Day 52 August, MO to Hartford, IL

2842.5 miles

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

We have arrived weary but safe with two-thirds of the continental United States behind us.

We started the morning stretching on the bluffs of Klondike Park overlooking the Missouri River Valley. Looking west, whence we had come - across the endless plains, the terrible hills of Montana, the beautiful mountains, the high deserts, the rainforest. You could almost see the fog of Astoria in the distance.

The Katy between Augusta and St. Charles is particularly beautiful running through great arches of trees, alongside bluffs hidden by forest, and wetlands both vibrant and decaying. Our itinerary for the day would have had us riding 80 miles into Illinois bypassing most of the metro area by going North and then East. But, if 60 miles was pushing our new riding partner to his limits 80 miles might kill him. We began looking for alternative routes, something to cut down the mileage, but our maps were not help. All the bike accessible routes dead ended at the Missouri. It looked like we would have to ford the river. If only little Timmy didn't have diptheria.

But providence interceded in the form of the Green Bottom Road Trailhead. There was a bike path over the Missouri alongside the Page Avenue extension that would take us into Creve Coeur Park. But, how would we get through the city? How would we get into Illinois over the Mississippi? How would we get to Hartford?

In these times of trial one can only ask, what would Merriweather Lewis do? What would William Clark do? What would Seaman the dog do?

They would strike out into the unknown, that's what they would do. Maps schmaps, it's time to make our own route.

Off we went into the unknown, into the City of St. Louis.

We ended up making our way into University City, where we were able to catch a Metrolink train down to the river landing, and from the landing we rode the Riverfront Trail north to Chain of Rocks Bridge. The Riverfront Trail takes riders through the heart of St. Louis's post-apocalyptic industrial wasteland. Mountains of crushed automobiles dot the landscape along side hills of other discarded materials of unknown origin. In the river the remnants of piers long since lost to the water's insistent pull stand alongside half sunk barges. Eventually, this nightmare of modern life gives way to hills of dirt and trees, grass, parks.

The Chain of Rocks Bridge is a marvel all it's own stretching across the river, an endless spann of steel that takes one into the heart of the river to watch the muddy water flow and eddy.

Suddenly we were in Illinois. Suddenly we were in Hartford, and there was a great gathering of St. Ivanys with a veritable feast laid out before us.

We rejoiced!