A Picture is Worth…
a thousand mumbles? Since hitting the road again more than four months ago down in Florida, we’ve posted hundreds of photos from our journey on our Flickr page, yet we’ve been pitifully negligent in writing about our travels on the website. And although the pictures give you some feel for what’s been happening, we know that the full story isn’t being told. So here’s a flying-leap attempt at getting somewhat caught up on where we’ve been lately.
Kansas
My first cross-country bicycle trip had included many grand landscapes en route from Virginia to Alaska: the rugged Appalachians, verdant Kentucky bluegrass meadows, rolling Ozark mountains, the grandeur of the Rockies from Colorado to Jasper, and the bays and glaciers of Alaska. Yet I surprised many (including myself) by declaring Kansas my favorite state.
For the past 33 states and 10,000 miles I have been singing the praises of the Sunflower State to Laura, hoping that the reality of Kansas would live up to the reputation I had built for the place.
Leaving the baking heat, vast desert stretches, and challenging climbs of New Mexico, we were certainly ready for a lower-stress touring environment. We got it as soon as we crossed the Kansas line: one mile in, we entered Elkhart for our first taste of the touring cyclist’s promised land that is Kansas. Here we found a city pool with showers and a welcoming staff who refused to charge us admission (”Oh, you’re bikers? Just go on in and enjoy”), a perfectly maintained city park that the accommodating police readily allowed us to camp in, and the friendliest people we have met anywhere on our journey. This wonderful experience was repeated time after time across Kansas, and we enjoyed swimming, showering, and camping in Elkhart, Sublette, Larned, Dodge City, Lucas, and Smith Center. It seemed as though every town in Kansas with at least 1,000 people had a nice city pool, a well-kept city park, and a small but well-stocked grocery store. What more could a touring cyclist ask for?
Near Great Bend, we took a few days off for a mini family-and-friends reunion. My parents and best friend from college drove up from the Oklahoma City area, Laura’s parents, sister, and brother (along with girlfriend) came over from southwest Missouri, and my best friend from high school came with his wife and newborn son from Tulsa. We all crammed into a guesthouse at Heartland Farms (an ecumenical community focused on holistic farming run by Dominican nuns) and enjoyed two days and nights together, eating home-cooked meals around the dining table, playing cards, going for walks around the farm, tossing a Frisbee, and playing spirited games of croquet together. The time couldn’t have been sweeter, and Laura fought back tears as we pedaled off from the farm towards the center of Kansas.
Yet true to form, Kansas provided a delightful experience to console our homesickness. Thirty miles east of Great Bend, we turned off Highway 4 and rode through the tiny farm community of Bushton. Bright white grain elevators towered above the flat landscape, sporting the town’s name in huge block letters, a sky-blue bird under “Home of the T-Birds”, and a full color image of three heads of wheat like a monogram on a polo shirt. (Although in this case the heads of wheat, while looking tiny on the side of the massive grain elevator were at least ten feet tall.)
The town looked abandoned on this Sunday evening: a convenience store/gas station was closed, as were the community library and city offices. We pedaled on through town, waving at a group of porch-sitters and following our GPS toward the Geographic Center of Kansas, just two miles south. Little did we know that we had already sent vibrations throughout the spider-web network of small-town curiosity. Even now as we turned down a sandy road toward the Geographic Center of Kansas, the wheels of hospitality were in motion. Sitting in his white grain truck, Wayne Habiger had seen us pedal past the closed convenience store and was concerned that we had come into town for food, so he began to follow us to see if he could help. As we passed the town’s cemetery and headed out among the fields of wheat, corn, and alfalfa, Wayne passed his sister Jane, who warned him, “Watch out for the bikers. They’re headed down the sand road.” Now his curiosity was truly aroused, and he wondered what would draw us down this farm road.
Soon we arrived at the closest approach to the center via road: on our right, a driveway led to a small, one-story farmhouse belonging, according to a signpost, to the Roelfs. Across the street, the center lay 1,000 feet to the east in the middle of a recently harvested wheat field. On the horizon, a fleet of green John Deere combines were busily shaving the golden fleece off another field of wheat. As we stood beside the road beneath a squeaky wind generator, debating whether to knock on the door or tramp across the field, Wayne pulled up and shouted over the idling diesel, “What’re you doing biking down a sand road?” Laura craned her neck up and shouted a short summary of our quest, explaining that the geographic center of Kansas was just east of us. “You gotta be kidding! Well I live just a half mile that way. Why don’t you follow me back and I’ll take you there myself.”
With that we remounted and followed him the half mile to his two-story farmhouse to find his wife Karen and niece Sarah seated on a picnic table under the ample shade of oak and ash trees. After introductions, Wayne offered, “I’ll go get the mule and we’ll take ya to the center.” Laura thought to herself, “Wow! They still ride mules around here,” but (thankfully) didn’t say anything. While Wayne was gone, Karen explained some of the history of the Habiger farmstead: founded by Austrian immigrant Ignacius Habiger (Wayne’s great-grandfather). Habiger initially built a dugout down by the “crik”.
“They lived down there the first winter while they built a slat-n-lath home up here, but after they moved in and spent their second winter in the new home, they nearly froze to death and had to move back to the dugout. Finally, they built this house” (pointing behind her) “which has been here over a hundred years now,” Karen explained. Without us even broaching the subject, Karen then offered, “After you get back, we’ll feed ya, and you’re welcome to stay. We’ve got a shower and spare bed upstairs.” Her manner while extending hospitality seemed second nature to her, as if she didn’t feel that she was doing something extraordinary.
Wayne pulled the mule up, which had four powered wheels and a bench seat instead of four legs and a saddle, and we took off across the Habiger farm toward the center. On the way, we passed two combines actively harvesting the family’s wheat: one driven by his brother, and the other by his nephew. “I’ll get you up in one of those come-bines in a minute after we find the center if ya want.” (Though his Kansan accent was neutral in all other ways, he did pronounce “combine” “come-bine” and “creek” “crik”.) Chuckling, Wayne mused, “I’ve always told people, draw an “X” across Kansas and I live right in the dead center of it. I guess I wasn’t that far off.”
The center ended up being on the harvested wheat field of Wayne’s neighbor, Charlie Reolf. We dismounted and happily included Wayne in our “X-marks-the-spot” photo.
From there, he drove us to the crik to show us the location of the old dugout. On the way, we stopped under a prolific mulberry tree to snack on a few berries as a wild turkey flew across our path. “I just love the wildlife out here,” Wayne smiled, “but my favorite place to go is Colorado. I started bow-huntin’ elk with some buddies a few years back and fell in love. I came back from my first trip and was worn out, so I decided to shrink those mountains. I started walkin’ two miles every mornin’ and lost thirty pounds. It was a lot more fun the next year!”
We were eager to take him up on his offer to ride in a combine, so Wayne pulled up alongside a giant red “Case” combine, where his nephew Ryan popped the door open for us. We traded places with his fiancee Lindsey, Laura riding on my lap. The cab was surprisingly roomy and air-conditioned with the radio playing classic rock in the background. Rounded glass enclosed us on three sides allowing full view of the thirty-foot wide swath cut by the machine. In front of us, we watched the combine rake the golden grain into an oscillating cutter. Twin augers pushed the wheat to the center, where it was drawn into the rotor within, which separated kernels from stalks. The stalks were pushed out the back and spread evenly across the field behind, while the kernels accumulated in a large hopper behind our heads.
As we rode, Ryan adjusted the speed, cut height, and steered the massive machine, all while answering our barrage of questions. When the hopper filled up, he radioed Wayne’s son Will to bring the grain cart, which was pulled by a massive tractor. The cart pulled alongside the combine, while Ryan swung a boom over the cart and began offloading the brown grain while still moving across the field. Ryan had obtained a degree related to livestock management at K-State, where he’d met Lindsey, who studied social work. Despite four years in Manhattan, and a family full of K-State alum, his combine bore a KU Jayhawk sticker.
Seeing the wheat kernels reminded us of some great snacks we’d found earlier in Kansas: puffed wheat berries cooked in sunflower oil and salt. When we asked Ryan about them, he told us some people in Bushton made a similar snack, and immediately radioed Wayne to get the bag of “Benke berries” out of his truck so we could try them. The temperature gauge on Ryan’s combine was running high so he pulled aside to investigate. Norman, Ryan’s father, also pulled his combine over to look at a straw spreader that wasn’t spinning properly. The mechanical engineer in me was curious to solve the problems, but the experienced farmers figured them out faster. The overheating combine required a trip to town for a part, so Wayne took us back to the house.
Here, Karen brought us pink lemonade and “Bierochs”, a local specialty, apparently of German origin, that consisted of ground beef and cabbage completely enveloped by a thin bread roll. We enjoyed them with ketchup and feasted on the grapes, apples, chips and homemade cookies as well. Wayne had called his sister Jane and mother to come meet us while we ate. Later, he also called the Reolfs, whose wheat field contained the center.
Aaron enjoyed chatting with Charlie Reolf about his wind generator, and we both enjoyed sitting back listening to the farmers banter about wheat and fuel prices, hail storms, weather forecasts, and the health status of common friends. As dusk set in, we all applied bug spray to keep the mosquitoes away and chatted until well after dark. When the Reolfs stood up to go home, they made sure we had a place to stay before leaving. We took the opportunity to head inside where Karen showed us our bed and bath for the night. After a quick shower, we fell fast asleep until eight o’clock the next morning.
After packing up, we headed downstairs to find a breakfast of quiche, cinnamon rolls, and cheerios awaiting. Again, Karen acted as if this was no big deal and chatted pleasantly with us. Wayne came in to discuss routes and volunteered, “Now I was thinkin’ this mornin’ that you guys might want a lift ten miles or so to give ya a jumpstart on your day.” We of course thanked him, but under these circumstances (the weather was supposed to be pleasant and mileage moderate) we declined. As we were saying our goodbyes, we couldn’t thank the Habigers enough. Wayne gushed, “You guys showin’ up was the best thing that happened to me all year!” Karen raised her eyebrow as if to call him out on his slight exaggeration and he laughed, saying, “Okay, maybe eight months - that was the end of elk season.”
This website chronicles the adventures of 
Good to hear from yall again!
This does give me a newfound appreciation for Kansas. I confess i usually just see it as in the way between me and Colorado, but sounds like my views would change if I would have a chance to talk with people.
Keep up with the updates! Safe travels!
Hi Laura and Aaron,
I guess it’s almost a year since we saw you in NJ. Glad things are going well. We arrived back in Missouri on July 1, so it feels like you were close by during your ride through Kansas. I included our website because we’ll be leaving in August to spend a year in Lebanon.
I also wanted to get in touch with Laura about Sarah Lovinger’s wedding. It will be in September in NY, so she’s not expecting many guests from Nevada, but I am putting together a Shutterfly scrapbook for her with notes from her girl friends growing up. Would you like to include a message? And any pictures if your mom has any of the two of you playing at Teel Creek Dr. You can send anything by e-mail. Thanks! Happy biking!
Deanna
Just thought I’d let you guys know that on July the 1st we lost the Gleaner combine “the sliver one” to a fire. The machine was a total loss, as lost a little bit of wheat to the fire but no one was hurt. It happened less then a 1/4 mile form the center of kansas!!
greetings from old hiker (writer)
friend from Canyon Village hiker-biker
late aug. 2008.
we talked, I took many notes. you had
sausage and eggs for breakfast. est. contact/am now at page 210 of “Busting Loose” (on Yellowstone) book
and am writing up you guys. have a couple of questions.
are you still at it? is the main one. –brian wiersema
i’ve downloaded all the stuff your your web page.
Engaging writing:D will visit again,,