One of the great pleasures of this experience thus far has been when reality introduces itself to perception. And the first three days in Kansas were about adjusting the perception I had based on what I had read about, and of course seen the many times I had flown over it.

Along the entire 4000-mile TransAmerica Trail, Kansas had the reputation that dictated most people’s plans of biking one direction vs. the other. If anything, it might’ve been the sole reason why the west-to-east route was preferred. First, Kansas is tilted downwards going east. Which means heading westbound, I would experience a gradual elevation gain that would put me at higher altitude after each day. Biking 500 miles on a perpetual 1% incline has its own physical and mental challenges. Secondly, the wind direction was generally flowing towards the east, so I would be going against it. It is these two considerations why I had been the only cyclist other cross-country travelers would see going the opposite direction to them.

I began my relationship with Kansas in the town of Pittsburg at 900ft elevation above sea level, a hip college town that was on the state line with Missouri. I had arrived at this town after an arduous day of biking, but the town had a young, welcoming vibe to it. After checking into my accommodations, I went out to dinner at a brewery that was known for its pizzas. It didn’t disappoint, but I was also just appreciative to be sitting at a proper restaurant. The stops I had taken along the way had been either very remote or in incredibly small towns where I would choose to cook something instead, if there was a kitchen available.

After a pleasant evening, I departed to continue the 11-day 1000 mile stretch I had begun two days earlier – I was 230 miles into it arriving at Pittsburg. This would be the longest stretch without a rest day I would have on my plan, and it was a last-minute alteration I had made as my dear friend, Greg, would be joining me on the road for a couple of days in Colorado. Initially, I was very much against the idea of having anyone be part of this experience, as I had this idea that I needed to be on a completely solo journey to get what I wanted out of it. Ever since losing Brynn, I was grappling with this belief that I needed to be alone – safe from heartaches, from loving and losing again. It seemed like a brilliant way to desensitized myself from the ups and downs of life, but also to ensure I would never experience the type of pain that one can only experience from losing love. But the reality is life is not a solo journey and I’m beginning to understand much more now how much my community truly mattered then and matters now. Several studies have been done to somehow measure levels of happiness. And not surprisingly, people who had a strong social support and community tended to be happier. What was more interesting in the study was that if you were the social support someone else needed, it provided even more happiness to the person providing the support. It does feel great to be needed. The idea of having one of my best friends I had experienced life’s many ups and downs join me on the ups and downs Colorado was something I realized meant well beyond just having company at the end of each day of cycling.

The first day biking in Kansas gave me a moment to decompress and I felt the next few days would be relatively easy rides to get my legs ready for the Rockies. And the self-inflicted stress I put on myself in Missouri was slowly shedding off my shoulders and legs. I had a false sense of confidence about the lack of physical challenge Kansas would pose to me, and became relaxed towards biking, my environment and about the next day. In return, I became more aware of the unique things about these small towns I was going through. I stopped by a beautiful lake in Chanute watching the sun glisten off the tranquil water. I would take detours to go towards a bed of sunflowers that have always provided me with a smile. I would dip into a beautiful state park in Toronto to take a break to read and eat lunch under a tree. I would also be quite surprised by the hills I was biking on.

Kansas was much greener than I had imagined, at least the eastern parts I had been in for those first two days. My reality was driven from a 30,000-foot view, and I was finding out Kansas was much more textured when I was in it. When you get closer and more intimate, you find the nuances, the uniqueness and beauty of something or someone you wouldn’t have discovered at a distance.

There are always people, places you experience that gives you that familiar feeling. And there was something about Kansas that gave me that. For one, the route along Kansas had so few turns that I would recognize a place from the familiarity I had gotten from studying the maps. I would also be able to see into the distance much more giving me glimpses of what was ahead of me. I began to learn that in vast open space, a distant grove most often than not equated to having a town nearby. That familiarity ended up giving me sense of comfort and security. There is something to be said about being able to always see what is in front of you, but I know it is not realistic or interesting to go through life with constant knowledge of the direction and what you will encounter along that path. I frankly have also realized that bumpier roads and detours in life inspired me with more imagination and creativity. I wonder why trauma, despair, and destitute tends to do that? Some of the most creative periods in our history had been during times of unrest or shortly after a big trauma. Of course, I am certainly not advocate that for myself. I am enjoying the journey that I am feeling like I am going towards something, towards my home that gives me a sense of comfort and safety.

After day 3, the Kansas I was becoming familiar and comfortable with would slowly start changing towards the Kansas I had imagined. The greenery, the beautiful creeks running under the bridges I would cross, slowly started turning into barren land. Trees started disappearing, and wide, expansive land with no end in sight, along with the winds I had read about started appearing. But, at the end of day 3, I would have one more pleasant surprise, a moment of genuine delight, arriving at an exotic animal farm in a tiny town called Nickerson. The farm also served as a bed & breakfast, built with a façade of an old western town. I would be the only guest on the property on a Sunday evening and had the entire farm and its occupants to myself. I played with the giraffe, camels, goats, and sheep. I would amusingly stare at the ostriches, and the buffalo truly owning the water part of its species, lounging lazily in a puddle of water. I would pet the zebras and horses and would really enjoy this unique experience I had come across only the day before while trying to plan out the next 400 miles of the trip. These were moments that would energize my tired body to keep me going.

I would leave Nickerson in the dark, as the days were getting hotter as I inched my way towards west. At this point, I had been biking in 100+ degree weather every day since leaving Kentucky. The daily exhaustion would add up with each day I would spend a significant amount of time biking in the high parts of the afternoon. I was progressively increasing the mileage, thus I needed to start getting on the road earlier to avoid several hours under the brilliant sun.

The fifth day in Kansas would be known to me as the “55 miles that almost broke my spirit.” I had 650 of the 1000 miles behind me on this lengthy stretch. Arriving the night before in a small town called Ness City, I decided to reduce next day’s 80-mile day down to 55 miles, incorporating an impromptu recovery ride that would flush out the lactic acid buildup. At least, that was the idea… I would have to make it up the next two days by going 105 and 112 miles to keep things on schedule. Given that I had been averaging 16-17mph the previous two days, it would be an easy 3 or so hour ride that would get me into Scott City before noon. I begin pedaling out of Ness City close to 8am, and this particular morning, the temperatures were already at 85 degrees by the time I started my day. I would casually pedal the first 5 miles like someone who had not endured nature’s disagreement with plans before. And around mile 10, the famous, or better yet, infamous, Kansas winds that I had mostly eluded until now begin to make its presence known.

If you ask cyclists, out of which environmental elements – hills, cold, heat, humidity, winds - do they detest the most, I could almost guarantee, most will say the winds. It is because it is completely indiscriminate towards everyone. Body type, age, riding style and experience means nothing to wind. It’s one of those elements that leaves you battered, bruised, and demoralized. And the Kansas winds on this day was demoralizing.

Over the next 45 miles, I would be thrown around like a vessel that got caught in a storm in the middle of a sea. I would work tirelessly on trying to balance myself with the winds taking turn at blowing at me head on with a touch of gusty winds that would reach 40-50mph. Looking down at my computer, I was biking at 9mph on complete flat surface that would require me to take frequent breaks every 5 miles. At the same time, the temperature would steadily climb up to 110F by late morning, taking away any feelings I had about the day being about rejuvenation. I would have micro moments of happiness, of course, like when a semi-truck would pass me traveling at highway speeds, creating a vacuum that would provide me with a few seconds of relief. But the prevailing winds were certainly prevailing, and I was becoming the victim.

Miles 30 through 55, I began to crack. My internal dialogue was keep telling me I don’t want and cannot do this anymore. One would think after 2000 miles of dealing with many challenges and struggles against my environment, I would have a bit more gumption and confidence in myself. I was certainly struggling mentally, physically and emotionally at this point. As I reflect on this now, that type of self-doubt I have in these moments, is something I like about myself. It keeps me motivated and driven to not settle with where things are. To keep on pushing through, no matter how painful the experience is. As my friend Greg would say, I have an external hubris with an internal humility.

I would crawl towards the end of the day, taking me close to 5 hours to complete the 55-mile ride. In comparison, I had done 117 miles in 7 hours the day before. And it reinforced the reality there would be no easy days on this journey we call life. You just have to keep pedaling forward.

After the brutal lesson I received from nature, I had to respond. I knew I couldn’t control the heat wave that had its grips on the entire country, and I couldn’t control the vicious winds; but I can control my response, and over the next two days I would get on the road in the darkest of hours to get as much as the day’s miles behind me before I was engulfed by the environment and the uncontrollable elements.

There is a serenity to the experience of being on the road at 4am, with no lights to guide you other than your immediate 5 feet illuminated by the bike light my weary eyes and age driven degrading eyesight would focus on. I would have at least two hours of complete darkness and solitude before the day and all that comes with it would enter my life. I felt very safe, as the roads had not made any turns for the past 200 miles, and I still had another 100 of straight line to go. I was sufficiently reflective from the front and rear lights as well as from the bags and clothing, and it was evident from the few encounters I had with trucks driving through the night.

Coming into Pueblo, Colorado, at 4900ft elevation above sea level, I would have one more push against the environment for that last 50 miles, battling head and side winds combined with 107F degree heat. But I was accepting what was being thrown at me, as I was filling up with feelings of excitement to have my good friend join me the next couple of days while I knock on the front doors of the Rockies. Although, I still had two more days to go before my rest day in Salida, I felt energized.

I had crossed into Colorado a day ago, but the roads into Pueblo would continue to represent the landscape, elements, and the feelings I had of the past few days in Kansas. To me, I had not begun my relationship with Colorado. But before I would say hello to the new state, I had a chance to say my farewells with Kansas. I had a memorable time here and was pleasantly surprised by the variety of experiences I had, memories I collected, while going against the conventional norm by swimming upstream. And regardless of the struggles, Kansas will always have a special place in my mind and heart.

-Troy

Ride Stats (as of this post)

Garmin Files
Days on the Road: 34 days (4 days off)
Distance Covered: 2,438 miles
Climbed: 115,590 feet
Flats: 2
Bike Traveler Sightings: 18

Kansas: Swimming Upstream