Around the Rim

By Karl Ivers

A motorcycle tour to the four corners of Kansas.

DAY ONE

“Riding the Rim” of Kansas, was an idea which first came to me, when I purchased a motorcycle in 2000. I figured, to learn to ride well, I needed to put miles on the tires. I took rides on my own of 50 to 150 miles and rode as often as I could with friends. But I really wanted to do a distance ride.

There were some questions I needed to answer when contemplating a distance ride. Could my motorcycle, a 1984 Suzuki GS1100GK hold up mechanically on a long trip. Could my 50 plus year old body hold up on a long trip?

Riding the Rim of Kansas seemed like a good test of both my bike and me. If something happened to one of us on the trip, I would never be more than about five hours away from home. My son, Kevin, could come and fetch us in my pickup.

Things didn’t work out right away for Riding the Rim. Finally, in October of 2004, things came together. The plan was to ride from my home in McPherson, practically the center of the state, to the southern border of Kansas and then circumnavigate the state clockwise in five days. I planned to travel the outer-most “good” two-lane highway beginning at Caldwell and arriving back there in less than a week.

October weather can be tricky but that’s when the vacation time presented itself. So, on a bright Monday morning, after marking down my odometer mileage at 52,912, I headed south for the Kansas/Oklahoma border. About ninety minutes into the ride, and still a distance from my first turn at Caldwell, I begin to see the thundershowers part of the "scattered thundershows" forecast converging over the road I planned to take.

Since I could see the storm moving to the East (or right to left), I knew I could get around and then behind it, by going west, (or left to right.) After consulting the map, I decided to go another 10 miles south, then pickup a cutoff west.

However, it was not to be. About two miles out of Conway Springs, I began to see raindrops appearing on my windshield. Since I had planned to miss the storm, I hadn’t stopped to put on my rain suit. I didn’t want the start of a five-day trip to be one where I was soaking wet, so I did a quick u-turn on the highway and headed back into town, picking up a new alternative route west. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes I was west of the storm and blue sky was peeking through the clouds.

Traveling along this cutoff, sort of a county road short cut, I suddenly saw out of the corner of my eye, a small, weather-beaten sign , which eventually registered in my brain as “Pavement Ends.” A moment later, it did…end that is. I shot off the end of the asphalt, and onto a gravel and sand road at cruising speed; approximately the posted speed limit. I offered a short prayer to the heavens as I simultaneously flipped off my throttle lock with my right thumb and began to slowly decelerate, careful not to touch either the hand brake or my rear brake, knowing that would spell disaster.

If you are a biker, you know the dangers of gravel and sand to a two-wheeler. Sand causes your front wheel to turn easily and it is difficult to maintain steering control.

I finally managed to get the bike down to about 35 miles per hour and under control. I kept a steady pace, as my pulse returned to normal, and finally noticed that this gravel road had at one time been blacktop. Perhaps due to Kansas road maintenance budget cuts, it had been allowed to revert back to an unmaintained roadbed. Possibly, because of it’s history, it was firm and that helped me to maintain control. Within a mile, as abruptly as it had ended, the asphalt began again, and I continued down the road.

There aren’t as many good roads going east and west in southwest Kansas, as in other parts of the state, so I had some trouble getting south to the route I had planned to take. I worked my way over and down to Argonia and then headed west toward Medicine Lodge, where I stopped for lunch.

Medicine Lodge was the sight of a Treaty which the United States of America signed with the Kiowa, Comanche, Kiowa-Apache, Cheyenne, and Arapaho at Medicine Lodge, Kansas in 1867. The treaty was signed to make peace between the Indians and the whites as the whites moved into Indian lands and took them over. I know this because I stopped to read the historical marker on my way into town. I decided I would stop and read markers as I traveled along to find out more about the places I was visiting. I never stop to read markers when traveling by car.

Following a tasty burger at the local burger barn, I spent some time plotting a new route on my map. It indicated the Gypsum Hills Scenic Drive, heading south, which would take me back to my southern route across the state.

As soon as I turned south on this drive, I stopped. It was beautiful. Before me as I continued were small canyons and bluffs, sculpted by the erosive forces of wind and rain. It looked like something you might see in the Badlands or Black Hills of South Dakota, not something tucked away in the rolling plains of southwest Kansas. I stopped and took a few snaps on the camera and then continued south, awestruck by the beauty. Eventually the scenic part smoothed out into the beautiful, typical rolling hills of Kansas.

I was cruising along at approximately the posted speed limit, enjoying the sights, waving at the utility guys and just soaking up the beauty, when it happened again. I barely noticed the small, weather-beaten sign, I’m sure said “Pavement Ends.” In the next moment I was launched of the end of the pavement onto the red, iron-rich earth, sand and stone roadbed. This time, I wasn’t so lucky. The sand was much deeper and there were large stones on the roadbed. I flipped off my throttle lock and decellerated but the front tire began to shake violently. In that moment I thought, “This is it. I’m going over. I’ll find out if this expensive armored riding coat I purchased was worth it.” But at the last second, I finally got the front wheel under control and rolled to a stop. I turned off the key and sat there, waiting for my heart to catch up to me.

When I finally got it all back together, I made a study of my map. Nowhere on the detail did it indicate the pavement would end. I was using photocopies of my Kansas atlas. I’d copied 35 sections, each about 30 to 50 miles long or wide for my trip. The map has detail down to the sand driveways of rural homes. It should have information like this. Someone really deserves a phone call about it. Oh, well.

My original route across the southern part of the state was not too far off and it was marked with the same kind of line on my map as the road I was on. What if that road wasn’t paved either? There weren’t any towns along that road, only some of the most inviting “twistys” on the map. I finally decided I couldn’t risk having to travel about 30 miles of loose, sandy road. Beside, twistys aren’t very exciting at 35 miles an hour.

So I reversed direction and headed north, thinking, at least I would get to see the scenic Gypsum Hills a second time.

Later, heading west, I saw another sign for an upcoming historical marker. I saw the signs from a ways off so I pulled over and along the turnoff and up to the signs. I was parked on a slight hill. After stopping, I realized these signs were not the historical marker but a marker for a wildlife area. The historical marker was further on, about 300 yards. As I slid my bike slowly backward and then turned to the left, down the incline, the bike tipped just passed the balance point. There was no way to hold the weight up, straddling the bike on a slope. It slowly went over.

I ran around and grabbed the side of the bike and heaved. I felt something strain in my back. I heaved again. Finally I realized my gear weighed too much. It was not only heavy but raised the center of gravity on the bike by 8 to 10 inches. I had to get the gear off to raise the bike. I released the bungee cords and pulled my gear off and heaved again on the bike. Slowly it stood upright and I put the kickstand down. I reassembled my gear on the bike and continued on to the real historical marker.

I continued working my way west, planning to stop and camp, for the night, at a state park between Meade and Liberal.

I had estimated the distances of my journey, Riding the Rim, to be about 1400 miles total. Kansas is approximately 400 miles wide and 200 miles tall. Add 200 miles for wandering around towns looking for the Wendy’s and that makes 1400 miles. (The total mileage was 1468 by the time I was done.) I guestimated where I would stop each night, and looked for camping signs on my map. I arrived at the first night’s park in mid afternoon and decided to continue on.

I traveled through Liberal and began watching for the cutoff that would take me straight west to Elkhart. By a mile past town, I knew I had missed the road and stopped at a truck stop to inquire about directions. A trucker there, scratching off his lottery ticket, told me the road I wanted was the back way but it was, in fact, paved all the way through. He explained to me how to get onto the unmarked road.

I went back outside to my bike and noticed a zippered pouch on my duffle bag was open. I zipped it shut and stood in stunned amazement as this small action caused my bike to lean away from me and then tip over…again. It’s really kind of amazing. I never get to see my bike from this angle; tires sticking up in the air like the feet of a dead animal on the side of the road.

It’s my first day of a week-long trip and I’ve dropped this sucker twice. It’s going to be a long week. I think I need some more aspirin for my back.

Let me explain that my bike weighs about 650 pounds dry and with fuel and about 75 pounds of stuff, piled high, it is both heavy and very high centered. I must have been parked on a slight incline in the pavement in the parking lot and that zipper action was enough to tip the balance. I tried to hold the bike up but it was tipping away from me and weighed over 700 pounds!

By this time I knew the drill. I ran around to the other side, and began to quickly undo the bungee cords that secured my gear. Over my shoulder I heard someone yell, “Do you need some help?” “Sure!” I yelled, straining to lift the bike. With the gear off and two of us, it came back up and I slipped around and put the kickstand down.

My he-man was a friendly trucker with a big smile on his face. He was a motorcycle owner too, because he said, “I did that once but it was even more embarrassing.” Until that moment I wasn’t embarrassed, just chagrinned. Now I was embarrassed. He continued, “I have a Goldwing.” I mentally added 200 pounds to the total weight of his bike over mine. He said he pulled up to a stoplight and forgot to put his feet down to balance the bike. He said, “It balanced perfectly there for a moment, and then down it went.”

He laughed and I laughed and we traded a few more comments as I explained to him my trip around Kansas.

Eventually I found the right road west and pulled into Elkhart, my second turn and first corner. I stopped to take a picture of the city limit sign, with my bike in the background. Then I fueled up and went in search of a good restaurant for supper.

Finding a likely eatery, I parked my bike near a window and then went in and took a seat where I could look out and see the bike. This gives me peace of mind, incase it decides to take tumble while I’m not around and also saves me the effort of locking things up, like my phone and my MP3 player while I’m eating a meal.

Yes, it’s true. While cruising the boulevards of our beloved state, I have the tunes cranked up in my helmet speakers. My trusty iPod always travels with me on the Gray Ghost. (Did I mention my Suzuki is two tones of gray?) I have enough tunes on the ‘Pod to go the whole week without repeats. If only the battery would last that long. My favorite tunes are Gospel Bluegrass, by groups like the Issacs. My next favorites are Gospel and then Bluegrass. Throw in a little big-band, Dixie Chicks and Debussy and I’m a happy motorcyclist.

Back to supper. It was a mom and pop place sparsely populated with local characters, straight out of the Andy Griffith Show. Two old guys were in one corner, having the soup-of-the-day and the waitress’s kids were playing in the floor. I ordered a club steak and when the waitress yelled my order back to the cook, he yelled back that it was the last one, “so don’t sell anymore!”

A little later another guy came in and ordered the catfish fillet. When she yelled that order back the cook responded with a noise that sounded like “yick!” My steak was good but I felt pity for the catfish guy.

The top of my bike was visible in the window to my right and I heard the cook ask the waitress, in a loud voice, “Is that a motorcycle?” The cook suddenly appeared at my table, and with a big smile on his face, asked, “How is the steak sir?” He was a kid, in his mid twenties. I smiled and replied that it was very good. I also notice that none of the fourwheeled customers got the same kind of personal treatment from the “chef” that I received.

As I was leaving, I asked the waitress if she knew anything about the Cimmaron National Grassland park, north of town. The catfish guy was checking out and he said it’s a nice spot to camp with running water. It was a nice spot to stop and I was the only one there. The main problem was that it was less than 100 yards off the highway. The water had been turned off for the season, but I expected that and had water with me. The pit toilets were very clean and I picked a nice flat campsite.

It takes me about an hour to unpack the bike, unpack the tent and assemble it and to inflate my air mattress. I was all settled in for the night before dark. I lit my candle and got out my Bible. I read a chapter in Mark and found an answer to a question we had in Sunday School last week. Since I’m the teacher, it was comforting to find the answer. I then read a chapter or two in my library book. This was kind of “Abe Lincoln” style reading by candlelight.

I’d put in 396 miles the first day. I was pretty tired so I blew out the flame and settled into the sleeping bag about 9 pm.

It first happened about 10:00 pm. All of a sudden, there was a howl and yipping sound. Then more coyotes joined in, howling and yipping back and forth. There must have been a dozen or more. Some were very far away, almost out of earshot. Others were close, perhaps 100 yards or less from my tent.

The first time they “communicated” with each other it was kind of cool. Then in the quiet that followed, I began to think about this. I’m 8 miles out of town, in the dark and no one really knows I’m here because my cell phone doesn’t get a signal out in the middle of nowhere and I’m down in this depression of a park between two large hills.

ALSO! I’m sleeping on top of the sheep skin which I purchased to use as a cushion on my motorcycle. I don’t know how it was cured but I hope the dead sheep smell isn’t too strong to a hungry coyote. My wimply nylon tent won’t stop those ferocious teeth looking for a dead sheep to devour.

Well, those coyotes called back and forth at least once an hour most of the night. It was both scary and thrilling to be so close to nature.

I didn’t sleep too soundly, with the coyotes on the local partyline and big rigs whizzing by every so often. Have you tried turning from side to side in a mummy sleeping bag lately. It takes a real knack, which I learned sometime around 3:00 am.

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