Day 47: Into the Wild West Fri 11th July

Got out early, just after 6. Had to cross from the northeast of St Joe to the southwest to pick up route 36 so it took a while to get out of town. I crossed the Missouri river & passed into Kansas. I'm now in the old Wild West. To the South is Kansas City, to the southwest is Dodge City of Wyatt Earp fame. I am following the northern branch of the Oregan Trail which brought new settlers and gold prospectors to California & the West Coast. The Mormons who settled in Salt Lake city followed a more northerly route as their was a lot of fear & hostility towards 'Gods chosen Ones' as they made for their earthly paradise in the desert. Incidentally, Salt Lake City is supposed to be the safest city in the States!!! I'll might find out for myself in a few weeks. I am also following the first 100 miles of the Pony express route as far as Marysville. So its a route full of historic echoes and, I think, a good route to follow.

A few miles down the road I passed through a small town called Wathena. It was named in honour of a local indian chief of the Kickapoo tribe. Shortly afterwards I passed through a town called Troy. On this occasion I can guarantee you it was no epic.

After 40 miles I stopped for a break at Hiawatha. To be Fair, who's making up the names of these places?? What must it be like for the locals of Hiawatha. What must it be like to follow their football team. Can you imagine the chants on the terraces at those matches! After a 20 min break at Hiawatha I set off again. The wind was blowing from the South veering Southwest and gusting up to 25mph which felt quite strong at times.

Today trucks were blasting past on the road and coming very close. Usually trucks move over into the other lane to pass me but, since I entered Missouri, a lot of trucks fly past just inches away and leave you struggling to control the bike. Just outside Hiawatha a truck blasted past so close I thought I was going to get sucked under the wheels. It was quite scary. Quite a few expletives wafted on the breeze in the wake of that particular fuc... I mean trucker. Many times today I got blasted by trucks but that was the scariest.

At this point the winds had veered and were blowing from the Southwest. At times it became a struggle to keep the bike upright. Sometimes you could feel an almost audible slap in the face as the wind suddenly gusted. All around the landscape was becoming recognisably that of the plains. More and more of the land was grazing land, open undulating grasslands, with few trees, a contrast to the vast feels of crops I'd seen in other states.

Along a stretch of road I met a cyclist heading East. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes. The lad was from Denver, heading for Illinois. I didn't catch his name but I presume it was John. He too was finding the wind tough and was getting buffetted by the trucks. The hardest thing he found was the humidity, not being used to it in the fresher mountain airs of Colorado. This was good to hear, the thought of cool clear air to the west will keep me going for a bit. We let each other know what the road ahead was like and then bade farewell.

I reached a town called Seneca just after 2pm. I'd done 70 miles but by now the temperature was into the mid-90's & coupled with the humidity and strong winds I decided to stop for the day in order to conserve some energy.

Seneca is a small town, its old town set back from the highway away from the commercial district where I was staying. It has that classic cowboy feel to it. An old western street with all the old buildings you'd see in the old westerns. In the evening I went up to to have a wee look but I forgot to bring the camera. A ruby red sun was dropping into the distant horizon as I rode slowly into town. The street was deserted, the locals quietly dispersed as this stranger, a man with no name moved menacingly down the centre of the road. A sign over the empty general store squeeked noisily in the breeze. I glanced to either side, my jawline set, hard as granite, a half-chewed cigar in the corner of my mouth, my two waterbottles ready, full to the brim. You could almost here faint echoes of the them tune to the Good, the Bad & the ugly drifting lightly on the wind. Hard as nails I made for the Saloon. Just then a big f####n dog ran out after me. It spoiled the whole thing, ruined it. I dropped the bike & ran.