Katy Trail Bike Trip

The Great Bike Trip of 2023 concluded yesterday, Saturday. For me, I’m sorry to report, it was just too much, and I departed in disgrace without attempting the final 70 mile day. Luckily, Harry and Weedy were game enough to drive to Jefferson City (capitol of Missouri) to fetch me home, as our fearless leader, Sharon, with intrepid Martha, finished tired and covered in glory.

I slept well in Sedalia, enjoyed a complimentary breakfast with fellow bikers, and we set off from the lovely, old Hotel Bothwell, biking through the streets of Sedalia until we got to the Katy Trail. The trail east of Sedalia is greatly improved since the last time I saw it, ten years ago. I did bike the Katy with Sharon and Jane in 2018, but I joined up on the third day, after attending a funeral, so I only rode for two days that year, missing Sedalia.

The timing of this trip was perfect, with Fall colors astounding us practically every mile. But confounding me was the number of hills on the trail between Sedalia and Boonville. Like childbirth (which I have thankfully not experienced), the pain of the hills had been forgotten. It was brutal, and I came to understand that I really am old (and unfit). Sharon is 8 years younger than I am, and crazy fit, and Martha rides an e bike (battery assisted). Jane turns out to be the wise one, for recognizing she was not up to this challenge. I found out in the process!

At Boonville, I finally caught up to my two fit companions. We hydrated, and I changed my pants to the proper direction, hoping that was my only problem (it was not). I bought a Katy Trail shirt like Sharon and Martha already had from last year, so that I could better look part of the group, and on we went, stopping to visit Hannah Cole, one of Harry’s sculptures atop the steep hill, near the bridge over the Missouri River.

Crossing the bridge on the narrow bike path was pretty scary, because the wind had picked up and was blowing hard from the west, as we traveled north over the Missouri River with traffic roaring nearby. I did not take pictures, as survival was my primary interest. Martha walked her bike, since steering is more difficult with her heavier bicycle. I waited for Martha once I was safely across, and when we caught up to Sharon again, we biked past the spot where, on my first trip in 2007, we found a little orange kitten next to a junkyard. We took the kitten in my bike basket to Rocheport, where we were staying. We covered the basket with a bandana so he couldn’t jump out. In Rocheport, where we were stating that night, I called the University of Missouri vet school, and the woman who answered the phone was kind enough to come and get the kitten and keep it until I could return to collect him several days later. On that same trip, the next day, near Bluffton (many miles from the Boonville junkyard), we found a PAIR of kittens on the trail in the middle of nowhere! Doug, proprietor of the Bluffton house we stayed in, was kind enough to keep the kittens until Sharon could pick them up a couple of days later. So, we each got a kitten that year, and needless to say, all three were named Katy. We have never seen a cat on the trail since that trip!

The junkyard was gone, though the air smelled of old fuel near the cleared land where it had been. Soon, the trail bent eastward and we had the wind at our backs to New Franklin, where there was another Harry monument to see. The sun made good pictures impossible, unfortunately. Harry created sketches of early settlers on black granite to commemorate the Santa Fe Trail, which originated there.

Just beyond New Franklin stands an old farm silo of brick and cement. It is horribly defaced with graffiti, but the quality and evidence of long ago value is still there. Sharon and I climbed into it to explore. Usually, it has been inaccessible, but with the drought it is possible, though not easy or actually allowed.

Eventually, around 4:00, we made it to Rocheport, which is perhaps the nicest town on the Katy Trail. I have never been so tired. The three of us shared one big room. We rested a while, then walked a mile down the trail and climbed up the river bluff to Les Bourgeois Winery overlooking the Missouri River. We were generally disappointed by the meals we had, with slow service, despite an early reservation . But, as Harry would say “at least it was really expensive!”. We walked home along the road in the dark, downhill all the way. The beds were very comfortable, the people upstairs were quite noisy, but eventually we slept and woke recuperated and ready for another day.

The “short day” from Rocheport to Jefferson City convinced me that I would not survive the long day from Jefferson City east to home. I started with plenty of energy, but soon began to flag, and by the time we biked up the bridge ramp and across the terrifying Missouri River (40 miles), I was pretty sure I was going to call it quits the next morning. That did not deter me from enjoying the tour we took around very hilly Jefferson City on foot. It was a beautiful day, marred only by my lack of fortitude.

While we were eating at an Irish Pub tin Jefferson City, Harry was at the Navy Ball in downtown St. Louis.

I said good bye to Sharon and Martha as they departed back across the bridge. They were very nice about my failure, and set off bright and early. Undeterred by Sharon having a flat tire before Tebbets and then some subsequent brake issues, they completed a 70 mile day. I am in awe, and horribly humbled.

Home again, I am sad that I came a cropper, but happy to be back on a horse, and best of all, reunited with Harry, Weedy and Roscoe et al.

Be safe, be well. Accept limits. Slava Ukraini! Peace, peace, peace, please.