Joyriding through Kansas

     After leaving the woods of Arkansas . . .

Stopping along its country roads to see a pregnant teen (above), and a herd of elk (below) . . .

I'm now in Kansas, stopping to see a herd of cows. Why do beef cattle always face the same way?

     Tried to help a black calf on the road get back into his pasture, but his mama started running toward me and the calf looked heavier than me, so I nixed that idea and got back into La Lair.

     I'm tremendously enjoying these roads all to myself.

I can stop anywhere, anytime and shoot a photo. No one is in front and no one is behind me.

Sometimes I take a short-cut road.

And sometimes a short-cut road turns into a long-cut road.

     At an intersection of dirt roads, I saw two county road workers cleaning up after a storm. I asked if that dirt road would take me to Medicine Lodge, and one guy said, "Don't take that road, it's bad."

     "What do you call 'bad'?" I asked. I don't mind bad roads.

     "Pot-holes, rocks, wash-outs", he said.

     "OK, I'll take the other road", I smiled and thanked him.

     After spending the night at the Medicine Lodge Hospital parking lot, I got an early sun-rise start to Dodge City.

In another month, these wheat fields should be ready to harvest.

      I love those amber waves of grain. They bring back a flood of good memories for me. During the summer of 1990 while traveling across the USA (in another life of retirement), I camped at a KOA in Burkburnett, Texas. While having a beer at their bar, I met "Wheaties" (contract custom wheat harvesters). They were a fun group of men.

     A little wiry thin guy (LeRoy Lindblad, former professional ski mobile racer for Polaris) asked me if I'd like to harvest wheat for the summer. Since he was pretty drunk by then, I said "Bring the owner's manual around in the morning and I'll think about it." I figured he'd forget by morning. But next morning in my tent, I heard his truck park nearby. He had a special muffler on his dually truck so that everyone could hear him a mile away. Woke the whole campground up! Anyway, long story short, he brought me the owner's manual to read. And I operated that wonderful piece of machinery (a yellow New Holland wheat harvester) with its distinctive diesel engine and all its fancy bells and whistles, from Texas' wheat fields up through the bread basket states of the USA for four months, finishing at a barley field in Roseau, Minnesota. Sweet memories! RIP Leroy.

     I'll be driving slow on Kansas country roads probably another couple of days -- reminiscing and joyriding.

     PS: For those of you who are interested in the fascinating life of a wheat farmer, click here for the best and most thorough explanation I've ever read.