Flyover Country
Why Traveling to Lesser-Known parts of America is just as Worthwhile
In the center of the country lies the state of Kansas. Literally; the geographic center of the 48 contiguous states is in Lebanon, Kansas. That city is actually named after Lebanon, Kentucky, which refers to the biblical place, not the country in the Middle East—though they both derive from the same source. The biblical Lebanon was known for its majestic cedar trees. They were said to symbolize strength, beauty, and permanence and were often used in construction materials. While many people may glance at the small town of Lebanon and not think much of it besides the geographic reference, it feels like some sort of divine providence that the center of America can be tied to the words "strength," "beauty," and "permanence." Mind you, this town was established in 1814, when only 18 states had been admitted to the Union—47 years before Kansas became a state and 98 years before Arizona landed as the final piece to the lower 48. I’m not an overly religious person, but the country’s motto “In God We Trust” somehow seems to radiate from the center of the US.
Outside of Gove, Kansas on the way to Monument Rocks
These are the thoughts that occupy the mind of someone who's always searching for connections. Some call it a blessing and a curse. Trevor Noah calls every gift such. There is no good or bad, and that’s the mindset I have when I travel, especially to the places that get more shade than sunlight.
I recently completed two road trips through the heart of America. Starting in Western Minnesota, I meandered over 3,000 miles through the spine of the country, including Nebraska, South Dakota, Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and, of course, Minnesota, my home state. There’s a term used for many of these states: they’re called “Flyover Country.” It’s considered an elitist term that gained popularity in the 1980s and ’90s, when commercial travel ramped up, and flights from the coastal regions provided ample opportunities to skip over rural America. There’s no issue with using modern travel to accommodate one’s journey; in fact, the time consideration of quality over quantity is a value I keep. However, I’m more of an old soul, borrowing my philosophy from the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig—a classic novel about life and self-discovery through the metaphorical journey of riding a motorcycle and maintaining it across a long road trip (which happened to take place in flyover country). For me, that time spent on the road, discovering the unknown, keeping my eyes open and away from the screens that dominate life today—that’s quality time. As Pirsig writes, “The real motorcycle you're working on is yourself.”
Buffalo Bill Statue in Cody, KS
Heading south from Kansas City, I looked for the next stop. I had an AirBnB in Tulsa, so I was heading in a general southern direction. Fort Scott, Kansas lined up just right for a morning stop. I pulled into the small town of 7,500 (the same size as the one I grew up in) and admired the Fort Scott National Historic Site—a collection of restored buildings from a pivotal fort on the western frontier in the mid-1800s. Fort Scott, named in honor of Winfield Scott, ironically wasn’t happy that his name was chosen, instead wanting a more prestigious fort—perhaps one along the coasts. Perhaps as an act of spite, Fort Scott became one of the most important defenses for settlers moving westward to California, Oregon, and other coastal towns. It was also a central location in what’s known as “Bleeding Kansas,” often becoming involved in skirmishes between pro-slavery and anti-slavery forces as Kansas sought to join the Union, but only as a “Free State.” It’s also a site of much sorrow. The displacement of Native American tribes was a core reason for the fort’s founding. The Indian Removal Act, an unfortunate scar on the country, is a good reminder that one must always inspect the window dressing, for things may not always be as they seem. I was the only person at the fort, and as I arrived, I stood and watched the ranger raise the United States flag, with all the stars that accompany it. It would look funny if one were missing. That’s why every one counts.
Fort Scott, KS
I spent the next couple of days working my way through Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. Coffee in Joplin, a stop at Walton’s 5 & Dime in Bentonville, visiting the state Capitol building in Little Rock, enjoying the view from the Mountain Tower in Hot Springs, and watching the sunset as I drove through the Ouachita National Forest in northwest Arkansas—which is home to old-growth woodlands, including the eastern Red Cedar, that famous Lebanon tree. Finding my way out of the forest, I called a friend to pass the time. He asked where I was, and I said I’m heading to Tulsa. His response was “I’m sorry.” I thought he misheard me, so I said, “Tulsa, Oklahoma.” But he laughed and remarked, “No, I’m sorry that you’re going there.” It’s funny, but I get this a lot. It’s tongue-in-cheek, and I get the sarcasm. And I realize that this kind of travel isn’t for everybody. But I truly do believe there is more to the story of these places beyond the window dressing the rest of the country gives them. Call it a challenge, I don’t know, but part of me travels to these areas to prove people wrong.
near Mountain Tower in Hot Springs National Park, AR
I arrived at the Oklahoma state capitol in earnest after breakfast at the Rock Cafe in Stroud. The state lays claim to more roadway on the historic Route 66 than any other state. Remember this road? It was built to connect the country. At the Capitol of the 46th state admitted to the Union is a building that looks very similar to the US Capitol, with the popular neoclassical design many State Houses replicated. While the outside is washed in gray, the inside is composed mainly of white limestone and Oklahoma pink granite. The colorful murals, stained-glass windows, and sunset-painted dome inside the ornate rotunda and along the wings provide a magical color pop that delights the eyes. Mine dart left and right, looking for the symbols—what you see when you look beyond the surface: the Greek key of eternal life, the Native American symbolic line patterns signifying the struggles and gifts that life brings, the corn etched into the railing pointing to the significance agriculture has brought to the state, and The Guardian, a Native American tribute that symbolizes protection and vigilance. However, I noted that the statue faced east, and my curiosity got the best of me. That symbolizes Oklahoma's future and its connection to the rest of the world. Connection, to me, is perhaps the most important medicine I consume on my journey.
Capitol Rotunda of the Oklahoma State Capitol
On to Kansas, the last state of my trip. At this point, I was a little travel-weary and had completed all of the “bucket list” stops. So I turned to the social media app Threads and asked the audience, so to speak, where I should go next. My compass was Denver, but there was still a lot of ground to cover. The responses I received about where to go in western Kansas, one of the most rural areas of the country where most people stop for gas and lodging and not much else, were exactly the kind I was looking for. The energy one receives is in direct proportion to that which one gives. In this case, I was overwhelmed, but did my best to let others grab the wheel and take me to places in their home that, if one only took the time to see, would reveal something special. After paying respects to the Keeper of the Plains in downtown Wichita, I made stops in Russell, Gorham, Hays, Wakeeney, Quinter, Gove, Oakley, Gem, Colby, and Goodland. I saw the statue of Buffalo Bill, the iconic Annie Oakley Motel, the amazing Monument Rocks that feel like Stonehenge on the plains, the old preserved gas station and GMC bus in Goodland that transported me to the 50s, cute coffee shops, antique stores, and on and on. Did you know that Kansas had Badlands? Neither did I, but they can be found at Little Jerusalem State Park, just a little ways off the beaten path.
Monument Rocks in western Kansas
Someone pointed out, these are all along the interstate, and while true, I made it a point to drive through every main street, and that’s where I found the town of Wakeeney, where this story comes to an end, but was the quintessential stop. Needing to use a restroom, I took the next exit off I-70, US 283. There are four gas stations off the interstate here, but they are all south of I-70, while the town is north. As I pulled onto the exit ramp, I couldn’t help but notice a parked F-14 Tomcat fighter plane. With my bladder in check, temporarily, I followed the road to the familiar plane from the Top Gun movies. Next to the plane is a dog park, and I let my pooch, Gunnar, out for some much-needed exercise. Hopping back into the car, I was left with that same decision: should I go back and use the restroom, or chance it and keep going north into town? I chose the latter, found Main Street, and rolled into town.
Downtown WaKeeney
It was New Year’s Eve, and I felt like a tumbleweed coming into town. I parked near the courthouse after dodging the Christmas tree in the center of Russell & Main, stepped out, and saw a man leaving a small business with a coffee in hand. That’s all I needed to step into the Well—literally, a coffee shop called The Well: Center for Hope. I ordered a medium coffee, and the gal said, “That’ll be $1.26.” I buckled, and my Lutheran guilt felt that was not enough, so I purchased a pastry and added a tip, too. I sat there and sipped while conversations were made about daily life—someone got a promotion, a shop owner came in with a new logo for his business to display, an old couple asked about the barista’s college application. I stared at the advertisement from the City of Wakeeney, calling for people to move to the town and enjoy the average rent of a two-bedroom apartment: $600/month. I took another sip of coffee, enjoying my last one that would cost so little. As I pulled out of town, the mailman waved me on, and I looked back at him and thought, Why not here?
The Christmas Tree at the center of Wakeeney
Joy can greet you in the most unlikely of places. I have been to Chicago, NYC, DC, Miami, Atlanta, Dallas, Houston, Phoenix, San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, and Denver. You’ll find many things to do and see in those places. But in Flyover Country, you’ve got to put in the effort. However, when you do, I promise you, there is beauty in the shade. And just when you think there’s nothing here for you, the sun shines on something you failed to see from the window. Trust me when I say, go follow it.
There are so many wonderful aspects of our flyover states! My dad grew up 60 miles north of Hays, Kansas. My mom grew up in eastern Ohio, in the Appalachian foothills. The richness of these locations continue to surprise and amaze me.