It starts with Kanza

Kanza, what can you say? It's weird to start off an Appalachian blog with a post about Kansas, but that's where it starts...so here goes...Kanza.

They said Kanza would be an experience that you wouldn't forget, something that would change you, something unlike like what you've done before...Did it live up to its hype? Yes.

Waiting for the sun to rise.

Kanza was an experience  that I was very happy to be part of. It's an interesting event, partially due to its length, partially due to it wide open expanse, partially to the heat, wind, & dust and partially due to its endless rollers that disappear into the horizon.

10 miles from the start, before the true Flint Hills

The scenery in the Flint Hills was amazing. Endless, I mean endless rolling, green, grassy hills. The most azure blue sky you will ever see...clouds that just pop out at you. The dirt roads. oh the dirt roads.  Whether they rolled over the hills like a ribbon until they disappeared into the horizon, or whether they wound up and around the panorama in front of you, you had no surprises in where you were headed...you were out there, really out there. This was Kansas, but not the Kansas anyone knows.

Early morning

It's weird how this race plays out. The first 50 or so miles everyone is riding fast, trying to get a good position, deciding of if they are going to be a contender for a top spot, or if they are just racing for a good finish time (and Racing the Sun), or just trying to finish. Its a fun time, riding with big packs, bombing down sketchy roads trying not to hit anything too hard, trying to hide from the wind -and not to burn too much energy. This is very different from how the last 50 or so miles is described. It kinda eerie. Riders riding in small groups of two or three, riding in silence. Each rider dealing with the pain and fatigue in their own way.  There's nothing really to say, everyone is feeling the same thing...sore back and neck, tired legs, tired of sitting on the most comfy seat you own and tired of holding on that vibrating handle bar. You understand each other without any words needing to be said.  You become two or three riders riding as one.  It doesn't matter who of your groups finishes first, or if you catch that guy you see a mile up the road.  In silence, everyone is in agreement, you ride as one to finish the race. A bond definitely forms.  If one of my group fades, we slow to wait, I someone needs to stop for a second, we all stop. Some would call this section the Death March. I'm not so sure... yes, we were in survival mode, but it wasn't a ride to death, I was a ride to completion.

The experiences. Being on the bike for 12 hours, you just have them. Having a cow stampede cross our path, with a break in the cows just big enough and timed exactly for our group to pass through is something I'll never forget...not sure how that happened, but wow it was rad. The crop duster that made a hard 90 degree turn a 100 feet above the road, then flew right along the road giving me the thumbs-up...talk about a boost to the moral.  Rolling into the small towns, with the local kids giving you five...yes!  And then there's the finish, quite an amazing finish. the long shoot, with hundreds of people on either side out you shouting, ring bells and giving you five. It's a fine way to finish the day.  My mind is kinda foggy during those last few blocks of the race, but I remember the cheering, I remember the announcer saying my name and mentioning Tennessee, and I remember shaking Jim Cummins hand (the race director) right after crossing the line...I looked him in the eye and said "That was hard." I just got a little smile and a chuckle back.

 It was hard, and it was great

The finish