Bicycle Trip People
On my recent bicycle journey from Kansas to Annapolis, I met quite a few really interesting folks. I’m doing a series of posts on these wonderful and interesting people, and this is an installment in that series. While there are others I met along the way as well, these are the ones who I was able to spend enough time with to get a feel for their story.
An Old House, Loved, and Discovering My Place in The Butler’s Quarters
Breakfast at the Concord House B&B is quite an affair – not something to be skipped. Everyone was up late the night before, making music and making fun, so it’s not an early affair. While we’d love to eat at 7:00 and be out riding by 8:00, it’s clear as I roam around the house in the morning that breakfast isn’t happening early this morning.
The kitchen at the Concord House is hard to avoid. It’s really the center of the house. It’s one of the things that makes this such an inviting place to stay. I find myself wandering through the kitchen many times as I rattle around early in the morning, hoping to see signs of impending breakfast taking shape.
I’m a breakfast guy. Lunch is nice, and I miss it if I don’t get it. Supper is something I can take or leave – usually I sleep better if I just skip it altogether. But breakfast? That’s my essential meal of the day.
I love breakfast. The day is ahead of me, the food is food I like, I’m full of energy, looking forward to what life has in store for me. Sometimes, at a diner, I’ll actually order two breakfasts, and have no trouble at all getting both of them down.
And the thought of missing breakfast? Well, I just don’t miss breakfast, of if I do, I’m not a happy guy.
Most B&Bs that I’ve stayed at serve an early breakfast. Now, my version of early and most folks might be a little different, but still, it would be unusual to have to wait past 8:00 for breakfast at most places. With Maggie and George, after a Saturday night filled with fun and music, 8:00 is clearly not a target time for “forks up†at the breakfast table.
Eventually, however, George is in the kitchen. He doesn’t seem particularly happy, and he certainly doesn’t want any loud noises around him, but I sense he’s searching for some zen harmony as he begins to orchestrate the components of what is to become our breakfast. Ingredients from the garden and the refrigerator come together like tributaries flowing toward a rich river, and Maggie assures us that this will all flow into something worth the wait.
We do our best to stay out of George’s way. He gets grouchy whenever someone invades his space in search of water or coffee, grumbling and scowling, but magic is happening – it’s in the air.
Turns out Maggie is right. Breakfast is truly great cuisine. A little down-home midwestern fare, a little southern delight, and a whole lot of magical mojo. I’m not sure if George’s hangover is a requirement for his breakfast to be this wonderful. I suppose it’d be worth a little experimentation. However, if I go back, I’ll be sure and do it on a Saturday night when some good music and lots of drink will flow, hoping for a repeat of this unforgettable morning dining creation.
George’s breakfast at the Concord House is made for a guy like me. It’s not only good, but there’s LOTS of it. Simply stated, I make a pig of myself…
Bellies full, smiles on our faces, we climb on the bikes and head down to the Katy Trail to continue our journey eastward. This section of the Katy Trail east of Marthasville is more of the small-town farm country we’ve been riding through for the last 20 or 30 miles. My friends ride with me to Augusta, where they turn around to head back to the Concord, and I continue alone riding east on my journey toward the east coast.
It’s been an enjoyable 3 days of riding with good friends who I’ve known most of my life. We dawdled a lot, riding at a real easy pace all the time. I’m reminded of the value of old friends – folks we’ve known most of our life. Rick and I have known each other since we were 10 years old or so. Realizing that we’re nearing the place where we’ll part, I wonder how long it will be until I see him again. I don’t want it to be long, but the last gap was several years. Why do we let so much time pass?…
As we exchange hugs, I’m sad to be leaving them behind. Like so many times in life, I turn and face east, continuing my journey. Behind me I feel the comfort of people I’ve known well and loved deeply for so long. Ahead of me a breeze is in my face, unknown adventure calls.
Seeking…
I’ve been chomping at the bit all morning to let the legs loose a bit, and put some miles behind me. As I wave and start riding east on the trail, I kick the pace up to a high level, keeping it there for hours. My legs are rested, full of energy, and ready to work. This flat and windless trail is the perfect place to open them up and let them run as hard as they can.
It’s a Sunday, so there are folks out on the trail. The closer I get to St Louis, the more populated the trail is. I live in the Denver area, which has one of the best bike trail systems in the country, so I’m used to riding on well-used trails. If you’re looking for remote and lonely, this eastern section of the trail on a September Sunday probably doesn’t fit the bill.
However, the people make it nice in many ways. Lots of happy folks, enjoying a beautiful day. The air smells great, a hint of autumn on the edges. It’s warm and sunny.
Once again, life is good.
At one point, the trail goes right past a Ted Drew’s, which is a local St Louis frozen custard place that folks love. Normally I’d stop and enjoy a cone, but I’m feeling so darned good with this hard riding that I don’t want to stop – I’m making great time!
I should mention that there are a couple fairly congested places as I get closer to St Louis. And without a doubt, folks are less openly friendly the closer I get to the city. But I never feel like it’s dangerous.
It’s mid-day by the time I reach the old river town of St Charles, MO. I’ve covered about 30 miles since leaving my friends, and my water bottles are empty. I’m not sure if there will be any other services between here and Alton, so I want to start with full water bottles and good hydration.
I eat lunch at a cute little cafe just off the trail. There are several cyclists hanging out, and I ask several about the trail continuing east – toward Alton. Nobody appears to ride that way – everyone seems to use St Charles as the trailhead. I strike up a conversation with a couple gals from the area who are out enjoying the trail. One of them has a boyfriend in Boulder, so we talk a lot about the trails around the Denver area. They’ve never ridden further up the trail here either, though they ride the trail often starting here in St Charles.
It feels like I’m headed into the unknown as I mount back up and head further east on the trail. From here, the trail is actually continuing on the northeast bearing it’s followed for a while, skirting to the north of the St Louis area. Immediately, it’s clear that this section of trail is rarely used. It’s well-maintained, but from St Charles to the end of the trail, (about 12 miles), I don’t see a single rider on this beautiful Sunday afternoon.
At the end of the trail, well, it just ends. There’s no big trailhead parking lot or anything. In fact, I buzz right past the last road – a place where there’s a little parking – and end up along the RR tracks in a bunch of fist-sized gravel. I find my way back to the road, and head north on Machens Road until I get to highway 94, where I can continue east.
It’s as flat as flat can get, riding along the Mississippi flood plain here. I wind my way through some back roads to avoid the highway, ending up in West Alton after about 10 miles. They’re having some sort of small-town fair this weekend, and I stop for a couple minutes to admire some of the old tractors hanging out – presumably participating in a tractor pull.
I pick up highway 67 here. For the first couple miles, there’s a bike path that parallels the highway, but eventually I have to get up on the highway to cross the bridge. There’s a good shoulder on the highway, but it’s full of glass and crap. The view of the bridge across the Mississippi is fantastic as you approach it like this from the west, and I find myself slowing down to enjoy it and snap a few pictures.
Although most if my days are pretty well-planned along this trip – at least my starting and ending points – today is a little loose in terms of planning. I’d originally planned on taking all of today as a rest day in Marthasville, then having a big day of riding tomorrow to end up in Greenville, IL. However, when I found out my friends had to leave on Sunday to get back home, I decided to get some of the miles done today. As I cross the bridge into Illinois, and look back over the last few hours of riding on this beautiful afternoon, I realize how glad I am to have made this choice. I had a tremendous breakfast with really interesting folks, spend a couple more hours riding with friends who are dear to me, then enjoy a few hours of hard riding along a great trail on a warm autumn afternoon.
As I cross the bridge into historic Alton, IL, I consider finding a historic little hotel to stay in. It’s a beautiful old river town. But decide to get a few more miles in and just find any sort of little motel. After a mile or two headed down the bike path along the river, I feel a few drops of rain so I decide to try using my Garmin to see where hotels might be along my path. I spend enough time to realize that I’m not likely to come on a motel for quite a while on the route I’m taking, so decide to turn back and find a place in Alton after all.
The first place my GPS suggests looks like it might be an old historic hotel, so I ride there, discovering that it’s old for sure, and might be historic, but certainly isn’t a place I’d want to go into. Bed bugs would be a given, and probably the least of my worries in this place.
So I look for a B&B, finding a place called The Beall Mansion that sounds pretty cool, even it if’s a little pricey. I talk to them on the phone, and head their way.
The Beall Mansion is one of several large mansions along what they call “Millionaire’s Rowâ€, up on the hill. I suppose these were the homes for the barons and tycoons that amassed wealth back in the 19th century, maybe running riverboats or other shipping operations?
Depending on your point of view, these folks might have been robber barons or titans of enterprise. Either way, they had most of the wealth, and had the big houses up on the hill. Tonight, I get to stay in one of the big houses up on this hill – as-if I were one of those robber barons or titans of enterprise.
I find that the only room I’m willing to pay for is the Butler’s Quarters, way up on the top floor. As I schlep my stuff up the stairs, I find it interesting how you can see the division of classes as you rise up through the house. My little hovel can only be reached via that “back stairsâ€, but even here the division is evident.
Our culture has changed a bit now, and we don’t like to have that division quite so evident in the same ways. As the “lower class†continues to expand in numbers in our economy, and the tiny “upper class†continues to amass more of the wealth with each passing year, I wonder if we’ll soon be moving to these more blatant signs of class division. Back in the middle of the 19th century, folks accepted that there were the very wealthy, and that these few held all the power, and that they were probably “better than†the rabble in some way. That they somehow “deserved†to be wealthy. Kind of like the old notion that the King is King because God wants him to be King. This seemed to be OK with everyone. As we moved into and through the 20th century, the wealth distributed itself out, and we moved further toward this American ideal of equality, those notions of blatant class division became less popular.
How long will it stay so, I wonder as I climb the servant’s stairway? At the very top of the stairs are two rooms. One is my “Butler’s Quartersâ€, and the other must be for the head housekeeper or something like that – the head of the female staff perhaps.
Walking into my room, I find I actually like it quite a bit. It’s cozy, but not cramped. Of course, it’s been decked out as a nice room in a modern B&B, so it’s certainly nicer than it would have been for the butler who lived here 150 years ago, but nonetheless I find I like the room a lot. On hot summer days, I imagine this room is more than just a little warm, way up on the top floor of this mansion. But on this cool late summer evening, with the windows open and the birds singing outside, it’s heaven for me.
By the time I get showered, wash my clothes and hang them to dry, it’s too late to find supper anywhere close. So I wander down to the main floor, where there’s an absurdly large assortment of chocolates and candies of all sorts. There’s a little “almost healthy†food too, but mostly I just chow down on chocolate. Oh, and there’s a snifter in the corner with brandy too, which I help myself to as well.
This place is GREAT!
Loaded up on a chocolate high, mellowed by some delicious brandy, I drift off to sleep in my butler’s room, delighted that I happened on this wonderful place. I don’t know if Jim and Sandy will be able to make a go of this in the long run. It must be a TREMENDOUS amount of work to keep it up. But they clearly love the old place, and it shows.
I wish them the absolute best, and hope I can get back through here another time to stay in one of the nicer rooms, though I do love my little Butler’s Quarters. In many ways, I think I prefer the Butler’s Quarters. Sitting back and thinking about it, this feels like a good place for me. We’ve all got our place, or maybe a set of places that work well for us. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t like it one bit when a few people “lord†their power over other people, and “keep them in their placeâ€. I’m a stubborn SOB who’ll argue with a rock if I think the rock is trying to tell me what to do.
We all need to decide and figure out for ourselves what and where “our place†is. I suspect it changes a bit as we move through life, life happens around us, and we mold ourselves into our ever-changing self with life’s help.
But I do think I have a place – or set of places – that suits me well. I’ll bet we all do if we think about it. I like being in a “place†where I can provide service – where I can help other folks in some way. I see this reflected in many aspects of my life. In my career now, I like positions where I can sit in the background and be a quiet advisor to folks – usually younger than me and full of ambition – to help them do their job and advance their career. I’m done with big corner offices, and prefer the quiet place to sit, observe, listen, and be of service and value when I can.
I like the Butler’s Quarters – it’s a good place for me at this point in my life.
