Day 27, Iola to Cassady, 87 miles

On my way to get ice from the machine for our water bottles (a game we play each day; the water is bath-temperature within an hour)-I was pleasantly surprised to find coffee and 'Honey buns' on offer in the Cross-Roads Motel lobby. So we caffeine-carbo loaded in our room before hitting the highway by 9am. Back on the highway, but little traffic to write home about. This really is big-sky country; the horizon in all directions like a spirit-level, beneath puffy clouds. So far so good. Then we were shocked to reach some highway climbs - quite a few of them, being the Flint Hills Region. Nothing we can't handle, after the rolling hills of MIssouri... The 100+ degrees heat is another story. I won't dwell on it, as we knew what we were getting ourselves into before we set out on this trip. However the draught here is brutal; all of the corn fields look post-apocolyptic; like they have been hung up to dry. We've crossed bridges over cracked-earth river beds and skipped over rifts in the tarmac. Tough riding but our hearts really go out to the farmers of the region.

As instructed by a local we met while buying bananas, we stopped by the 'Lizard Lips' cafe to sign their trans-am cyclist register. We made ourselves gulp down some revolting V8-juice (ok, Matt likes it)-in penance for the sugar-loaded breakfast. A few miles down the road, we hit some serious road-works. After what seemed an age in the midday sun, we were finally signalled to follow the many accumulated trucks. We rode on in the on-coming lane, while a series of trucks sprayed pungent tar to our right. Coupled with the heat, I was ready to spray myself (crass but true.)

We stopped in the town of Yates Centre for some air and lunch, which conspired to fuel us onwards. While I idly cycle, I've tried to compose a list of Truths which relate to our ride but also to life in general. One such is that just when you're over it, and everything feels like hard work; a small thing can change and lift your mood. In this case, the proverbial silver-lining was not so figurative. The sun was masked by the puffy clouds, and our route took us off the highway onto a long secluded by-way. The road was all ours and as we passed by the bracken by the road, we upset tiny birds that then flew above our heads. We also passed herds of introduced (wild) horses, which we presume are natural praire grazers used to manage the grasslands. A shopkeeper informed us that the farmers are paid subsudies for each horse.   I had Queens of the Stonage on my headphones, and the hard afternoon was forgotten. Unfortinately Matt had the theme from "Rawhide" stuck in his head which needs no explanation.

As such, we sedately rolled into the town of Cassady. Several signs boast Cassady to be the 'Prairie Chicken Capital of the World!' The Trans-Am map assures us that camping is permitted in the local park, so we picnicked and finally lay out our sleeping mats in the parks' bandstand. Mozzies were minimal but the freqeunt freight-trains made for adventurous sleeping!