SALINA, Kansas. This is where I commenced the story. A town of about 45,000 Kansans and others, some like me, just passing through. The beginning day had me drifing down the Roaring Fork valley, the rising sun’s slanting rays striking the snow encrusted trees and making it all ‘drop dead’ beautiful. Overnight snow and the cold from the clear sky had encrusted the car with a mixture of ice and snow. A bit of scraping off was in order. Having filled up with gas at my favorite ‘el cheapo’ gas station in Glenwood Springs, I reset the trip meter to ‘000’ and set off. The view got even more beautiful driving up the canyon towards Denver. On the way from San Francisco, on the train, I had breakfasted with a nice lady whose deceased husband had designed the road that threads the canyon. It is an engineering work of art, to be sure. Nature’s art…on the one hand the canyon, carved by the busy, rushing Colorado River and, on the other, the graceful curves and tunnels fashioned by man.
On the way up the canyon, one passed by the town of No Name. For a long time the towns folk had not gotten around to naming their village; the story goes that the township could not have a Post Office until it had a name. After many abortive and noisy meetings, it settled on ‘No Name’. The ascent of the two high passes on the way to Denver awaited. Once past Denver, I settled to I70. Now the prairie begins, dead flat and almost treeless. The day is clear and warming. In the midst of this expanse of nothingness except for the occasional cluster of silos, small towns here and there, and lonely farmhouses, I pass by a sign saying, ‘A Point of Interest’. Is this some kind of East Colorado plains joke? I ask myself. The sign is the only point of interest I have so far spied!
Nearing Kansas, trees become abundant but all appear dead, still affected by the cold of Winter and awaiting the wetness and warmth of Spring. Over the KS border, a sign invites me to visit the Rest Stop and Tourist Information Center. I cannot resist the blandishment of free coffee and discover it is well worth the visit. Later on, I pass by the town of Bovina. What can these Kansan town names mean? Bovina…something to do with cows, perhaps? How about Salina…is health the focus here or was it the saltness of the creek it bestrides? On the basis that something is better than nothing, better than ‘No Name’? Wait a moment, who says something is better than nothing? How about, ‘No news is good news’?
Kansas is greener and has rolling hills. Colorado has to content itself with just the Rockies (what am I saying, ‘just the Rockies’!) They are towering, massive, frightening in their savagery. ‘Snow Chains Required’, ‘Chain Up Area’, ‘Road Ahead Icy’, and ‘Watch Out For Wild Life Crossing’ say the signs. Kansas seems richer too. Oil pumps dot the fields alongside the road and every so often a cluster of storage tanks. And ‘Wow’, the road surface is so smooooth! Kansans must be more accident conscious than the folk of Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska and other Great Plains states…the maximum speed is 70 mph and not 75. Most drivers keep to the limit. The state troopers lurk around curves, scanning for speedsters and manage to catch a few deserving of fines or warnings; occasionally, at the roadside, the trooper’s car lights flash a warning to the rest of us.
The road climbs to higher hills (‘High Rolling Hills’) and suddenly I see myriads of wind turbines off to the North. Some are quite close to the road and declare to me how really tall and big they are. I must be in Wind Alley!
Finally into Salina, a hot bath and into bed.
INDIANAPOLIS, Indiana: Was that only just last night?! The motel is situated in Speedway where all the roads are being remade at once, it seems. Richard get me there. And who is Richard? Some posts back, Glenn asked me had I named my TomTom. To be sure I hear everything TomTom says to me, I had selected the clear, crisp English voice called Richard. Now I actually have an English friend whose name is Richard, so I hope, Richard, when you read this, you will not take offense. So I have come to call my TomTom GPS 'Richard'. He is an unfailing friend who has never betrayed my trust.
Richard has me aware of the speed limit by flashing red at me when I exceed the posted limit. He does not save me from the State Trooper, in the predawn hours, pulling me over because he could not real my rear license plate! Now I have a yellow warning to remove the dealer's bricabrac from around the plate.
What to say of the country from the western edge of Kansas and the East unfolds? It just gets more and more beautiful. First the blush of the redbud trees, then the green and white of the first buds of the other threes. Finally, into Missouri where there are flowers peeking out at the beginning Spring. Over the Missouri and then the Mississippi and I am into Illinois. Cunning Richard has found a way to avoid the Toll Road out of Kansas City and I am once more enjoying the rural roads, travelling a few extra miles before rejoining I70. I will have been on I70 from Denver to Columbus (Ohio) where I veer northwards on I71 toward Cleveland and then splitting off for Erie (Pennsylvania). The weather stays fine and warm and I can only recall seeing one cloud the whole journey so far. At the rest stop on I71, the daffodils have enjoyed their annual resurrection, but the dandelions are not far behind.
However, the cirrus clouds ahead signify and change in the weather is likely. Joining I90 and once more running eastwards, the clouds become more dense ahead. After Erie and about to enter Western New York, the clouds reach down to touch the rising hills and I am driving in fog.
Then in heavy rain. I must be nearing Corning where we have four months of Winter and then seven of bad weather! The rain clears, the road ahead is smooth and finally I am driving into Painted Post to a favorite restaurant for a beer and a juicy pepper steak.
What's in a name? How about Painted Post? Well, there have been several painted posts, the first used by the local tribes to paint a record of their victories over their foes. Then the post still standing and in use, it became the site of an early trading post. I suppose there is yet one about, perhaps in the local museum. I shall have to look for it. Could you find it, Richard?
How about 'Horse Heads"? I shall have to find out.
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