Me and Busta were three days into a bicycle ride on the Katy Trail, the old route of the Missouri-Kansas-Texas rail line (M-K-T, or "Katy" for short), with one good night of sleep, intermittent phone service and rain showers, no data to check weather, and houses needing work back home. We could ride back in two or three days. Or, we could keep going another day towards the Pedaler's Jamboree, and still be within four days of home.
Once again, rain fell overnight. Again, we and our stuff remained dry. The tarp tent works good, and I learned from the night before to not set up in a low spot where rainfall would pool.
Steamboat Junction is a nice stopping point with spacious camp sites, hot water, and an indoor shower. It was so nice to leisurely wash and pack as our tarp laid out to dry.
We rolled onto the Katy Trail by late morning. The weather was beautiful. We could still make it to the festival. I decided to continue on towards Columbia.
We were feeling good. The miles passed on a scenic riverside ride. When we're rolling, Busta runs for 2-3 miles and rides in the trailer for 5-10. I regularly stop to drink and stretch. There is nothing like rolling the bicycle and trailer just behind Busta trotting along the right trail margin. It's like a walk in the park. It was a ride across Missouri in the state park.
Compact gravel is nice, but it's still a ride in the woods. Preparation, planning and goal setting are essential, and change is inevitable. Little things occur all the time, like ruts in the trail, or every once in a while, a stick gets thrown up and lodges in the trailer, where it scrapes the ground until I stop and pull it out. That's just a few seconds now and then.
Mechanical issues take more time. Sometimes I have to make repairs on the road. I also ride with the comfort of family to call for a ride home in a vehicle when I can't go on.
On this day, we did good. Forty three miles later, we rode into Hartsburg before dark. The Hitching Post was open. We filled up our water bottles, and devoured two frozen pizzas and four sodas. Camping was beautiful, with occasional lightning flashes in the distance from our scenic view across the town and fields.
No rain fell on us this night. We slept well.
That is when I knew that we were on our way to the jamboree. Columbia was less than 25 miles away, and we had all day to get there.
The first 15 miles went by nicely in a few hours. It was warm, but we had water and time. We stopped for lunch in Easley.
As expected, things don’t always go smoothly. Just past mile marker 168, we got a flat bicycle tire.
It takes time to unload our gear, remove a wheel, replace the inner tube, reassemble everything, and then pump air into the tire. Remember to check the tire for things like nails and glass to prevent repeats.
One of the most challenging parts of a trail repair is reconnecting the trailer to the bicycle propped up in the middle of a gravel trail. We got it done, and continued towards our destination 11 miles away.
Within a half mile, the new inner tube was flat. I travel with two spares, but this would be our last. The inner tube came out with a big hole. Something shredded it. Checking the tire more carefully, this time I found a 2 mm triangular piece of glass or plastic that worked it's way through the tire enough to slice inner tubes. I removed the shard and hoped that the shredding was solved.
A fun part of getting out is meeting all sorts of folks, from lunch walkers to cross country long haulers. And, it's not often that they see a bicyclist with a trailer and black lab.
Numerous people were on this particular stretch of Katy Trail between Jefferson City and Columbia. One pair of cyclists stopped to offer help with our flat. They kindly gave us one of their inner tubes so that we would have a spare. I could do the involved repair myself, and insisted that they could leave us there.
Upon reaching the difficult step of reconnecting the trailer to our standing bicycle for a second time in the afternoon heat, I asked a passing jogger for help. He gave me a side eye look and said, "Bro, I'm on my 68th mile". Oh, never mind, I said, as the ultramarathoner kept going. I got the trailer reconnected on my own, returned bags to their racks, and rode on, never catching up with ultramarathoner.
Full tires meant that the shredder was gone. That was the last of our flat tires on this trip.
We rolled into Columbia a couple of hours later than hoped for, but still a day ahead of the Pedaler’s Jamboree. We spoiled ourselves by staying in an expensive hotel close to the University of Missouri, and ate an overpriced meal from the adjacent restaurant. After a nice shower and sleep on a bed, we joined the bicycle party in the morning.
For one day, hundreds to thousands on bicycles ride from Columbia to Boonville, Missouri, on the MKT and Katy trails. Along the way, are stops with music, drinks, conversations, and some Busta love.
Waiting at the end of the ride is a music festival with food trucks and camping. I drank about a gallon of fresh lemonade. We ate some good truck food, settled into our camp site, and enjoyed the festival show.
It was a good ride to join the Pedaler’s Jamboree on this warm, gorgeous day and evening. Worrying about getting home could wait for tomorrow.
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