Here's a quiz. What state park encompasses less than 10 acres, yet stretches across 80% of an entire state? Give up? It's Katy State Park that runs 225 miles from St. Charles, MO (near St. Louis) to Clinton, MO (near Kansas City). Formerly the rail bed for the Missouri, Kansas and Texas Railroad, it celebrates its 20th anniversary this year as the longest rail trail in the US. Jana and I took off last Thursday, carrying all our gear on Leonardo, for a seven day adventure in the wilds of Missouri.
Two thirds of the Katy Trail follows along side the Missouri River. Traveling east to west, the river was generally to our left and sheer dolomite bluffs were to our right. Since we always do things the hard way, the westerly route was a gradual uphill climb, eventually gaining about 400' of elevation. However with the wind in our face and the spongy, pebbly trail grabbing our tires, it felt like we were pedaling through oatmeal.
Below the bluffs is a lush verdant forest, thick with wildly twisted vines, and interspersed with purple wildflowers growing in the dappled sunshine. Clear streams running off the bluffs flow into the chocolate colored creeks that meander to the Missouri. The river, swiftly flowing towards its union with the Mississippi, is transporting the flotsam and jetsam of the upper midwest. Whole trees pass by, branches and bark stripped, with just a small root ball to identify it as something that was not cut down by man. Where there is a break in the bluffs, small farms appear, some with cows that graze almost on the trail. At times the river veers to the north and the movement of water is replaced with the monotony of black bottom land not yet showing the soy beans and corn that will soon be planted.
Saturday on the Katy Trail was slightly less peaceful. We left the old German town of Hermann in a light drizzle, and with rain predicted, we knew our planned 50 mile ride to Jefferson City might be a stretch. After lunch the rain began falling more heavily, and as it did, the trail became muddy. Jana later said that the front tire was often sinking halfway up the rim meaning that the tire itself was being abraded by the pea rock that forms the top layer of the trail. The winds began to rage, the temperature dropped into the low 50s, and even with raincoats, we were becoming chilled. Then POW! What seemed to be a gun shot was actually a blown rear tire. Still six miles from the Jefferson City bridge, we had no choice but to change the tire. A farm shed provided just enough cover for the Captain, whose hands were numb from the cold, to make the change (no farmer was home to make us a cup of tea or drive us to Jefferson City). The Stoker was awe struck by the skill and perserverance of the Captain . The blown tire and tube were left in the shed to mark our presence.
Prudence dictated that we abandon the coarse Katy Trail lest we blow another tire. Route 94 runs parallel to the trail so we decided to chance dealing with the car traffic in the wind soaked rain. Visibility was no more than 1/4 mile and the ceiling could not have been more than 100'. Yellow rain slickers, red flashing rear light, and reflectors on our panniers should have provided ample warning to the cars. Yet one driver had the nerve the run along side, roll down the window and complain that we should not be on the road. The Captain later uttered the words that she ought to have said then, "Either give us a ride or shut the h--- up!" Horizontal wind blown rain in our faces, cars to the rear, making no more than five miles per hour, unsure of where we were, the dome of the state capitol shrouded in fog finally came into view. Rather than risk traversing the bridge over the river, we ducked under an awning outside a commercial building and called the bed & breakfast in hopes they could provide a rescue. Within 45 minutes we were safely ensconced and what was at the time a chilling experience was now an adventure worth retelling.
Wednesday,with the trail finally dry and the weather warmer, we enjoyed seeing the greatest variety of wildlife. We had grown used to the cardinals with their shrill call and bright red plumage. Canada Geese, always in pairs, honking on their journey north. Hawks and vultures circling overhead searching for food, the former eying movement, the latter smelling death. Mid-morning we entered an area with trees on both sides of the trail that formed a closed canopy. Suddenly a large bird bolted from a tree, crossed our path, and flew at 3-5 feet of elevation down the canopy, landing in a tree about 50 yards ahead. Is it another hawk? The Captain, who is also the resident ornithologist for this expedition, said no, it is too big. As we approached its perch, it again took flight, and as before, seemed to stay just a little ahead. The Captain got a good look this time- it was a Great Horned Owl. For the next three miles we played tag with a bird that allowed us to get just close enough to admire his fine form, but ever elusive, would not pose for our camera. No picture will ever replace the memory of that glorious bird.
Thursday, our last day on the trail, was the most physically demanding of the trip. From the outset we were buffeted by 25 MPH headwinds with gusts to 35 MPH. This, combined with the steepest uphill grades along the trail's entire length and its coarse surface, made the 40 mile trek seem endless. As we approached Clinton, our final destination, we entered an area between farmland and prairie that afforded no wind break. Staying on the 15 foot wide trail, open on both sides, became almost impossible for the Captain, while the Stoker's legs provided the final push. At the Clinton Trail Head it was hugs and high fives for a job well done.
