Its All About The Journey

20 THE KANSAS WETLANDS

I

f you are a biker, and you live in Kansas, you know that if you wait for a warm (not hot) summer day with no wind to ride your motorcycle, you may just become a candidate for “the low mileage award.”

Some people who are not familiar with Kansas winds actually think that the trees grow at a 45 degree angle in this state. We however, are convinced that our toddlers learn to walk at this same angle. In the last several years, most towns have enacted leash laws for their dogs to be out in public. I’m thinking it may be a good idea for small children too, so if they blow away, we can retrieve them. (Some parents may not like that idea, for one reason or another.)

Anyway, it was a typical Kansas day when several bikes gathered in central Wichita. Ruth had planned the day ride to the Kansas Wetlands. After a short pre-ride safety talk, she climbed into the side car driven by her husband, Marty. Everyone had filled their gas tanks and water bottles, and was ready to roll.

Imagine riding a thousand pound bike in a cross wind for two hours.

Perhaps it saves wear and tear on the tires, as only one side comes in contact with the pavement. I wonder if Kansas bikers have longer necks from the wind trying to pull the helmets off their heads. Perhaps we need to give gift cards for chiropractors as door prizes at the rallies!

After missing our turn, pulling onto the shoulder and making a U-turn, we find the road leading to the wetlands. It’s a sand road, but 83

ITS ALL ABOUT THE Journey Ruth assures us that it is only a little way before we turn into the visitor’s center. “A little way” turns into a mile, which doesn’t sound too bad, except that the sand was approximately six to eight inches deep.

“Fish tail” doesn’t quite describe how the two wheelers rode. I not only took the whole road, I was sliding sideways on one side, before flipping to the other side to do the same. I yelled into the CB for Marty to speed up to keep me from running over him, as I knew that speed would help stiffen the front end. I could envision being thrown off my bike, only to be run over by the bikes behind me.

To add to our amusement, a little boy (not more than 8 years old) was standing by the side of the road, holding his fathers hand. I am sure this was the best parade the lad had seen in quite awhile. He was hopping up and down, and waving to us as we passed. I am quite certain that not one of us waved back! His father, on the other hand, was smiling and shaking his head. I can only imagine what he was thinking.

I noticed he held a cell phone in his hand. What a relief. At least we would be rescued!!!! I reassured myself that it would soon be over, and we would get off our bikes for a much needed rest. We would enjoy hiking through the wetlands, looking at birds and native grasses.

We turned into the visitor’s center only to be greeted by a parking lot of large white rocks, with weeds pushing their heads up between the gaps. There had been no expense wasted on beautification here. I found a small, chipped slab of concrete which was relatively flat, and carefully set my side stand down.

I took several deep breaths in an effort to force my pulse to a rate under two hundred. Before I could remove my gloves from my sweaty hands, I heard a voice on the CB stating that the visitor’s center was obviously closed, and there was nothing to see. I turned my head just in time to see the bikes make a wide circle in the parking lot and head back to the sand road. My pulse raced as I struggled to turn my bike around on the rocks. There was no other way out. I had to hurry. I didn’t want to be left behind to pick my bike up by myself if I dropped it.

Another mile through the sand. This time, there was a maze of ruts intertwined all over the road. The little boy was still standing by the road. Now, he was ecstatic by the encore performance of his personal parade. His father amazed at the stupidity of some bikers. (or perhaps 84

ITS ALL ABOUT THE Journey impressed that he didn’t have to use his cell phone.)

A short while later, we found a Perkins and stopped for lunch. Rod pried himself from his seat and walked over to Ruth. I heard him say, “I don’t like you very much right now!” After lunch, we found a small but interesting zoo. The animals, like us, were desperately looking for any relief from the heat. The inside exhibits (in the air conditioning) were enjoyable.

In the same park as the zoo, was a swimming pool. We could hear the children splashing and playing in the cool water. As inviting as it was, we were pretty sure that they required suits. Not wishing to put an image in their heads that they would spend a lifetime of therapy trying to forget, we refilled our water bottles, and wore the tread on the other side of our tires on the way home.

While no harm physical harm came to Ruth that day, it was unanimous that she be permanently relieved of her duties as ride coordinator!

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33 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

M

rs. Bockhaus lives in Newton, Kansas with her husband, Steve.

Between them, they have four grown children and four grandchildren.

While Terri has always loved riding on motorcycles, she never dreamed that she would one day have her own, let alone be riding on a motorcycle drill team.

It has always been a dream of hers to have some of her original work published. She hopes that through her love of riding and writing, that she has brought a glimpse of her passion of both to you, the reader.

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