I woke up thinking I’d be spending the day in Limon, Colorado, to avoid bad weather, but it looked like the storm was delayed—so I took off for Kit Carson. I had breakfast at the hotel and met some very nice people. One couple from Kansas gave me a myriad of suggestions for things to see in their state. Later, I learned they had just lost their dog, Tucker. He was what they called a “Velcro dog”—he stuck close to his people, and they adored him. He was only five when he passed. Hopefully, he’s in a part of dog heaven where he’s the biggest dog around. (He was a chihuahua.) Luckily in dog heaven, they sort dogs by personality, not size. Tucker sounded like he had a big personality—he’ll fit in just fine.

*Tucker’s mother. A wonderful woman! I want to go to puppy heaven!*

The morning ride took me through rolling prairie. The terrain had a lot of gradual inclines and declines that chewed through my battery. The first town I passed through was Hugo. I stopped for coffee and realized all the customers had British accents. For a second, I thought I’d made a wrong turn and was way off course. I stepped outside and spoke with one of them, who was smoking a cigarette. It turns out they were on a severe weather adventure trip, chasing tornadoes. At first, it sounded like a scam someone cooked up to take advantage of foreigners, but they said they were having a great time. I asked if they’d seen any tornadoes. “Over thirteen,” one of them said. Then others came out and started showing me pictures—it was amazing. They had seen these storms right along the path I was planning to take that afternoon. We snapped a photo together and I rode on.

*These people are very fun and very crazy. It would have been so much easier for them to go to the beach in Italy! What were they thinking?*

I passed through the town of Wild Horse. It looked like a collection of abandoned, decaying buildings with a prefab post office. I rode around and found only two houses that looked occupied. It would be a perfect set for a scary movie. It reminded me of Cisco, UT without the charm of the Buzzard Belly General Store.

By the time I neared Kit Carson, I was out of charge and my poor unicycle was beeping at me. When I walked through the door of the local café, it was nearly dead. The owner let me charge it, and I hung around and talked with folks. There was a nice family from Colorado Springs heading to a birthday party in Tulsa. One of the women in the group had a late husband who had been a physics professor at Colorado College—my alma mater. We chatted about professors we both knew and traded some funny stories.

While I was in the back checking on my unicycle, I suddenly heard an air raid siren go off. Everyone in the café scrambled, and the owner frantically called someone. It turned out they were testing the tornado warning system, but for a moment, it was clear how seriously people here take these alerts.

One of the coolest things about the café was the photo collection on the wall. The family who runs it has been farming in the area since the 1800s. They had framed pictures of themselves over the years alongside their favorite tractors. For farmers, investing in a tractor is a huge deal. It was neat to see family portraits in front of a new tractor, followed by shots of the same machine throughout its working life.

I checked the Weather Underground app, and it looked like I might have a window before a major storm rolled in. I headed east, hoping to beat it. The horizon was black, and the fields and road were still wet. I assumed the storm had already passed and I was in the clear. I decide to bag the idea of visiting the San Creek Massacre Monument. Because of Doge, it is only open a couple of days a week now and today was not one of them. I also hear that the road was all mud and as you know if you have read past posts. mud, me unicycles don’t get along,

When I got to Cheyenne Wells, the sky looked worse—but I kept going. About 10 miles east of town, the wind really picked up and the sky darkened. I had 40 miles to go to reach Sharon Springs, so I leaned forward and pushed against the headwind. I had already burned through nearly half of my battery.

Then I saw yellow flashing lights behind me. A Colorado Highway Department truck pulled up beside me and the driver shouted, “All hell’s about to break loose—you need to get under cover.” I immediately turned around and sped back toward Cheyenne Wells at over 40 mph. I made it just in time. As I pulled up to the main convenience store, the rain let loose. As soon as I stepped inside, the hail began, along with thunder and lightning. I asked if I could wait out the storm there, and they said, “Of course.” The store’s roof got hammered by hail and rain for a solid half hour. I sat there wondering what I would have done if I’d been stuck out in the open. The terrain is completely flat—no trees, no ditches. I was incredibly lucky those highway guys showed up when they did.

*What popped up on my phone while in Cheyenne Wells.*

A rancher came into the store and said he thought there might be a break in the storm. I checked my app and saw a short pause between the massive systems passing through the area. I suited up, covered my backpack, and headed east. I still had 40 miles to go. The violent part of the storm had passed, but I had to ride through about 90 minutes of fierce headwinds and mist blowing into my face.

By the time I’d gone just 63 miles, I was nearly out of battery. I slowed way down to conserve power and barely made it to my motel. I don’t think I’ve ever run that low before. Riding with a beeping, unhappy unicycle in wind and rain isn’t fun—but at least I avoided the hail. It must have been bad: I passed piles of hail on the roadside that still hadn’t melted.

Tomorrow I’ll head further east. The weather still looks dicey, but I’ll look for windows to make some progress. I’m not sure how far I’ll get. This Kansas weather is no joke—and unlike those British folks, I want nothing to do with a tornado. I don’t think my unicycle, helmet, backpack, or body armor would hold up very well against flying debris.

Today was about 130 miles of riding. Here is the route:

A storm is a coming

Beauty, Tragedy, and Weed

New Country for Me