It's done... now it's story time!

In the early Sunday morning hours we arose; I say arose as neither of us could barely sleep through the night.  It was before dawn and we gathered our last minute items.  I was proud of Hannah; she got up, got dressed, and was ready to roll.  The two of us packed the final gear into the trunk and saddlebags, mounted the Zombie Bike (our beloved 1981 Goldwing), and started the engine.  I had heard that bike fire up a thousand times, but this time was different; the hum of the sound was more eager.  The old bike knew it was going on a real adventure... life without a net and full of risk.  Hannah looked at the apartment one last time as we rolled out of the parking lot and began to chase the headlight into the wee hours of the morning.  When we pulled onto I-70 and started heading West, the feeling came over us; we were actually doing this.
     I had decided to pull into a truck stop on the Kansas Turnpike to get breakfast; it was far enough away from town to be unfamiliar and get us used to road food.

Kansas Turnpike Breakfast, West of Kansas City

When we took that picture Hannah was still fresh and still in familiar territory.  We did not have a single bit of dust on our boots.  The trip was just beginning.

We headed on westward and as the Sun was coming up, we were finally chasing our shadow.  Once we were past Topeka, I spotted a familiar sign that I was looking for;  the Stuckey's gas station was off the next exit.  Since we were off the turnpike, the gasoline would be cheaper there.  Hannah had also never enjoyed the pleasure of a Stuckey's Cherry Pecan Log.

The Only Stuckey's in Kansas.

I purchased a Cherry Pecan Log and Hannah enjoyed her first bites.  I stuffed the remains of the pecan log into my carry all and we headed West again.  In the background of the picture you can see the clouds starting to form.  That would be the first wave of thunder storms that we would manage to avoid that day.

As the day wore on, the winds picked up along the Kansas plains.  We were fighting 70 mph wind gusts and could barely stay on the road.  I was always looking for an excuse to pull off the road and made liberal use of the many rest areas and roadside attractions along the way.

Hannah looks at the map and takes a water break; the first of MANY.

The first "attraction" we spotted was a billboard for a railroad museum in Ellis, KS.  I was glad to pull off because my arms were getting tired trying to keep the bike upright and on the road.  The town of Ellis was a cute Kansas town with a charming downtown and we rode down Main street looking for the museum and following the signs.

The infamous Ellis Railroad Museum

Hannah was so excited, she put on her train cap and we started exploring the property after we decided that we would wait the half an hour for the museum to open.  On the property was a scale diesel electric train ride; it was a vintage exact replica of a full size train.

The minutes clicked away.  We watched the little bit of traffic that the town had go back and forth down the main drag.  Soon it was past the appointed hour of opening and we walked across the street to a pizza place that was obviously open.  The employees in the shop pointed out the owner and recommended that we talk to him about the museum.  The table was full of his family and other towns folk.  When we asked about the museum it started quite the discussion.  Nobody was completely sure who was supposed to be manning the museum and it had been an issue at the city council meetings.  We told them to tell the city council that some travelers with money in hand were very disappointed and left without getting to ride a train or see the displays in the museum.  It wouldn't be a big deal except there is a large billboard off the highway telling us to stop in and see and do these things. We learned that the town hadn't had a real rain in years and the dry fountains and creek bed were reminders of this. As we were headed into the desert I told Hannah to get used to seeing this.  Hannah is going to take over the story from here.

I found it sad that the museum was essentially closed.  It reminded me of a detour I made on the way to a gig in Colby one year, a small town advertising the world's largest Czech egg, an opera house, and museum.  When I reached the town, I found that the opera house had burned down the previous year, taking the museum and egg with it.  No one had bothered taking down the billboard.  So it was with heavy hearts we plugged westward through the familiar Kansas landscape toward Oakley.  We had recently read on a few road-tripper Websites that Oakley's claim to roadside fame, the controversial Prairie Dog Town, had shuttered for good.  We stopped in Oakley to fill up and pay our last respects to another deceased piece of Americana, only to find Prairie Dog Town open for business!

We exchanged surprised and grateful pleasantries with the proprietor, Larry, who still keeps freeze-dried rattlesnakes in stock.  I was able to find a replacement for the one that our cat Rufus ate.  Larry has been trying to sell the place for some time now, but at least for the time being it remains open.  Go and see it while you can, folks.  It's magnificent and horrendous.

With both of us feeling the effects of the heat, we took a break in the gas station next door with some cold drinks.  After reapplying sunblock, we got back out there, still fighting strong winds.  The winds proved so strong, in fact, that Denton exited the highway and took a gravel county road because we could not maintain highway speed in such a gale.  The sky lightened and darkened alternatingly as Denton explained to me that a storm system was actually being born right above us!  We encountered a group of storm chasers east of Colby and stopped to chat.  Conditions were ripe for a tornado.

Storm chasers came from as far away as Iowa!

 We finally reached Colby as some ominous-looking thunderheads rolled directly towards us.  Considering ourselves lucky to have avoided all the storms up until this point, we holed up at the travel plaza for the better part of an hour as the rain came down in sheets.  Soon enough, the thunderstorm passed by us on its eastward course, and we swept the water off the seats and saddled up again.

Goodland is just a stone's throw from Colby, and we exited the highway to get a photo of a magnificent double rainbow that the storm had left as a consolation prize.  As we putted along, looking for a good vantage point, I did a double-take.  I immediately pointed it out to Denton, and we hurriedly parked the motorcycle and ran pell-mell to get this awesome shot:

"Double rainbow!  Giant easel!  What does it MEAN?"

We'd promised ourselves we'd stop for the "world's largest" anything, and I do believe the world's largest Van Gogh resoundingly qualifies.

The sun was hanging low in the sky, and we weren't yet out of Kansas.  Our motel reservation for the night was in Georgetown, CO--on the other side of Denver.  The weather had hobbled our progress all day, and only towards evening were we able to really open up the throttle. Still, we realized that we wouldn't make it to Denver in time to dine at the famous Casa Bonita.  So, hopeful for dinner, we stopped in Limon, CO.  Here began our rather painful but retrospectively hilarious relationship with Coloradans, all of whom, I am quite convinced, are stoned 24/7.  Ask for a gas station, they'll give you directions to "a really awesome sandwich shop."  Ask for a restaurant, they'll direct you to a bar that has "terrible food, but really good cheese sticks."  We ended up eating out of a large, greasy box of random fried foodstuffs at a Denver truck stop.  I must admit that corn on the cob is a whole different experience when breaded and deep-fried 'till crispy.

It had grown totally dark, and the altitude was still rising as we started getting into the Rockies.  We climbed and climbed, the Goldwing's engine starting to complain as the carburetor fed it less and less oxygen.  It got cold quickly, and we donned our jackets and hoodies.  We drove and drove, our entire world encapsulated in the headlight, climbing steadily upwards.  I think I recognized some of the famous elevated portions of I-70.  I read each passing sign with a fervent hope that I'd see a listing and distance for Georgetown on it, but as midnight came and went and I gradually lost sensation in my extremities, the highway gave no sign that such a town existed anywhere along our trajectory.  The GPS, apparently confused by the mountainous terrain, spat out meaningless numbers when queried about how far we were from our destination.

I am not proud of the fact, but at around one A.M. I suffered a meltdown.  Logic dictated that we must have passed Georgetown, because there wasn't a single indication that it was ahead of us.  Physically and emotionally exhausted and freezing in my desert gear, I burst into tears.  Denton pulled off at the next exit, which we later discovered to be the town of Idaho Springs.  He did his best to console me, and we drove from motel to motel, finally finding one (the only one) whose office was still open.  Denton literally picked me up off the bike, carried me into the room, and plunked me down in a hot shower.

After crawling into bed and covering myself with every blanket I could find, I clung to my soon-to-be husband as a tumult of emotions churned in me.  I felt guilty for causing this unplanned stop and resultant expense, and I doubted that I had the stamina to put in another 21-hour, 700-mile day on the road.  I worried about the poor Goldwing, hacking and seemingly shaking itself to pieces in the thin mountain air.  Mostly I was just cold, disoriented, and tired.  I'd like to put it straight for the record that the one thing I wasn't doubting at that moment was Denton. Seeing how desperately he tried to comfort me, how quickly he responded to get me somewhere I'd be more comfortable, I knew that he was lending me the strength to do this.  I resolved to do him proud.