I woke up early this morning and got on a 7am Greyhound back to Dodge City where I had left off before my side trip back to Garden City. It is interesting when you walk through town with a pack on after not doing it for awhile. At first I get a little irritated with everyone (I mean everyone) staring at me, but then I slowly get used to it. I'm leaving Dodge City as soon as I finish here at the library, heading southeast on a dirt road to Bucklin, and then straight east to Greensburg to see the largest hand dug well in the world.
I met a homeless man this morning. His name was Randall, and I bought us both a cup of coffee to warm up, and we talked. I've never quite related to a homeless man at that level before. We both knew that we would be sleeping outside tonight, and it would be cold. No one should be sleeping outside in Kansas right now. I felt so bad for him because he didn't even have a tent and a 15 degree sleeping bag to be cold in, just blankets and lots of clothes. He said, "I used to have everything I wanted," but he went to prison in Hutchinson (I didn't ask why) and had to sell everything that he had to pay the lawyers and the fines. Now, Randall didn't know where he was going or what he was going to do. He seemed very sad and helpless. I did too.
Friday, November 13, 1998: Between Ford and Mullinville
I said goodbye to the Arkansas River and the Santa Fe Trail today. They both bent northeast around Ford, KS, and it has been far too cold at night to be bending northeast with anything. I have been following the Arkansas River since Canon City, CO, when it was still the color of mountain water and relatively clean. Once I hit the plains around Pueblo, it turned dark, thick, rich, and even more chocolatey than Willy Wonka's river. It stayed that color until I left it today, and I am certain that it stays that way until it dumps into the Mississippi and then the Gulf of Mexico.
I have followed the Arkansas for about 340 miles, and floated down her on a ten dollar raft that I bought at a garage sale for eighty of them, from Florence to Rocky Ford. I camped on her banks approximately twenty-five nights and bathed in her too many times to count. I watched her literally disappear from eastern Colorado's heavy irrigation, only to find her flowing again twenty miles down the road. We have become old friends, and we will meet again in Oklahoma.
As I continued southeast, I watched as the strip of trees that line the banks of the Arkansas got smaller, and smaller, and then disappeared. It's going to be hard to find trees to camp in now. The only trees are next to the farm houses out here, and that's where I am camping tonight.
Until now, my philosophy on camping on other people's land has always been, "If you ask permission, you only give them a chance to say no." I didn't have a choice tonight. I went up to a farm house and asked if I could set my tent up on their land. Tonight I got, "I wouldn't have a problem with that," but I would be naive to think it will always be that way. I know that "I don't want you on my land" is sure to happen sometime. I just hope that there are friendly neighbors and a little sunlight left to reach them when it does.
Saturday, November 14, 1998: Greensburg
Opening day of pheasant season, and the once quiet dirt roads of Kansas are now filled with pick-up trucks and gunfire. Shot gun blasts were my alarm clock this morning, and I packed up and left quickly. I would much rather be visibly on the road than camping behind some trees this morning. It is beyond ridiculous. You would have to hear it to believe it. This is a war zone, and it is raging in America's heartland this morning. The enemy is a pheasant, and the casualty limit is four per person per day.
I walked into Greensburg this morning. My first stop: the world's largest hand dug well, of course. Little did I know how much walking into the well would change my day, my weekend, my trip. I asked the woman working at the well all of the usual questions that I ask when I arrive in a town. Is there a campground, RV park or truck stop where I can take a shower? Is there a library, and do they have internet access? Is there a place to do laundry? Where is the grocery store and where is a good place to eat?
The most important thing to me at that point was the shower. I was offending myself, and that is when I know that I really smell. She said the only place was Sue's RV Park and tried to call Sue. No answer. I decided to pay the $1.50, which not only allowed you to walk down some stairs into the well, but also included admission to see the world's largest pallasite meteorite. What a deal, huh?
The well was most impressive--huge. Maybe four stories down to the water and probably twenty-five feet in diameter, I'm guessing. I was the only one there and threw pennies in from the top, of course. When I came out of the well, the woman handed me a piece of paper--on it was an address. She had called a woman named Effie while I was in the well, and I had the okay to enjoy a shower at Effie's house. Not only that, if I came back to the well after my shower, she would have all my new e-mails printed out for me. I knew that I had stumbled onto a string of kind people, and I was extremely happy. One kind person can shape your whole experience in, and impression of, an entire town. I left the well beaming, because I had met that person. I knew that Greensburg would be good to me.
I walked the four blocks to Effie's house, and she met me at the door. Immediately, an eighty-year-old woman named Effie became my friend and adopted grandmother. She directed me to the shower, and told me to give her any clothes that I needed to wash. While I was in the shower, she called the local Greensburg paper, and now I had an interview with a woman named Debbie at 2:30pm. I normally don't feel comfortable with being in the paper. I fear large fellas with guns and a hankerin' to beat up or rob a guy who is walking down the highway, and I'm not too fond of them knowing where I am. However, I did this one because I knew how much Effie would enjoy it.
We went to a new restaurant in Havoline, the Golden Pheasant, for lunch. The Golden Pheasant was standing room only when we arrived. In the restaurant was a sea of camouflage and bright orange hunter's caps, good ol' boys enjoying the day. This time, you would have to see it to believe it. After lunch, I got a driving tour of Havoline and Greensburg and watched Kansas State beat Nebraska in football for the first time since 1968. It is a big day for the state of Kansas. That evening we went to the local VFW soup dinner where I was introduced to 75% of Greensburg's population. It was a good day.
with Effie in the local paper
Sunday, November 15, 1998: Greensburg
This morning I attended Sunday school, church, and a pot luck lunch with Effie. I was introduced to the remaining 25% of Greensburg, and I saw many of the people that I had met last night. Afterwards, we went out to a famous round barn/historical site with Effie's daughter, Linda, and her husband Earl. Effie was beginning to wear me out.
Effie is eighty-years-old, but she looks like she is in her sixties, and has more energy than I do. She is the best tour guide of the Greensburg area you can find, and an incredible artist. Many of her oil paintings are hanging in her living room. Most of them are of Colorado mountains and lakes, the round barn, and other Kansas farm scenes.
One painting stood out for me. She told me that it was the most painted lighthouse in America. It's location: Portland, Maine. I have decided on a destination for this trip now. It is that lighthouse in Portland, ME. It's very clear to me, and it gives me a vision of where I am going. Effie wants to walk the last mile with me, and I have a feeling that she will.
Monday, November 16, 1998: Between Havoline and Cullison
This morning we had breakfast and coffee with "the girls" at The Kansan. To describe the atmosphere, "the girls" are all over sixty, and the Kansan has a couple of wall calendars hanging inside, and a huge plastic cow on the roof above the front door. Yes, this is Kansas, local style. It was great.
First, you have to become friends with a local like Effie. Then you can submerge yourself into a situation like that, completely ingest and truly get a sense of what it is--not only be there watching, but be a part of it. It seems like another world to most, but it is home for the folks in Greensburg, and I was welcome in their home this morning. Everyone knew each other in that restaurant. I knew many of them, and if they hadn't met me yet, they sure as hell knew about me--and that is no exaggeration, it's a very small town. I've tried to describe the experience in words several times. Nothing does it justice.
I gave Effie a hug goodbye and continued east. I will be staying with her niece in Pratt.
Thursday, November 19, 1998: Pratt Community College
Today I went to Elva and Leo's house. Elva is Effie's niece. The words niece and daughter are a bit misleading when they refer to Effie's kin. You have to remember that she is eighty. Anyway, Elva and Leo said I was welcome to stay with them. I asked them if they had a bicycle that I could ride around town today. They gave me the keys to their pick-up truck. It usually takes more than ten minutes to get the use of someone's vehicle. I feel very welcome here.
This afternoon I've been driving around town. I went to the post office and got the warmer sleeping bag and the CARE package from Ray Quick's 6th grade class in Canon City. I told them I liked cookies and hot chocolate, and I received a mountain of cookies and hot chocolate. My favorite things in the package were a class picture with everyone's name on it, an autographed t-shirt, and some small wooden spoons that had faces painted on them with a note saying they were to be used as my friends when I was lonely. It was a very nice thing that they did for me.
a picture of Ray Quick's class that I carry on the road
A pleasant surprise today was running into the judge of Kiowa County (I forgot her name) at a Chinese buffet. I had met her at church last Sunday. She sat with me at the restaurant, and we really had a good conversation. I can't say that I've ever had lunch with a judge. She had to leave before I did though, and when I went up to pay for my meal, they told me that the lady I was with already paid for it. Kansas hospitality. I had a feeling that it would be this good.
From Pratt, I am continuing east to Kingman and Wichita. In Wichita, I plan to take a bus up to Waverly, Iowa, to spend Thanksgiving with my family. I'll probably stay about a week before returning to Wichita and walking straight south to Oklahoma.
Monday, November 30, 1998: Waverly, IA
Today, I am in Waverly, Iowa, the place where I spent the first eighteen years of my life. I tried really hard to transport my body here without the use of Greyhound. I made it all the way to Kansas City, MO. Unfortunately, in Kansas City I stood on an on ramp to I35 north for about four hours while holding a sign that read, "IOWA: home for Thanksgiving." No one stopped. I was discouraged, tired, and hungry, so I walked back down the on ramp to TG's Bar and Grill.
I sat at the bar next to a self-proclaimed Irishman named Charles M. Jamison. He, of course, asked me where I was going. I told him that I was trying to get home to Iowa for Thanksgiving, but that no one was stopping to give me a ride. He said, "Son, I'm going to get you home for Thanksgiving." He proceeded to have the girl behind the bar call a cab to the bus depot and gave me the money for bus fare.
The cab dropped me off at the bus station around 4:00pm, and I discovered that the bus to Iowa left the next morning. I was now faced with a serious dilemma. The bus station in downtown Kansas City is in the worst part of the city. If I slept in the bus station, it would definitely have to be with one eye open. After walking to the homeless shelter a few blocks away where I might be able to lock up my things, I realized that it wasn't an option while vowing never to spend a night at a homeless shelter in a major city. The park was certainly not an option. That would for sure be asking to be robbed, beaten, killed, or any number of terrible things that you would never want to happen to you.
I went back to the bus station that I had accepted to be my home for the night and called my sister up in Waverly to let her know when I would be arriving. She told me that the pastor of our church in Waverly was now living in Kansas City and gave me his phone number. There was a moment of hope, and I gave him a call.
His name is Jim, and unfortunately he lives about thirty minutes south of the city and was going to be busy that evening. I told him that I could spend the night in the bus station because I had made it through some fairly rough situations on this trip, and I could make it through another one. He wouldn't have it, and drove all the way up to the bus station, picked me up, drove me all the way back to his home, dropped me off, and left. Then in the morning, he woke up early before church, drove me all the way back up to Kansas City, and had a cup of coffee with me at the bus station before he had to leave. I really wish we could have spent more time together. I'll never forget what he did.
Tuesday December 1, 1998: Waverly, IA
I just walked over to the library after a speaking engagement that my nephew booked for his 3rd grade class, and I had lots and lots of questions to answer. It was really great. I walked into the classroom and the teacher said, "ok class, it's large circle time," and they all sat on the floor around me in front of a map. When I finished talking to them, about twenty hands went up, and I answered all of their questions. It was a very special experience for me. They have e-mail in the classroom, so I have another class following my trip now.
Thanksgiving was wonderful. I stayed here in Waverly with my sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew, and my parents flew in from AZ. I was able to find two cameras like the ones I had, one at a pawn shop, the other at a used camera store. So the photography aspect of the trip can now continue. Tomorrow, I leave for Kansas on Greyhound again.
I woke up early this morning and got on a 7am Greyhound back to Dodge City where I had left off before my side trip back to Garden City. It is interesting when you walk through town with a pack on after not doing it for awhile. At first I get a little irritated with everyone (I mean everyone) staring at me, but then I slowly get used to it. I'm leaving Dodge City as soon as I finish here at the library, heading southeast on a dirt road to Bucklin, and then straight east to Greensburg to see the largest hand dug well in the world.
