623 Miles
I woke up refreshed. Having ended the previous day early, I knew I had many a mile to recover, so I packed quickly, checked fluids, loaded the motorcycle, and launched again east. The storm had passed over and the sky was solid blue all along the lanky Kansas horizon.
With a resolution to stay dry I walked into the Wal-Mart in Hays, Kansas, looking to buy a pvc rain suit. I was late to the dance; there was only one left and it wasn’t my size, I happened to see a Goodwill store on the way to the interstate, but unfortunately there was nothing sufficient to be found among their racks. Back on the road and determined to make time, I rode the motorcycle hard and only stopped when the gas tank was dry. I saw three states on Day 6:
Kansas: the only state kind enough to recognize me for my nimble driving. The officer patrolling between Topeka and Kansas City was surprised that I would try to make this kind of trip in October. I would have thought he might have been a little more understanding about my haste. I hope Kansas did something constructive with my financial contribution to their justice system.
Missouri: looked a lot like Kansas until I drove into St. Louis just after sunset. Downtown was stunning, and I was mesmerized by the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. So much so, that when Interstate 70 abruptly ended in a tangled-spaghetti explosion of smaller freeways, I had no idea where to go.
Illinois: I was in Illinois? According to Google Maps, I spent the evening in Mt. Vernon, Illinois. By the time I reached Illinois, the sky was black, and my countenance coordinated. I had cast my eye toward Nashville despite my complaining fundament. But when I saw that sign for the Cracker Barrel Country Store at exit 7b, I caved like a house of cards.
I limped into the restaurant and was shown a seat. I ordered food and then noticed that the other patrons were staring at me. When I went to find the restroom, a look in the mirror revealed the reason I had earned the attention: oil and dirt on my face, messed up hair; I looked like I had been run over. I just didn’t care; I tore through the chicken fried steak and cleaned the plate. There was not a crumb of food left on my table. There was a Motel 6 just down the road from the restaurant, but that quarter of a mile might have been the most difficult to ride. I quickly covered the motorcycle, walked in my room, fell directly on the bed and lay dead still asleep all night. I woke up the next morning in my clothes with my boots still on. It was an awesome day!
