Terrain & Route Map, Goodland, Kansas to Columbia, Missouri
We got up on the morning of Independence Day in the KOA at Goodland, which we’d found in the dark last night. It was pleasantly warm, still a bit breezy, and we could feel it getting hotter by the moment. We walked over to the office, and bought some souvenirs and knick-knacks, and the nice owner lady offered to cook up some breakfast for us. On the road by 8:30, Interstate 70 through Kansas lived up to its’ reputation as about the most boring stretch of road anywhere in the US. Mile after mile of flat, straight, concrete passed under our wheels, with nothing much on either side except farm fields of soybean, wheat, corn, and lord knows what else, punctuated by the random silo, farm house, or John Deere dealership. It was flat, deadly boring, and hot. Up north in Nebraska, along I-80, there were at least random glimpses of the Platte River or some other diversion, but just the couple hundred miles south here in Kansas, it was much less entertaining. And it was windy and hot. Very hot.
There was nothing worth taking pictures of. We pulled off the road in Abilene for lunch, and I took a picture of the city sign, somewhat out of focus due to the crumbling roadway. The Burger King served the worst onion rings it has ever been our displeasure to sample, even after sending back the first two burnt offerings. I can see why Dwight Eisenhower left.
I don’t even remember Topeka. About 3:30 or 4 in the afternoon, we arrived in the outskirts of Kansas City. For the last several dozen miles, I’d been hearing the fan belt slipping around the pulley of some engine accessory, probably the air conditioning compressor. It was emitting a loud, high-pitched squeal, like scraping a hundred pound cat across a chalkboard. I mentioned it to Hal.
“Sounds like the AC belt is slipping – we’ll have to take a look at it when we stop for the night.”
“What?”
“I said, THE AC BELT IS SLIPPING! CAN’T YOU HEAR THAT?”
“No, I don’t hear anything.”
He leaned over and down towards the doghouse engine cover. Nothing. The screech was enough to boil the blood and rattle the curtains. But poor Hal didn’t hear a thing.
It finally got so bad we made him take an exit on the edge of Kansas City to pull over, yank open the hood, and listen. We did, he did, and still nothing. The man’s hearing cut out at about 3000 hz, about the level of a typical snore. It was far too hot out to mess around with anything, so we trundled back into the coach, and headed east. We crossed over the Missouri River around 5:00 PM into the state of the same name, which looked pretty much just like Kansas had, but at least there was some rolling hills. I took a shot or two as we motored along, heading for central Missouri and our stop for the night.
We were heading towards an RV park in Columbia, which was about halfway across the state. We’d been watching a reality TV show on the Travel Channel about a truck stop in Midway, right along I-70 which we wanted to see. Just before we got there, we went up and down a slight hill, for the first time in about 700 miles, and oddly enough, crossed over the Missouri River again.
The Midway Truck Stop was only slightly less disappointing than Little America ten days earlier. There was hardly anybody around, and I took a couple of pics and we left. We got to the Cottonwoods campground just after dark, and managed to find some Independence Day fireworks being shot off in the city park next door, so we watched them as the night fell and the temperature plummeted to 91 degrees.
End of Day 13
Two States – 500 and some odd miles
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