The Fool left Forest Park w/out incident. Surprisingly, after he told people he camped there, they told him he was taking his life in his hands... Like setting up a tent in a crack house. It was fine... he doesn't know why people made a big deal out of it. He had plenty of cover.
There was an REI in St. Louis, and it seemed like the best last opportunity to go to a chain gear store. The Fool had his eyes on a pair of shoes he'd first encountered on an earlier, shorter hike. He was apprehensive about getting the right ones. Shoes have proven to be more of a challenge than expected; it's been hard to find a pair that keeps water out during rainstorms, and he had ditched a pair in Morgantown PA because they just weren't working. REI was a little out of the way. After breakfasting at the local Burger King and destroying a bathroom at a Whole Foods, he got to REI and bought the same Merrills he had ditched before, giving them a second chance. Unfortunately they were a half size too large, so after walking a couple of miles away, he turned around and exchanged them for the right size. He continued on, but later found another flaw; a design update that made the arch feel wrong, like walking on a perfectly-placed stone. This was a hard day, and he switched back to his old shoes.
Ahead lay the Katy Trail, a rail trail he'd planned to hit, and he despaired of getting right with these shoes in a comfortable environment (because STL had expensive neighborhoods and hotels; hotels and neighborhoods and shoes so uncomfortable that the whole package led to some on-street weeping) when suddenly he came upon a Red Roof Inn. $39.95!!! He stayed two days, doffed his pack, and walked the streets in casual comfort, becoming friendly with his new Merrills. On one excursion he was tempted into entering a Hooters. However, he quickly backed out when he saw overenthusiastic scantily-clad (but not! nude!) women, plus dudes with baseball caps eating chicken wings, listening to Classic Rock and watching big sporting events on television. That's when he remembered that he hates Hooters.
The weatherfolk were talking rain; normally the Fool would book another night in the face of bad weather, but he'd already stayed two days -- and the new shoes seemed to be keeping his feet dry. So on...
He crossed the Missouri River and hit the Katy Trail toward Defiance. Mark had gotten a lot of good advice from a salesman at the REI, but one thing the man got wrong, if you're thinking of hiking the Katy Trail: there's LOTS of good tree coverage on it. The converted railbed seemed like a heavenly wilderness, except with crushed limestone and benches every five miles or so. The clouds over the Fool's heart lifted, and he started clapping his hands in glee. In fact, he couldn't stop clapping! The country he passed through was rich with plant life -- trailing vines, mosses -- that it almost reminded him of Louisiana. He started hitting trail heads, and each one had a small shelter where he slept. Maps! Guideposts! Trail maps to take along! Running water! Information about towns along the route. Clap! Clap! Clap! Was there music? There was not.
This paradise lay along his route for something like 150 miles, and the fool took about a week and a half to cover the distance. The first town was Defiance; prepped by the trailheads with all the information about services, he knew just where he wanted to go. But in the tavern where he planned to have a single beer, he struck up a conversation with Clarence, who at first seemed a little too curious about his plans. Soon, however, the Fool warmed up to Clarence (although Clarence's wife kept trying to bring politics into the discussion), who bought him a couple of beers and a Snickers.
The fool stumbled out of Defiance pretty late, making for a campsite he'd heard about, but on arrival it seemed like every site was taken. He'd planned to just bivouac in a bush someplace and pay in the morning, but couldn't find good cover. With lightning flickering on the horizon, he found a pavillion and laid down between some picnic tables around 2am. Then, sounds. Garbagey sounds. A raccoon family. They looked rabid to the Fool, who could smell his own Snickers bar in his backpack. So he set up the tent because raccoons can't see you if you're indoors. He drifted off to sleep at around 3.
The next day... UP BRIGHT AND EARLY AT 6... the Fool popped out of his tent ready to avoid park officials. He continued on, admiring the chalky bluffs on the north side of the Missouri River. He reached Augusta early. A bunch of engineering college students on bikes came by doing the whole Katy Trail from west to east.
That crushed limestone is easy on the feet, and, clap clap clap, the Fool continued along the trail for 24 miles that day, stopped in Marthasville and Peers and hit a tavern in Treloar. Trying for some healthy food, he discovered deep-fried cheese-covered cauliflower. That night he camped under a bridge where a creek let into the Missouri, learning from a plaque that Louis and Clark had camped there on their historic journey -- although that was some time before the bridge was built! Ha ha!
The next day. The weather people had predicted a VERY VERY DRY Memorial Day weekend, but it turned out they were completely wrong, which made the drenching rain all the more insulting and mean. The Fool's theory: lazy weathermen pre-recorded their broadcasts for the holiday weekend. Shouting obscenities amidst empty farmland helped the Fool's state of mind but didn't stop the rain, so he sat under a bridge for a spell.
He reached McKittrick in the afternoon. Here he met the real life Ned Flanders, an enthusiastic, God-bless-everything minister from Michigan in town to visit his mom. His comb-shaped brown moustache twitched as he spoke. Warmed by the fellow's pleasant demeanor and well wishes, the Fool didn't even mind being blessed by the Lord. Feeling blessed, he walked to Rhineland where he hit the all-you-can-eat chicken buffet for $8.50. He blessed himself with lots of mashed potatoes in particular and had to roll himself away from the table eventually. Trying to figure out how to get some food "to go," he held a ziploc bag at the ready, but the nice people chatting with their friends made it dicey. But he finally trucked out of there with an extra breast, a wing and a leg. Hi-diddly-ho!
Eventually he reached the town of Bluffton and was stymied by campground rules, so he continued a couple of miles and found a wide meadow along the Big Muddy. The grass was high enough to conceal his position, but seemed an ideal home for ticks and snakes. The weather guys continued to be WRONG as it rained that night.
Next day: humid. The town of Portland had a boat launch, where the Fool chatted with fishermen on their way out. Four middle-aged men wearting all black climbed out of two sedans in the parking lot. As he got closer, the Fool realized they were speaking German, and seemed to be admiring the trail head and marina. Theory: these men were tourists who thought they were in Portland, Oregon.
The hot ham and cheese in Portland hit the spot. Steedman went by, and in Mokane, after seeing people riding down Main Street on horseback, the Fool got the world's worst sandwich. You want mayonnaise in this part of Missouri, you're getting Miracle Whip. He got the news that Tebbetts had no supplies, so he loaded up in Mokane. It rained on the way to Tebbetts, and he hit a trailhead shelter in time for the rain to stop. In Tebbetts, he also found out that there were TWO places to get groceries in Tebbetts. That lady in Mokane was wrong.
In Tebbetts, the Fool met up with a charming mutt who joined him for a little jaunt. The two of them stopped and looked at some insane lightning storms to the south and east, with horizontal bolts overlapping and coming from multiple directions at once. It looked at times like a giant plate of electric spaghetti. The Walking Fool decided to continue on to the west to find camping. The dog eventually realized she didn't want to go on this crazy adventure and went back to town. The Fool camped out in Wainright near another bridge. Those bridges have some good cover and sometimes even shelter.
He found nothing, but was allowed to raid the hotel's first-aid kit affixed to a wall in the dank room behind the front desk. Unfortunately, all he found was a few packets of iodine, several rolls of gauze of various sizes, and a half-used stick of deodorant (undoubtedly for the 3rd shift night clerk). He took the packets of iodine and retired to his room to watch 24-hour news on CNN as it rained outside.
