but at one point we actually had to make a detour along a secondary highway for several miles.

It was rather pleasant driving through small villages and past farms. At one intersection we saw a black carriage hitched to a frisky black horse and driven by an Amish girl, dressed in a long black skirt, cape and black bonnet.  She looked a bit stressed, trying to keep the horse under control as a large semi truck roared past along a road that doesn’t normally see vehicles that big.

By the time our detour got us back to the Interstate, we’d crossed the state line into Iowa. We were a bit anxious that we might have missed the state visitor center, but luckily we hadn’t. Inside, we found a state map and other good information, and struck up a conversation at the desk with Myron, who is a retired truck driver born and bred in Iowa.  It was interesting to hear him speak passionately about his state’s natural beauty.

On Myron’s computer screen was an online live video of an eagle’s nest. He said he’d been watching it all morning, waiting for the mother eagle to get up so he could see the babies, and just as he said it, mama eagle did just that.  It was delightful to see two fuzzy, wobbly eaglets and their shell-clad sibling as yet unhatched.  She tenderly ripped tiny bits of flesh from a fish that papa eagle had delivered to the nest and fed them to the hungry chicks.

Smoke was billowing into the sky across the way from the visitor center when we stepped outside after saying goodbye to Myron. A farmer was burning the dry grass from his field and we were close enough to see the orange flames eating away at the stubble. At least in this area, the land is not tinder-dry, so this practice is not as dangerous as it is in the drought-ridden areas where we’ve been.

As we approached Forest City, we passed a huge wind farm with dozens of enormous turbines spread over several acres. Val pulled over and got out of the RV so he could listen to the windmills; he’d heard people complain about their noise and wanted to find out what they were talking about. To us, there didn’t seem to be much noise at all, but they sure looked big up close.

We’re staying at the same inn we stayed at in 2011 when we flew down here to pick up our new RV.  The Winnebago factory where it was made is across the highway, and the dealer just down the road, so it’s a convenient spot. Byron, the owner, found our particulars in the computer database and welcomed us back. We’re looking forward to having a couple of small repairs done to the RV before we move on.

Making the transition

Cameron, MO – Before we set out this morning we had a new set of jobs to finish. The likelihood of freezing temperatures overnight – and even by day – is stronger every mile we travel now, so it was time to winterize the RV and stay in hotels.

The four gallon jugs of pink, non-toxic RV antifreeze had to be pumped through all the pipes and faucets and poured into the tanks, so while Val operated the pump, I was holding the syphon hose in one pink jug, watching the fluid level drain away, and switching to a new one as it emptied.  Then, off we went for one last visit to the dumping station to drain the black and grey water tanks, and, when that was done, Val poured the last of the pink fluid down the drain to finish the job.

We did all this early this morning, because we’d found an Episcopal church in Junction City, 15 miles from our RV park and en route to our destination, where we could attend the 10 o’clock service. The Church of the Covenant was built in 1859, and was the first church in Kansas before Kansas was even a state.  One of its pastors, when on his deathbed, was asked by a Presbyterian friend what message he’d like to leave his congregation, and he said “Tell them to stand up for Jesus.” His words inspired the well-known hymn “Stand up, stand up for Jesus”.

What a warm welcome we received from everyone there! At coffee hour, Lillian, a lovely lady of 95, came over to greet us because she didn’t want us to think they weren’t friendly! It was a nice start to our day, and before long we were on the road, heading eastward on Interstate 70.

It was hard to drive past the sign for the Oz Museum in Wamego, KS – the travel literature says it’s full of memorabilia from the Wizard of Oz movie – but we couldn’t see everything! Shortly after, we entered the Flint Hills sector of eastern Kansas, where the terrain changed from mostly flat to a geography of hills and valleys.

When we arrived at the outskirts of Kansas City, KS, we took the ring road around the city, crossing first the Kansas River, and then the state line into Kansas City, MO as we crossed the Missouri River. I just had to quote that great Oz line to Val, “we’re not in Kansas any more!”, just to see his eyes roll one more time!

Once we got past the Kansas Cities, we headed north on Interstate 35 to Cameron and found our motel, relieved that there was space in the parking lot for the RV and car without having to unhitch. As we pulled in, I saw Ontario licence plates on another vehicle parked by the office, and the owners were just coming out, so I said “where are you from?” Thunder Bay was the reply, and later, in the restaurant next to the motel, we saw the couple again.

Brian and Norma joined us in our booth after they finished their meal, and thus began a lovely evening’s conversation about travel, retirement, being snowbirds and all the stories of our respective adventures. It was a treat to make their acquaintance and wish them well on their journey.

Greatness from America's heartland

Abilene, KS – Today has been a grand day, both weather-wise and for what we’ve seen in this charming little town.  Hometown hospitality greeted us first thing at the Visitor Center, where fresh coffee and cookies were set out – and the cookies were Mamie Eisenhower’s own recipe.

The Presidential Library, Museum and Boyhood Home of Dwight D. Eisenhower covers a 22-acre plot of land. This particular president has personal significance for me. As a third-grader in Washington, DC during his presidency, I and my classmates applied our handwriting skills to a birthday message for him. My letter was chosen to be mailed to the White House, and a few days later I received a card, engraved with the presidential seal and a message of thanks, signed by Eisenhower. The card is still somewhere in my memorabilia of those ancient times!

America’s 34^th president had humble beginnings as one of six sons (a seventh died in infancy) to Ida and David, who bought the white wooden house and spacious lot from David’s brother. They came here when Dwight was 10 months old, so he always felt Abilene was home. “Ike”, as he came to be known, took military training that served him well during the war years, when he rose to the rank of five-star General and commander of the allied troops.

The museum on the grounds displayed large paintings in the lobby depicting Ike’s life from infancy to presidency. Inside, we followed a detailed chronology of the Second World War, plus extensive descriptions of all the events of that period. Great blocks of text were a bit daunting for a visit limited to one day, but displays of personal items, such as sewing kits, dog tags, and letters to sweethearts back home really gave a human connection to the sweeping events of those terrible years.

We hadn’t finished seeing everything before our stomachs caved in, so we took a lunch break at a lovely Chinese buffet restaurant down the street. We then returned to complete the final displays about Eisenhower’s presidential years, Mamie’s exhibits, and cases of medals and gifts Ike received. These included three be-jeweled ceremonial swords and countless badges of honour. It was a terrific museum which clearly merited repeated visits to really appreciate it fully.

We could have spent much more time on the grounds, but we wanted to see another attraction in town, so our stops at the Presidential Library and Place of Meditation, where Ike, Mamie and their only son Doud are buried, had to be brief.

The Seelye Mansion, a few blocks to the north, was our se-cond desti-nation. This beautiful Georgian home, built in 1905, features original light fixtures by Thomas Edison, and many pieces of furniture and household items purchased at the St Louis World’s Fair of 1904 for the house. Most unusual of all is the fact that our tour guide, Terry Tietjens, owns and lives in the house which he has painstakingly preserved and restored. He’s a senior citizen with amazing energy and devotion to promoting the history of his home town, and the house, despite its age, felt alive and fresh. We were fascinated!

Prettiest town you've ever seen

Abilene, KS – There’s an old  pop song about Abilene with the line on today’s title plus “where the girls are never mean” – Val’s been humming it today for some reason. We looked up the name of this small town on Interstate 70, west of Salina (rhymes with Spadina) and east of Topeka. Apparently the wife of a town founder chose the name from Luke 3:1, where several biblical cities are named. It means “city on the plain”.

We got a glimpse of Wichita as we headed further east on the highway near our RV park, and turned north onto Interstate 235 and then I-135. (There’s a song about it too – “The Wichita Lineman”—that was playing in my brain yesterday.) Our direction was mainly northward, across more of the wide, fertile fields of Kansas and under a big sky.  At first it was bright and sunny, but high clouds drifted in after an hour or so. 

More wagon train tracks were noted on the map north of McPherson, and I had my camera ready to snap any that came into view. However, there were so many other tracks – made by tractors or dune buggies, or stripes between harvested corn rows – that I was unable to figure out where these historic traces might have been, and no signage was visible to help me in my search.

Our route crossed the Arkansas River once again today, and I was amazed to see how full and broad it was, compared to the muddy ditch we’d seen yesterday.  It demonstrates the retentive activities of communities along the river that prevent the water’s flow from reaching towns downstream.

As we approached Abilene, Val said he wanted to fuel up the RV before settling at our park. He likes to start out with a full tank after each stay. I suggested we take an exit off the Interstate before the one indicated for the park to increase our chances of finding a gas station that provided diesel fuel, but he said he’d just take what came at the appointed exit.  I had to smile when I saw that the RV park office was actually inside the building of a Shell gas station that carried diesel fuel!  Lucky once again!

It was a short travel day today – we arrived in time for lunch – so once we were settled we detached the car for a look around Abilene.  Its main claim to fame is that it’s President Eisenhower’s home town, and there is a Presidential Library here as well as Eisenhower’s boyhood home.  The main street through town has some beautiful large homes, some decorated with gingerbread trim, turrets and verandahs. Even down the secondary streets, the houses are generously spaced apart, and many have porches with swings or wicker chairs on them.  There’s a small-town, unrushed feel there that was very pleasant.

Now that we’ve scouted out the main attractions, we’re set for our sightseeing outing tomorrow.  Back at the RV, we pulled out the barbeque and Val prepared a nice steak for our supper. We will only have a couple more nights in the motorhome before it will be too cold for camping, and we’ll have to stay in hotels, so this was a treat to savour.

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.

Where money grows on trees

Dodge City, KS – Some days, it’s really clear to us that we are traveling in the off season. Most of the time, it means we can see things with relatively small crowds and sometimes even get a private tour. On other occasions, like today, we were on our own.

We drove out to the east end of Dodge City to see the original site of Fort Dodge, the first settlement here established in the late 1860s to protect the military and pioneers from hostile natives. We arrived at the site and turned in, following a sign for the Visitor Information building. The fort area encompassed several buildings, some of which appeared to be fairly old and others, houses really, that were much more recent.

We drove slowly through the whole compound, looking for the Visitor Information building without success.  We spotted the museum and library building and turned in, but a sign on the door indicated its open hours – Monday, Tuesday and Friday. Not today.

Finally, near the entrance, I went in to the general store and café to ask where we were supposed to go. There were a few round tables with chairs, one customer drinking coffee, and some kitchen staff behind the counter.  One of the ladies greeted me and showed me a rack with tourist brochures, and pointed out a building down the street we had already checked out that she said was the Visitor Information building. It was devoid of any sign and didn’t appear to be open either!

We did see some old sandstone buildings that used to be barracks and a command center, but the main activity on the grounds now is a small veterans’ hospital, the modern version of the Old Soldiers’ Home that Fort Dodge became when its primary role ended.

As we headed back in to town, we wanted to find a Dodge City coffee mug to add to our collection. There were some Boot Hill Museum mugs at the gift shop there yesterday, but we wanted one with Dodge City on it. In a town where large hotels have been built to house the many visitors who come every year, you’d think even at this time of year there might be one or two nice mugs around. Not so much. After four stops, we gave up, remembering that the RV park office had some souvenirs we could check out.

Before heading back to the park, we stopped at the Lucky Liquor Store to pick up a bottle of wine. In a number of states we’ve visited, wine is available at the grocery store, but not in Utah or Kansas. As Val made the purchase, I spotted an adorable little tree at the cash with wire and pompoms and flowers made out of pleated dollar bills! Not everywhere does one see money growing on trees. So I took a picture to share.

Anyone looking for cowboy-themed items would love the collec-tion at Gunsmoke RV Trav-L-Park! They had cowboy statuettes, ceramic horse heads, purses that looked like saddles, figurines shaped like striking rattlesnakes and yes, coffee mugs with “Dodge City” on them. So a day with a few frustrations ended in success.

Tracks of grass, roads of brick

Dodge City, KS – Standing on a hilltop just west of town, Val and I gazed on traces across the grass that were left by the wooden wheels of wagon trains more than 180 years ago.  The trail ruts developed over a period of 60 years as soldiers and settlers trekked from the east to new lands. This particular trail, the Santa Fe Trail, originated in Missouri and ended in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and we learned that, most of the time, the wagons traveled up to four abreast in part so the drivers could form a circle quickly if they should come under attack.

Attack was a definite possibility as wave upon wave of white people swarmed across what had been exclusively native territory up to that time. When people found out that a buffalo hide was worth good money, they hunted the animals into near extinction and destroyed the livelihood of the native tribes.

The teeming natural life in this prairie region – game, birds, fish – also faded away as more and more settlers arrived.  The railway that came to Dodge City made the town a go-to location for cattle drivers from Texas who rode the range with their herds to this place so they could be shipped to cities in the east.  Though the longhorn cow no longer grazes its way from San Antonio to Dodge, some 11,000 beef cattle per day are processed here now to supply grocery stores and restaurants across the country.

Dodge City tells the stories of all these human developments at the Boot Hill Museum a couple of miles from our RV park, on Wyatt Earp Boulevard.  The original Boot Hill is still there, where miscreants and shootout victims were buried with their boots on.  The bodies were removed some time back to a new burial ground, but worn wooden slabs carved with colourful epitaphs are still in place.

The museum is disguised on the out-side as a cowboy town, com-plete with general store, saloon, blacksmith shop and other enterprises. Inside, many buildings are joined together, and visitors can browse through displays about the buffalo, clothing of the day, a huge array of guns and rifles, quaint potions and linaments, and portraits of iconic personalities like Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and Bat Masterson.

At the height of tourist season, there are daily gunfights at noon, stage-coach rides, plus can-can dancers in the saloon and cones and sodas at the ice cream parlour. You can even get a sepia portrait done in period dress at the photographer’s studio. But not today.  Still, it was interesting to learn about the pivotal role this small town played in American history.

We took a short drive through the neighbourhoods as well, and were intrigued to see how many streets were paved with red bricks.  It made us wonder whether it had any connection to the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz!