"The aborigines don’t own the land – they are a part of the land" from the movie Crocodile Dundee.

I’ve been thinking about the land today.

I got to thinking about Day 10 when I was following the Columbia River in Washington – I stopped by the side of the road for a rest – and there happened to be an historical marker there. I remember it said something about some young lieutenant who sailed up the river to the island there – and "by appropriate ceremonies, claimed the land for the Crown." I remember thinking – what kind of ceremony claims land that is used by others?

It all started this morning when I walked out of my room to the smell of hogs. It turns out that there were a couple of semis sitting in the truck stop next door – and they were hauling hogs to market. Yesterday and today, I have seen a lot of trucks hauling livestock to market – even got a little bit of brown on the windshield – before I figured out you can’t follow those things too closely.

Actually, today I thought I would listen to music. I brought about 3 hours of digital music with me – but I haven’t listened to any of it – or even turned on the radio since I left home. But I thought today Kansas would be kind of boring – and I would listen to some tunes.

But once I got to thinking about the land – I forgot about the music and just let my mind wander – mainly to gratitude. I am grateful to those folks who live in Kansas and raise the crops and the livestock that I am passing each mile. I know there is a lot of agribusiness in farming, but I also know that there are a lot of folks – who are – and have been for generations – not just owners, but "a part of the land." The feeding of America is meaningful work. Now I know that there is money involved – but money never made anything meaningful.

As my mind wandered down this path – I found joy in recognizing other results of meaningful work that have affected me. I thought of Tammy last night at the Motel 6 in Goodland, Kansas – who is the first hotel employee I have met on this trip who understands that she is in the hospitality business. She greeted me with a smile – welcomed me to "her" hotel – even suggested a room where it would be easy to unload my motorcycle – without me even asking. Thank you Tammy, you made my day.

I think of Linda – the waitress at the Golden Corral steakhouse in Montrose, Colorado – the night before. She is very good at her job – and does it with a smile. I appreciated it and left her a note telling her that. She may not think that waitressing is a meaningful job – but the way she did it for me – was meaningful. Thank you Linda, I appreciate you.

I think of the skilled minds and hands that created the motorcycle and trailer that have taken me all these many miles. I wish I could speak to every one of the designers and factory workers – to try to tell them how meaningful their work is to me. I doubt that any of them thought there was a lot of meaning in what they were doing when they did it – but – to me – today – all their efforts are meaningful.

The wheat fields and the corn fields keep passing by – there are no pictures to be taken – except the snapshot of how I feel right now. I surmise that if others day-to-day work is meaningful to me – then perhaps, my day-to-day work is meaningful to others as well. And I am grateful for meaningful work.

So to all of you – perhaps somewhere today – someone is grateful for what you do – you will perhaps not have the opportunity to know that directly – but what you do is important and meaningful to someone.

Perhaps it is good that I had such a joyous morning being grateful for all the wonderful things I have experienced – because, when I hit Fort Riley, Kansas things started to change.

The endless miles of farms in western Kansas disappeared in a flash – it seems that Missouri starts early. The terrain begins to roll – and I notice that, since I left the hotel this morning, I have lost almost 3,000 feet of altitude.

It is 11:00 a.m. and the temperature has reached 100 degrees. But that is only the beginning. Rolling into Topeka – I immediately understand that the West is behind me and I have arrived in the East. How do I know? A toll road – the Kansas Turnpike. I soon need to call upon all those good feelings of gratitude I built up this morning – when they charge me for three axles – the same as a tandem dump truck – for my motorcycle and trailer. I end up paying $2.50 for less than a 50 mile ride – which by the way – was on a much poorer highway than the free one I just got off of.

The farther I go the hotter it gets. By the time I reach Kansas City, the thermometer is at 110 degrees. I realize that I am going to have to scale down my intended destination for tonight - I am stopping more frequently to push fluids.

I know Missouri is the "show me" state, but I’ve got to admit that they haven’t shown me anything – so far. I-70 through Missouri is a disaster. I saw a billboard along the road that said something to the effect "I-70 isn’t working – got any ideas?" with a telephone number to call.

Notwithstanding I-70’s problems in Missouri, one of the things I am grateful for is the vision of President Eisenhower to establish the interstate highway system back in the 50’s. Now, I know he did it for military reasons – but America and I move by these roads today. Something to the effect of ‘beating sword into plows" comes to mind.

I pull into the hotel at 6:00 p.m. and realize that I have been riding in temperatures over one hundred degrees for 7 hours. I’ve lost my edge – time to get off the road.

The bike trip meter says 525.1 the Garmin III+ trip meter says 540.9 and I say Goodnight – with joy and gratitude – from Columbia, Missouri.

Connecticut Yankee in Yosemite Valley- the Trek
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