After 1634 Miles, two 911 calls, and some Mexican Food, We Arrive

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Sunday broke sunny and bright again and we headed west on the last leg of the trip—this time in the right direction! (Yes, Marcia was driving....)



The first stop was Greensburg, the small town that in 2007 was 95%!d(MISSING)estroyed by a tornado. Louise had told us about this place, having visited it a month after the tornado. The F5 storm was over a mile and a quarter wide, wider than the town, and left only the grain elevator, the county court house and the odd house standing. Fortunately, the town fathers and mothers decided not only to rebuild, but to build everything to LEED Platinum levels. The place is amazing—the school is passive solar, the downtown has beautiful buildings, a library, a community center and an arts center, and native grasses and plants throughout. The entire town’s supply of energy comes from 10 windmills and there are plenty of other ones around the area. (You can read the USA Today piece about it here: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/greenhouse/2013/04/13/greensburg-kansas/2078901/, or go to the town web site where they keep posting updates: https://www.greensburgks.org/ and tells you more about the town.)



The most fun was talking to Paul, who we found standing outside of his home enjoying a morning cigarette. As the visitor center would not be open for a couple of hours and we needed to press on we had to find someone with some first hand information. So, seeing this guy, I wandered over and asked if he had been here in 2007. Well, we got his whole life story, including that he had moved to Greensburg when he was 4, went away to the army and was hit by a car, discharged and disabled, and moved back to Greensburg. Then we heard about how on the night of the tornado he had hidden in his bathroom and was sitting on the toilet when the roof to his apartment blew off! He does not know who found him, details at this point are shaky, but he crawled out a window and spent the next month or so living in a neighboring school gym.



He pointed out that we were standing where the high school had been, and right over there had been the house he was raised in, and over there a gym, and on and on. The water tower had fallen down within three blocks of Paul’s apartment but there was so much noise he did not hear it. We finally begged off and left, not wanting to stand too close to a guy who at 60 had been hit by both a car and a tornado.



Oh by the way, Greensburg’s other claim to fame is that it is the home of the largest hand dug well in the world. At 109 or so feet deep and 32 feet wide it was dug by cowboys, farmers, and drifters for the pay of 50 cents to a dollar a day. Completed in 1888, the well served the town until 1937. The well, of course, being underground, was not destroyed by the tornado.



We left Greensburg and headed for Dodge City, where I had a game of poker with Sherriff Wyatt Earp. He accused me of cheating, which, of course, I was, but he was a pretty slow draw (see photo) so I was able to get out of Dodge unscathed.



The most amazing thing about Dodge City, and the run from there to the Colorado border, were the feedlots. The photo of the one just outside of Dodge does not really capture it all…acres and acres of cattle standing around eating and defecating, eating and defecating, eating and….well, you get the point. Next time you order beef anywhere besides someplace that can tell you where you meat comes from, think of this picture. (And people are concerned about one dead lion?)



(Side note, before I forget…remember I told you that yesterday we met Wes Jackson? Well, when we told him we were public school teachers he waxed poetic about the virtues of the public school system, and then delivered a statement I intend to steal and use often: “Having to defend the public school system is like having to defend eating.”)



Crossing into Colorado past Granada we came to Amanche, the Japanese American internment camp from WW II: http://www.geospectra.net/kite/amache/amache.htm. You have to watch closely, there is not an official sign, rather a hand-painted marker as if there is a desire to hide this part of American history. Not much remains, but you can see the water tower and wonder about this chapter in our history.



We rolled on to Bent’s Old Fort (another recommendation from Louise) a major trading post on the Arkansas River and a real treat—thanks to our National Park Service! They found the foundation of the fort and rebuilt the place to the specifications found on a blue print a soldier had put together. The great thing about this place is that it was one of the last places where whites, Native Americans, and Mexicans worked together on the western frontier during the 1830s and 40s. Located on what was then the boarder between the US Territories and Mexico, Bent’s was a place known for fair trading with all and an equal place at the table when dinner was served.



This was to be our last stop before moving on to Colorado but never count a road trip over until it ends.



On the west side of Rocky Ford, about a mile out of town, we were all shocked to see a car in front of us suddenly serve to the right, jump the curve, hit a natural gas meter, and roll over coming to a stop on its wheels. Marcia jumped out of the car and ran to help; I was behind her dialing 911 on my phone. I will save the drama, no one was badly hurt, I got the sheriff and volunteer fire department there, Marcia guided traffic, and then we went on. But get this--this was the second time in two days I had called 911! I forgot to put in yesterday’s blog that while we were leaving the Land Institute we saw a young man trying to juggle a big gulp drink and a Vespa drop the Vespa (and, of course the drink) while trying to make a turn. Again, we were first on the scene and I called 911. I have been a big advocate of 911, a wonderfully American thing where we all pay for something that is good for everyone even if we personally never use it. And now, in less than 24 hours, I have used it twice. Uh oh…they say bad things come in threes so you probably don’t want to be driving any where near us tomorrow. (And hey, Jonathan, from the Vespa, if you happen to be reading this, let us know how you are doing.)



All of this excitement raised an appetite and we were driving through Pueblo, Colorado and so that means—MEXICAN FOOD! We stopped at the first good place we saw (OK, we did pass up a Mexican food truck) called Rojas (as in Red for those of you whose Spanish is not yet as good as mine). A wonderful young woman waited on us and when it came to me I told her I had been thinking about Mexican food in Pueblo since we left that morning and anything she brought to me I would be happy with. Indeed I was, a wonderful chili rellojo with the chili still crunchy, a bean buritto with just enough heat in the sauce to make me sweat, and a tamale in red sauce that the waitress said were as good as her mama makes. Oh my.



So now, some 1,634 miles, two 911 calls, several steaks, lots of neat places to visit, and a bit of a sore back, we are in Colorado. It has been a wonderful trip, and I must tell you that my opinion of this part of the country has changed. Driving the blue highways (the ones in blue on the maps) and not the interstates has given me an appreciation for the things people love about their towns, the pride they have in their eccentricities, and the grit they show in hanging on where I don’t think I could.





I will have to take some more of these trips. I missed a lot on this one, including Truckhenge (http://www.lessmanfarm.com/Truckhenge.html), which is still on my list. But when I think back on the past three days I get it now why Dorothy said, “Oh Auntie Em, there’s no place like home.” And that goes for where ever your home may be. (

Photos

Greensburg
The Big Well and new water tower.

Greensburg School
Note the native plants and the windmill power source.

Poker in Dodge
Earp is a very slow draw.

Feed lot
Your dinner being raised.

Bent's Old Fort
Prize to the first reader who emails or messages me with the number of stars on this flag...hint, think 1834.

OMG!
No, I did not eat it all...left overs for lunch!

I was wrong
Kansas is not really all like this.