We have crossed the barren desert, but we have not died of thirst.
We have wandered far in safety, though we did not know the way.
We have spoken words in many lands, and all have understood.
We shall see the face of God and live.
We’re not afraid: “I go before you always.”
Come, follow Him, and he will give you rest.

The mountains and deserts are now behind us, and we head across the Great Plains from Pueblo, Colorado. Early this morning, we lost in the haze the peak sighted by Zebulon Pike, and committed ourselves to the long, sloping journey to the Mississippi. Rather than our accustomed views of the road disappearing around the next hairpin bend, we now look down an arrow-straight road that gradually fades into the shimmering heat haze. Or cuts off at a distant skyline that may be the top of the next rolling hill, or perhaps the curving edge of Earth herself. Who can tell?

Today’s 92 miles from Pueblo to Haswell, CO, is our last full day in Colorado. Kansas awaits.

There is no education session tonight because there is no Catholic church here. We’re sleeping in the former elementary school in this town that has shrunk to a remnant of sixty souls, many of whom appear to be struggling to farm the arid land with the reduced labor force. Agriculture today was mostly ranching, with a few animals scattered about the vast expanses below the distant horizons. In town, there’s a grain elevator that bespeaks at least some crops either now or in the recent past. Far to the South, we sighted a phalanx of harvester combines working its way across distant fields.

All the riders are well, and rejoicing in the vacation from climbing. Tonight’s dinner was a grilled salmon feast prepared by Lyle and Kay. It should be the last dinner we prepare for ourselves, as the remainder of the tour will be a constant round of parish visits with suppers hosted by parishioners.

John Molineaux