And so, I left the hotel around 10am and got into the car. As I walked towards the desk, another one of the hotel's staff was charging the desk and addressed the clerk by name. They started talking, and they only broke of the conversation as I approached the desk. Finally, the clerk offered to help me.
You know, it's their work. They'll be there all day. Me, I've got to get going. Why wouldn't they automatically bend over to help me and get me out of there more quickly, without putting their own business ahead of mine? Good service just isn't anywhere to be found in America anymore.
So, I got out of there. I buzzed around on some local roads towards the west end of the town, and then onto KS-10 towards Lawrence. The road I was on led past The University of Kansas, and then towards the toll part of I-70.
The ride to Topeka, the next town to the west, was nothing. I paid the toll and got onto the free part of I-70 and headed West. The weather was just a little odd; there were billowing clouds, followed by massive gaps of open air that let the sun down. The temperature was still quite comfortable, though. Around seventy-five degrees and nothing like where I was in Mississippi just two days ago.
I played with the radio and tried to listen to the local channels. There was mostly country, but I scored a couple of rock and roll stations and a really odd station from the university.
As I buzzed to the west, towards Salina, the weather seemed to get a little worse. The clearings were gone, and the clouds seemed thicker and more consistent. There was only a passing sprinkle of rain or two, but the skies to the west looked even worse.
Just outside of Salina, I stopped to get something to eat. I pushed back yet another hamburger while I read another one of the ESPN magazines I had brought with me. ESPN is great; they're always consistently funny and just the same accurate and professional. It's fun to have these little rituals on the road. They relax me for the time I'm gone and keep me far away from the reactionary, hell-bent life I normally lead.
Traffic thinned out substantially when I left Salina. There were a few cars for a couple of the exits, but then there was nobody. I decided to get onto the gas. What the heck: it's what my car is for. If I got a ticket, I'd just call around for a lawyer and fight it. I wound the car up to 90, and then 100 miles an hour. The flat countryside was scrolling by and the dotted stripe was licking by like it was going downhill.
What a place to be, out here with nothing happening. Then, the rain hit.
It was absolutely pouring. I could barely have the wipers keep up, and the spray from trucks was unbearable. Just like on the way out of Arkansas. But the traffic was worse. I was being followed by a couple of punks in an older Acura, and a guy and his wife in a Mercedes Benz 190E. They were riding my wake, and letting me push the cops out of the way. Now that it was raining, they were caught behind me and unsure of how to drive by themselves again.
The rain seemed unrelenting, and then it ended. We were coming up on Hays when the skies finally cleared. I could see brigh sky off to the west, just a little north, exactly where I was heading. But things didn't seem right. Sure enough, I found a country station where they interrupted the news more than they played songs. There were tornados in Logan county, about thirty miles south of the highway.
Wow! I'd have to drive right towards them. If they kept cutting southeast, like they were doing and like they were predicted to continue doing, I'd be fine. But there's nowhere out here to hide. There's not many overpasses, and there's no cities with buildings to crawl under. There's no hotels, and there's few people who look like they'd be hospitibale to an edgy out of towner who didn't know how to ride a horse.
The weather got better, and I even put my sunglasses back on. But as I accelerated away, I was still towing the two dopes in the Lexus. It's really annoying to be shadowed so closely. Most of the people who I take as rabbits seem oblivious to me—the moment they notice me back there, I let 'em run.
These twits, on the other hand, were trailing me and acting as if we were racing. I was beginning to get low on gas, and I thought I'd have to pull off and talk to them as I filled-up. In the meantime, I did what I could to drop 'em. I busted along at 120 miles an hour for a few miuntes, and then edged down to 75 or eighty. They'd catch up after a while, and just keep hanging back there.
Well, the finally bailed somewhere around Grainfield. What a name: Grainfield, Kansas. They should name the damned state Grainfield. Why isn't it the capital?
I still had about 80 miles worth of gas, according to the computer, so I punched on towards a bigger town. I bailed out near Oakley and bought some postcards at a tourist trap place and filled up there, too. What a relief to be alone again, on the highway.
The border was only fifty-some more miles, so I got on the road again. Right at the state line, there was a welcome center and I stopped there to take a leak. My stomach was a little upset, so I hung around a while and got some water. They had a well-staffed place with a ton of brochures about the different things on Colorado, so I swiped some brochures about Denver and Fort Collins. I figured they would cover the areas where I was most likely to stop.
I was getting tired again, and I was worried about making mistakes. Denver was about 180 more miles from the state line, and three more hours of driving would put me in there around 530pm. Smack dab in rush hour! I peeked at the Denver city map in my atlas as the navigation system initialized itself. I picked Northglenn, a suburb on the north side of the city. I could get a room and then be mostly on my way—going the other way of traffic —when I got going.
As I approached Denver, traffic got more and more congested with each mile. It was fine, though; nothing really bad. On the west coast, traffic jams are never anything like on the east. On the east coast, people follow eachother bumper-to-bumper at 75 miles an hour. Here, they were spaced out evenly and at least trying to drive courteously.
Along the way, I recognized the roads I took last year on my trip past Denver, going the other way. This time, I picked up I-270 and cut north of the downtown area. I had to pull a couple of funky merges, but the navigation system got me right to the hotel. And there it was: Applebee's was right in the same parking lot as the hotel. I checked in and unpacked and talked with Liz.
Then, I went to the bar.
I was tired of all the crap I hit in the last couple of towns, and I was tired of fighting myself about letting go, too. I was on a mission. I pulled into the bar and started drinking.
There were some wierd Mexican guys to my right, but they left quickly enough. Then, some college students came in and were all bubbly because they were off to see a movie all together. They were really a motley bunch: a couple of grease monkey types, a couple of preppy kids. One of the preppy kids had this really annoying laugh. But they seemed like good folks. And then there were a couple of punkish chicks who seemed pretty smart and really kind. They got a table in the bar on the other side.
In the meantime, Jeff (the bartender) was really nice. I quit drinking beer and upgraded to Crown and Coke. That's just swell stuff, and it really does the job.
Then, this woman came in and talked about her husband doing supers stock racing at one of the local tracks. She was a little trashy, but sure upity about her husband's racing. I mentioned that I was thinking about taking my competition course, and considering going all the way for an SCCA license. She gave me a really flippant answer, and then her takeout order was ready and she was gone.
A truck driver appeared, and we started talking about life on the road. I like professional drivers: they're professional. They rarely make mistakes, and they really know what they're doing. It's rewarding to help them change lanes or follow them through traffic. We chatted a bunch and then he had to go to bed.
Before I knew it, it was last call. Everyone had to go. I got a double, and started talking to these guys who were sitting around behind me. I was going to ask them where to go to finish drinking, but we ended up chatting about work and cars and the city of Denver.
It was really swell. They were the friendliest folks I met so far, and we had a good conversation. I figured I'd just sit and talk and not take the risks of driving across town just to have a few more drinks. They wanted to see the car, so we went out into the parking lot and talked about it for a while.
Then, the trucker came out and showed us his tractor. It was pretty amazing: leather, on the interior and a wood trim dash. Everything was air operated, and he explained how the tanks worked. It was a new rig, his boss just leased 'em all. The thing was just amazing; the suspension was adjustable, and the fifth wheel could slide back and forth to change the wheelbase and offset of the truck.
The tour went on for a while, and then we decided to call it quits. It was already two thirty or so in the morning, and I was quite surprised that nobody staying on that side of the hotel shooed us away or called the cops or the front desk to complain.
But, that was that: I was mostly liquored, and I met some nice folks. That's really all I had wanted.