I started the day listening to the weather report on TV, and then hit the road after a great breakfast in the restaurant attached to the motel. I had packed my gear last night, so I could just ride away after I ate. According to the weatherman, the day was going to be beautiful, although after the last few days, I was not sure if I should believe him or not. I was becoming apprehensive that I might not make it to my first destination on time. I was depressed after snow hit me yesterday and then only making twenty-four miles of progress. John was graduating from Saint John’s Military Academy in Salina, Kansas at the end of the week. My original plan was to ride 100 miles a day, and comfortably get to Salina Thursday, having a chance to visit with John before all the commotion of the graduation ceremonies.

I had only ridden for an hour when I hit the Kansas border, and Central Time, leaving Mountain Time behind. This was a very emotional moment, as I really had ridden from one state to another and not a small distance either. I laughed to myself about my ‘early start’ time, as I just lost an hour without doing anything. Now it was 9 a.m. instead of 8a.m. I would probably have to get used to the sun setting at a different time as well. These were small things, but very important to me.

One of the most important things I had learned from a year’s research for my bike trip was the same thing I had learned being an outdoorsman in Colorado: “Do everything as early in the day as possible.” Take advantage of the slack winds, and cooler temperatures. My plan was to start riding as soon as there was enough light to ride safely. I tested my light the first night out, so I knew there was no way I should ride in the dark.

I started what became a routine for me, to look as far off as I could see, and look for the tall grain mills. These ‘prairie high-rises‘ were built 10 to 20 miles apart, as they served the local farmers and ranchers, and had been doing so for several generations. As I approached each town, I would start guessing as to how big it really was. The only “map” I was using were postcards meant for each day or so of riding. They were just blank 4” by 6” recipe cards that I hand drew in each of the roads I would need to take, the towns I would pass through, and where I thought I would spend each night. I put no more than 100 miles on a card and for the ones where I crossed a state line, I sent that card back to Bike-n-Hike in Longmont, as they helped me prepare for this journey from the minute of conception.

My first big surprise in Kansas was that they had not had any rain in weeks, and the farmers were extremely worried about their crops. In Atwood, the conversations were about planting the lakebed, as the lake had been bone dry for the last five years. I rode past a full lake, so never even knew what had transpired previously. During lunch I ‘acquired’ a nickname, the “rain man,” as I never seemed to ride anywhere without having it rain on me. Later I would find, in looking back, that it rained on me at least an hour, forty-five days out of my sixty-plus riding days.

My next surprise came at the rest stop in Oberlin. I had stopped at the roadside rest area, and found that, unlike Colorado, the folks in Kansas encouraged people to stop and sleep at the rest stops, so you do not have an accident. Therefore, I just pitched my tent, walked across the street to a restaurant, and enjoyed a wonderful dinner. Afterwards, I walked back to my tent, visited with an older couple who were my neighbors for the evening, and was asleep in minutes. After riding my first 100-mile day, I was exhausted. None of the semi-trucks pulling in and out all night bothered me.

My mind raced as I fell asleep, imagining I was riding down the highway with big signs popping up every few minutes with a new state line.