Friday, January 14, 2011

Grey sky, though slightly warmer. When they find out we’re from Madison, everyone we meet makes a joke about how we must have come to Kansas for warm weather. It’s been the kind of cold in which it’s the first thing people talk about. It’s like we’re in the UK. We drove out of town and after about four miles the pavement suddenly stopped and turned to hardpack. Undaunted, we traveled about two more miles before suspecting we might not be on HWY56. It’s amazing how the mind can operate in complete opposition to common sense. This happens all the time (with ideological belief, for instance). At least when it’s geographical direction that is erroneous, you figure it out a little sooner.

This is where we were:

Avenue X. That had to mean something. When we discussed this trip months ago, we toyed with the idea of  not using modern maps or GPS. We wondered what would happen if we just counted on asking for directions and following the partial maps and descriptions in the guide book we checked out from the library. People, that would have been a disaster.

We cross-checked with the iPhone.

Just as we suspected. We were in the middle of nowhere. We forged ahead when suddenly, we came upon a burning cross.

Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t really a cruciform. But it gave us ideas. BA kept the car running for a quick getaway and after about twenty minutes a white pick-up pulled into the field. He informed BA that the flame was burning off the H2S gas that was being generated by area oil wells (it turns out that Kansas is a big oil state and we saw pumps everywhere). Then he said that it was a good thing that it was breezy because the gas that leaks out of the valve near the flame can melt your lungs and drop you like the proverbial canary. He told BA that if Chele fell down to not rush over because it would be too late to help (RIP) and she’d die too. All this information was delivered with friendly evenness. Totally Kansan. Then he walked over and re-explained everything to Chele and showed us the H2S gas sensor clipped to his jacket. We need one of those. For now, we vacated the premises.

Daryll was great. After we discussed deadly H2S gas, he asked where we were from and what we were doing. He gave us some clues as to where we were, and not only did he get us un-lost, he knew a site where SFT travelers camped and offered to lead us there. Obviously, he was a great candidate for the camera project and he was happy to get on board. Here’s Daryll in front of the company truck. We think he said that his company is the 2nd biggest oil producer in the state. Or was it the country. We need to fact check.

As he led us out to HWY56, we passed this:

Embarrassingly, there was an identical sign near the flame, but now it had gravitas.

Our next stop was Pawnee Rock. Kansas is so flat that even though we were in the Flint Hills this out-cropping was a major stop on the SFT. It was a welcome landmark, but also provided a lookout for hostile forces. People would carve their names and the date they passed through into the rock. Taggers of the 19th century.

We drove up the road (?!) that now paves the backside of the outcropping and read Susan McGoffin’s diary account of arriving at Pawnee Rock. The rock used to be about 40 feet taller, but in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries it was quarried for building stone. (Wha?!) They built a massive picnic shelter on top to give an idea of the original height of the rock. Here is the view from the top; it can be added to the “Endless Kansas” category:

There is a Kansas Historical roadside marker nearby that spins a tall tale about how Kit Carson (he was realated to Daniel Boone, btw) was on lookout atop Pawnee Rock and was startled in the middle of the night and shot his own mule.

We don’t know who makes this stuff up, or how it makes its way to the final edit of a historical marker, but we love it.

Here are two sides to the same sign just down the road from the historical marker:

We stopped for gas on the way to our next destination, The Santa Fe Trails Center, and decided to place a second call to the Jedediah Smith monologist that Ned had mentioned.  We had left a message the night before but were worried we might have sent freak vibes. Just then, the phone rang and it was Jedediah aka Jeff Troutman. Jeff is really involved in SFT preservation and seems to know everybody in and every inch of Kansas. He was booked so we made a plan to be in touch later. In the meantime, he gave us contact information for people re-enacting Kit Carson, Bill Cody, and a guy who focuses on the Cheyenne. He also gave us numerous sites and areas to visit and the name of a Buffalo (Bison) farmer. And he said to say ‘Hello’ to Linda and Ruth at the SFT museum. So we did. Thanks Jeff!

The Santa Fe Trails Museum

This might be our favorite museum yet. They had a creative (and sometimes quirky) style of display and a real range of artifacts in the collection. Here are a few highlights:

Did we mention earlier the stats regarding the Bison decimation? It’s strange to read about it over and over while standing in front various taxidermied Buffalos.

…or Buffalo hide coats, Buffalo blankets, or this Buffalo wheel tread (below is a mexican cart reproduction). We need to figure out a way to make these displays more animal friendly, maybe out of polarfleece or pipe-cleaners.

Here’s something we had never thought about.The wall text said that Indian head-dresses were only worn by Plains Indians

because for Woodland tribes they would have gotten caught on tree boughs. Logically, this makes sense but for some reason we are having a hard time buying it. We’re tossing a lifeline to the audience here.

In addition to the inside collection, the Museum has re-located several historic buildings (a school house, a train depot, a dugout house…) and structures to the lot.

Here’s a sod house:

and a cool windmill:

and a CME church:

The church represents another kernel of serendipity along our route. For one, Chele lives in an a former AME (African-American Methodist Episcopal) church in Madison. This church is the CME Escue chapel built in 1906 and moved and restored in 2006. CME stands for Colored Methodist Episcopal. The congregation spearheaded the preservation of the chapel and is still active (led by Pastor Anthony Hill) in Larned. We talked to Ruth and Linda about the church and its history and they told us about a town called Nicodemus, KS. Nicodemus was named for a former slave who purchased his freedom. The founders of the town formed a town company and passed out handbills in the south to encourage black Americans to relocate. Nicodemus is the oldest (and only) surviving western town established by African Americans. And who knew? the town has a Green Bay Packer connection. We mentioned that we were interested in finding more information about Hiram Young (the blacksmith) and Ruth lit up and handed us a flyer of the museum’s upcoming events. At the top of the docket for February was a first-person interpretation of Hiram Young enacted by Pastor Hill’s son Jahman. Excellent.

We purchased patches with the Santa Fe Trail logo (one more thing to check off the list) and headed south to see ruts.

A note on ruts. They are a big deal and the book we are (half-assedly) following chronicles all of them. The problem is that they are really, really (really) subtle. If you are imagining a set of wagon wheel ruts in your mind, now imagine a featureless grassy prairie or corn field. Blend the two images with an emphasis on the corn field. And now recall what it was like to believe in Santa Claus. It takes imagination, a keen eye, and patience to see ruts carved 150 years ago. On principle, though, we decided we had to make a better effort to find some. The ruts south of Fort Larned were described as ‘excellent’ so we figured that even we might be able to see them.

The forty acre site adjoins a working farm field. In this picture you can (?) see the ruts in the preserved field and where they end abruptly at the fence-line.

More obvious at this site was the prairie dog town. There were hundreds of tunnels

and a lot of poop. (this post is for Chele’s nieces and nephew)

Here’s another shot of “Endless Kansas” from the SFT rut site. The sky cleared and it has warmed up considerably.

After the Larned, KS attractions we headed for Dodge City. We passed by some super smelly feedlots. It made our eyes water and strected on for about a mile. Thousands of animals. It was surreal. There’s a Disney-esque establishment in Dodge City called Boot Hill. Basically, it’s a complex with a row of historic (looking) buildings, and a couple of original buildings (a school house and blacksmith shed). In addition to the operating saloon and general store, the other storefronts hold displays artfully contained terrarium style.

You enter Boot Hill through the gift shop (no surprise there) and buy tickets ($10). We were dubious about this place to begin with, we were a little burnt out and they were closing in less than an hour. The clerk said that we could go to the saloon and general store without a ticket. We opted for that. The general store was stocked with all kinds of things you’d need on a cross country wagon trip: scented candles, keychains with plastic buffalo fobs, Reeses Peanut Butter Cup fudge (we did stock up on that). The lady in the calico frock was really sweet and to be fair, there was a glass case with some authentic store items from the 1850′s. The saloon also had people dressed in historic costume. The piano player (please don’t shoot him a sign above the piano implored) asked if we had tickets and before we could answer the bartender asked us where we were from, made the Madison/Kansas weather joke, and then told us to have a nice time looking at the exhibits. We neither confirmed nor denied about whether we had tickets and just moved on. There is a dressmakers shop, an undertakers shop, a gambling hall, a bank…it goes on (and on). Sprinkled within the shop re-creations are bits of historical data. One example that caught our eye was the description of the brothel business.

There is some wall text next to this picture that tells of how prostitutes were euphemistically referred to as ‘soiled doves’ or ‘fallen frails’ but then states that while a few of the women entered the business because they were homeless Civil War widows or orphans, the majority were “shrewd businesswomen…pursu[ing] a sellers market.” The text states that the women were typically between 16 and 23 and that after three years or so they left prostitution to settle down to raise a family. So far, we’ve  tried to maintain a fairly open and non-judgemental attitude towards the information we’re been gathering, but this proto-feminist account of brothel life was disturbingly off the mark.

On a brighter note, if women weren’t busy developing a sex trade start-up, they might be crafting a hair wreath:

There were a few buildings in the Boot Hill complex that weren’t on the main boardwalk. Up the hill there was a jail (moved here from somewhere else) and a new building that housed information about the SFT trail, native American culture, and buffalo hunting. Of course, they had a dead bison on display to explain that they had been wiped out:

There was also an enormous bison head in the saloon. Behind this building was a cemetery. We realized that it was after five and also that there was no way out but back through the gift shop. It must have been our proximity to the jail and all the wall text about scoundrels that made us decide to scale the fence to get out of Dodge. (argggh…we know you were waiting for that. It had to be done).

While driving around looking for coffee we saw this crazy green house:

Inside they had a fine selection of boots. BA would’ve bought these if they had fit:

(the green ones of course) Besides the shelves of of colorful ostrich boots, they also had a wall of jeans (the sign said “all Wanglers $24.99″), frozen meat, ice cream, a great selection of Mexican chips and junk food. What they had the most of, however, was bongs. Hand blown glass pipes, short bongs, tall bongs, red bongs, blue bongs —hundreds of them… and some soft-core porn calendars. For some reason, we chickened out on getting a picture of it. We named the store “Wanglers, Boots n’ Bongs,” bought a self-stick Virgin of Guadeloupe for the dashboard, and continued the coffee search.

Night was falling as we left Dodge City and we returned to the Grapes of Wrath. Just as we entered Oklahoma, the Joads were driving out of it. We passed one more enormous feedlot. It was dark so we couldn’t see it but had to hold our sleeves over our noses for about five minutes as we made our way past. Somewhere along the way at around 8pm we spied a Mexican Bakery housed in a converted, retro-style corner gas station. We could see the cookies from Main Street.

BA bought a ginger pig and took this picture:

Chele bought lumpy cheese. We ate hummus (thank you basecamp:alpha) and crackers and continued to Clayton, New Mexico. Stayed at the Best Western Kokapelli Hotel. Privately owned, super clean, excellent wifi, ultra friendly people, heat, and real cotton sheets. A far cry from the previous night at the TravelLodge. Highly recommended. As we unpacked our luggage we realized that it was….warm. Hallelujah.

Final flag count:

Half-staff: 13

Full-staff: 29

Tomorrow we head to Las Vegas, New Mexico.

<< Day 2 | Day 4 >>

Thursday, January 13th, 2011

We stayed at the only hotel in Council Grove, The Cottage Hotel. It’s an old Victorian building with a hotel-like addition off the back. Highly recommended except that they could make the coffee stronger and supply fresh half&half. The Cottage has a number of locally, self-published books about the town and we bought three. They provide and interesting, and at times perplexing, perspective. One book takes as its thesis: “What’s a black kid doing in Dunlap?”

We met fellow Cottage guest and geologist Ned Marks at breakfast. Ned gets paid for looking at rocks (his description) and loves his work. He has his own consulting company and works on water rights.  He was a font of knowledge about Kansas/SFT history and present day environmental preservation, farming issues, etc. We talked for about two hours and the conversation would have continued except that we all needed to get to work. Ned supplied us with a much better map and then circled numerous sites for us to check out. He also gave us contact information for a guy in Ulysses, KS who does Jedediah Smith re-enactment/performances and historic preservation work. We hit pay-dirt with Ned and are so grateful for his generous spirit. Here’s Ned:

Check out the sign behind his head. Hokey, but so appropriate. BTW, did you know that terrane means a specific location while terrain refers to a generalized area? We learned that from Ned.

After breakfast we ventured out to investigate the town. It had warmed up considerably: from 3 degrees to 20. We don’t know what the wind chill is, but it makes us swear.

Council Grove is an important historic site because it is where a pact with the Osage Indians was signed in 1825. This pact was an agreement with the Osage stating that the SFT could safely pass through their land. The Kaw Indians were also nearby but they were ‘removed’ by 1873. In 1846, after a series of unfortunate events, the Kaw sold off 2 million acres for about a penny an acre. Things went downhill from there. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaw_%28tribe%29

Council Grove was the last significant stand of hardwood trees before the plains, so this is where wagon repair and spare axles were obtained. Trees also provided the meeting place for the signing of the pact with the Osage. The particular tree under which the pact was signed now looks like this:

There are a number of stumps around CG that have been preserved in similar fashion. There is the Postal Stump which used to be a tree that functioned as a transfer location about conditions in both directions. People would post notes in the tree trunk to warn of hostile areas or provide other travel tips regarding water or trail conditions. There is also a protected stump south of town where Custer once camped. It was a disappointing stump because Custer never really camped there. But if you can overlook that detail, it is indeed a mighty fine stump and shelter.

Another interesting CG attraction is the historic Hays restaurant. Seth Hays was the great-great-grandson of Daniel Boone and the first white settler of CG. He opened a supply store then a restaurant in 1857. The building served as a church on Sundays after closing the bar Saturday nights. It’s the oldest restaurant still in operation west of the Mississippi. We ate there Wednesday night. Let’s just say it’s not the most vegetarian friendly place in the world. However, the noodles in the chicken soup were home made. Seth Hays never married but adopted a girl when we was in his late thirties. Apparently, she had been orphaned by a family in the wagon train and he and his slave “Aunt Sally” raised her. At some point Seth granted Sally her freedom and they are buried side by side in the local cemetery. One of the books we bought at the hotel is about Kitty Hays, the adopted daughter. Stay tuned.

Present day CG looks like a number of towns we’ve traveled through. Main street (which often is on HWY 56) is fairly shuttered. We stopped in here:

to find some office supplies and ended up each buying a pair of Wrangler blue jeans for about 4 dollars a pair. They only had one size, and they fit perfectly, so we had to. Anyway, it shouldn’t be a surprise and yet every time you see a storefront like this it’s really sad.

Here’s a particularly poignant and vertically organized business also on Main street:

Our last stop in CG was a small gun shop that was offering concealed carry classes. They had a Barbie (style) doll kit with camouflage Carharts, deer racks, and several guns. The owner was pretty aloof and Obama’s speech at the Tucson Memorial was still fresh in our minds. The whole thing was awkward so we left without buying a Glock.

We visited a tall grass prairie but it was too cold to hike around. We visited Hillsboro which was described as a “tidy little town that operates with efficiency.” We were looking for the Adobe Museum which apparently details the history of the Mennonite Russian emigrants (hence the tidy efficacy) who settled the town. We couldn’t find it so went junking instead. BA bought a vase with chartreuse fish on it and a stunning quilted snow-suit and Chele found a stellar pair of opera binoculars and some orange buttons.

Just down the road from Hillsboro (pop. 2,613) is Lehigh, KS (pop. 189). The motto of Lehigh is “It’s small, but it’s home.”

Our next stop was the Maxwell Buffalo Preserve. For those of you who have forgotten sobbing through Dances With Wolves and the subsequent obsession with Buffalo facts, let me refresh your memory. In a nutshell, there were somewhere between 60,000,000 and 70,000,000 buffalo roaming around, making trails, eating prairies grass and getting speared every now and again by various tribes of Plains Indians. Between around 1820 and 1890, the buffalo (technically, these animals are Bison but it would be a pain to change all the literature around the nickel) were whittled down to roughly 1,100. The calculus of how this impacted tribes and their inter-tribal territory agreements; compounded with the trouble caused by the US Gov’t's “removal” policies…I’m not even writing a cohesive sentence anymore. The damage was incalculable. One way to pay tribute, though, is to climb a forty foot observation deck in 7 below wind chill

to try to film them.

The only thing more miserable than taking pictures from this deck was being the person who handled the gear for the venture.

But the view was stunning and something we refer to as ‘Endless Kansas.’

We made our way to McPherson, home of the McPherson Bullpups, to regroup and get warm.

Digression: I am sitting in a coffee shop posting this stuff and a guy (apparently a regular) just stopped in to ask the counter help, “WTF is the sign in the window all about?” And the barrista says,”Oh, the gun thing? I made that because of a guy who comes in here and has to be all obnoxious about his gun. You know- the concealed carry thing? Well I guess we’re in the ‘Wild West,’ no?”

OK. Back to the SFT and the crazy idea that the redeployment of the myth-of-the-west is alive and well in many perverse forms. McPherson coughed up a rough suede coat with snaps for Chele and a plucky western shirt for BA.

We headed out to Great Bend and continued with the Grapes of Wrath. We wondered whether the Joads would make it out of Oklahoma before we traveled through it. It’s an amazing thing to be listening to at the moment; A. because it’s a migration story. And 2, because the disparity between rich and poor is so glaring and, unfortunately, timely.

We only covered 145 miles today and are exhausted. The Travel Lodge turns out to be a dicey and unfortunate choice, but the Mexican restaurant next door is fantastic (more chicken soup) and the people are very sweet. We try to navigate the room without touching the floor with our bare feet. This place was listed as 3 (out of 4) stars. We have a constellation of gripes about the star rating system and hope that it’s too cold for bedbugs.

Tomorrow we visit historic Larned.

Here’s what we have to say about people in Kansas so far: Kansans are the nicest people we’ve ever met. Even the lady who runs the dumpy TravelLodge (and except for the grumpy gun guy). Everyone has gone out of their way to help us.

Ongoing tally for Thursday: flags at half-staff: 12, flags at full 19.

<< Day 1 | Day 3 >>

Monday, January 10, 2011

After cramming camera gear, clothes, books, snacks, and woodworking equipment into our Subaru Roxy-wagon, we finally were ready to depart (only two hours behind schedule). All we had to do was drop off Chele’s Subaru Trixi-wagon on the west side of town.  Alas, the flashers, which had been on for an hour while we packed, had drained the battery. In under five minutes, however, we had the jumper cables out, on, and off. It was a good omen. We were on our way.

First stop was St. Louis where we were hosted by Chele’s brother Mark and his family. We decided to use Tuesday’s blizzard as a planning day.  In this short stay, we managed to lose BA’s mittens and one of Chele’s earrings. One of the guiding principles of the trip is that getting lost is a good way to find what you didn’t know what you were looking for. So we decided not to worry.

We were well fed by Mark and entertained by Chele’s nieces Grace and Sarah, and nephew John. BA got to sleep in John’s room with his hermit crabs (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John).

And Chele was treated to the girls room.

We gave Mark the second camera, and asked Angie to help the girls with the third camera. (the tester camera was left at basecamp:beta with Chele’s mom)

6:45 AM January 12, 2011…Chele’s brother gave us three pounds of his mother-in-law Marguerite’s homemade Italian fig and iced anise cookies. They are amazing; there will be no leftovers.

and we’re off!

…we remembered where we left the mittens!

…and NOW, we were on our way.

The start of the Santa Fe Trail (SFT) varied with the advent of the railroad. We decided to start the trek at Independence, MO because it was one of the earliest outfitting points. The rest of the trip will be navigated on two-lane highways and back-roads, but for now we took I-70 at incredible speeds in excess of 70MPH! Go Roxy, go!

We knew we were heading the right direction:

Not far from this sign (hwy marker 148) is Mexico, KS. Hmmm.

Our hosts at the first gas stop

informed us that we could visit a Missouri vineyard that was close by.

These wines, I was told, are best consumed cold. Very, I think.

On to Independence.

Independence had its heyday due to its role as a juncture between east and west via the Oregon, the California, and the Santa Fe Trail. It is also the home of Harry S. Truman and his presidential library and museum. This was our first cultural stop. The relevance to our trip is that it houses a fine Thomas Hart Benton mural that chronicles the migration and trade routes west. Of particular interest to us was the depiction of Hiram Young on the lower right side. He was a free African American blacksmith and wagon builder.

The museum was really interesting. In short, Harry loved Bess. A lot. The Oval Office is smaller than it looks on TV but bigger than its facsimile at the HST Library. Though it was supposed to be a faithful representation, the builders screwed up and the dimensions are off by about two feet (the ceiling height is accurate). This was the first of many examples of another guiding principle of our trip: “Erroneous historical renderings are interesting.”

We barely skimmed the surface of what the museum had to offer, but we were already way over the limit in terms of the time we allotted for all things Harry. We will return.

For now we will share one of the many interesting displays. On the first floor, there is an area that discusses the end of WWII and the dropping of the atomic bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The lighting in the curvilinear room has an affecting red tint and four or five monitors overhead show newsreel footage of the factory that made the bombs, the Enola Gay, and the aftermath. There is a montage of sound in which people who worked on the bomb (many of whom weren’t clued into what it was they were building), army personnel, etc., talk about whether they thought we needed to execute the mission to “end the war.” The exhibit is chilling. There was a book with blank pages on a shelf that was flanked by wall text which displays quotes by various people in the administration, war correspondents, etc. The quotes address whether, in hindsight, we needed to drop the bombs. Visitors were invited to write in the book to express their own opinions. There must have been 100 pages filled in since mid 2010. Here are a few, but representative, pages.

We handed out our first “on the trail” camera to Gary Ahern, a guard/docent at the museum. He was really helpful, a history buff, and knew the best coffee shop in town.

After the library, we headed to the National Frontier  Trails Museum. Very interesting exhibits…this link will take you to some of the wall text they had posted from travelers diaries. Some of the diary posts were from children 7 or 13 years old–this detail was easily missed because the writing was incredibly mature, aware and permeated with a sense of purpose and commitment to the enterprise of traveling westward. The recurring sentiment is how unsure they were that they would even make it to their destination. In equal measure is the sense that the journey and subsequent settling of the west is pre-destined. This painting kind of summed it up:

We recommend the Trails Museum.

We completely forgot to go to Missouritown, a re-enactment village on the way to HWY 56. It’s closed for the season, but we thought we’d look around. This is the first indication that we will have to do this drive more than once.

We left the beltway…finally….the Santa Fe Trail!

Except that this wasn’t the Santa Fe trail…it was our first event of being lost.

After some cross-checking with Chele’s iPhone GPS, we corrected our route and headed for Overbrook, KS. We were looking for silhouette cutouts by Ed Harmison. We also decided that we would try and find Ed to give him a camera. In an online search, we discovered that besides being the chief of police in Overbrook, he is also the area historian.

The motto of Overbrook (pop. 916) is, “Overbrook – not to be overlooked!” How cool is that? For more on Overbrook, visit: http://www.city-data.com/city/Overbrook-Kansas.html

As we cruised into town at about 5PM we spied a Police car tucked in a bank parking lot. We pulled up alongside and asked the officer if he knew where we could find Ed Harmison. He replied, “You got him.” We were so excited that he probably wondered whether he should be charging the stun gun. But in the end Ed took a camera and was very honest when we asked if we could find a good cup of coffee in town. After a pause, torn between civic pride and an honest disposition, he said, “No.” We asked about Shirley’s Cafe (we had read about it online when we were stalking Ed) but alas, after thirty-nine years, Shirley had recently wrung out the dish cloth and retired. It used to be the place, he said with a bit of ennui.

It was getting dark, so we pressed on to Council Grove, KS to look for a place to spend the night.

All along the route, there are diversions north and south from HWY 56 to find markers of the exact location of the SFT. These granite markers, in large part, are a 20th century project by the Daughters of the American Revolution. They point out river crossings, deaths, events, camping spots, and even sites that commemorate certain important Daughters of the American Revolution that helped with the markers! It would take about one thousand years to reach San Diego if we visited (and regaled you, faithful blog reader, with posts of) each marker. We decided to let intuition be the guide in terms of where we would deviate from HWY56.

Two other side projects along the way are to listen to Steinbeck’s ‘Grapes of Wrath’ and Chele is obsessed with keeping track of American flags at half-staff (or not) in response to the Tucson shootings. The White House decreed that they should stay at half-staff until Friday. Wednesday’s tally is:

7 at half-staff

12 at full.

| Day 2 >>