Have you ever wondered why Dorothy wanted to escape Kansas? Why she sang “Over the Rainbow” in the first place? After driving through the beautiful Flint Hills region of Kansas, I had my doubts. “Dorothy,” I thought, “you just didn’t get your state, did you?”
Boy was I wrong!
Dorothy, I apologize. I misspoke. From Wichita, I headed west toward my main destination for this road trip (Albuquerque, NM). This took me down US-54, an older relic of a highway that apparently runs all the way from Chicago to El Paso. It is similar to the infamous Route 66, but without the necessary kitsch and cool to make it interesting. A diagonal route from the heartland to the southwest, this road had its heyday in the 50‘s and 60‘s. By 2010, it was a mere memory--a ghost of its former glory with many boarded-up storefronts, gas stations, hotels, and the like.
Of course, the towns along US-54 weren’t all dead. Some of them, like Greensburg, KS, really tried to attract visitors with signs all along the highway. I actually was quite excited to pass through Greensburg--for miles and miles I saw signs advertising “The Big Well.” Have you ever driven through South Dakota and seen all the signs for Wall Drug? This was something like that, but perhaps on a slightly more homegrown scale. Admittedly, I was actually quite disappointed back, when I DID visit Wall Drug in South Dakota. Not being a coffee drinker, the 5¢ coffee held no appeal. (There may have been some tourist shopping interest there, but I was about 15 when my family passed through South Dakota, and I was rather less than enthralled. I will admit that Wall Drug was significantly more appealing than the Corn Palace . . .) Soooooooo . . . back to Greensburg, “Home of the Big Well!” Having read all the signs revving me up for “The Big Well,” I admit my anticipation of “The Big Well” was great. After so much flat, bare space on US-54, I had high hopes for Greensburg. I pulled off the road into the tiny little town, and I stared at . . . a hole in the ground.
So much for “The Big Well!”
(By comparison, Wall Drug is starting to look pretty amazing in my mind’s eye!)
The journey through Kansas seemed particularly grueling. I frequently got sleepy, which meant I had to find places to pull off the road and bum around for 10 minutes--wandering in a gas station and trolling up and down the aisles feigning in interest in beef jerky just to wake my body up, or walking laps around my car in a parking lot. I started to wonder if I had been pulled into some sort of time warp where I was constantly looped, destined to see that same flat expanse of land on my right AND my left over and over and over and over . . .
But lo! I finally emerged into Liberal, KS, at the edge of the state, which I learned is the home of “National Pancake Day.” I decided to stop for a lunch break at this point in my travels, but didn’t feel like exploring the city for the perfect pancake. (Some excitement MUST be left for future journeys after all . . .) I settled for a salad instead. As I munched and crunched on lettuce and various other vegetables, I considered Liberal, KS. This was by far the largest city I’d encountered on US-54. It was an interesting mix of the old, with many buildings showing the marks of the 50’s and 60’s architecture (according my inexpert opinion), but also experiencing quite a bit of rebirth and rebuilding with new structures going up everywhere around those original buildings as if to blight out the old, shouting at the world, “Liberal Kansas is here!” I was sad that, in the rebuilding and expansion of this city, that there were not MORE dedications to the pancake. With all the city’s claim to “National Pancake Day,” I half-expected a building shaped like a pancake, or at least to see ONE dancing pancake on the side of a building on the main tourist road. Alas, the people of Liberal have not seen fit to add this yet, but I have hope . . .
After Kansas, I crossed into Oklahoma, a state so unconfident that it barely stated its own presence. Feeling sorry for Oklahoma and its sad, tiny little state sign, I greeted the state with a rousing chorus of the title song from Oklahoma! the musical. "You're doin' fine Oklahoma! Oklahoma, O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A, Oklahooooooooooooooooooma!" (The great thing about traveling alone with only a stuffed llama for company is that nobody looks at you like you're crazy for doing these things, and, in fact, the stuffed llama does a little jig along with the song.) Northern Oklahoma was much like Kansas, but even sadder. There were entire towns that consisted almost entirely of sad, rusted, broken trailers that were leaning. This small, northwestern corner of Oklahoma seemed to give up almost entirely on trying to bring in the business from US-54; they didn't even make feeble attempts at tourist attractions like "The Big Well" or "National Pancake Day."
From Oklahoma, I crossed briefly into the Texas panhandle. Texas, of course, took it's duty to announce its statehood quite seriously and proclaimed it loudly on a big, but decidedly tasteful sign. This western corner of Texas was so different from the urban and suburban parts of Texas with which I am acquainted (mostly the Houston and Dallas areas) that I actually forgot I was in Texas until I stopped in a gas station and heard the clerks talking.
Finally, I crossed into New Mexico. As Tumcumcari arose in the distance, signaling the end of my journey down US-54, I saw mountains rise, felt the car elevate, and got kind of excited. Although it was another two plus hours down I-70 to reach my destination, it didn't feel that long. The topography was different, interesting, unlike anything I'd seen before. Sure, I'd seen pictures before, but there is nothing quite like breathing in the scenery in person. I had never before wished so much that I could just be a Garfield cat, clutching at the windows with suction cups on my hands, peering at everything in every direction. As I drove into Albuquerque, the mountains grew higher, and I was cursing the lateness of the hour. (Actually, I was cursing Kansas for making me so sleepy that I had to extend my journey by taking excess stops. I wondered if the Wicked Witch of the West had perhaps snuck a field of poppies into Kansas, but then I remembered how bland western Kansas had appeared, and realized that a field of bold, red poppies would have been a welcome and delightful sight amidst all the flat, empty space.)
After two days of driving, I finally arrived at a resting point for a few days. Over the next three days, I would have plenty of opportunity to see those mountains (and others) from a better vantage. My time in Albuquerque would be full of mountains, hiking, sunshine, "monsoons," no pie, and babies, babies, and babies . . .
