Relief and Wonderment on Katy Trail

This gravel pathway, stretching on for miles in front of me, invited my rubber tires onward. Through the surrounding, mainly green foliage of brushes, flowers, and trees, the entrails of the city of Columbia were still visible. However, my iPod, blasting loud decibels of rock music into my cranium, had muted the sounds of the city. Right now I was riding my mountain bike on the first five miles of the trail, the aptly named “City Trail,” which was now very crowded. Cyclists, runners, and dog walkers shared the 7-foot-wide yuppie’s dream: the marvelous Katy Trail. It was a green relief from the city where it originated. It offered beauty at only the cost of sweat, and it always promised youthful adventure, having never broken its word.

Being a young man of just twenty (and in relatively good shape for my age), I crisscrossed through the steady flow of Katy denizens. I felt like a trout swimming upstream, with people coming at me and passing those ahead of me. A quick nod of the head to those I made eye contact with sufficed as a common thread of shared occupancy.  I would probably never see these same people again, and they me, when I next rode down Katy. Yet, we would know each other by different faces on different days. There is that aging cyclist, that attractive runner, that excitable dog. But a single, simple gesture included all that; we all knew what this place was for and knew to make the most of it before our time was up.

I hurried out of the city trail, quickly pedaling towards the county trail. I yearned for the seclusion of the less-populated paths. Today, I was in the mood for something solitary, a wanted feeling that could only be arrived at by being alone for a couple hours. Through a short tunnel and I was where green pastures met the eyes instead of the rears of track housing. Here, creeks were the norm, their muddy waters all-too-inviting to someone sweaty with activity. My bike rattled as I passed over the wooden floors of those steel-reinforced bridges.

Gorgeous green trees sandwiched either side of Katy, providing cooling shade from the sun. The humidity wasn’t terrible today (as it usually is in the sweltering summers of Missouri). A sweet breeze gently kissed my skin, but it made all the difference in the world. Going through a sunny straightaway (gladly remembering I put on sunscreen before I left early this morning), I noticed the eventual reduction of the people stream. I was now a log rolling deftly with the current. There were stretches where I saw no one until a flock of four or five passed by. Hello, I nodded.

I had brought my iPod, even making the playlist “Katy Trail Sonics,” replete with good biking tunes, for the ride. But I had serendipitously forgotten to charge it. As soon as I passed that sunny straightaway it had died. However, I was thankful for this. The quiet sounds of Katy should not be drowned out by the sounds of man, no matter how good. I had stopped and put my headphones in my bag with my iPod. I had listened for a moment, hearing the faint rustling of leaves in that soft wind and the high trilling of birdsong. It had been a still moment, but the next had been crashed as I began pedaling again. I was happy I had taken that moment though. It had been serenely thrilling.

I crossed into some wetlands, the familiar smell of bad eggs filling my nostrils. I didn’t mind though. The smell was part of Katy, like my arm was a part of me. Losing it would make the whole less than it was before. After powering me beyond the wetlands, my legs brought me to the junction about nine miles from Columbia. I had reached this landmark in a little less than an hour. Stopping for a quick breather, I noticed the brown-painted sign in front of me. It pointed right to Rocheport and the Missouri River, left to Hartsburg. I guzzled down some Gatorade, savoring the flavor. I couldn’t survive without this modern convenience on this modern path. I pushed off to the right.

About three miles down the shaded gravel path, I met up with the Missouri, its width almost menacing to a boy who grew up in the Southwest (where the largest river is comparable to a creek in the Midwest). Its powerful current expressed its primordial dominance, especially in relativity to myself. I could only pay my respects to the river; mastering it was beyond me. During this stretch, the river flowed to my left, and tall cliffs rose to my right. I felt like Tom Sawyer, a boy trying to carve out his existence on the bark he had been given, and Katy was my modern Becky Thatcher, the epitomized fantasy of a boyhood memory. I wanted to explore every nook and cranny of those cliffs, of those shallow caves. But I felt, much like boyhood fantasies made you do, that I should toe the line. I gazed from my bike, silently pondering my fascination and wonder.

I stopped at a bench overlooking the river. Sitting from my riverside angle, my back to the path, I could see the sinewy muscles of the water, flexing and extending. It was a muddy-brown board laying on top of a green felt carpet. The air was still, untouched for the last few minutes. No people to interrupt it, and nature followed suit. I grabbed for my phone, wanting to tweet about this ride. A scenery of this caliber certainly deserved some outside knowledge. I thought better of it though. Katy couldn’t be described in 140 characters or less. It couldn’t even be described in a voluminous tome. It had to be experienced first hand in order to know all its curves and pressure points, all its splendor and simplicity. Katy quieted me; I stood naked in front of her. The exhilaration of a silent moment pulsed through me…

I heard some cyclists behind me, talking about how they had made some mistakes early in life. I smiled. Katy, just like a boyhood fantasy, was a break from what was really in front of you, a welcomed relief from it all. I looked down to see my white shirt (now dirty) and my black shorts. Getting on my bike, I plotted out my next move: ride the next five or so miles to Rocheport, get some water, then return home. Katy would be waiting there, a fantastic relief.