Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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Day 2 My watch sounded off at 6am, but it had no luck getting me going. It was COLD outside. My face tingled in the brisk air, and I tucked it down into my sleeping bag to keep my ears warm. Noway can I crawl out of this warm sleeping bag, I said to myself. The sun was not up, and I thought about what to do. I just wasn't up to rising, loading, and riding out on 30 degree morning. I decided to sleep in, and let the sun warms things up a bit. I knew a early start would mean at least 2 hours of riding in the coldest part of the morning. Why do it when you don't HAVE to? I also knew it would mean I probably wouldn't make southern Iowa today. I will make it up later, for now I'm staying in this warm sleeping bag. I finally poked out of the tent a few minutes before 8. The sun was in the trees, and it was warmer then 2 hours prior. A good decesion to delay. I had just finished packing my gear, when the couple from the tent near the lake, came by walking their dog. They told me they were from Montana, and rode a RT, but left it at home for this trip because it was too cold. So what the hell is boy from Alabama doing out here? If its too cold for them, then I damn sure ain't gotta chance. Fearful of what lies ahead of me, I left the park at 8:30am. Way too late to do any serious mileage today. It was cool, and I had on long wool socks, medium gloves, and 2 sweatshirts under the Roadcrafter. I still have the insulate vest and sweat pants to go to if it gets any colder. I take SR 49 east out of the park, the sun is bright and the sky blue. My fuel light came on just outside Poplar Bluff yesterday, so I will stop for gas at the first oppurtunity. SR 172 rolls through the trees of Mark Twain
Natioinal Forest. It dips and climbs, and proves to be a nice ride.
The pavement is Tennessee smooth, and the ST follows the curves with little
effort on my part. I was on the lookout for deer but failed to see any. I stopped for gas at a crossroads store located at route A and SR 49. The place did not have a pay at the pump feature and for the first time this trip I had to go in a pay cash. The clerk commented- "a little chilly on that thing today ain't it?" "yeah, but its gettin warmer by the mile" With my gas tank full, I got back on route A, and continued leaning. The routes along this area reminded me of East Tennessee. Lots of curves, and no traffic. It was fun. I never thought I would get to lean so much in Missouri. In Elsinore, I went over to US 60 west. A busy highway that cuts across Missouri with ruthless efficency. I was glad to leave it for SR 17 north, 50 miles later. I was now heading north away from green trees and underbrush, toward the plains of Northern Missouri and Iowa. This area of the state contrasts sharply with most peoples images of what Missouri should look like. SR 17 slices its way through the last remants of the Twain Forest. This is the western most reaches of the Ozarks. The towns I passed through on 17 were busy little places. Store windows were decorated in full fall and Halloween trim. Many houses I saw along the way boasted of stacked hay bales and pumpkins in the front yard. I passed through a town that had a 8 ball for a water tower, but I can't remember the name. Not even the picture jars my memory.
The temp was warmer and the early morning chill was almost gone. In Laquey, I took SR 7 north and a few minutes later pulled into Waynesville for my first break of the day. I found a BIG gas mart thing and went in for chips, Coke and beef jerky. I went back out front and sat on rocking chair that faced me in the warm sunlight. The heat of the rays felt good on my face. The butt break, here, knocked off the last few chill bumps from a cool morning. A temp gauge hanging on a brown door face announced the temp at 48 degrees. Traffic picked up considerably when I left Waynesville, as SR 7 took me over a series of waterways. Apparently, this a popular area in the state, and I saw many SUVS pulling boats. RV parks and campgrounds dotted the land. It was not a good ride through this area, and it made me question myself on why I picked this route. But that's the way it goes, some lines on a map are good, and some are not so good. Hard to know which its going to be from your study. Fishing is a big time thing in this state. Many passed RVs later, I reached Camdenton, and went to SR 5 north. Along here I decide to skip lunch. The beef jerky I ate in Waynesvill will hold me out a few hours more. I have to keep the stand up if I have any hope of reaching Iowa before sundown. There is not a cloud in the sky, and that will mean a quick cool off once the sun goes down. My butt is getting stiff so I stop at a Mcdonalds in Versailles. It is located just across the street from the Jr. High school. I munched on a regular order of French Fries. So much for keeping the stand up. It was a short break. The flags outside the school were snapping briskly in the stiff wind. As I rode north on 5 the landscape slowly began to transform from timeberland to farmland. I passed several sheep farms also. It is late afternoon as I cruise north. Riding through the small mid west towns that call SR 5 home, I noticed football teams practicing in the late afternoon wind, preparing for Friday nights game. These towns are true Americana. The hamlets were surrounded by vast miles of farmland. They sat like an oasis in the endless acres of corn and other crops. School was out, as I rode through Glasgow. Jr high students and younger could be seen walking home. No one feared for their safety, no one worried about a sniper, and everyone knew his neighbor. The tiny village was home to but a few hundred, and far removed from bustling cities and out of control suburbs. Places such as Glasgow signify all that is good about America. These are the kids of farmers who work long hours in the fields, the kids of shop keepers, hair dressers, and delivery men. I saw none with with cell phones or expensive cars, instead they drove old trucks, or rode the bus without complaint. I stopped in a gas mart just to watch life in this place. Several high school kids packed in an old Ford pulled in. I asked one of the boys- "y'all from around here?" "yes, sir" "how long ya lived here?" "all my life" People make fun of the hicks from the Mid West, but I think they have something special. The sniper in Washington might as well been a million miles away. I'm sure there are dysfunctional folks around here, but they sure seem hard to find. Bolstered by what I found in Glasgow, I got back on the road. A few miles later I found a large brick house with a homemade basketball court in the in front. It was complete with a concrete pad, painted lane, key, and a 3 point shot arch. It even had lights. I guess if I can have a backyard batting cage, these folks can have a basketball court. I wondered about the young man who lived here, and I pictured him practicing his skills on a cold winters afternoon. It was here he practiced when others were out having fun. It reminded me of what I use to tell Chris, " If you fail to practice, someone else is, and if you ever meet him in competition he will win. There is no shame in getting beat, just don't get beat cause the other guy out worked you." That home made basketball court made me think of the upcoming baseball season. It will be my sons last, we both need to find a comfortable way to approach it. Sunlight was fading as I rode north. The surrounding farmland began to creep into the shadows. I'm not going to make Iowa today. I pulled into a rural school's parking lot and got out my atlas. I parked under a tree, and braced the atlas over my bags. It was beginning to get cool. I could hear the whistles and shouts of the football coaches from the nearby field, as they prepared the team. I found my location, and then looked north for the first campground. I found Pershing State Park on US 36, about 30 miles east of Chillicothe. It looked to be a hundred miles or so away. I should get there before dark. It was a quiet ride the last 100 miles, and my thoughts turned to the reasons why I am on this tour. I motored by the ever increasing cornfields in the growing cold. I tucked the collar of the Roadcrafter to ward off drafts. The highway was empty before me, and I sat back to enjoy the ride. I saw several farmhouses with smoke rising from the chimneys, the wind off the plains dissolving the white smoke in a few feet. I passed, and met, several John Deere tractors returning home from the fields, their days work done. In Keytesville I made a wrong turn and corrected myself in a funeral home parking lot. SR 5 depoisted me on US 36, where I turned west. I missed the entrance to the park and had to double back east. I rode back into Laclede, but still could not find the brown sign that usually denotes a state park is nearby. I took a side road that led me deeper into the
tiny town. I stopped at a closed down car garage and got out my map to
help me find the park. A mobile home was nearby and was decorated with
ghost and goblins. It reminded me of the scaregrow village I saw on Cape
Breton. It looked errie in the fading daylight. I took this time to call my wife and reported I was at my final destination for the day. The map told me if I went back south across 36, it would take me to the park. That's what I did, and soon I was on a narrow but paved local road in dusky light. I was feeling cold, as I slowly rode past empty fields and woods. I came to a crossroads that had not one sign. No route numbers, or any mention of a state park nearby. I took a guess and went left. I got lucky, and found the park about 2 miles later. Pershing State Park is not a big park, but like Wappapelo it was clean and orderly. It was almost dark when I began pitching my tent in the trees. There were a number of tents and RVs in the park. Guessing more then a few hunters, were looking to get out in the woods early the next day. The host came by on a 4 wheeler and I gave him 11 bucks. Three extra for a load of firewood. He said it was going down in the mid 20s. I started a good fire with the USA Today I bought earlier, and then warmed up the can of Brunswick stew I brought from home. My Coleman stove is still working like a champ. My phone rang, it was just my son checking in with me. I sat on a log, and ate supper in front of the fire old west style. I went over to the bathouse and took a HOT shower. When I finished I put my sweat clothes on, and walked back to my camp site and plopped down in front of the fire, and worked on my journal. When I finished with that I called Rob Hart. We had a lenghty conversation and in it we discussed my retirement options. He seems to think I'm not ready for an early retirement. When he asked me what I would do I said- "well, I could ride more" "how could ya ride any more then watcha do now??" After a brief silence I said , "well, ya gotta point" He thinks I should start a tour company, but who would want to ride with ME?? I finished the day with 442 miles, about 150 miles short of where I wanted to be. Tomorrow is another day though. I was out of wood and my fire was dying, so I retreated to my warm sleeping bag. Once again I failed to get a signal on my TV, so I decided to call it a night and TRY to get a early start in the morning. Footnote: Sept. 19, 2003- A reader emailed me with the name of the town with the 8 ball water tower. It is Tipton, Missouri.
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