#WhereAreTheUbryTerrells ... Leg 21: Kansas
I didn't want Randy to be disappointed by not going to Lincoln, to visit his brother's birthplace, but as soon as he saw how close we were to the world's largest ball of twine, he quickly decided we should head south and see that instead.
No sooner had we crossed the border into Kansas than we saw a sign for the Center of the United States. What???! We had already been to the Center... in South Dakota! Obviously we took the turn off and there it was -- a gorgeous little rest stop, with a tiny little chapel, marking the geologic center of the lower 48 states. This had been the center up until 1959 when Alaska and Hawaii were admitted into the U.S., and Kansas was proud of it!
A short ways down the road from the Center, we came to the world's largest ball of twine. Call it cheesy if you want, but if you can't get excited about Americana and a tradition that brought a town together then you are going to miss out on so much fun!
Van's favorite part of this little adventure was the Airbnb across the street... in a remodeled gas station! It was the cutest thing I've ever seen. The door was open so of course we went in and checked out the accomodations. In hindsight we should have stayed, but we weren't done adventuring...
Heading east, the map looked like there were plenty of campsites along the way. I didn't even bother picking one. I just told Randy to drive and we'd stop at the first one we came to. It seemed like we drove and drove, however, growing more and more tired with each passing country mile. We tried hard not to get cranky, but we had crammed a lot in since our overnight at Walmart and we were ready to rest.
"There's a sign," I said, relieved when one finally caught my eye. It read: "Simpson, Est. 1871" and its list of ammenities included an RV park.
We drove the 2 miles to Simpson and turned down what we assumed was Main Street. A woman stood on the corner and we asked her where the RV park was. She told us to follow the road straight to the park, take a right, and we'd be there.
We followed her directions, but thought we must have misheard her. There was nothing to the right of the park except an intersection and some older, abandoned-looking homes.
Randy turned left at the intersection and drove about half a mile while we debated about what to do. Lucky for us, we came to a home where a man was sitting out front on a golf cart. We decided to try again. "We're looking for the RV park," we said. "Follow me," he replied. We did a u-turn in his driveway and followed him in his golf cart back to the park. When he pulled onto the grass, we did the same. When he parked in front of the basketball court, next to a utility pole with a plug in, we did the same. "Usually only harvesters stay here," he said, as if to explain the "basic" accomodations. "Will we have any trouble?" we asked, not quite sure we were safe here. "Only from the mayor," he said. "But he only comes down here to mow." Luckily the lawn was fresh cut.
"I saw your Oregon plates," Randy said, making conversation, referring to the motorhome in his driveway. "What brings you out here?"
"In Cold Blood," he said.
"Truman Capote," I replied.
He nodded. "Give a holler if you need anything!" And off he went in his golf cart, leaving me wondering if we were near the site of the multiple homicides Capote detailed in his famed novel. If so, I knew the perfect place to bury the bodies... in the park's bathroom, which hadn't been used for decades. Or in the hay bales across the street. Or any number of old abandoned places along Post Rock Fence.
Later that night Randy heard a truck pull up to the abandoned house across the street, unload something, and take off again. Van seemed oblivious to our terror, enjoying himself on the ancient playground equipment and shooting off the bottle rockets I found in the grass.
We survived the night, and in hindsight maybe it wasn't as scary as we made it out to be in our heads. The locals had been gracious, allowing us to stay in their park at no cost, with no questions asked, and with no trouble. But we knew this was one adventure none of us would ever forget.
No sooner had we crossed the border into Kansas than we saw a sign for the Center of the United States. What???! We had already been to the Center... in South Dakota! Obviously we took the turn off and there it was -- a gorgeous little rest stop, with a tiny little chapel, marking the geologic center of the lower 48 states. This had been the center up until 1959 when Alaska and Hawaii were admitted into the U.S., and Kansas was proud of it!
A short ways down the road from the Center, we came to the world's largest ball of twine. Call it cheesy if you want, but if you can't get excited about Americana and a tradition that brought a town together then you are going to miss out on so much fun!
Van's favorite part of this little adventure was the Airbnb across the street... in a remodeled gas station! It was the cutest thing I've ever seen. The door was open so of course we went in and checked out the accomodations. In hindsight we should have stayed, but we weren't done adventuring...
Heading east, the map looked like there were plenty of campsites along the way. I didn't even bother picking one. I just told Randy to drive and we'd stop at the first one we came to. It seemed like we drove and drove, however, growing more and more tired with each passing country mile. We tried hard not to get cranky, but we had crammed a lot in since our overnight at Walmart and we were ready to rest.
"There's a sign," I said, relieved when one finally caught my eye. It read: "Simpson, Est. 1871" and its list of ammenities included an RV park.
We drove the 2 miles to Simpson and turned down what we assumed was Main Street. A woman stood on the corner and we asked her where the RV park was. She told us to follow the road straight to the park, take a right, and we'd be there.
We followed her directions, but thought we must have misheard her. There was nothing to the right of the park except an intersection and some older, abandoned-looking homes.
Randy turned left at the intersection and drove about half a mile while we debated about what to do. Lucky for us, we came to a home where a man was sitting out front on a golf cart. We decided to try again. "We're looking for the RV park," we said. "Follow me," he replied. We did a u-turn in his driveway and followed him in his golf cart back to the park. When he pulled onto the grass, we did the same. When he parked in front of the basketball court, next to a utility pole with a plug in, we did the same. "Usually only harvesters stay here," he said, as if to explain the "basic" accomodations. "Will we have any trouble?" we asked, not quite sure we were safe here. "Only from the mayor," he said. "But he only comes down here to mow." Luckily the lawn was fresh cut.
"I saw your Oregon plates," Randy said, making conversation, referring to the motorhome in his driveway. "What brings you out here?"
"In Cold Blood," he said.
"Truman Capote," I replied.
He nodded. "Give a holler if you need anything!" And off he went in his golf cart, leaving me wondering if we were near the site of the multiple homicides Capote detailed in his famed novel. If so, I knew the perfect place to bury the bodies... in the park's bathroom, which hadn't been used for decades. Or in the hay bales across the street. Or any number of old abandoned places along Post Rock Fence.
Later that night Randy heard a truck pull up to the abandoned house across the street, unload something, and take off again. Van seemed oblivious to our terror, enjoying himself on the ancient playground equipment and shooting off the bottle rockets I found in the grass.
We survived the night, and in hindsight maybe it wasn't as scary as we made it out to be in our heads. The locals had been gracious, allowing us to stay in their park at no cost, with no questions asked, and with no trouble. But we knew this was one adventure none of us would ever forget.
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