Part 20: Bicycle Coast to Coast Across America—Missouri and Mark Twain country

By Frosty Wooldridge

“Bicycle touring transports riders back in time—via slow, methodical pedal strokes.  Cyclists may ride along with Lewis & Clark and the Corps of Discovery.  Touring riders may pedal down the Mississippi River with Huck, Jim and Tom.  They might launch their tour along fabled Route 66 from Chicago to the Pacific Ocean.  Cyclists may re-trace the Pony Express route from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California.  Still other riders may follow Marco Polo through Asia.  In a nutshell, touring cyclists pursue legendary travelers from every era of humanity’s exploration of the globe.  They, in fact, become the explorers of the 21^st century replete with intrepid courage, soaring attitudes and a sense of wonder for the natural world.”  FHW

(Doll house in a small town along the route.)

When we reached St. Joseph, Missouri on Route 36, both Howard and Wayne faced serious situations.

In this portion of the journey, my brother Howard suffered his wife being struck with a severe form of cancer.  He rented a car.  Wayne faced a family emergency that saw him pack his bike and catch a flight back to Riverton, Wyoming.

“You take care Wayne,” I said upon our separation.

“Take care of Karen,” I said to Howard.

Our journey of three morphed into an expedition of one.  I don’t mind telling you that life changes in a heartbeat.  From the camaraderie of three, the road changed with the energy of one.  While this journey threw all three of us lemons at this point, each of us dealt with those bitter conditions in our own ways.  I saw my brother weep outwardly in a sandwich shop upon learning about his wife’s condition.  Wayne felt depressed that he must leave to care for another family member. 

As for me, I re-geared my mind and emotions to tour alone.  Often in my planetary travels, I faced solo journeys.  I re-oriented my emotions, thinking and outlook.  I dealt with my own thoughts and no feedback from fellow travelers.  Both Howard and Wayne faced their own trials and tribulations.  I sent them high energy for good health for themselves and loved ones.

I pedaled over the Missouri River into the great State of Missouri.  It’s famous motto:  The Show Me State.  President Harry Truman made it famous for his plain living and simple common sense.

Before heading east, my old friend Jack and his son Benny drove up from Kansas City to buy me a pizza dinner.  We talked about our ski times in Colorado and the state of the world.

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother’s wife,” said Jack.  “And, Wayne’s troubles, too.”

“Not the best things happening in their lives,” I said.  “For that matter, cancer hits one out of three people, so I’m just part of the mix along with my brother and friend.”

Next day, I pedaled across flat, grassy, tree-filled Missouri.  The Midwest offers thriving farms, countless tractors and combines, silos for corn, cows grazing in fields and easy pedaling.

While cruising through Chillicothe, I rode past J.C. Penny’s boyhood home in Hamilton.  His retail stores still prosper across America.  Also, General John “Black Jack” Pershing’s home in Laclede.  He rose to fame as a WWI commander.  

An Iowa couple bought me lunch for a conversation.  Two farmers bought me dinner.

I camped inside an abandoned antique barn.

Route 36 continued eastbound toward Hannibal. 

Legendary author Mark Twain, grew up in Hannibal, Missouri. He became the “Father of American Literature.”

He pursued life as a journalist, riverboat captain, adventurer, speaker and author of the most popular books in American history.  He loved his riverboat days best of all and many of the colorful character he met on the Mississippi became characters in his 28 books.

“All modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn,” Ernest Hemingway wrote in 1935, giving short shrift to Herman Melville, but making an interesting point. Hemingway’s comment refers specifically to the colloquial language of Twain’s masterpiece. For perhaps the first time in America, the vivid, raw, not-so-respectable voice of the common folk created great literature.  Twain possessed a wicked wit.

“Suppose you were an idiot; and suppose you were a member of Congress—ah, but I repeat myself.”

“There’s no distinct class of criminals in America, except for Congress.”

Those words ring as true today as they did back in the 1800s of Twain’s time.  He’s still famous for his “Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.”  Each year, contestants re-enact the legendary jumping frog contest.  Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn along with Jim entertain American school kids with their antics on a raft along the Mississippi River.

While the Mississippi River and Twain’s life captivated me, life happens to each of us.  Sometimes not so much fun!  He suffered great family tragedies of death to his son and financial ruin.

I missed my brother Howard along with his quest to re-trace Misty’s ride across America.  I know Wayne and Howard will return to renew their journeys to finish their coast-to-coast rides.

I visited Twain’s stomping grounds before crossing the wide Mississippi River.  It starts in Lake Itasca, Minnesota as a six foot wide stream about 18 inches deep, to drop 1,775 feet and 2,552 miles before emptying into the Gulf of Mexico.

Unfortunately, that grand old river degrades into a conveyor belt of bottle, can and plastic container trash. It features tens of thousands of bags of trash tossed into it. It hides tens of thousands of old tires, metal drums, old cars, thousands of feet of barge cables and endless couches, chairs, buggies and chemical discharges.  At its mouth, it features a 10,000 square mile dead zone where marine vertebrates cannot survive the toxic waters.  That’s all happened in the last 100 years. 

I read about one man cleaning up the Mississippi River: Chad Pregracke at www.livinglandsandwaters.org 

Check him out and help him out.

I crossed over into Illinois and headed south on Route 106 to Route 96 along the Great River Road.  I hit Route 96 at Kampsville.  I took a ferry over the Illinois River to Route 108 to Carbinville, Illinois.  I caught Route 4 to Route 140 still heading south with my connection to Route 59 heading east toward Washington DC and the Atlantic Ocean.

Nothing much dramatic along the Mississippi River. Nothing much exciting or scenic along the route. Lots of farms, housing districts and small towns.  But the legends of Tom, Jim and Huck remain as I bicycle across America.

(Camping out on an old dirt road at sunset)

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