[This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.]
NOTE: This is number five in a series. At least chapter one should be read first. Preferably, the story should be read chronologically in order to keep up with the setting and the carry over from chapter to chapter. Also, a reminder that real ghost stories have been reported all up and down the Mother Road since its very beginnings. It's unknown if such experiences are still happening on the restored sections of the old road.
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Only thirteen and a fraction miles of Route 66 used to pass through the "Sunflower State". I say used to because, in 1960, Old Kansas Route 66 was decommissioned and the entire mileage abandoned when the new Interstate system by-passed Kansas altogether. From the start of my trip in Chicago, I'd been skipping back and forth between the newer four lane Route 66 and the older versions. Since the Kansan abandonment was only three years old, I had no trouble finding and driving on it.
The Kansan thirteen odd miles of the original Route 66 ran across the extreme southeastern corner of the state, taking in Galena, Riverton, and Baxter Springs, before crossing into Oklahoma. Kansas was quite proud, and remains so, of their little piece of The Mother Road and not a bit happy to lose it.
In fact, Kansas had its own special Route 66 marker--a black "66" on a yellow sunflower. To further help visitors stay on track and on the old route, the state also painted the standard "66" federal badge and number directly onto the road in some places.
The introduction of the Will Rogers Turnpike in 1953 was the beginning of the end for the Kansas segment of Route 66. The turnpike made it possible, as an alternate, to drive directly from Joplin, Missouri to Tulsa, Oklahoma for quite some time before the Interstate system followed suit and thus, both new routes by-passed Kansas completely.
Cruising along in my split window Vette coupe, which you can read all about in the Chicago part of my story, I felt horny again. Damn, it'd only been a short time ago since that truck stop back in Missouri. I've told you before how much I like and need sex. But after my Missouri sexcapades, I really needed to take some recuperation time before my next serious roll in the hay. We'll just have to see.
About that time, I drove into Galena, Kansas, five-hundred and ninety miles past Go. Once more, my pre-trip planning and notes came to my aid as I thought about the history of the area. A lot of mining labor troubles had occurred here during the 1930's. I suspect there is a lot of history on that topic, but mining is not one of my interests. I kept driving.
Six miles further down the road I came to Riverton, Kansas, and a special object of interest. That object was one of the few remaining Marsh Rainbow Arch Bridges--this one across the Spring River. These bridges date from the 1920's and are of all concrete construction. Like all road lanes of the original road, the bridge floor was eighteen feet wide--two nine foot lanes.
Two main side supports, resting on piers, are in the shape of rainbow-like arches with spokes radiating downward onto more piers. They serve the dual purpose as supports and bridge railings. The origin of the bridge name is obvious.
There is a second such bridge that spans Brush Creek just north of Baxter Springs. Seeing at least one of the bridges was my major reason for visiting the Kansas section of Route 66. I took numerous pictures, of course. They are architectural beauties and the product of the civil engineer, James Barney Marsh.
Anyway, there was a temporary barricade to prevent vehicles getting out to the bridge. I'm not sure the bridge was used anymore anyway. So, I had to walk some distance to get to the bridge itself.
I got some pictures and moved closer. As I moved, I heard some noise, sounds, something, coming from a grassy bank across the road and at the foot of the bridge. I eased over that way, quietly and carefully.
What I saw, took my breath away. A naked couple was doing a sixty-nine on the grass. He was on the bottom--she was on top. My first impression was that neither was all that attractive. But that didn't seem to stop them from what they were doing. Click, click, click went my camera.
The middle aged guy was puffing already. The girl, a bit overweight, suddenly spun around and raised up. Click. She reached down and positioned his cock. Click. With a groan, she impaled herself. Click. Then she went to work in ernest. Click. Oh, hell--click, click, click some more as I moved around a bit for different angles.
I thought they were much too busy to notice me. But, I guess I was too much out in the open because the woman suddenly called out to me rather breathlessly and without breaking her stride.
"You could get better pictures in closer. Fact, why don't you just come and join us. Bert here likes threesomes."
Startled, I blurted out, "Sorry, I'd really love to, but I'm on a pretty tight time schedule today and can't afford the time. I barely had time to get the bridge pictures. I'll take a rain check, though."
She just grinned and returned her concentration to her fuck stick ride. I retreated. I really wasn't on a tight schedule, but I just didn't fancy joining those two for some reason. I returned to Swifty and headed back to the Mother Road.
Baxter Springs, six-hundred and three miles past Go, was once a key staging area for cattle being driven from Texas on the Shawnee Trail. The town was also the site of the Baxter Springs Massacre in 1863, when Quantrill's Confederate Raiders came to town. The Confederates captured an entire detachment of Union troops and then executed them.
Jesse James is alleged to have targeted the town bank later in 1876, but no substantial proof of such exists. But Henry Starr, the so-called "Cherokee Bandit," later did rob the bank in 1914. Henry was nephew to Sam Starr, husband of Belle Starr, "the Bandit Queen," made infamous by Richard K. Fox, editor of the National Police Gazette.
It was also there in Baxter Springs that I stopped at an area between sixth and seventh streets to take a look at historic old Fort Blair. The American frontier and the Indian wars are another special interest area of mine. Fort Blair, also called Fort Baxter, was established by Union troops in 1862. I knew that the raid by Quantrill's Raiders had massacred some Union troops here, including some Buffalo (Black) soldiers, but that is about all I knew.
And then, so help me God, it happened again. I was exploring and poking around some of the restored area of the fort. As I approached the end of an old building, a Black soldier in Union blues came around that corner. Without saying a word, that trooper challenged me with a leveled musket with a spike bayonet pointed right at my swinging boobs!
"Oh, my God," I yelped in surprise as my hand automatically rose to my mouth
With that, the soldier turned on his heel in a drill perfect about face and disappeared back around that same corner, out of sight before I could come out of my shocked trance. At last, I carefully peeked around the corner. The apparition was, of course, long gone.
Then I yelped in startled surprise a second time as a voice behind me quietly said, "Don't be alarmed Ma'am, if you just saw a Buffalo soldier. It's a common occurrence here."
It was the site administrator or ranger or whatever.
"God, that's two scares in less than ten seconds. Are there any more surprises coming?"
