Day 7 - Sunday, 7/30/2023: Manitou Springs to Manhattan

Fueled up in Manitou Springs with 25,165 miles on the odometer and started the long drive home at 7:56 Mountain Daylight Time. I retraced my route through Colorado Springs, east on US 24 then east on I=70. I had no hotel reservation for the night; I wasn't sure where I would be or what time I would get there. Running the numbers on Waze, I saw I could easily make Topeka. Kansas City was a little more of a stretch, but it would tee me up for a shorter drive home the next day. But still . . . there were those places I hadn't gone on Day 3, the ones I bypassed to get where I was going a little sooner. They were still there, singing their siren song. I put the closest one in Waze--yep, still an hour and forty-five minute detour from the direct route to get to the first one and probably another hour plus to get to the second one. What if I only went to one of them? I mean, I may never be here again. So fuck the straight arrow shot; it's the journey, not the destination. I decided to do a bucket list bit and punched in Monument Rocks.

I think I turned off 70 onto US 83 southbound around 1 p.m. Waze sent me sailing past the first "turn here" sign for the rocks, and I was a little nervous about where exactly it was taking me until I saw the second "turn here" sign onto Dakota Road. Rather than turn left as Waze told me to, I turned right onto the short road that led to the Keystone Gallery. The Keystone is run by Chuck Bonner (remember the name from Day 3), whose family is somewhat famous in Kansas paleontology (in fact, Mr. Bonner himself had uncovered a relatively complete specimen of a previously unknown Cretaceous filter feeding fish that was subsequently christened Bonnerichthys gladius), and the gallery was packed not only with his artwork but with an amazing collection of fossils as well. I was delighted to have the opportunity to talk with Mr. Bonner about fossils and the Cretaceous period, locating Tennessee's own Cretaceous Lagerstätte at Coon's Creek on a giant map of the Western Interior Sea. I picked up a birthday present for my brother (lucky man), added my name to the guest book and shook Mr. Bonner's hand--and had a science fan thrill literally tingle down my spine when he told me that that handshake was four removed from a hand that shook Charles Darwin's. Whoa Nellie! Before I floated out of the gallery, he showed me a piece of the fossil clam Platyceramus platinus (remember the clam from Day 3) that more or less litters the ground in this area so I would know what I was seeing when I reached Monument Rocks.

I headed down Dakota Road followed by a plume of white dust as green fields gave way intermittently to white and brown canyons, the earth falling away below the level of the road--not what most of us call to mind when we think of Kansas, but here be badlands. I pulled over a few times to take some shots and prospected for goodies along the side of the road, then continued on my route until I could see Monument Rocks shimmering on the horizon like a mirage of Stonehenge relocated to the American prairie. There was one car there when I pulled in, and a few more cars came through while I walked around. Not a one of the other visitors tarried--it was 110 degrees according to Barry's thermometer--and I admit I didn't last more than 30 minutes either. But I strode among the promontories and walked through the arches, soaking the place in. In some of the closeups, you can see the layers and layers of chalk, and you can also see some clam remains (with my rock hammer to give scale). When I headed out, I passed through a thirsty herd of black cows sprawling across the road and wished I had water to give them. I can only imagine how hot they must have been in that sun with no shade anywhere.

As I headed back toward the interstate, I forsook the podcasts that had been my companions thus far in my travels and opted instead to crank up some music. Sometimes you visit a place and for whatever reason something there speaks to something in you and wakes you up in some way. That's what Monument Rocks did for me. It left me flying down the freeway, passing the giant wind turbines lazily tumbling in a breeze only they seemed able to detect and watching the clouds build and blacken far to the east. I swear I could see the weather coming on for a hundred miles out here. I felt utterly, electrically alive, open to the world in a way I've not felt in a long time, the landscape fresh to my eyes and the songs old friends of my old selves. I was so glad I had taken this "detour." We live with the quiet memory of the millions of roads not taken, every choice a fork in the road we turned down or away from, consciously or not. Today, I opted for making good life instead of making good time, and Frost was right: it made all the difference.

I stayed the night in Manhattan at the same hotel I had stayed in on the second night of my trip and even ate the same meal in the restaurant downstairs. As I sat in my corner booth savoring my steak and wine, I eavesdropped on the conversations of others. To my right sat a dozen or so folks from, I would guess, their early 20s to mid 30s, and they were clearly in a celebratory mood. I caught that someone had passed their boards and knew from the general tone and other sound bites that they were academics, no doubt students at Kansas State since we were right across the street. A newcomer joined them, and I overheard her say she was from Nashville. I got my check and debated a bit; I usually don't go up to strangers whose conversation I've overheard, but she seemed an outgoing sort who likely would not take it badly. I walked over and, apologizing for the eavesdropping, told her I was from Nashville and thought I'd heard her say she, too, was from there. Happily, she was not remotely freaked out (or if she was, she hid it well), and we made a minute or two of small talk before I apologized again and wished her well. As I turned, she told me I had made her night, and I have to say, this was the cherry on the big old sundae of a Sunday I had had as well.