Flute Songs, Friendly Faces, and Focused Miles

My alarm went off at 5:30am. I got up and started getting ready while Don did the same. We left the hotel just before 6am and drove the 12 miles back to the spot on Highway 160 where he had picked me up the day before.

Once we arrived, I reassembled and packed my buggy, organizing everything for the day ahead. Then it was time to say goodbye. What a gift it was to reconnect with an old friend in the middle of the United States. Before we parted ways, Don stood by the road and played “My Heart Will Go On” on his flute—a short and sweet morning send-off that I’ll remember for a long time. Then he drove west toward the coast, and I ran west.

Wearing my orange vest, I set out along Highway 160. The road wasn’t very busy, the shoulder was narrow but manageable, and the early morning felt peaceful. No wind, a beautiful sky glowing with sunrise colors, and a steady rhythm in my legs—it felt like one of those quietly magical mornings on the road.

I was focused today, wanting to make steady progress and reach Parsons not too late. Along the way, a woman pulled over to say she’d seen me yesterday and thought it was really cool what I’m doing. Later in Oswego, Mike and Steve stopped their SUV to chat and learn more about my run. When I’m deep in the flow of running, these spontaneous moments of connection are like little sparks of joy—reminders that people care and that my journey is resonating.

In Oswego, I also stocked up on water and supplies, just in case I didn’t come across any more stores before reaching my hotel. The road leading to Highway 400 was a bit hilly, and while the wind wasn’t as fierce as yesterday, it was still loud and ever-present. Wind is one of those challenges that gets under your skin—not just physically, but mentally. The constant noise can be draining, especially on long days like this.

By around 3:30pm, I arrived at the hotel, checked in, took a shower, and caught up on some social media. Dinner tonight? Cold couscous with some nuts. Nothing fancy, but I’m hungry, tired, and grateful.

I’ll go to bed early and plan for another early start tomorrow. Kansas stretches long and wide ahead of me, and I’m only just beginning to carve my way through it—one step, one mile, one day at a time.

Thanks for checking in and following along.