Wednesday, July 08, 2009

23: Meeting Katy

Stoker's Log Day Twenty Three

7/8/09

From Ferguson, MO

To Hermann, MO

88.9 miles

10.6 avg mph

We were reluctant to leave the Vosses this morning, but the open road called... and told us that if we didn't get riding again we weren't going to make it across the country in time. Our plan for the day demonstrated one of the many benefits of staying with locals: they know all the best routes. We had originally planned to take various roads across Ozark Mountains, having no idea that we could instead take the Katy Trail, over 200 miles without cars or steep inclines that partially follows the path of Lewis and Clark. To get there we rode around a picturesque waterway and surrounding park that were just starting to fill with kayaks, crew teams, soccer players, and runners. More reasons to move to the St. Louis area, if only it wasn't out in the midwest.

When we hit the Katy Trail I was delighted to discover that it offered bathrooms at regular intervals. Unfortunately they were toilets set over deep but rarely emptied pits, and I gagged horribly at the smell of the first one I ventured into. Some were better, but it was usually advisable to avoid breathing anywhere near them. But you're probably not here to read about disgusting bathrooms, so I'll distract you with the tiny, tiny frogs that we found outside of one.

Look at that little guy compared to the bolt. So tiny!

The trail also offered fairly regular food stops. We got a mid-morning snack from the icecream freezer at a bike shop and tried not to laugh too hard at the tourists getting used to their rental bikes, then a few hours later we had lunch at Dutzow Deli, which lived up to its German name with delicious pretzels and meat items. They were very possessive about their bathrooms, newspapers, and ice -- signs listing the regulations were the primary decorations -- but otherwise it was a nice place and a welcome rest from the heat and the dirt outside.

It was an especially warm day, and we sighed with relief whenever the trail turned away from farm fields and into the forest, where we would be shaded by dense trees and towering walls of sandstone.

Apparently Lewis almost plunged to his death while exploring one of the tallest of these cliffs, but managed to lodge his knife into a crevice of the rock and hang on to save himself. I hope he looked exactly like this depiction from one of the informative signs:

We also passed the Daniel Boone Judgment Tree Memorial, a humble affair just off the trail in the midst of a farm field. Apparently after attaining celebrity status Boone settled down in the area and served as a respected administrator and judge, despite his lack of legal training. There is an actual tree planted there to celebrate some anniversary of the Boones' arrival, but I was more interested in the flowers and maps.

Another benefit of the trail was the prospect of meeting touring cyclists like ourselves, or so we thought. We quickly discovered that most people who appeared to be on long-distance tours had just embarrassingly overpacked (and from me this is really saying something). Many were carrying as much gear as we were... for a few days on the trail. One of these heavily laden groups actually had experience with longer trips, and all four of them thought that we were absolutely crazy to be traveling east to west. One who had crossed the country west to east described the 45 mph tail wind that had carried him effortlessly for a day or two, and laughingly wished us luck fighting against it coming the other way. They acted like we were choosing to contend with the hounds of hell when we could have just been carried swiftly across the country by a fleet of sweetly singing cherubims. After we left the annoyingly cynical group, I asked Kyle why on earth he hadn't mentioned these drastic wind trends when we were deciding which direction to travel (trying very hard not to sound bitter and accusatory). He contended that the wind has an unpredictable mind of its own (true), that the wind rumors were exaggerated (probably true), and that we would almost certainly end up with as many favorable wind days as unfavorable ones (we'll see).

To be honest, my favorite fellow trail traveler was this guy, making his way very gradually across the road:

He was an excellent reminder that slow and steady wins the race, or at least gets us to the coast. Hopefully he actually made it across.

We had to climb a hill to get into town, of course, but it was the only one we had been dealt all day. We checked into a motel and then ate at a diner whose food was less spectacular than its ceiling, which was covered with dollars raised for a local family in need. Then it was off to bed for a good night's sleep before continuing our slow and steady journey the next day.

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