Dave:
We never actually spent any time in Knob Noster; in fact, I don’t think we even drove through it. But signs for it were numerous on I-70, and so it became the “sign du jour,” similar to yesterday’s Santa Claus, IN. Not sure what it all means, though I once knew a cheerleader who was affectionately known as the Knob Monster, but I digress.
In contrast to yesterday, a completely uneventful ride (not that there’s anything wrong with that), and we arrived in Abilene without much to report, though pleasantly surprised by a fairly charming town (with lots of trees, Nancy) in the middle of the Kansas prairie. It’s also the family home of Dwight Eisenhower, and houses the National Greyhound Hall of Fame, as well. Not sure if it’s by design, but there’s an eight mile stretch of I-70 to the east that has the distinction of being the first completed section of the Eisenhower Interstate System. Though it’s not as if Ike and his posse had the family vacation in mind, as the creation of the highway network was in response to the Cold War; specifically, to provide a means of rapidly evacuating large population centers, providing limited points of access which could more easily be controlled by the military, and for the transport of ICBMs. But hey, I’m just happy it’s getting us to Boulder.
The one thing we haven’t figured out is what people do around here. It’s about 45 miles to Manhattan (known in these parts as the Little Apple, it‘s home to K-State). And I’m not talking about where to do Jello Shooters off the washboard abs of a co-ed named Amber - I mean where do people work, shop, etc. (and by etc., I mean “do Jello Shooters off the washboard abs of a co-ed named Amber”). There’s really not much here, other than a really big grain elevator (and no Super Wal-Mart to be found, so I’m just glad we got the flat tire in WV).
So tomorrow it’s more of the Kansas prairie, across the plains of Colorado, and on to Boulder, where we’ll finally get our mountains. I hear that the University of Colorado is quite the party school. Jello Shooters, anyone?
Tracey:
Since today a has been corn field after corn field, all we’ve had are road signs to amuse us. I’m sure there are plenty of weirdly named towns back east that just aren’t coming to mind, but out here they seem exceptionally challenged by the process of naming a town. In some areas, they must just use the dictionary: Farmers, Sulphur, and English were a few they chose that way. Then for others they use a baby book: Emma, Dale, Ashley, Jasper, and Ferdinand. When they try to get creative and choose real town-sounding names, they come up with Grain Valley, Grainland, and Plainsville - makes you want to pull right over and visit, doesn’t it? And Missouri doesn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between letters and numbers, because they frequently use letters for Route numbers - we saw Route O, V, DD (Sorry, Toni C., but we didn’t venture down to explore that one, though it is possible that it led to the Land of the Pressed Ham), and YY to name a few.
We never actually spent any time in Knob Noster; in fact, I don’t think we even drove through it. But signs for it were numerous on I-70, and so it became the “sign du jour,” similar to yesterday’s Santa Claus, IN. Not sure what it all means, though I once knew a cheerleader who was affectionately known as the Knob Monster, but I digress.
In contrast to yesterday, a completely uneventful ride (not that there’s anything wrong with that), and we arrived in Abilene without much to report, though pleasantly surprised by a fairly charming town (with lots of trees, Nancy) in the middle of the Kansas prairie. It’s also the family home of Dwight Eisenhower, and houses the National Greyhound Hall of Fame, as well. Not sure if it’s by design, but there’s an eight mile stretch of I-70 to the east that has the distinction of being the first completed section of the Eisenhower Interstate System. Though it’s not as if Ike and his posse had the family vacation in mind, as the creation of the highway network was in response to the Cold War; specifically, to provide a means of rapidly evacuating large population centers, providing limited points of access which could more easily be controlled by the military, and for the transport of ICBMs. But hey, I’m just happy it’s getting us to Boulder.
The one thing we haven’t figured out is what people do around here. It’s about 45 miles to Manhattan (known in these parts as the Little Apple, it‘s home to K-State). And I’m not talking about where to do Jello Shooters off the washboard abs of a co-ed named Amber - I mean where do people work, shop, etc. (and by etc., I mean “do Jello Shooters off the washboard abs of a co-ed named Amber”). There’s really not much here, other than a really big grain elevator (and no Super Wal-Mart to be found, so I’m just glad we got the flat tire in WV).
So tomorrow it’s more of the Kansas prairie, across the plains of Colorado, and on to Boulder, where we’ll finally get our mountains. I hear that the University of Colorado is quite the party school. Jello Shooters, anyone?
Tracey:
Since today a has been corn field after corn field, all we’ve had are road signs to amuse us. I’m sure there are plenty of weirdly named towns back east that just aren’t coming to mind, but out here they seem exceptionally challenged by the process of naming a town. In some areas, they must just use the dictionary: Farmers, Sulphur, and English were a few they chose that way. Then for others they use a baby book: Emma, Dale, Ashley, Jasper, and Ferdinand. When they try to get creative and choose real town-sounding names, they come up with Grain Valley, Grainland, and Plainsville - makes you want to pull right over and visit, doesn’t it? And Missouri doesn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between letters and numbers, because they frequently use letters for Route numbers - we saw Route O, V, DD (Sorry, Toni C., but we didn’t venture down to explore that one, though it is possible that it led to the Land of the Pressed Ham), and YY to name a few.
