Far from this opera forevermore

We left god and his transparent architecture behind in Eureka Springs and headed north under ever bleaker skies. With all our sightseeing, hiding from the weather and generally enjoying the good life that civilisation allows we’d whittled away a good chunk of the day. We needed to make some headway though, so we buckled our helmets on a notch tighter and averted our gaze from the grey dome above us.

Grey skies, but we did find a section of the old Route 66 which was interesting
The past and the future? Perhaps 
An old house on the prairie; for real


We were headed to Roaring River State Park campsite, which as luck would have it was only about 20 miles up the road. As it was that was easily enough for us that day and we located our preferred pitch just as darkness crept in. It was, by this point, freezing. Our camping gear was still damp from two nights before and we realised we were out of cooking gas just as we tried to cook dinner - another one of those trying moments which a life on the road can involve. We were feeling more downtrodden by the second but this all changed when some lovely fellow campers emerged from the twilight and offered us their spare firewood as they were leaving the following day. Absolutely magical timing, and before we knew it dinner was on course again and the tent was being slapped into shape by my weary hands. We slept very soundly that night and awoke to a fresher day, edged in frost.

Into Kansas and the awesome landscapes of nothingness


As the ice melted away that morning, and our sleep addled minds cleared accordingly we took stock of the day’s route - 254 miles west into Kansas, seven corners in total. Yes that’s correct. The route North-West into Kansas involved five major corners and from there it ran straight as an arrow, aside from a single S-bend, all the way to Wichita, 164 miles later.

Once en route Aby read whilst I rode, ticking the miles under our tyres like a night train counting sleepers. I sensed the heat from the sun steadily circumnavigate the left hand side of my body; watched the shadows of stray wrist hairs project lazy afternoon shadows on my sundial skin; felt the tilt of mother earth inevitably drawing me in as night does the day.

And then I stopped, because clearly it was time for a break! Fredonia. Ever heard of it? Well if not you probably never will either, because if you weren’t born there then you’ve no reason to go. That being said a lovely shop assistant told Aby she has the most ‘purdy face, darrlin’ (I won’t disagree there) and a trike riding Harley fan gave her a go on his colossal steed in the car park. Everyone seemed to be straightforward, content folk and that is one of the things that we both love about the United States. Honest people who are confident enough to ask and kind enough to care.

Riding in tandem with the buffalo on the prairie grasses. It doesn't get much more cowboy!


The home leg to Wichita was more of the same, due West on the I-400, but we were on our way to Scott and Lynda’s house (our quad-biking friends from Arkansas, see this post) so we were content enough. We could practically feel the warm shower water on our skin! After a little confusion with finding the meeting point we hooked up with Scott in his immaculate turquoise Ford pickup and I followed him back as Aby rode shotgun. What followed was the first fun night of many with this wonderful evergreen pair. After showers and dinner we went onto a dessert of beers then conversation, meeting Dave the neighbour then liquor, hanging out in ‘The Triangle’ and talking motorbikes. It was fantastic.

The Triangle in all it's glory 


Scott and Lynda are a middle aged couple who, brilliantly, still act like teenagers. They do what they want, buying fun toys like quad bikes and going on adventures in canoes because it’s what they love. They really are an inspiration to anyone who feels like they “can’t” do these things because they’re too old/poor/tired. By the end of our stay they were running rings around us to be honest! We visited local micro breweries and met Kathy and Bobby, self confessed Rednecks and kind people. One evening after trying out Scott’s trials motorbike (he’s a high level rider) we all camped out in the garage with country music blaring and beer bottles chinking. Scott was showing his mechanics credentials and servicing Sandy whilst I got handy with some spray paint and stickers on our helmets! We chatted long into the night until we were interrupted by hurricane sirens wailing in the streets. It was eerie and intimidating for us lily-livered Brits, but it turned out the storm was several miles away and we were able to stand in the strange stillness, a line of us with bottles in hand and enjoy the epic lightning show dancing above the neighbouring town. What a wonderful nightcap.

Playing bikes (above) and the wonderful duo (below)


The next morning there was nothing for it but to strap up the bike and hit the road again. Scott escorted us an hour or so out of town, where we stopped for the obligatory Kansas treat, cow fries. A rather neat name for a pretty queasy deep fried snack of bovine knackers. We digested it as a cultural lesson but needless to say, once is enough for us! From there we parted ways, he turning left and back towards town, us taking a right towards the middle of who knew where...


Boys and their toys
Hitting the road hard in the crosswinds! 
The road back to civilisation... But we were going the other way! 

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