We’ve spent the past few days making our way through America’s heartland via US Highway 36, “the shortest route from Indianapolis to Denver”, so we learned from a weathered sign by the side of the road. Another sign along the highway informed us that we were at the point that the USGS had designated as the geographic center of the 48 contiguous states. Coincidentally, Laura found a news story on the internet as we were driving about the “expanding frontier” of this area. The census bureau’s definition of “frontier” is fewer than 6 people per square mile. With younger people leaving and older people dying, more and more of this area is falling into that category. The tiny Kansas town of McDonald is even offering free land to anyone who will agree to build a house and stay for five years.

We’re trying a slightly different approach on this leg: driving longer on the days we move, but then laying over the next day, walking the dogs, riding bikes, birding or whatever. We enjoyed two nights at Wallace State Park (probably the nicest state park that we’ve seen anywhere) in western Missouri, where the campground host suggested the breaded tenderloin sandwiches at the Whistlestop Café, a couple of miles from the park. We took her suggestion and rode our bikes there for lunch. They lived up to my childhood memory of a road trip with my parents when I had my first (and only) tenderloin. All in all, a lovely stopover, but with one observation about the local folk: People stare here. Whether it was in the campground, at the café, or while fueling before getting back on the highway. People stare. At least at us.

Next, we continued on to Prairie Dog State Park in western Kansas. Carl Curby (our host in Illinois) had suggested this as his chosen stop when he makes the trek to Colorado to visit his sons. We knew he was planning to head there sometime within a few days of our departure from his farm, but didn’t really expect that we would see him along the way. As we were heading into the park, we saw a lone bicyclist riding towards us, who stopped in the middle of the road as we approached. I said: “Wouldn’t it be fun if that was Carl?”… and it was. We set up camp next to him and enjoyed a bottle of red wine together. As the evening progressed, we could see a storm heading towards us from quite a distance away. In the middle of the night, we were awakened by the arrival of the storm. When I went out to make sure things were secured and the bikes were tarped, Carl was pulling up stakes and preparing to hit the road, judging that it was better to drive into it rather than try to sleep through it in his tent. The storm passed and the next day we spent enjoyable hours exploring the park via bike, identifying birds we had never seen before, watching the prairie dog town from which the park takes its name, and getting a personalized tour of the last remaining adobe house in Kansas.

That evening, again, we could see a storm moving in from the northwest. This time, it arrived with a vengeance. We were fortunate to have been parked so that the wind hit us from behind. Had it been from our side, it might have tipped us over. High winds and constant lightning surrounded us for a couple of very long hours. We took comfort in each others arms. Day broke and I went out to look for potential damage. Everything appeared in order, other than the wind having rearranged the dog fencing and some small tumbleweeds having been caught beneath the truck. (Later that day, we discovered there was damage to the rack supporting our solar array. All we can think is something was blown into the support, pulling two screws completely out of the roof and bending the aluminum tubing).

Onward to Bonny State Park, still in the prairie, but now in eastern Colorado. As we turned onto the first entrance road to the park, we found a dirt road that didn’t look to be in the best of repair. About a half mile up the road, we could see a piece of equipment working on the road. We spoke with an older man we encountered, who had just come down the road in a trash truck. We decided that it was a better choice to go to the other entrance, believing we would have a better chance of making it make out the next day, as yet another storm was forecast. After our experience of the previous night, we took all possible precautions, going so far as changing campsites after determining the direction of the prevailing wind and choosing a site with the best wind break without having tall trees that might fall on us if uprooted. We heeded the warning that was broadcast by the weather service, specifically warning people in our campground to seek shelter, predicting the time the storm would arrive there, and that we should expect severe electrical activity, hail, and damaging winds. We gathered the animals, Laura’s laptop, some snacks, a deck of cards and a flashlight had headed off to the activity hall. No one else seemed too concerned. We played cards and waited. We could see lightning to the north and west of us. We waited some more. There were some sprinkles. The breeze picked up. Now there was lightning to the south as well. After a couple of hours, we went back to the trailer. Light rain continued through the night. We decided it was good to have practiced the drill anyway. When the sun came up, we were already making preparations to hit the road. Our plan was to make it to Lyons for the Folks Festival, and getting trapped in this campground was not part of that plan. With more rain in the forecast and knowing that there was a high water crossing that we had to ford to get back to pavement,there was no time to waste. It isn’t often that we really need four wheel drive, but when we do, we can’t regret the extra cost of it. Towing a 9,000 pound trailer down a soupy mud road that felt more like driving on ice, we were thankful it was there. Can’t remember the last time I was so happy to see pavement. Throughout the rest of the day, we drove in and out of showers of varying intensity, but nothing threatening. Upon our arrival in Lyons, we were able to set up between showers. So ends our adventures in the Great Plains.