Cape Girardeau to past Ironton: 82 miles
I arrived at the bike shop CycleWerx at 7:30AM to see when it would open: 9:00. But the door was open. I called and a guy came from the work area in back. I asked him when he might be able to get to my bike. He replied that he could do it now. And he did. I greatly enjoyed talking with him as he worked on the bike, taking the time to explain what he was doing. I had called ahead to ask that they replace the rear cassette (unit of 7 gears) and chain. He did this and more at a very fair price: actually, I suspect he charged me less than he could have. He did a great job and I was able to continue on my way by 9:30 a.m--the bike not just purring, but gliding.
Around noon, a woman in an economy car stopped to ask if I wanted a ride to the next town, some 15 miles down the road. She was delighted to hear about my reason for declining the offer and said how she would love to go on such a trip some day.
A guy in a pick-up truck stopped to say he was headed to Jefferson City and would be glad to carry me.
My break from the heat of the day was in Fredericktown, a town of a couple thousand people. What a delightful rest! Everyone I talked with was friendly, smiling, welcoming: the woman coming out of the drug store who directed me to the ice cream shop and library, the middle-aged women at the ice cream shop who said they thought Robin Williams was getting off his bike, the librarians, the man on my way out of town who said he didn’t know the area real well but enough to point me in the direction I wanted to take and, chuckling, that he did know it well enough to say “Ironton” rather than “Irontown” as I had pronounced it.
The head librarian was himself a cyclist and gleamed when I told him about my trip. I think he would have given me the keys to the library if I had asked; he did assure that I have access to a computer for as long as I wanted and let me fill my bottles with the water from the cooler. An assistant librarian told me that about thirty years ago a nineteen-year-old girl biking through with a group went to her husband’s garage to get help in repairing her tire. The girl ended up tenting in their back yard and thus started a friendship that has become a close one to this day.
I had arrived in Fredericktwon hot and tired. I left refreshed and encouraged. It reminded me of how my spirits have been lifted, thus giving my body new strength, when members of my family cheer for me in the late miles of a marathon.
That evening, the woods were pretty thick with underbrush but, after sunset, I found a dirt track into a thinned out area where water pipes were being laid: perhaps an abandoned project but a fair enough place to sling a hammock.
Ironton – Vichy: 85 miles
Camped in a nice clearing in a state nature conservation area.
MO=More Ondulation, using the French spelling of the second word in honor of the French heritage indicated by the names of towns I passed through or near: Girardeau, Vichy, Versailles (pronounced ‘vr-sails’), La Monte, Platte City.
Vichy – Lake of the Ozarks State Park: 44 miles
Distance-wise, a short day, though much up and down on country roads. I swam in the lake, laundered clothes, and talked with the camp store’s clerk (there weren’t many customers). He was born and brought up on a nearby farm, which he inherited and still lives on. His main income was working as a mechanic in a nearby military base. He loves the area: the changing seasons (he went over the different colors of the hickory, maple, oak, cedar, etc.), the rural life, hunting and fishing. He advised me away from the "W" route I was planning to take the next day and suggested an alternative. I would take his advice and be glad for it.
I got up three or four times during the night to shoo raccoons away from bags.
Lake of the Ozarks State Park – Knob Noster State Park: 88 miles
I left around sunrise breathing a prayer in the fresh air, “Lord help me to have good thoughts today.” Within a minute or two of that prayer, Ruka called to wish me a good morning and express her love: good thoughts.
That night, a young family invited me to share their camp meal with them, the father being a biking enthusiast. Kindness, hospitality and a prayer before the meal concerning “good and gracious gifts”: good thoughts.
Knob Noster State Park – Smithville: 100 miles
My bed was over a bed: I slung my hammock over a bit of clearing where deer had been bedding down. My entrance to this was via their trail through the peripheral thickets.
Smithville – Atchison, KS: 43 miles
Low mileage but very hilly and I passed by the one place where I could have had breakfast. I arrived quite tired and hungry. I was ready for a long day of rest and stayed in a motel that the women at the Visitors Center would not recommend but was actually quite decent. I showered, stuffed myself at the buffet of the Pizza Hut next door, called Ruka, napped deeply, called mom, watched Dallas thump Miami to win the NBA championship, and slept again, very well.
The river is rising. The state parkground where I had thought of staying is under water.
Missouri River
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