From the Heat of the Plains to the Kindness of Strangers: KC to Kearney
It’s hard to put into words what this past stretch has meant—both physically and emotionally. I made it from Kansas City, Missouri to Kearney, Nebraska over seven days, averaging 52 miles a day. The longest day? 74 miles. And the heat? Nearing 90 degrees for several days in a row. To beat the worst of it, I’d wake by 5 a.m., rolling by 6, trying to finish by early afternoon before the sun became unbearable.
Today, day eight, is a much-needed rest day. My body feels surprisingly good—different than it did back in Pennsylvania, where steep 15% grades, cold snaps, and soggy conditions took a toll on my recovery. Now, even after 60+ mile days, I’m bouncing back faster. But Colorado is up next, and I know the climbs and elevation will bring new challenges.
Just miles outside of Kansas City, last Sunday—though it feels like a lifetime ago—I met three men standing on a bridge. One called out, “Where you headed?” and I yelled back, “California!” Something in me said to stop and talk. That’s my mantra for this ride: make time for people.
Their names were Nande, Stephen, and Mark—three strangers who happened to meet on that bridge, reconnecting and crossing paths by pure coincidence. We shared stories, contact info, even made a little video together. As Stephen biked a few miles with me, he pointed out landmarks I’d never have noticed: a skydiving airstrip, old houses, little details only a local would know.
After we parted, a woman nearby—Kim—emailed me later that day. She’d seen us talking and then chatted with Stephen, who told her about my journey. Her message reminded me why I’m doing this:
“Thank you so much for your dedication to youth sports… Just wanted to touch base to give you a big shout out and encouragement. If you ever find yourself in our area, please feel free to drop by for a break and a cold bottle of water. Stay safe!”
Moments like that—kindness from strangers, human connection on a back road—refuel me more than any energy bar ever could.
That night I camped alone at Atchison Lake. Beautiful, quiet, but sadly closed to swimming due to blue algae. I made a camping meal, wiped down with a body wipe, and slept under a hot, cloudless sky.
The next day, 74 miles took me to Centralia Lake. With little cell service, I had my mom call ahead to confirm the campground was accessible and open—thankfully, it was. I cooled off in the swimming area for what felt like forever, just letting my body reset.
Severe storms were forecasted, and that night they rolled in. Thunder woke me several times, but my tent held strong. The wind the next morning was wild. With my phone nearly dead, I huddled in the single camp toilet building (yes, really) for nearly 90 minutes just to charge it enough to get to Waterville.
At 9 a.m., I finally reached Paula at the Weaver Hotel. She booked me a room and left a key in the mailbox. I grabbed a can of soup, a Snickers, and an orange.
Meeting Kenny Winkenwader
That evening in Waterville, I met Kenny Winkenwader, 89 years young and repainting murals he’d created back in 1999. We talked art, life, and community. I also met Kathi, the town librarian who gave me a tour of their historic 1903 Opera House, and Rod, who opened the railroad museum just for me. Paula gave me a big hug the next morning—what a town!
From there, I rode to Belleville, where I treated myself to a motel and an absurd amount of enchiladas, guacamole, and fried ice cream. After days on the road, it was heaven.
Next stop: Smith Center. I met up with a colleague and her two daughters who drove an hour to see me. We hit Jiffy Burger and the local pool—it felt like home for a few hours, and I soaked it all in.
Then came Franklin, Nebraska—another state line crossed. With a tailwind at my back, I arrived in town just in time for a cinnamon roll at Smiley Sweet Cakes before heading to stay with Mike and Amy, two Warm Showers hosts who felt more like family. They made steak, gnocchi, squash, ice cream—the works. We skipped the Holdrege Festival due to the heat and stayed in to watch the Lou City and Racing matches instead. It was perfect!
That night we brainstormed next steps. The heat was intensifying, and the next stretch west had few services and long distances—risky in this weather. After a lot of back and forth (and even my first Aleve of the trip to ease the stress headache), we settled on a plan: I’d rent a car from Kearney and fast-track to Fort Collins, saving five days of remote, dangerous cycling.
Yesterday, with Mike sending me off before sunrise (eggs, sausage, and hot tea included), I had the best tailwind of my life—20 to 25mph pushing me 54 miles to Kearney in just 3.5 hours. That final western stretch, however, was brutal. Headwinds cut my speed to 9mph, and my hands went numb trying to hold the bike steady. I was grateful most of my route had been northbound.
Through a connection in health education, I was introduced to Erin, a professor and assistant dean at the University of Nebraska Kearney. She welcomed me with open arms, a homemade dinner, and endless conversation about our shared work in whole child and school health. It’s wild how connected this world can be.
Today I’m in Kearney, resting, reflecting, and preparing to drive to Fort Collins tomorrow. The next leg is calling, and I’ll be back on the pedals soon. But for now, I’m thankful—so deeply thankful—for the strangers turned friends, the little towns with big hearts, and the joy of connecting with people across this country. Without them, I’d have quit a long time ago.
