Now that I am entering the Midwest, you can well imagine that it will be more of a challenge to find noteworthy things to see and do. I look forward to the challenge.

I left northwest Arkansas (a most wonderful area) and camped near Joplin, Missouri, right on old Route 66. I had made the short trip since I had called ahead and made an appointment to have some work done on the bike on Thursday. So on Wednesday I had the afternoon available to go for a ride.

Just when you thought my little interactions with law enforcement officers scattered across the United States had become a thing of the past, another little encounter occurred in Missouri.

I headed down to Branson, which has become a center for music of every flavor in the universe. It seems to be predominantly country & western and show tunes. However, there is a little of everything. But that's not what was noteworthy about Branson, Missouri on this particular day.

I rounded a bend as I approached the outskirts of town and on the side of the road saw a large number of police and a large number of bikers. At first I thought the worst - an accident involving a biker. But as I slowly approached, an officer waved me over to the side along with about 15 other bikers already there.

An officer asked me to step off the bike, which I did. This particular officer I can only refer to as Officer Obie. I never had the chance to read his nametag because I struggled throughout the whole encounter to understand what he was saying. He had a terribly thick southern accent. His speech was almost unintelligible! Good God, man! Move your lips just a tiny bit when you talk! E-nun-ci-ate!

I could tell as the interaction progressed that my asking him to repeat himself again and again was ticking him off something fierce, which of course was not my intention. Officer Obie took my license, registration, and insurance card and had a spirited conversation on his radio for a while.

As I waited, I could see that the other police officers were in various stages of thoroughly checking out the other bikers and their machines. Some were writing tickets. Some of the bikers looked exceedingly irritated. There were a few motorcycle officers amidst the policemen. They looked none too happy to be doing this to their fellow motorcyclists.

Officer Obie finished with his radio business and handed me back my papers. I knew they were all in order and that I was not wanted for any heinous crimes. Then he started going over my bike with a fine toothed comb. He followed a checklist on his clipboard. Luckily I keep my bike completely up to speed, or I'm sure he would have found something to cite me for. As it was, he said that my tires were near the minimum legal tread depth, and that he was tempted to cite me for them anyway. At least I think that's what he said.

It did not impress him in the least when I told him that the bike was going into the shop the next day to have the tires replaced. I don't think that very much about me impressed Officer Obie. And I could tell that he was increasingly frustrated at not finding something to cite me for.

Then I saw a wicked little grin creep across his narrow, ferret-like face. I am certain that behind those mirrored aviator sunglasses his beady little eyes were twinkling in glee. Officer Obie had found something to cite me for. No doubt he was greatly relieved since his reputation with his fellow officers would be indelibly tarnished had he not found something. He did consult with another officer before writing up a citation for me.

This is what he found. Motorcycles all have some form of lockable ignition switch. They also have an emergency shutoff switch within easy reach of your fingers. This is what I will use it for if I ever have an emergency warranting it. However, I do not switch it off when I park the bike. That is what the ignition switch is for.

Apparently not in Missouri. Officer Obie's citation was for "Failure to properly secure a motor vehicle when parked". I beg your pardon? The amount of the ticket was $27. This simply has to take the cake for the most chump ticket ever issued in the history of law enforcement. Now that Officer Obie had discharged his sworn duty, he motioned me to take off, mumbling one last incomprehensible phrase.

I'm tempted to challenge the ticket. But that would mean having to come back for a visit to the Taney County Courthouse. And I can just imagine that the Taney County Judge would be able to understand every work that came from Officer Obie's mouth, while my attorney would be just as baffled by his speech as I was. I think I will just pay the lousy $27.

I stopped for gas in Branson and found out what was going on from a bunch of bikers at the gas station. It seems the Hell's Angels were having their annual chapter meeting this week in Branson. And the city had convinced the police to bring in a huge number of extra officers from other areas to assure that peace, order and decorum was maintained at all times.

The police deemed it most effective to stop every biker, rather than just those sporting colors of any sort. This was because they feared that the Hell's Angels would take off their colors coming into town and thus elude the dragnet. As little as I know about the Angel's, one thing I am sure of is that nothing will make them take off their colors. Certainly not some small town police.

I don't know if this tactic was effective in controlling the Hell's Angels, but I do know they now had a large number of highly irritated non-Angel bikers who had come to Branson to spend their hard earned money. Seems kind of the wrong tactic to me. I left Branson in search of friendlier communities.

As I left town by another route, I saw that this road had a checkpoint as well. I feared that I would be stopped again and grilled by Officer Obie's second cousin. Luckily they were only stopping incoming bikers.

The Weather Gods seemed to continue to cooperate. The next day it poured rain all day. This occurred while the bike was in the shop all day, so it did not matter to me. I took advantage of the down time to catch up on my email, do some shopping, some laundry, and other mundane but necessary things.

The rains continued the next day in southern Missouri, so I headed up to the northwestern part of the state, north of Kansas City. Up near St. Joseph. I found a wonderful state park named Weston Bend. The "Bend" part refers to a bend in the Missouri River, which wraps itself around the park. It is a truly beautiful area. I went for a fantastic walk down a trail that followed the river. The Missouri River is a major tributary of the Mississippi and is just as muddy as the Big One. It is just as picturesque as well. I saw a great sunset and watched the moon come up over the bend of the river. It was a wonderful sight.

Overnight a system moved through and dumped buckets of rain. It was an absolute deluge! Fortunately, there was no hail or lightning. By morning the rain had passed completely and the Missouri River was even muddier. I went for an all-day ride in picture-perfect weather. Puffy clouds and mostly sunny with a temperature in the 80's. I headed up to St. Joseph and then across the Missouri River. I stopped in Atchison, Kansas, the birthplace of Amelia Earhart. I checked out the Amelia Museum, which was quite interesting. Amelia is someone whom I've always admired.

I headed south and stopped in Leavenworth. This is the home of the renowned Federal Penitentiary. It is a most forbidding and depressing facility. I would highly recommend that you avoid doing anything that might land you inside there.

I traveled on south on the very nice eastern Kansas back roads, which were surprisingly fun to ride on. There was a long series of rolling hills and slightly twisted roads that made for great riding. I ended up in Topeka, Kansas. I am certain that the town has some interesting things to see and do, but I was unable to find any of them.

On the way back, I came upon the Jefferson County Fairgrounds, with a big sign announcing the Jefferson County Lawn Mower Racing Finals. I couldn't resist this. Securing the bike (I defiantly did NOT turn off the emergency cutoff switch - I like living dangerously) I paid for admittance and entered the grandstand.

The scene was almost surreal. But the audience and participants seemed quite serious about this. The lawn mowers are the riding-style mowers, the small ones like homeowners use. There are several different classes, some of which I didn't understand. But while I was there I saw the stock (unmodified) preliminary races and the semi-finals of the super-modified division.

Grown men and women who probably otherwise led pretty normal lives rode these lawn mowers in pitched battle with the other races. The stock races were fairly slow paced, though this did not dampen the enthusiasm of the riders or the audience. Most of the lawn mowers had decals of their sponsors emblazoned on them.

The super-modified lawn mowers were another matter. They were stripped of all unnecessary parts, and their engines made a horrendous, high-pitched racket. They raced at pretty incredible speeds. I would guess over 30 miles per hour.

It was a dirt track, so after the first lap there was a brown haze hanging over the track, giving it all a somewhat eerie look. The audience went ballistic when the apparent crowd favorite spun out on the final lap, allowing a racer from the next county to take the race. This was greeted by strident boo's from the crowd. I decided that I'd had my fill, and hopped on the bike to complete my day.

The next day I headed north and slightly west, following the Missouri River Valley. This took me through Council Bluffs, Iowa. This is a small river city that has become a center for gambling casinos. During this trip I have observed that every state has at least several areas that have a huge number of gambling casinos. It's an interesting statement about America and its people that so many people frequent these places.

I found a nice State Park smack dab on the Missouri River about 30 miles south of Sioux City. This was on a Sunday, so by the end of the day the weekend warriors all went home and left behind a quiet park.

I chose this park because on the map I saw an area nearby called the Luess Hills. Remember, I am in Iowa. This is pretty darn flat. So I knew I had to investigate what would pass for hills here. It was a great find.

The hills were not large at all. Perhaps 150 feet or so. But when the surrounding area is utterly flat, even these dimples become hills. And the terrain was really pretty. There were two ridges of hills oriented north-south with a valley between them. In the valley were a number of farms growing corn, soybeans, and sorghum. The roads were in great condition and were almost completely empty. During the entire afternoon I encountered few cars, and not a single tailgater! Thank you, Iowa!

These are the kinds of roads I really liked. The speed limit is 55, which is my favorite speed. It is fast enough to feel a good breeze through my hair - forget that, it is fast enough to make my ears flutter a bit. These were some fine roads, and would probably even be nice in a cage (a car).

The next day I continued northwest through Sioux City. This is an interesting town from the standpoint that the main part of the city is in Iowa, South Sioux City is in Nebraska, and North Sioux City is in South Dakota. This is a city with an identity crisis.

I headed up to Vermillion and got off the interstate to head to Yankton. I wanted to stop here for several reasons. One is that my next youngest brother went to college here, and I remember visiting him back in 1970 when he was still a student here. It is a lovely area, and they have a fantastic state park here named Lewis & Clark Recreation Area. The park exists because of the dam on the Missouri River, which created a large lake. It is a very spacious park, with lots of camping areas. Some are right on the water, for the fisher-persons. Others are in wooded areas, which is where I stayed in order to escape the afternoon sun. A great place to stay.

I went for an afternoon ride to get a picture of Yankton College to send to my Bro. I found an interesting twist in the story. The college has been converted into a Federal Penitentiary! Many students probably think of the college they attend is a prison of sorts at times, but in this case it has become a reality!

I did not stray too far from Yankton and the camp site because there were numerous thunderstorms all around. It was a great afternoon nonetheless.

The next day I hopped on the bike for an all day ride. I headed north on a state highway that ran straight as a ruled line for 30 miles or so. But the terrain was very nice. I ended up at I-90, and headed west.

All day long there was a constant wind from the south. Not a breeze, this was wind. Probably 30 miles and hour but gusty. This made riding a strenuous matter, since I was constantly battling unpredictable side winds or head winds.

I stopped in Mitchell for lunch and a quick visit to the Corn Palace. Mitchell proudly boasts this is the only corn palace in the world. I can see why. The façade is composed entirely of ears of corn. Remember, I am in the Midwest.

Tuesday night was a really weird one. The Weather Channel had warned of the potential for some severe thunderstorms. Around 10 PM the park rangers came around letting everyone know we were in a severe thunderstorm alert. We were already keenly aware of this since the winds had picked up something fierce and off in the distance there was abundant lighting. He said that the storms were packing major hail, but at the present time they were expected to miss us.

He also said that if things got bad, the severe weather siren would go off. He said we could not possibly miss hearing it. In that event we were to go to the campground restroom, which was designated as a storm shelter. The thought of escaping the wrath of the weather packed into a fairly small bathroom with a bunch of scared people (myself included) was interesting, to say the least.

I battened down the hatches in the camper and stayed outside to monitor the situation. It was very unsettling. The lightning in the distance seemed to grow closer, but it was very hard to tell. I waited for a particularly bright flash, and started counting seconds. I got to seven when I heard the thunder. Then I realized that I simply couldn't remember what that meant. I asked a couple of my fellow storm watchers and got a couple of completely different answers. It would have been comforting to have the Farmer's Almanac in hand.

With the dire warnings from the rangers, the blustery winds, and the lightning-streaked sky filled with awesome thunder, it was a very unsettled night. At times the rain would come in heavy bouts, the noise almost drowning out the thunder. We did escape the hail, and the winds were very strong, but not strong enough to take down trees or do other damage.

The next morning I headed to Sioux Falls in search of a Web connection. There are a lot more Harleys and rigs like mine hauling Harleys on the road, headed west towards Sturgis. The excitement mounts!