Ride's End

The last 26 miles are in the bag. We arrived in New Franklin at 12:15 pm. Sheri was waiting for us with three beers. We had our pictures taken by the big stone monument that signifies the official start of the trail, but for us it was the official end.

Russ in foreground, Steve coming up fast on the final morning ride through the soybean fields.

The day started out fine with the howling of a coyote pack roaming through camp at 5:30 am, followed by the hoot of a barn owl. Once again everything was soggy, but we saw it would be a sunny day. As rode over the last hills toward New Franklin, the day warmed and warmed. The humidity rose, hard to believe it was almost fall and that people are laying out their woolens in Seattle. The headwind picked up to remind us of its presence. But it didn't really matter today. The mileage was short and we had energy from a good night's sleep.

The Sea-Brem team poses with helmets off signifying the end of the Santa Fe Trail ride.

We rode the last nine miles on the Kady Trail, a rails-to-trail path (no cars, no trucks!), that cuts through a tunnel of trees to Boonsville, then looped around and across the Missouri River before circling into New Franklin. Even though we did the trip in reverse allegedly so we would have the prevailing wind at our back (I guess that didn't quite work as planned), I note that some of the mule trains returned from Santa Fe loaded with buffalo and beaver hides, as well as silver.

Our final camp is at New Franklin High and Junior High School. Old Franklin was drowned in one of the Missouri's frequent floods. We've lost a lot of members of our group. I know Gary and Andy, who live in Chicago and St. Louis respectively packed their panniers and headed back out on the Kady Trail for a multi-day ride home. Glenn's wife showed up to pick him up and took him back to Lawrence, Kansas. We lost Fu-Ping in Independence. I think about half of the original 32 riders are left. Tomorrow, the rest of us bus it to the Kansas City Airport for our flights home. Russ packed our bikes on his rear rack, then he and Sherri headed north to Iowa to begin a leisurely trip back to Bremerton. I'll see Bianchi in a couple of weeks. I hope she enjoys the trip home and the rest. In the interest of full disclosure, I never did change out the rear tire in Council Gove. I decided I had enough tread to make it the rest of the way. I predicted correctly for once.

How do I get all this ___ in my duffel bag? Steve gets ready to go home.

It is hot and humid here, with bugs crawling all over place. Steve's first camp site swarmed with little red bugs that overan his duffels. I've been plagued by spiders and little millipedes. They have giant Daddy Longlegs here. I spent a lot of time wrestling them out of the tent the last couple of nights. God knows what's coming out of the woods tonight to get us. I think I can stand one more night of this otherwise I will go mad. I look forward to my bed.

This has been a great adventure, on pare with my Finland trip in 2007. One of the big differences was having some friends along, Russ and Steve. I valued Russ for his steadfastness and quiet thoughtfulness and Steve for his bound-less extrovertism (is that a word?) and enthusiasm. I remember Steve high-fiving me on that horrendous 90 mile day to Baker, the one where we battled a typhoon or so it seemed to us, and saying "I think it's in the bag" when it really wasn't yet in the bag and we still had to traverse a dirt track that was worse than the Burma Highway. I, of course, thought we would die and that our desiccated remains would be found among the cornstalk stubs the following spring, yet another casualty and addition to the lore of the Santa Fe Trail ("Them dang cyclists should have never set out from Council Bluffs on a day like that; damned near killed themselves."). I know both Steve and Russ both greatly admired my vintage, time-tested equipment, as they never ceased to marvel at its lasting power, its ability to hold together for yet another day, and my self-induced 25 pound weight handicap that allowed them to keep pace with the amazing Bianchi - the Sherman Tank of bikes. Seriously, they were generous in keeping the pace reasonable as I huffed and puffed my way across a wide swath of America. I appreciated that.

Yes, there is something almost sacred about sharing a common experience that is out of the ordinary. And this was certainly out of the ordinary.

I will have more to say about the trip in the post script which I will post tomorrow. For now, I need to rest and go kill me some bugs.

Stats: 26 miles. Total for the trip, about 1,241 (according to my odometer and corrected for its error),  but will confirm tomorrow when I can find my odometer.

Flat Tire Final. This is now official. I win. Bob 5, Steve 3, Russ 1. Steve was unable to have two flat tires on the last day of the trip. However, my sources report that Gunther The Great was the overall champion with 10 flat tires, which just goes to show you that even the great ones have down days.