Room to Breathe
Eighty two miles per hour would get me pulled over in my home state of Virginia, but in Kansas, I whiz right past the state trooper on I-70. He doesn’t flinch. It’s dusk and my rented shoebox-sized Fiat 500 doesn’t seem to be able to go much faster, which I think is probably a good thing when I spot a deer on the shoulder. In this car, hitting that deer at this speed likely would be fatal for both of us. I’m rushing toward the Flint Hills of Kansas, near the geographic center of America. My plan calls for an abbreviated night’s sleep followed by a very early morning two mile hike under the stars. I’m hoping to make it to the middle of the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve for sunrise on a day where the forecast calls for “brilliant sunshine”. A few generations ago, the middle of America was covered in a sea of prairie grass. Now only 5% of that vast sea remains, most of which is in the rocky hills of Kansas. Thankfu...