Well, I managed to finish Dirty Kansa, 200 miles of Kansan gravel. Gravel roads in Kansas aren't like the ones in Iowa. What they call gravel I call rocks, big ones. And when they say Flint Hills they mean that there are arrowheads sticking out of the ground waiting, hoping, to puncture your tires. I'm not going to say too much now. I'll wait until I'm more rested and fed to do that. Suffice to say that I'm pretty worn out, but feeling pretty good. I want to go back and do it again. Oh and all the cattle we ran into out on the range were steers, no bull.