Busta and I woke up in our tarp tent at the Boonville, MO disc golf course, camping site for the 2024 Pedaler’s Jamboree from Columbia the day before. Like half of our previous nights camping along the Katy Trail State Park across Missouri, rain fell upon the camping cyclists. Once again, a May thunderstorm blew through with lightning and rain. Cycling campers were sent swirling about securing tents and heading for shelter at the nearby Y.
We had set up at a border between the festival field and woods near the top of a hill, where we remained in our mostly dry campsite watching the scramble. Drainage was good for us. Our spot was sheltered from non-tornadic gusts. Too bad I couldn’t check weather with my new phone with its data blocking virtual sim that could be turned off once I accepted sim controller terms of service online back home. I couldn’t even play solitaire without accepting terms of service that were online. Lucky for us, no derechos or tornados blew us across Central Missouri. We stayed in our tent and eventually slept well.
Enough of our stuff got soaked to make for another slow pack that morning. Still, the sun came out again to allow for continuation of our journey. Our wet blankets and tarp dried. Busta and I tried not to worry families. Busta barked at a few walking by holding tents, backpacks or umbrellas, reminding me to set up even further back in future festivals.
By the time our bicycle and trailer were packed with our supplies for the return home, other festival campers were gone. Only food trucks and festival crew remained as we pulled away for our 162 mile ride and run home.
On the first day, it was fun to ride with lingering festival cyclists among the normal weekend walkers and cross country trekkers. One particular foursome passed us several times only to stop at the next shelter. Maybe, they replied to my quick roll by inquiry into whether they were on a beer mile ride.
Now, our main goal was home. We had left the family with all of the chores, as well as, work on our investment properties. Data was nonexistent, and phone service sparse, but good enough to know that I needed to be home.
The first day, we went as far as we could following the noon start. Festival riders turned to Columbia at the MKT turnoff.
We continued east on the Katy Trail, following the old rail line originally built for American expansion and corporate development at costs eloquently described by Ojibwa that amounted to dissecting Indian land and people.
In order to take advantage of manifest destiny, the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad was incorporated in 1870. It was generally called the K-T, which soon became the Katy. The newly formed railroad soon crossed the border into Cherokee territory and then veered southwest into the Creek Nation, the Choctaw Nation, and the Chickasaw Nation. This opened the way for the corporate invasion of Indian lands that would divest the tribes of their natural resources, land, and sovereignty. The Katy did not pay for its right-of-way. It also had an exemption from taxes and it bought raw materials from individuals in direct violation of tribal laws.
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Overall, all of the railroads, and particularly the Katy, in Indian Territory set the stage for the destruction of tribal governments, the loss of Indian land and resources, and the increase in poverty among Indians. It shows that corporate interests, at least during the late nineteenth century, were greater than those of either the Indian people (most of whom could not vote) and the sovereign Indian nations for whom the United States had a fiduciary responsibility.
While unpaid reparations and taxes remain long overdue, the Katy Trail is today the longest developed rail-trail in the United States, the best way to walk, run or pedal across Missouri, and part of a growing network of increasingly connected opportunities to bicycle around the country.
Busta was able to run over 10 miles out of Boonville, but not as much as we like when we have time. We made it 38 miles to Hartsburg in daylight and stopped again at the Hartsburg Hitching Post for two frozen pizzas and four sodas. The sun was setting, and it was 10 miles to Jefferson City. After the festival and rain, I wasn’t sure about our battery status. We had enough light, I thought. If not, we would stop on the trail and charge light batteries on our solar battery for an hour.
Fog settled over the trail. We rode the last two of our 48½ miles in the foggy dark. I saw a gate and turned into a pavilion at North Jefferson City. It was dry with a roof. I set up camp and we slept before midnight.
Around 1 am, I woke to Busta barking at two figures approaching with bright lights. I jumped up half asleep and started asking if they were also looking to camp, thinking they were late riders. Soon, I woke enough to see that they were Jefferson City police. Mercifully, upon seeing that we were Katy Trail tourists, and after explaining about riding into darkness and fog, they allowed us to remain until morning.
Sleep was good. We were slow, but still rolled out by mid morning. That day, I rode angry. I was mad about having to hurry back. Why couldn’t we take a couple of days more? I wanted to stop and see more. It would be nice to relax a little too. We rolled on at our normal slow pace with frequent stops and Busta runs.
We were strong for the first 18 miles, and stopped at the Amvets in Mokane for more pizza and soda. With working data, I could have checked weather before leaving Mokane. It was mostly cloudy, but rain seemed distant.
Less than three miles later, rain clouds were blowing over. A shower was coming. As the storm started, I stopped on the Auxvasse Creek bridge, quickly pulled out the tarp, laid it on the bridge, rolled our rig onto it, and wrapped us up in it. Busta laid in his trailer. I held the tarp wrapped around us and cursed. Cursed having to rush home. Cursed my nonexistent phone service. Cursed getting stuck under the tarp on a bridge in yet another passing rainstorm.
But, we stayed mostly dry. Jumping off and wrapping us in a tarp worked. We survived a storm and were on our way about an hour later.
The day started with hopes of making it 66 miles to Marthasville. 42½ miles later in Mckittrick, just north of Hermann, we decided to stop in late afternoon and rest well under clear skies with home 70 miles distant.
On the third day of our return home, and ninth of the trip, weather was good. After packing, we had over 10 hours of daylight. If we could cover nearly 60 miles to the bridge across the Missouri River into St Louis County, then, we could ride with lights for the last 10 miles at our leisure.
Busta loves to wade in creeks and trots along the trail for a few miles at a time. He’ll then ride in the trailer 5-10 miles. When I keep us sufficiently supplied, we drink water every stop and snack frequently. While rolling, I relax as much as possible and shift feet, seat and grips frequently. We run, ride, rest, and repeat.
By late afternoon, we were in Defiance, where we rested and split a rib dinner. Two hours of daylight and 16 miles of Trail were between us and the bridge over the Missouri River into St Louis County. We rolled on. As sunlight faded, I turned on our lights for the last few miles of trail. Just after dark, we crossed the Missouri River, just like the ride out. Break time in Creve Coeur came just before a final push for home.
On the way out to Columbia, MO and the Pedaler’s Jamboree to Boonville, we covered 179 miles. On the way home, we had covered over 150 miles in three days. Me and Busta, and our our hundreds of pounds of load, were finishing a trip of 330 miles in 9 days, 37.7778 miles a day, give or take. All we had left was Olive Blvd, where we were hit last year and had a road repair this year. We’ll cover the last 10 miles in the next post.