How much fun can one man have by himself? Don't answer that, Gina
I took off from work early today for a ride in the country and to go to an old-timey music jam about a hundred miles away. Cottonwood Falls is a quiet little town in the Flint Hills of central Kansas, home of some of the best riding in the Midwest. A little roadhouse sponsors live acoustic music on Friday evenings during the summer; one week is bluegrass, the next is old-time rock and roll, and this week was old-timey and cowboy music.
Today was a hot one; literally 103 in the shade, but it was perfect for an evening ride.
The cafe had catfish and chicken fried steak specials- real roadhouse food! The waitress recommended the catfish, and I was glad she did. A Mason jar of iced tea washed it all down. But the best part was the dessert special-
blackberry pie with ice cream!
The music was lots of fun; local musicians and cowboy poets, with fiddle, guitar, banjo, string bass, harmonicas and washboard. Real toe-tapping, sing-along stuff. I was surprised by how many songs I knew, but I wasn't surprised by my awful singing voice.
I left just before sunset and rode north, listening to Allison Krauss. The setting sun turned the sky a dusty red, and the red sky silhouetted ranch gates, old schools and churches.
I turned onto Kansas Highway 57 and took the twisties. Kansas is not flat, no matter what you may have heard, and a hundred years ago those roads were built around hills instead of through them. I rode a steady 60 mph through the curves, slowing down only once, when I saw a big buck crossing the road right after sunset. He went his way, and I went mine.
And what made this ride the best ever?
Bacon, of course!
Sorry, no boobiez
or beer
today.
Riding north tomorrow, about 8 hours in the saddle.
