Day One: Clinton, Missouri to Hartsburg, Missouri

July 25, 2015

(This was written in March, 2023, almost eight years after I rode the Katy Trail for the first - but not last - time. I didn't write any notes at the time, so I'm trying to reconstruct this little "tour" from memory.)

We had lived in the Metro East area of Illinois for about three years, and I still hadn't ridden the Katy Trail, the region's famous rail-trail that enables cyclists to cross almost the entire state of Missouri without sharing roads with the state's notoriously terrible redneck drivers.

For the first time in years I was working at an office job, as a contract software developer at Wells Fargo Advisors, a large brokerage firm in downtown St. Louis. I don't know what I was thinking when I tried something like that, which didn't suit me at all. I should have known it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience when, during a brief orientation/"pep talk", the curmudgeonly old guy who'd hired me started off by making the following statement, loudly enough for the entire floor of cubicles to hear: "THERE'S A LOT OF ASSHOLES WHO WORK IN THIS PLACE."

I'd been at the job a few months, was barely riding my bike, and had gained several pounds while stress eating. I decided I needed to get away for a little adventure, even though now that I was a wage slave I could only be gone for a weekend.

Joy agreed to drive me to the western end of the Katy Trail. I planned to ride the entire thing, about 240 miles, in two days.

We were out very early Saturday morning for a picture at the Clinton trailhead, where I attempted to suck in my substantial gut. For some reason I'd decided to ride my Surly Pacer road bike, with its 23 mm tires - a wildly inappropriate choice for the notoriously soft crushed limestone surface, as I quickly learned.

This was going to be a credit card "tour", so I was only carrying a few off-bike clothes in my seat post bag. I didn't know where I was going to stay tonight, but assumed I'd find some place to sleep inside. Joy was driving back to Illinois, so I would have to figure things out on my own in any case.

It was nice and quiet on the trail so early in the morning. I saw several rabbits, but no cyclists, at this hour.

In eleven or twelve miles I reached Calhoun, population 469. That short distance was enough for me to realize that 23 mm tires inflated to 115 PSI were not the best choice for the Katy Trail, especially when it was soft from recent rain.

I looked around Calhoun for a few minutes, then got back on the trail.

This steel-frame road bike never really fit me right, and the seat constantly slid down, but I did like the blue-rimmed wheels.

Eight miles later I arrived in Windsor, population 2,805. I rode off the trail for a few blocks, long enough to find a Dairy Queen, which unfortunately was not open at this early hour:

I poked around Windsor for a few minutes, but didn't feel like I had time to thoroughly investigate the place, since my average speed so far was at least two or three miles per hour slower than I had anticipated. The Katy's trail surface was so slow. Who could have known?!

(Anyone who did even a tiny amount of research before riding the trail, that's who. But research and planning for bike touring is just not my style.)

Back on the trail. There wasn't a lot to see. I observed the first of multiple pairs of abandoned shoes I'd see today:

The Katy trail is pretty flat, but the western portion does have a few modest hills. I stopped to take a photo to document my arrival at the alpine majesty of the High Point of the Katy Trail:

There wasn't a lot happening in Green Ridge, population 467. I stopped to photograph some of the decrepit stuff that I find faintly amusing.

I rode through one of the sections where horse riding is allowed, and fortunately emerged uninjured by the large, nervous beasts.

After riding through the much larger town of Sedalia, about which I don't remember anything at all at the time of this writing, I paused ten miles later in Clifton City, a small community with no population listed.

There was a church just off the trail whose sign amused me.

As with all multi-use paths, pedestrians walking abreast sometimes slow you down on the Katy Trail, at least near the populated areas. But you don't often see a family walking to church on a bike trail.

There was an extremely decrepit, trashy establishment that apparently offered camping and bicycle rentals. I paused briefly to take a few photos, but didn't investigate further.

At some point I encountered large posts obstructing the trail. I remembered reading newspaper articles detailing the antipathy that many rural residents in the area felt for the Katy Trail and the outsiders like me that it attracted. Could this have been a deliberate act of sabotage? It seemed possible, if unlikely. I looked around, and couldn't see any reason these things could have fallen onto the trail on their own.

I can't remember exactly what time today I experienced the most painful incident I've ever suffered on a bicycle tour, but it was sometime in the middle of the afternoon: I stopped to look at one of the informational signs near the trail, and somehow didn't notice a wasp's nest attached to the top of the sign. I had last experienced a wasp's sting approximately 45 years before, when I was a toddler, and had forgotten just how bad it is.

The wasp(s) had no difficulty stinging my shoulder through my tight, thin bike jersey. I got on the bike in record time and left, cursing profusely. It hurt for most of the rest of the day.

I arrived in Boonville, population 7,870. I was getting tired now. I needed to do a little riding on city streets through town, but the trail was well marked, and it was easy crossing the Missouri River on a separated bike/pedestrian lane.

I continued on the trail, which was getting flatter the farther east I rode. I was growing weary of the Katy Trail now. It had taken me much longer to ride the 75 miles from Clinton to Boonville than I had expected.

My original vague "plan" was to ride as far today as Jefferson City, the state capital of Missouri, where there were undoubtedly many lodging options. That would make today about 130 miles. The slow surface had sapped my energy all day, and by the time I hit the 100 mile mark, I realized I wasn't going to make it to Jefferson City.

I stopped in tiny Hartsburg, population 134, and saw a sign on an old building: "The Globe Hotel."

I walked up to the door and knocked, and eventually a nice lady came out and told me that she and her husband had recently purchased the place, were still working on it, and weren't quite ready yet to accommodate paying customers.

Obviously I turned on my Jeff Lee Bicycle Touring Charm, and persuaded her to take my $65 anyway.

The room, and the bathroom down the hall, were both fine. I was exhausted though, and fell asleep quickly after cleaning up and eating a few snacks.

Today's ride: 115 miles (185 km)
Total: 115 miles (185 km)

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