Coop's Corner: Day 3 on the Prairie

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Day 3 on the Prairie

Tuesday morning turned out to be another beautiful morning and warmer, so I started riding earlier than I had the previous two days. This was to be my southwest loop and only the first few miles were on roads I'd been on earlier in the week.

All that's left of Hill Springs School, dates on the marker read 1887-1959. Just before I turned this corner heading west, I noticed a loaded dump truck approaching me from the north, raising huge clouds of dust. To stay out of his way and avoid some dust, I took this left, attempting to not be in his way. He must have been coming at over 40 on the gravel road, then seeing me, he braked hard to a stop, then backed up even with where I was standing at the marker. To save him some steps, I guiltily headed over to the back of the truck to meet him and assumed he was stopping to see if all was OK. I was right; he was young, early 20's and wanted to make sure that I was alright. I thanked him profusely, surprised that he'd stopped. I would bet his truck was overloaded, it must have taken him a quarter mile to get back up to speed again.

Unlike all of the silos in our part of the country, the majority of every one I saw (most of them now only monuments, not being used) had no dome or cover on top, only railings.

Another vista.....

Access road to a quarry, note the huge blocks left behind .....

I saw a few of these hay shelters, 'barns' like I'd never seen before. The roof can be raised and lowered, adapting to the volume of hay underneath. Large corner poles are in place, the roof slides up and down on the pipes via winch.

Stopping for a break far away from anything I could see, these cows were able to see me. As I drank some water and snacked, the cows, too curious to stay away, all followed their 'leader' to within just 50 yards. Suddenly they must have decided I wasn't the guy bringing feed, stopped, then turned away, heading back to where they came from before I interrupted them.

My road between Clements and Cedar Point.

Wonsevu, KS

South/East end of Coyne Creek Road. A Minimum Maintenance road that the Backroads Kansas Riders frequent. I've seen many photos of their rides through this valley where they have a substantial water crossing. After a drought-ish summer and fall, my early October ride on this road was only dusty.

As the road heads down into the valley and off to the right, it runs through some dense woodland and crosses the often wet streambed.

I'm stopped right where there is often a running stream though on that Tuesday not a single drop.

From there, I headed east into Cottonwood Falls and took Hwy 177 north up to Council Grove and the campground. Wanting to get online and upload some photos, I went into Council Grove to use the library before they closed. After some dinner, I went out for another ride, heading northwest from the Rec. Area through Kelso and on to Parkerville, both places that were on the early part of the planned 4th loop that wasn't going to happen this trip.

Another fine evening around the campfire, talking with a couple from Philadelphia and getting the TW200 onto the trailer for tomorrow's (Wednesday) trip east to Potosi, Missouri for the Falling Leaf Rally.

2 comments:

Martha November 29, 2012 at 8:20 PM
Some of these prairie photos almost make me cry. And not in a bad way.

Now, winter time is another story. Yeow.
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Others say....

"it was auspicious to approach any situation from a deferential, inquisitive place. Conceding that there is much to learn is the best blueprint for discovering something new." ----B. Fuller

The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold onto them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes or should have been all along, what would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What lifeboat would you grab onto? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfill? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write? ------- Ben Tyler

We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

"Steamboats are like wedding cakes without the complications...." ----Mark Twain

"It's not about having lots of money, it's about having lots of options......." -----Chris Rock

As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

"I tell the guy's girlfriend that the only difference between the book's main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence." --------ahendepe (a.k.a. Vermin)