Day Six: Marthasville, Missouri to Hartsburg, Missouri

September 17, 2022

I slept surprisingly well in the tent, but was awake very early, around 3:45. I got dressed and took my laptop to the deck of the KT Caboose and did a little work. Everybody in Marthasville, including Brice, whose tent was just a few feet away, appeared to be asleep.

After the sun came up, I talked to Brice a little, and observed his lengthy, rather slow morning preparations, which included cooking some of the carton of eggs he was carrying on his bike. He's only the second touring cyclist I've know who carries eggs with him.

Readers of this journal can be assured of one thing: I will never carry eggs on a bicycle tour.

Last night's camp. I slept well, but even so, don't except me to spend too many nights in a tent.

I rode a half mile or so to a gas station where the taciturn, cigarette-smoking men and I ignored each other while I bought a few snacks.

Then I was back on the trail. It was sunny and warmer this morning. I stopped after four miles in the community of Peers, whose main attraction was an old country store that had been preserved by some sort of philanthropic organization. It wasn't open, and from what I could discern by peering (pun intended) in the windows, it was some sort of art gallery.

More pleasant trail riding, and then I stopped in Treloar, which, according to one source I just found on the internet, has a population of zero.

That seems unlikely, though, since someone carved this large statue of an ear of corn:

More pleasant miles. "Pleasant" is, I think, the word that best describes the Katy Trail. Unless the trail is soft and mushy after it rains. Then it's not pleasant at all, but is instead infuriating. To me, anyway.

These cows, heading for shade on the increasingly hot day, have more sense than I do, possibly.

Apparently this bucolic setting is located close to a nuclear power plant, although I certainly saw no evidence of it while I was riding. Except for this:

I almost rode past a little snack stand / campground that I recall fondly from my first trip on the Katy Trail in 2015. I remembered a friendly woman who sold me a reasonably-priced ice cream sandwich and a pop, and I wondered where she was. And then I saw this:

I think this is worth reading. I bet Mr. Benz spent a lot of time working on it.

I rode on, through several little communities where I could not summon the interest to photograph anything, nor do more than nod Hello to approaching riders. Interestingly, I encountered almost no one going my direction. It was hot now, and a lot of the trail was exposed to the sun. I appreciated the shady sections like this one:

I stopped at the trailhead in tiny Portland (no population listed), which I was excited to find had an old bar and grill.

I went in and sat at the bar, which appeared to operated by a no-nonsense woman, based on the hand-lettered "Main Woman in Charge" sign. She and several of the patrons were smoking, which I always am slightly surprised by, even though I'm in rural Missouri.

I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, Diet Coke, and - something I hadn't eaten since I'd abandoned the Long John Silver's fried fish chain years ago - hush puppies.

The guy at the bar next to me was a 66-year-old cyclist from Indiana, riding the length of the trail on an E-Bike. I had enjoyable conversation with him. He was not a clueless "civilian" on a rented E-Bike, but instead was a long-time cyclist who told me that couldn't do longer distances anymore on his other bikes. He told me that he camped almost exclusively on his tours, and I gave him my well-practiced line that for me, the bicycling is the easy part; sleeping in a tent is what's difficult.

He was very interested in the tires on my bike, and took a picture of them so he'd remember their make and model. The tires on his bike were enormous and heavy, and he wanted something lighter.

Back on the trail, which I was getting bored with. I didn't bother taking any photos on this section.

I stopped in Mokane, population 185 and looked around for a few minutes.

After that I exited the Nuclear Power Plant Emergency Planning Zone.

I wasn't sure if I should be relieved, or worried, that I was exiting this Zone.

I find the old railroad bridges on the Trail interesting.

This country knew how to make things to last back then! (Imagine me stating this in a cranky old man voice. It will be easy to do so if you are my long-suffering wife.)

Tebbets, no population listed, has the Turner Katy Trail Shelter, an old house donated by the Turner family. It's been turned into a hostel with bunkbeds and a shower.

I sat outside the place at picnic table. I decided it would be bad luck to take this quarter that I saw on the table, so I left it there:

The Shelter would rank kinda low on my list of places to stay on a bike tour (although I've spent nights in similar places while touring), because of my suspicion that it attracts a certain type of loquacious, and let's just say "quirky," guy that I don't have a lot of patience for these days.

The logbook inside contained several entries that reinforced my possibly unfair assumptions about the typical guest at the Shelter:

I decided to end the day in Hartsburg, at the Globe Hotel B&B, after I called and confirmed that they had one room left. I'd stayed there twice before, and liked the place, and the friendly couple who own it.

It was 22 miles to Hartsburg, and I was in a hurry now. I took one photo on the way. It's representative of the tunnel of trees that comprises much of the Katy Trail:

I arrived in Hartsburg, population 103, took care of the usual post-ride chores, then walked down the street to a smoke-filled bar for a pizza. This is a very laid back place where one of the cantankerous old regulars brings his dogs, who politely begged for a scrap of pizza. I declined their wordless entreaties after another patron advised me not too - "It's bad for their health."

And besides- I'm not giving a couple of fat dogs any of my pizza after riding all day!

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Today's ride: 79 miles (127 km)
Total: 471 miles (758 km)

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John EganJeff, Jeff, Jeff -

So much to say, so little time to say it.
But mercy chile! I do worry about you.
Reading all them guest book pages.

And what about grits?
(With a Diet Pepsi, of course.)
Don't know how you survive smoky bars.
It would kill me after a long day riding.

Speaking of which -
I'm 66 and don't need no electric assist.
Lordy, lordy, what's this world comin' to?

Safe riding - Juan
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