Our feeds are saturated with an endless stream of videos and photos from otherworldly rides in far off lands. To top it off, many of these visuals come with the allure of a link to the route or race. It’s almost taunting you to cash in your PTO and fly off to your own fairytale trip. However beautiful and inspiring this imagery may be, it makes it hard to remember that some of the most rewarding and obtainable adventures are those in your own backyard. With a tapped bank account and only a short time to take off from work, my free time began to be spent on how I could create my own backyard bikepacking adventure. The problem is I live in arguably one of the least inspiring places… Hays, Kansas.
When people find this out, it elicits a cold shudder and one of three responses.
- I stop there for gas when traveling to Denver/ Kansas City.
- I got stuck there during a severe weather event when i70 got shut down.
- I went to Fort Hays State University/know someone who did.
Needless to say, it’s not a vacation destination known the world round. In fact, even people from Kansas often talk about western Kansas with a disdain similar to stubbing your toe or hitting every red light on your commute home. However, as someone who’s grown up and become ingrained in the culture, I know the small towns that reside just off the interstate in western Kansas are quite charming and full of people who’ve etched out a living in the “boring west.”
From a cycling perspective, western Kansas is an endless matrix of farm roads laid out in a precise mile by mile grid. The surfaces are mostly hard packed limestone and shift to more sandstone as you move west into Russell County. Both surfaces roll fast and only occasionally become difficult when there’s been excessive rain or a road grader has come through recently. If it weren’t for the ephemeral nature of resupplies, routing would only be bound by the imagination of the route setter. Kansas as a state is roughly 95-98% privately owned, with much of rural western Kansas being nearly 100% privately owned agricultural land. Apart from the occasional reservoir, public places to camp or recreate can be hours away, making stopovers an additional layer of challenge.
With this in mind, I set out to challenge myself with three objectives.
- Develop a Bikepacking route that is inspired despite seemingly mundane roads.
- The route has to stop and explore the small towns in the region intentionally.
- Incorporate at least one night spent on public land.
After a handful of hours of split screening Ride with GPS and Google Street View, I had a route. It’d span 175 miles, four counties, seven towns, and one public land area. With four days off from work, I started on a Tuesday, smack dab in the middle of a sweltering heatwave…
DAY 1
My alarm that was set for 7 am quickly shifted to 7:30 as I lay in bed thinking about the miles ahead of me. The four days I’d take off from work just so happened to be the hottest days of the summer so far. And to top it off, the wind was going to be a ripping 30mph headwind for half the day, but hey, I wasn’t going to be confined to working at a desk indoors, and THAT was motivation enough to get my ass out of bed.
After a quick once over to make sure I’d not forgotten anything (not at all foreshadowing here), I rolled over to Casey’s and snagged a breakfast burrito as is tradition whenever one is located on a ride. Not thirteen minutes later, the first of the sweat beads began to fall. Vibes were admittedly not at their peak, but when I turned north and found gravel under my tires and wind at my back, things quickly turned around.
The farther north I ventured, the better the gravel and scenery got thanks to the Saline River Valley that lies to the north of Hays. As is the case in a lot of arid and semiarid environments, riparian (river) corridors are a hotbed for biodiversity compared to the surrounding habitats. The closer you get to the Saline, the more natural-ish habitat and creatures you tend to see.
As I rolled through a private ranch where I’d done some research in my early days of college, the vibes were flying and so were the speeds. It all came to an abrupt halt when a suspicious rubbing, then clanking noise manifested itself from the rear tire. Remember that quick once over… well, one of the mounting bolts for my rear rack had backed its way out, resulting in the drive side arm of the rack to bounce about, introducing a voile strap holding my dollar store croc to the tire, instantly leading to its melty demise.
I was now struck with the decision to either backtrack uphill into a headwind or jerry rig a solution that could feasibly withstand the chunder to come. I did a quick check of the photos I’d taken just up the road and confirmed that the screw had to be somewhere nearby, and so I decided to give looking for it a shot. Not 40 feet up the road, just aside from my tire track, there it was… trip saved.
As the hours began to tick by, the heat became more intense, and I tried distracting myself from it with roadside plants of every shape, size, and seed distribution method. An armored lubber grasshopper and an equally formidably armored Texas Horned Lizard were welcomed short stops before climbing my way to one of the high points on the northern rim of the Saline Valley.
Turning south is where the day took its least vibey turn yet. The road was a slow 2-6% climb with a ripping headwind nearly the entire way into Russell, where I’d be staying the night at my friends Hayden and Kyra’s. The wind, which had provided speed and joy, now only brought slow speeds and a threat to my mental fortitude. I pushed through the remaining miles, drank nearly all 6.5 liters of water, and rolled into my second Casey’s stop of the trip to relieve myself of the heat.
After a few hours hanging out in the sweet sweet A/C of Hayden and Kyra’s and becoming besties with their five cats, they arrived home from work and we picked up right where we’d left off the last time I saw them. Catching up on how the school year was going to go for Hayden (a music teacher at a regional school), a good chunk of time on the politics and projections of the Wichita Thunder hockey team (Hayden and Kyra are their #1 fans), and all the hot gossip about the goings on of the small town we’d all grown up in. After a while we headed out to walk all over downtown, taking in the many murals, oddball advertising signs, and eventually landing in a booth at Waudby’s (arguably the best restaurant in Russell) for a soft pretzel and a burger.
DAY 2
The day started a little slower than it should’ve. I spent an embarrassingly long time huddled under the covers and was quite slow to start, but only had a 44 mile day on tap, so all I had was time. While getting the bike ready on the porch, I could hear the distant rumbles of thunder making their way out of the blue grey clouds that threatened rain. A somewhat welcome sight as it meant the temps might hold off for just long enough to make a pleasurable day. Legs felt decent as I rolled down to Casey’s for breakfast burritos number 2 and 3. The plan was to make it to one of the campsites on the south end of Wilson Lake and find whichever site was open and had maximum tree coverage, as the day called for a high of 107.
The roads started out rather mundane with field after field of corn and sorghum. One of the most abundant creatures buzzing about were cicada killer wasps accompanied by their flightless wasp counterparts, velvet ants.
Might I take a brief departure to talk about the Schmidt Index? An entomologist by the name of Justin Schmidt took it upon himself to get stung by and then index, by pain level, many of the stinging insects of the world. The scale goes from 0-5, and velvet ants, also known as cow killers, fall around 4-4.5. Cicada killers, although quite large and intimidating, only fall around 0.5. While the risk factor of getting stung by either on my ride was low, it was also never truly zero. Luckily, the closest I came to either was a few cicada killers bouncing off of my sunglasses.
The farther north and closer to Wilson Lake I got, the more the flat roads began to roll again. The limestone began to transition into a mix with iron rich rusty red sandstones. After miles of open farm roads, I turned south towards the lake onto what would become my favorite road of the trip, Dam Road. A mild two track that eroded away into steep, chunky climbs with large baby head style blocks of limestone. As someone with almost zero technical skills, especially on a loaded down bike, I was quite chuffed to have made it through the whole road clean. I credit a lot of the confidence to the chunky 2.25 Vittoria Peyotes that seemed to just float along.
After ripping a paved descent down and across the lake’s dam, I was feeling good and started to play the dangerous game of mileage math.
“It’s currently around 1 pm. I’ve already done around 40 miles, and my legs feel great. If I stop now, how will I avoid the heat for the rest of the day? The overnight low is around 80; can I get enough sleep and recovery to knock out 75 miles tomorrow? What if I just sent it back to Hays and tested the legs?”
When I made it to where the pull off for the campsites was, I decided to keep pushing and try to make it back to Hays… and so began a long day.
My first small town stop of the day was Wilson, Kansas. The Czech capital of Kansas and home to the world’s largest Czech egg. If you ask the locals, as I did, what’s worth stopping for, they quickly gloss over the egg and point to the local grocery store… more specifically to a small refrigerator in the back of the store. This is where they keep the good stuff… the house smoked beef sticks.
(BY30)
They’re something a friend who lived in Wilson introduced to me many years ago and I’ll still pull off I-70 if I’m ever passing by to pick up a pack. They’re so good, in fact, that when creating the route I specifically routed to the grocery store and had spent a lot of time that morning thinking about them.
As I pulled into town, I could already smell the smokehouse. I propped my bike up in the shade outside the grocery store and happily and sweatily tip tapped my way to the magical beef stick section and picked out my absolute favorite flavor, honey BBQ. While I sat against the propane lockup, gleefully enjoying my spoils, a gentleman from KC walked up and broke the ice by pointing out the beef sticks.
“I was told I HAD to come for the beef sticks. Specifically the honey BBQ. Which it looks like you got yourself some there”
He was a fellow biker passing through on the way to Colorado. We talked some about the heat and the general state of cycling these days, and before long he seemed to disappear into the ether.
While loading my leftovers and getting the bike ready to roll again, a local lady popped out of the grocery store and stopped to again mention the beef sticks. Do we have you convinced to stop yet?
The clouds had begun to dissipate as I rolled out from Wilson with a stomach full of famous meats and a chipper attitude. The roads largely remained open and agricultural, and there was nothing much to do except keep pushing to the next stop.
My next resupply was at the ever popular gas station just off the interstate in Bunker Hill. As I loitered outside a gentleman approached and asked if I was doing a cross country effort. I chuckled and let him know it was just a backyard adventure. He said he was a mountain biker headed to Crested Butte, and I gleefully, and for one of the first times out loud, mentioned I was an ambassador for Rodeo Labs, which had its headquarters in Colorado.
After I’d gotten my fill of weird stares and awkward side steps, I once again rolled into the agricultural abyss, this time with the interstate just to the south of me. There seemed to be a crash that had the eastbound lane backed up for miles. As I got closer to the end of the line of cars, the highway patrol had begun detouring cars north to Old Highway 40. What used to be the lifeblood of commerce and cross-state travel at the riveting speed of 55mph was now a way for locals to avoid hopping on I-70. In a way, it felt funny thinking about how many people who would never leave the speed and comfort of the interstate were now being thrust into slower speeds and directly through the heart of some of the small towns I’d based my trip around. Would they also stop for beef sticks? Perhaps they’d pop in for coffee at the CO-OP in Gorham. Would this become their, “I stopped there once when i70 was shut down” story?
At this point I had begun to succumb to the intense 107 degree heat and sought refuge in a patch of shade on the side of the road. I was six miles from Victoria and my last opportunity for something cold to drink. After around 20 minutes and coming narrowly close to calling for a rescue, I remounted the bike and chugged into one of my favorite small towns.
Victoria is special to me in many ways. My family has its roots in the town as some of the very first Volga Germans to settle the town. My great great grandfather John Goetz helped to construct St. Fidelis church which was designated as a basilica in 2014 and sees visitors from all over the world. My great grandmother and grandfather used to live in a dirt floor home just down the hill from the church. In the early days of my riding before I had a head unit, I’d use the two bell tower pillars sticking out from the otherwise flat landscape as a landmark for dead reckoning. It’s just close enough to Hays to make for a training ride of good length, and the gas station has an ample selection of food and drink.
One long final stop and a few cold drinks later and I was ready to crush the final 12 miles. Being on familiar roads and so close to home motivated me to push a 16 mph pace all the way into the driveway. Salt crusted and cooked, I star fished out on the floor and reflected on my decision making skills.
Reflections and the Odd Thought:
It was nice to end the ride by testing my legs and finishing the route with only the fourth century of my career. I set out with a goal to explore my backyard and feel inspired by the route. I managed to ride on nearly 50% new roads, and as cheesy as it may seem, any chance I get to ride on a new road, however mundane or exciting it may be, is a good day. There are a few alternative roads that could be thrown in for the sake of venturing onto an MMR, but this would increase mileage and distances between resupplies only for the sake of riding a slightly rougher, equally straight road. However, if the legs were feeling good and adventurous, it’s pretty simple to reroute to these MMRs thanks to the grid system. I’ve also already been cooking up a way to stitch together these MMRs and other tantalizing roads for fun day trips to shake up my around town training rides.
The original plan in my head was to do the trip over three days, camping out once along the way. Things were hot and only getting hotter, and camping was not my reality this go. As a biologist who cycles, I’m very intimately faced with the reality of climate change. Our seasons are shifting, we’re seeing races and events change their legacy dates to accommodate the severity and unpredictability of weather events. This trip was certainly a reminder of that, but also a reminder that getting out and exploring nature by bike is so important. It allows the brain to process its surroundings at a speed that is impactful. From an ecopsychology standpoint, simply being exposed to nature, especially by bike or foot, leads one to be drawn to protect the natural places around them. Something that is needed now more than ever.
My friend Ryan refers to the grain elevators that are ubiquitous in this region as the pyramids of the plains. I think there’s something quite poetic about that. Being able to see these large white monoliths from miles away and making them the next objective to ride to, knowing that you’ll find some small community that depends on their existence. When you do arrive, the people are always curious, friendly, and willing to offer help. I didn’t get to stop and explore these communities as much as I would’ve liked to have. When I did stop to ask the gas station or grocery workers what’s something worth seeing or exploring in their town, instantly their eyes lit up, and they took a pause to think deeply as though no one from outside their community had ever taken an interest. They were excited to point me in the direction of something in their town that they obviously had a lot of personal connection to. Seeing the community through the eyes of a local was magical.
Living in rural car-centric America, it can be easy to fall into the routine of driving everywhere rather than riding, especially with how far spread out everything is. After this trip, I found myself drawn to the bike more. There was this newfound motivation to find fun ways to get to work or my usual stops at the grocery store or my grandfather’s house. It took this backyard adventure and meeting passionate people to fall back in love with the place I spend the most time. My home. Rural Kansas.
