Crossing Big Muddy on our bikes for the last time, it is a bright, hazy, temperate morning: perfect weather for the 37-mile ride into Augusta. After an uneventful pedal along the highway, we are back on the trail shaded by a tunnel of trees. A cool, stiff breeze is attempting to thwart our forward progress, but we just gear up and push on. A crop of wheat next to the trail yields to the wind more than we do.
In all the fields we have passed, evidence of succession planting is apparent. For instance, in many of the soybean fields, sprouts emerge next to old, truncated stalks of corn. Eventually the stalks disappear but their stubble is a reminder of what existed in the field during the prior season.
There is a quiet beauty and solitude on the trail, passing through fields of corn, soybeans, wheat and other grasses. We occasionally see machinery in the distance kick up dust as they work through the land, but more often it is a static canvas being touched by the sounds and sights of birds, insects, and other natural forces.
An unrelenting military precision of crops is evident as we pass row upon row of vegetation, standing at attention, perfectly spaced from its neighbors. The fabric of different greens created in these fields is amazing to behold and bike through.
We stop at a bridge going over Lost Creek, which is nearly devoid of water (much like many of the creeks and tributary rivers we have pedaled over). Its sign is riddled with bullet holes illustrating to us a disrespect for the wonderful resource called the Katy Trail. But perhaps I should not be surprised given the large number of weapons billboards we have come across on our ride so far.
Unlike other days where we stopped infrequently, we now stop often, looking at things that grab our fancy and taking up conversations with cyclists whom we have been seeing on the trail during our ride this week. The Missouri to our right has little traffic on it, either commercial or recreational, surprising us. A leaning dayboard sign, indicating location on a nautical map, is perhaps an anachronism today given smartphones and GPS apps.
Coming out of a tree tunnel, we stop at a vehicle crossing where an American and black MIA flags hang on a sign of a soldier kneeling next to a grave. On a high hill in the distance, sits a singular figure watching us and the landscape. We each wave to each other respectively and we move on.
Our journey today is mostly through farmland minimizing the animals we see. A squirrel or two decides to play chicken with us running across the trail at the last minute. One narrowly avoids Ted’s front bike tire. A close call.
We soon stop at the Rowdy Rooster for lunch, perhaps the nicest place we have found so far on our trip. We settle in for a leisurely lunch as we have less than 10 miles to ride today.
On today’s final leg, we come upon a rusty and unused grain elevator and a disheveled house clad in tin. If it wasn’t for the neatly trimmed lawn around both, one might think both were abandoned.
The sides of the trail today don’t have as much poison ivy as typical (thought there is still a lot) but rather large swaths of the relative of the fern, horsetails. It is highly invasive.
We arrive into Augusta much early in the afternoon giving us time to visit a winery for some leisurely tasting before we have a fancy dinner on our last night on the trail.
