Sunrise from Salina

Looking south on Santa Fe, downtown Salina

Looking north on Santa Fe, downtown Salina

 

This time, Topeka got no love from me. I pulled into a hotel where I stayed when moving HB to Las Vegas more than 25 years earlier. Exhaustion and proximity to the interstate won out. The rain of Friday gave way to 100 miles of thick morning fog. 

Flint Hill fog

I couldn’t wave goodbye to Topeka if I wanted to. I spent dozens of miles traveling well below the speed limit, not a banner start to the last 500-mile push home but at least the danger had character. The towns along I-70 spread out further after Topeka. 

Miss a stop and you might wait 40 miles for another town of any size. The rest areas become more frequent. Not that I could see much of anything that morning. 

The fog would not abate till I reach the floodplain of the Saline River and found myself wandering Salina at an hour only suited to joggers. Even if the city weren’t fogged in, I would traverse fog layers for the next 100 miles, till the weak December sun burnt off its last traces. With first light encroaching, the skies above Salina were clear. 

At nearly 50,000 people, Salina is a Great Plains metropolis and regional trade center for north-central Kansas. It’s the largest city till Denver another 400 miles west. 

Art Deco arch

Once the west end of the Smoky Hill Trail, the region had been rich hunting grounds for local Indian tribes, since Kansas grows much drier in its western reaches. I debated stopping soon. But fog can prove as stressful as two-lane mountain roads, so I decided breakfast at Salina would suffice. 

Salina has the only Braum’s close to Interstate 70 (the vertically integrated fast-food chain only has restaurants in a 300-mile span from its Oklahoma headquarters. I contemplated ice cream but felt I could wait for another Braum’s visit in 2025. 

Despite the long road ahead, I decided to take a good wander through Salina. A town of this size demanded several. In its silence, I found myself charmed by Salina. This was not the dead main street I encountered too often in Small Town American, but a vibrant block of small businesses. I found a small coffee place and took off the to wander around Santa Fe Street, the steaming up enough to keep my gloves off. 

Mural on the Mill

The downtown immediately stands out. Art Deco-style arches rise above the street, marking the pedestrian crossings below. At the north end of the block, I could not escape the Mural on the Mill, in which Australian artist Guido Van Helten depicts children plan on the walls of a massive mill. 

I had one more turn before the interstate and happened upon an unusually old gas station at 9th and Bishop. The restored Tudor-style cottage building has been restored, with vintage 1930s pumps outside.

Restored gas station

 The restored station debuted in summer 2024 after a local automotive museum undertook the project. It sat empty for many decades and miraculously survived several redevelopment efforts (background credited to the Salina Journal). Despite the offer of regular for 20 cents a gallon, the pumps don’t run. Still, it’s fascinating to see a gas station, which are generally as architecturally unappetizing as possible, had some style a century ago. 

The fog drifted off as I delved deeper into Kansas. I wondered if I still had a few stops left. Maybe I’m alone in finding Kansas intriguing. My native Ohio is thick with farmland, but Kansas just feels different. There are still hills, not like the rolling hills that cover all of Iowa or Missouri. 

Turbines in the morning fog

 When the land flattens, the occasional grain bin soars above the fields and dormant irrigation equipment. There are few trees anywhere. But one high point stands apart. 

The Basilica of St. Fidelis – better known as the Cathedral of the Plains – appears long before reaching tiny Victoria, Kansas. Founded by British immigrants, who named it for their queen, many returned to England. A wave of German immigrants followed. Bypassed by the interstate, it still has 1,000 residents.

The Romanesque church is not officially a Roman Catholic cathedral, but it feels far older than any church finished in 1911. The sand and limestone building fits a region with few trees, but it also feels like a European church for its use of stone and its remote location. 

But there was no train of Medieval pilgrims to be found. Or anyone else. I was alone except for light traffic on the main road.  Victoria remains a quiet farming town with a mighty church standing sentinel. 

Cathedral of the Plains

Cathedral of the Plains