Boonville was gray first thing, and the forecast was gloomy. I love lightning and thunder and rain, but I prefer it on the back porch with hot chocolate instead of on a bicycle. That’s the only reason “gloomy” is the right word.
We procrastinated while watching the radar along with half a dozen other bikers who were trying to decide whether to chill for a while, or get chilled. While we waited we followed a recommendation for a breakfast diner where we got too much unremarkable food. Well, that’s not quite true because afterward we remarked several times on how we didn’t like the pancakes or the omelette, and since those were the only things we ordered, you could say it was a bust.
Back at the hotel we loaded our bikes for come what may, chatted with our two-wheeled acquaintances, and went out the door into a drizzle that I predicted would stop soon. Which set us up for the inevitable: if we put on our rain jackets and pannier covers, it would stop raining. If we put them away, it would start again. There should have been this incredible sense of power controlling the weather that way, but it was more frustrating than grandiose.
It was our longest day of the trip, but I promise I won’t make this the longest daily report. An early highlight was getting lost and ending up on the original railroad bridge across the Missouri River. We couldn’t go all the way across because the drawbridge part was permanently rusted in the up position, but at least we got to go partway over and back, taking pictures. A howling wind forced us to hold our helmet brims with one hand, since I wasn’t keen on jumping into the river after a blown brim no matter how expensive they were.
Back on the corrected GPS map we peddled across the new bridge. I marveled at the size of the Missouri River. Nora asked later, “Did we cross the river?” Heights aren’t her forte, so she was focused on the concrete walkway the whole way. Recent rains have swollen it and discolored it into a hot milk chocolate brown, which is tantalizing on a cold morning. Then we untangled the tangled paths and were on our way, controlling the weather as we went.
We leap-frogged with the guys who had waited a bit longer on the weather, as well as a woman we’d met at the very first restaurant of the trip. She’s riding solo all the way to Chicago or Cincinnati or some other C city. She rides faster, but stops more often, so we do the tortoise and hare routine.
“The tunnel” was part of the day’s anticipations. A couple at breakfast told us they were looking forward to it because they are tunnel buffs. We didn’t even know there were tunnel buffs. They wondered if they’d get to use their bike lights in the tunnel. We thought not, but didn’t want to discourage them by saying so.
The tunnel didn’t disappoint. Picturesquely set and created, we stopped to take pictures of each other and anyone else who happened to be there at the same time, including the same five guys and that same woman. It’s odd that we rarely see anyone on the trail, but at each point of interest suddenly there are a bunch of us acting like we’re long-lost relatives who are having a reunion and then scattering as quickly as possible afterward.
The thing about being the longest day is that it was pretty long. No matter how ambitious we started out, eventually we wore down from thirst and hunger and lugging our luggage. The good news is that from Boonville we more or less follow the river the rest of the ride, and rivers flow downhill. Not very downhill in the case of the Missouri, but no matter how casual, downhill beats uphill.
The high granite bluffs along the trail are magnificent, but we kept passing signs that were a bit disconcerting. One said, “CAUTION: Falling Rock. Do not stop on the next .25 mile of trail.” What I wanted to know was whether not stopping had any advantage over stopping. If rock falls are random, isn’t there a pretty good chance that the people who stopped would be the only survivors?
And another thing. One of those signs about not stopping, and this is true, was followed a couple hundred feet later by a sign that said:
“WARNING: When using the Katy Trail State Park you may encounter some of the following conditions or situations that require you to use caution:
Rough surface
Washouts
Downed or fallen trees
Fallen rock or large rock on trail
Water over trail
Vehicular traffic
Wild or domestic animals
Maintenance, construction, mowing or farm equipment.
Okay, but there was no way to read the small print on the second sign without stopping. Now what? In the spirit of the law I took a picture of it and read it long after we’d passed all those hazards. I should note that the most dangerous thing we heard of on the trail was that one of the five guys we were leapfrogging with was bitten by a dog and had to get rabies shots. That’s not what one would expect on the trail.
Eventually, because we didn’t just give up and topple covered with mosquitos into a ditch, we got to the Jefferson City trailhead and branched off to cross the river to our cottage. It’s a high bridge with a splendid pedestrian/bike ramp that circles up and up and up until the view is frighteningly up. Then across the bridge and our cottage was right there.
We’re learning that some people have the touch when it comes to preparing a guest cottage. Super clean, super snacks including a great assortment, super touches here and there including a huge Winnie the Pooh with sign that said “I love you.” Awwwww.
We hauled in the bikes and high-fived our achievement and went to connect to the internet. One of the options for internet was “FBI Surveillance Van.” Boy did we wish for the password to that one!
Tossed accumulated laundry into the washer, showered and walked in search of dinner. The walk took us past the state capital building, which is immensely beautiful but up on a hill that wouldn’t be much of a hill if our legs were working normally, which they weren’t.
Fried catfish, fancy chicken, bread that was fabulous even it if could easily break your teeth, and bed. Ahhh… bed.
