Day Six Thursday, July 10 Camdenton, MO to Dodge City, KS 460 miles. [Stops: Fort Scott, KS--Fort Scott National Historic Site; Chanute, KS; Wichita, KS; Kinsman, KS; Pratt, KS.]

After the contretemps in Illinois on Wednesday, Brandon helped me strip off the rear bodywork and give the subframe a real inspection. It appeared bent, but otherwise fine. So, I guess the trip could continue with a few light repairs. We spent the morning re-assembling the Givi rack with spare parts from his rack, fixing the tail-light assembly, and the ScottOiler to make sure it was working and I was good to go. Fresh rubber too makes the bike a pleasure to ride.

Reluctantly, I said goodbye to Brandon and Richard Dort, who had stopped by on his way from San Diego to Maine. Time to start heading west again. By this time it was mid-afternoon and I surely wasn't going to make it to Colorado today to meet up with Deward Knapp.

I stopped briefly in Fort Scott, Kansas at the Fort Scott National Historic site to get my stamp National Parks stamp for the state of Kansas. As usual, I was hitting the place at 5PM, the witching hour for most National Park Service properties. Luckily, the volunteer stamped my passport with a minimum of fuss. I had intended to follow US 54 across Kansas and coming into town there had been a sign detouring 54 down to the south. Dutifully, I followed the sign, but there were no more signs for "detour US 54 West." Great. OK, time for some seat of the pants navigation. Figuring any route was as good as any other, a long as it headed west, I picked up Kansas route 39. Quite a change as you head west as the density of settlement thins out and the towns get farther and farther apart. I stopped in Chanute for gas, a little concerned that I was running on fumes. The tank needed 5.4 gallons. I had cut that a little close for comfort.

Hammering west once again, I faced down one of the motorcyclist's primary annoyances: live insects inside the helmet. Not a bee or other stinging one, thank goodness, but no less bothersome. I stop, whip off the helmet and try to make sure the offending critters have departed. A guy on a 'Wing stops to make sure I'm OK. "Just bugs," I say. He nods and heads off.

It's Wichita for din-din and then a couple of stops, for gas and to clean off bugs. They grew 'em big and in huge quantities out here. At the gas stop, I notice the hot exhaust is beginning to melt the right side Givi bag. All this due to a mis-alignment of the Micron can due to the crash. I spot a crushed Coke can at the gas station. Hmmm. Shoved in between the rack and the bag it makes an instant heat shield.

Back to humming along the highway. It's well after dark now, the XM radio is blaring away and I'm running at a good clip in light traffic. Interesting thought, the music is coming from a studio in Washington, DC, bounced off a satellite and received in the middle of the prairies. When I can't stand looking through the haze of bug juice any longer, I stop and clean it off.

On towards 11, I start to hit the wall. I've been on the bike for 8 hours. Not a long day, but add to that the morning spent working on the bike. It's also the nearing the tipping point where it makes sense to ride through the night with a short cat-nap break on a park bench. By the time I get to Dodge City, though, I think it's time for a real bed. So, I pull into the Best Western on Wyatt Earp Blvd. and call it a night. Dodge City is one of the big centers of the American beef industry. The city is ringed with feed lots on its eastern edge. Thoughtfully, the motels are arrayed on the west side, upwind from the olfactory offenders. The Best Western does get a good whiff of the tacqueria next door, though.

The room is sweltering, so I look to the thermostat. It's turned down to 50 degrees, but there's no cold air coming out. A call to the front desk ensues. Paul: "Hello. This is Mr. Wilson in 718, perhaps I'm extremely daft, but how do you turn on the AC?" He: "You turn it up." Tired biker with patience reservoir on empty: "But, it is turned up, set at about 50. There's no cold air coming out." He: "You turn it up, to about 90. That should work." Me (skeptical in the extreme): "OK." Turn it up to 90, AC comes on. Hmmm, a thermostat you set to the temperature you *don't* want. Makes sense to me. Not. I flip on the Weather Channel. Oh boy, a cooker tomorrow. Forecasted highs well over 100 all across the areas I'm headed to. And so, a shower and then, to sleep with visions of mountains in my head.

Continue on to Part Three