Friday, July 10, 2009
25: Completing Katy
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| Stoker's Log Day Twenty Five |
| 7/10/09 |
| From Booneville, MO |
| To Clinton, MO |
| 82.3 miles |
| 10.6 avg mph |
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Never before had both of us so dreaded getting on the bike in the morning. We were ruined from yesterday and utterly sick of the trail. Somehow we managed to drag ourselves out of the hotel around sunrise, and rode around an industrial park for a while trying to find the back way to the trail that the very friendly manager had told us about. We groaned as we finally rolled onto the crushed limestone.
Kyle was especially hurting, so we decided to switch and have me captain for a while. It was a miserable 25 miles, (yes, I'm pathetic) though not quite as bad as facing that Ohio headwind. It was admittedly fun to captain when we were careening down the trail at a good pace, but most of the ride was a slow struggle, fighting against the surface and the slight but steady incline. I'm becoming more confident and controlled, but I still tend to veer and over-correct sometimes, so Kyle took to chastizing me in a British accent whenever I wandered towards the wrong side. (It made sense and seemed hilarious at the time.) Neither my bad steering nor Kyle's antics mattered much, since we saw very few people on the trail all day. The predicted rain never arrived, but apparently it scared other cyclists away. We could tell that no one was ahead of us when we had to clear large pieces of a fallen tree from the path.
For the record, I tried to clear the tree first as part of my captain duties, but failed miserably at it. Apparently I should spend my stoker time doing arm exercises.
It was around this time that the lens on the small camera decided to malfunction, so even when I switched back to stoker I couldn't take any photos while riding (the DSLR is too bulky, heavy, and expensive for me to hold comfortably when we're pedaling). Not that the trail offered endless variety for me to photograph. Finally we reached the old railway depot and I got a break and a camera in my hands.
We wandered around the train station store for a while and struck up a conversation with the friendly woman behind the counter. We were concerned about the storms threatening on the western horizon, and wondered if we should get off the trail before its end and find a hotel for the night. She was incredibly helpful, looking up the weather and digging out all sorts of maps. She even found one that showed traffic volume, which helped us plan a route for the days ahead. Then her friend came by and gave us free Stealth Bomber pins. It seemed like a good souvenir idea, so I also bought a tandem bicycle pin.
And then it was back to the Katy for more uphill miles on limestone. Ugg.
As we came to one of the trail's frequent bridges, an aggressive but tiny dog ran towards us, yipping its little head off. One of a pair of ditzy teenage girls -- the kind who usually own tiny, overgroomed dogs -- ran after it and scooped the thing up. She was very apologetic, perhaps because every few miles on the Katy Trail are signs strictly prohibiting unleashed dogs, "even obedience school graduates." We said it was fine, finished crossing the bridge, and went on our way. Apparently the owner had a very short memory or very weak arms, because less than a minute later we heard a familiar yipping as the dog chased after us. I'll admit that a small part of me wanted to stop, pick up the dog, and punt it back to its owner, or at least carry it back to her with a "My human is an idiot" sign tied to its tail. But we were confident that we could easily outdistance it, so we simply pedaled faster. And faster. And faster. The tiny dog kept pace with us, even at 25 mph. I was astounded; I have never seen little dog legs go that fast. I was about to squirt it with my water bottle when it finally gave up and headed back towards the high pitched screeches of its owner.
At least it broke the monotony and increased our pace.
As our misery and frustration were reaching their height, we were apparently reaching the height of the trail. We had felt the slight incline wearing us down all day, but the path was still flat enough that there was no way to determine the "peak" until we read the sign.
From there it was only 20 miles to the finish, and we felt every last one of them. We had a little celebration at the final trail sign before remembering that we still had to ride through town; once again it was almost sunset when we reached the hotel, a Best Western that was filled with boats -- and quite overpriced -- due to its proximity to the lake. Fortunately it was just down the road from a homestyle restaurant with giant portions, and as we drifted off to sleep we could take solace in the fact that tomorrow we would be soaring along on smooth pavement instead of crushed limestone.
But even though we're deliriously happy to leave the trail, something tells me we'll look back more fondly on it later; we might just miss the shade and the quiet when we're thrust back onto the open road.
Farewell, Katy. There was a time when we didn't hate you.
| posted at: 12:29 |
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