Elevation: 4,039 ft.

Summit Attained: Approximately 4:30 p.m., 04/17/08

It had been foggy and raining throughout the day, quite heavily at times, as I made my way from Independence, Missouri, across the vast rolling plains of Kansas.  My goal for the afternoon was to reach the small town of Sharon Springs, located far to the west, just miles from the Colorado border.  I wanted to get there with enough time to spare so that I could hit the highpoint, Mt. Sunflower before evening.

Situated in western Kansas, where the plains begin to indiscernibly lift up and onto the Colorado Plateau, Mt. Sunflower is not the most convenient of the U.S. highpoints, at least not unless you live in Kansas or the Denver area.  Much of the journey took place on the now very familiar I-70, but by late afternoon, I was off of the highway and winding my way through desolate back roads, passing by a few all-but-abandoned settlements.  I was going pretty fast, and of course a state trooper happened to crest the only hill in the area just as I was really pushing it.  Fortunately, all he did was flash his roof lights, as if to say, "I could have nailed you there, but it would've been too unfair."

I stopped for gas in Sharon Springs, and then headed south out of town (I think I was on U.S. 26).  I attempted to follow a printed trail report to the Mt. Sunflower turnoff, but after traveling for almost 25 miles without seeing any likely candidates, I pulled a u-turn and headed back to Sharon Springs, concerned about the time and angry at the author of the ambiguous report on my passenger seat.

For my next try, I headed west out of town on U.S. 40, toward the Colorado border, stopping to explore several promising right-hand turns down dirt farm roads.  Everything looked the same, however, and it was only after I called upon the services of Google Earth (operated by my always-helpful mother) that I finally found the correct turnoff.  For the record, the turnoff for Mt. Sunflower is about a mile and a half east of the Colorado border on U.S. 40.  Heading toward Colorado, it is a right turn.

Once off of U.S. 40, getting to Mt. Sunflower proved to be way more treacherous than I had anticipated.  The day’s rain had turned the farm roads to mud, and what would have been routine dips and rises now presented a set of downright dangerous conditions for my S60R.  At one point, about two miles down the first dirt road, I hit a patch of deep mud on a downhill section and went into a skid toward a roadside ditch.  Figuring I was in for a long evening stuck in the middle of nowhere, I was terrified but relieved when the tires miraculously regained traction several feet from the edge of the ditch. 

After several miles navigating these roads, I began to feel really bad for my car, which was never intended for off-road abuse.  I also began to wonder if I would ever make it back out onto pavement.  There was mud everywhere, and it seemed like forever (it was actually 10.7 miles) before I came to a left-hand turn, sporting a sign that pointed (west) the last mile to Mt. Sunflower.

Mt. Sunflower sits atop of a long, gently sloping hill, and is visible several hundred yards to the north from the cattle guard just off of the right side of the last road.  I left the car at the cattle guard and hiked the last quarter mile or so. 

The actual highpoint was marked by a square, chest-high fence with an eclectic collection of objects nestled in the tall grass that sprouted inside the fence walls.  Besides the fence, there was a summit log in a mailbox; what looked to be a very tall, narrow tree trunk; a large commemorative stone; and my favorite: a sunflower made completely of welded-together old railroad spikes, with the seed-packed flower center represented by a tightly coiled machine chain. 

As I expected, the place offered a panoramic vista, uniformly tan and brown in constitution but nonetheless breathtaking in its magnitude.  There was an eerie silence about the place, and yelling confirmed the deadening effect that much unbroken space can have on even the loudest sound.

On my way out, I followed what turned out to be some very good advice, again courtesy of Google Earth:  After driving east back down the 1.1 mile road to the Mt. Sunflower, I went right, and then made a left at one of the first intersections, in order to head farther east.  This allowed me to take the a wider, drier farm road for the 10+ miles heading south back to U.S. 40.  Because of this successful detour, getting out wasn't nearly as bad as getting in.  If the roads are muddy when you go, and you fear that you might not get back out, try this approach. 

When I finally made it back to the highway, my tires began to rumble like they were going to blow out.  As I went faster, the rumbling got worse and worse.  As it turned out, there was so much mud in my rims that I had to pull over three times and clean them out to stop the vibrations.  This was a good thing, as the roads heading toward Colorado were flat, well paved, and quite fun to drive.  I was greeted by a pretty nice sunset to cap it all off, and I arrived in Boulder several hours later.  Only then did I notice the small crack in my windshield, one that would grow to over three feet by the time by mid summer.  Looking back on the story, a theme emerges: Drive carefully, leave plenty of time, and know where you are going when visiting Mt. Sunflower.