Ode to a fallen warrior

I named the pretty one in the middle Carmen

Yesterday I rode from Junction City, Kansas to Ottawa, Kansas.
My goal was to make it to Missouri, but the head and side winds were brutal—some of the toughest I’ve faced since Ely, Nevada. I was seated on my unicycle, leaning forward with my chest on my knees, trying to cut through the wind. If I stood up, the gusts tossed me around. In many places, the road had barely any shoulder and a lot of truck traffic. One swerve and I’d have been a bug on a windshield. It was a stressful day. I had hoped to go 170 miles but only made 120.

Saluting the fallen warrior.

The top question I’ve been getting from people via email has been: “What does your wife think of all this?”—followed closely by: “Please tell us about the roadkill you’ve seen.” I’ve avoided writing about either, but I’ll finally bend to your wishes.

The most interesting roadkill I’ve come across was an armadillo I saw south of Junction City. I had no idea Kansas even had armadillos. I feel like my parents have been gaslighting me. Why didn’t I know this? Was it someone’s pet? Did it have a name? Was it male or female? What were its last thoughts? Did it live a good life—or was it on the run? And if it was on the run, what was it running from?

Thinking about this armadillo was distracting. I even considered composing sonnet , but I forgot how many syllables go in each line. Sure, I could have slapped something together—but that’s not how I work. So I asked ChatGPT to write one. Get your Kleenex ready and read on:

A Lament Upon Yon Flatten’d Beast
(spoken roadside, helmet in hand)

Oh noble beast, thou plated, earthen knight,
Who wander’d far from southern-baked domain,
Did’st Kansas fields invite thy moonlit flight,
To meet thy fate on thine own asphalt plain?

What dreams had’st thou, bold rover of the dust?
What whispered call did lure thy feet this way?
Wert thou in love? Or fleeing broken trust—
Some possum’s wrath or coyote’s cruel play?

Was thou named Fred? Or Lady Armadell?
Did children cheer thy passing down the lane?
Perchance thou fled the law—oh, who can tell?
Thy secrets now are smeared across the grain.

Yet still thou teach’st: the road is cold and long,
And even armored hearts may not be strong.

Oh, and what ever name it had, it smelled really bad too.

The countryside between Junction City and Ottawa was stunning. It was hilly and full of trees, with patches of farmland bordered by even more farmland. Unlike western Kansas, there were rolling hills, streams, and creeks everywhere. I passed through a town called Council Grove, which looked like a movie set for the prettiest town in the Midwest. There were flags and flower boxes, and just outside of town, a gorgeous lake with a park that was truly a sight to behold. The town and its surroundings were prettier than Napa Valley—without all the bougie people in Teslas.

Counsel Grove: Please don’t tell the influencers

I stopped at a Mexican restaurant and briefly spoke with a young couple. They looked like Hollywood actors posing as small-town locals—he looked like James Marsden, and she resembled a young Jennifer Garner. Both had perfect teeth. We only chatted for a few minutes before they left. Later, I found out they had paid for my meal. These people are so damn nice.

It made me realize how much keeping to yourself limits your life experience. When someone new shows up in your town or neighborhood, the right thing to do is say hello and make them feel welcome. One thing I’ve noticed in these rural towns: no one is glued to their phones. Instead, people are actually talking to each other at their tables and across tables. It creates a kind of warmth and energy that’s infectious. Everyone looks up to see who just walked in, and whether they know you or not, they smile, wave, or nod.

Is the podcast I could be listening to more important than the connection I could be making? What could I be learning if I engaged more with my neighbor and less with my phone?

I also had a chance to interview a woman I met at a Starbucks in Junction City. She was a store manager, and I asked her what it was like to live there. She had a refreshingly positive take on life in Junction City, and spoke honestly about what it’s like to be a minority in the community.

Another thing I’ve realized is that there’s no anonymity in a small town—or even a small county. Every day, someone tells me they saw me on the highway, in a neighboring town, or that I’d spoken with their Pawpaw or Mamaw—and that they’re praying for me. I told one person I appreciated their dad’s prayers and would remember that on my way to Washington, D.C. They replied, “He’s praying you stop being a fool, get off that damn thing, go to KC, and hop on a plane back home. He was just too nice to say it.”

I also got a text from my newly found relative, Quinten Maupin, saying I should give his dad a call. I caught him while he was in the tractor putting away bales. What started as a five-minute conversation turned into thirty.IA couple of nights ago I had called Quinten to thank him for his hospitality and invited him and his family to come out and visit. He told me Quinten had talked about coming out to visit us, and he was excited about the idea of seeing Lake Tahoe. But then he said, “We’ve got a farm to run. There’s no slack time. When does he think he’d have time to come out? What a crazy idea—we’re running a big business and there’s always work to do.” Maybe if Quinten brought his dad, the answer would be different. I’d love to have them all out. Life’s too short not to visit your relatives.

This next stretch is going to be tough. I need to get to St. Louis and pick up a new tire for my unicycle that my daughter Kate is sending me. I've been riding mostly on the shoulder, and the pavement always slants slightly to the right. A few days ago in Grinnell, a man looked at my tire and said, “Son, your tire’s worn on one side—it looks all catawampus.” Last night I finally checked it, and the old boy was right. I’d noticed some weird oscillation at higher speeds. I’ll need to find a place to help me swap it out—my hands and shoulder are too banged up to do it myself. I’m sure I’ll find someone in St. Louis. It’ll be an adventure.

I want to have some new experiences on this next leg of the journey. I’d like to visit both a traditional African American church in Kentucky and a Pentecostal church. I also want to try to go through Harlan County. I watched the show Justified, which was supposed to take place there, and I’d love to see what life is really like in a coal town in rural Kentucky. I hope the weather and route will allow for that!

I’ve never been to any of the places I’ll be traveling through, and I’m looking forward to the novelties and adventures they’ll provide. Just look at what “boring” old Kansas offered! I always thought my Grandpa Peach was crazy to waste his time traveling across Kansas writing about each little Kansas town. I now wish I could have been there to do it with him. I will miss this big lovely state.

Even the side of the highway are pretty

Thank you all for reading this. If there’s anything you’d like me to change, or something you’d like to see in future posts, please shoot me a text or email. I really appreciate your readership, and I want to make sure I’m rewarding your time with something worthwhile.

stevemaupin61@gmail.com

925-984-6773