Timeless Tennessee

I had a nifty ride today in Knoxville, TN which I will soon describe, but yesterday's trip to the Norris Lake at Clinch River was BikerBuck's favorite outing of this whole trip and I just gotta share.

Sara had reserved a 5 hr. rental of a pontoon boat from the Beach Island Marina Resort, about an hour's drive from home.  Over the past several days we've been checking the weather forecast and we were facing iffy prospects at best. The Resort actually phoned to assure us that there would be no cancellation charge if we bailed. But the morning broke softly and we literally took the plunge - and it turned out great.

Rick and Sara chillin' on the foredeck.

Swim Call...all hands overboard!

 Nana could barely keep up with our little tadpole.

Captain Kali.

I never would have guessed how much fun a pontoon boat could be. Obviously the weather was perfect, and the lake was ideal. Gave me a whole new perspective on the Love Boat concept. Anchors aweigh!

***

Knoxville is known for its commitment to establishing a network of Greenways that feature multi-use paved trails in all the right places.  Gaps between trails are apt to be frustrating when planning a ride of more than 10 miles or so.  But a little local knowledge goes a long way in route planning, along with easily available maps to get you started.

The Third Creek Greenway trail was the backbone of my 50k route. Following the severe storms of the past week, there were seven major trail blockages and one major detour cause by fallen trees and flooding.

The Sequoyah Greenway and Park were absolutely breathtaking. Stunning riverside homes, and the occasional ridgetop mansion, were delectable eye candy.

The Volunteer Landing, near the famous Neyland Stadium, along the Tennessee river in downtown Knoxville is ground zero for UT football fans on game day.

My route took me through parts of the University of Tennessee campus, including the beautiful Experimental Gardens where Doni and I have spent memorable hours with Sara, Rick and Kali.

The iconic old Henley St. Bridge is being respectfully dismantled.

A rail spur still carries passengers into town.

This week marks our fourth or fifth trip to Knoxville in the past couple years since Sara and family moved here. Every visit has presented new outings and unique experiences. It's a great place to explore and a wonderful place to just sit still. Naturally having our granddaughter here is the number one attraction, but the location never fails to deliver its own special treats. 

There are no immediate plans for BikerBuck's next ride. Just hangin' lose for now. Catch you later.

Land of Lincoln Log

It was drizzling outside when I got up to hit the Fairfield Inn's free breakfast spread. In truth, it's more of a pick your pre-packaged food like substance than a real breakfast...except for the waffles which you make yourself.  Now we're talkin'.

The weather news was not good. With a 70% chance of thunderstorms in the western burbs like Geneva, Illinois where I was going to ride, the day held little promise. But I stuck with the plan and parked at the Mill Race Cyclery well before it opened and left a note on the dash that I'd be back with their bike 'fore long. And off I rode on the Fox River Trail West.

It's actually a very lovely trail, well marked and expertly maintained. In the three hours I spent on the trails this morning I saw but one other rider, a commuter I reckon.  Did see several walkers with kids and dogs and one lonely runner.

The Fox runs south from the Fox Lake. Spillways help keep the water where it's supposed to be.

Lots of water fowl and little flying things abound, not to mention the poesies.

The bike route borrows some city streets here and there, so you get to see some weird stuff like this colorful old train station.

I'm all pau with my road trips for 2011, which have covered 20 states and about 8,500 miles of driving, about two thirds of which were on two lane roads and highways. It's been a great experience and again I have to thank my partner Mr. Nick and all of the friends and family who hosted BikerBuck's 50-50 and made the whole thing so special.  In the words of the Terminator (or do we now refer to him as the Sperminator?)....I'll be back.

Who knows what lies ahead?

Twaining Wheels

When last you heard from BikerBuck he was all hosed up - and having abandoned the hunt for the trail in Independence and finding no solace at Lake Mark Twain - he was quite literally up the paddle without a creek. He was, however, the first guest to show up for the hotel's free breakfast at 0600 this morning, having been awake and fretting since the milkman arrived. More than once during the night I got out of bed to study the Google map for the Katy Trail parking lot in St. Charles, about 110 miles away.

After breakfast, at approximately 0611, I jumped in the Town and Country in my civvies to scout the one possible route: a road leading south from town that follows the river.  Through the raindrops and windshield wipers I could see that the road would be a death trap for a cyclist.  Let's just be truthful and admit that the road repair and shoulder maintenance money went to put up another billboard to do with Mark Twain - who by the way was actually born in Detroit and spent most of his life in Atlantic City and/or Hal Holbrook's dressing room. But I digress. The road option was out.

So in a final gasp for any old straw I willed the T&C into its all-terrain mode and scouted a bumpy and crumbling "driveway" thing along the tracks just a block from the Beast Western.  I probed three equally grotesque branches of the macadam and the only thing that looked remotely rideable was an asphalt drive that meandered up a very steep hill replete with rarely trimmed ornamental trees.  It was a city park.  (The road and bush maintenance dough was re-directed to yet another display of Mark Twain's actual skull. They honestly have about a dozen of his real skulls, from various ages of course, floating in a big vat with port holes cleverly placed at varying heights so the keiki can see them, and feed him.)

Anyway I dashed back to the B. Dub and jumped into my biking uniform with a fresh resolve to find the river-side road that I just knew was there and somehow stretch it into a 50km ride. No drive to St. Charles, no Katy trail, no Google maps, just do it.  And it WAS there.

I rode to the park and after ascending to oxygen mask level discovered a paved path down to a little spur that followed the river for, oh, the length of a hop scotch court. BUT where the "pavement" ended an actual road was there.  Called River Road.  Go figya. And that my friends turned out to be my vision and my redemption.  So off I went....

Railroad bridge to Illinois, from the crumbled driveway.

This was supposed to be a granite statue of a Missouri riverboat captain at the wheel, but the money was accidentally deposited in the start up capital funding for the Mark Twain Paint-by-Numbers Portrait Kit, so what we're left with is a giant paper mache fisherman. If you squint real hard he does look like Huck Finn.

 What looks like a Louisiana bayou is really just flood waters that cut off the nature trail.  The yellow sign is for the hiker registration, so that water would be about waist deep.

River Residence.
I passed a couple of docks with a handful of boats and an RV Park on the river bank.

My dream came true.  A beautiful blacktop road with H2O on one side and pretty trees and cannabis on the other. This road took me about 10 miles out of Hannibal.

We're about a mile from the river here. The soil is extremely rich, judging by the spectacular crops.

This is all that's left of Marion City, last seen in 1835. Word has it that the town took a little cruise.

I took a short side trip to Palmyra MO, about 12 miles from Hannibal. This classic John Deere is a lawn ornament on the Witt property.  Looks like the deer lost it's wits!
(Humor me. Please.)

The ride was wonderful and all the rain went away.  I followed road signs back to Hannibal and wound up on about 14 miles of US 61, the four lane that I had come in on from Independence. There were about a dozen hills to climb which of course I hadn't noticed in the mini van. Wound up clocking about 38 miles/ 60km, so I "donated" 3 km to Kansas because the trail closure there robbed KS of it's full 50k. You'll find the corrected data in the Captain's Log.

The Big Muddy.

I can tell you that it's both. Having been at its headwaters just over a week ago, the Mississippi River is forever etched in my mind as one of nature's great achievements.

Tonight I'm in the other St. Charles...Illinois.  I'm close by the bike shop where I rented the bike. Which reminds me, all is forgiven as between me and the bicycle formerly known as the Green Latrine.  Once we got used to one another we made up and have had a great relationship.  I still won't let her sleep with me, but I did tickle her valve stem the other day and she liked that.

The Fox River Trail runs right beside the bike shop, so I'll park and ride in the morning, then turn in the Mean Green Ridin' Machine and be off to return Dee's Town and Country and decompress at her place until it's time to ambush Donivee at ORD on Tuesday afternoon and fly with her to Knoxville, the next frontier.

The Truman Library - Independence, MO

After another sumptuous breakfast at Fred's, we said farewell and I zipped over the border into Missouri. I was soon arriving at the beautiful Truman Library.  It is in perfect scale and scope for my taste and I think they got it just right.  There is a wealth of mid-century history portrayed in the films, displays and dioramas throughout the facility. It really is a concentrated lesson on U.S. and global events from the early forties to the mid-fifties. My visit there today is a major highlight of BikerBuck's 50-50 initiative.

Dioramas such as this one depicting the early 50's lifestyle were rich with edutaiment.

A stunning replica of HST's oval office.

I bragged to the docents about my Buck Stops pin that Perry and Sally gave me as a birthday gift some years back.

And the shirt that Thad and Jessica made up for my retirement celebration was the hit of the day.

This last Truman piece is not from the Library, but from an email I received later. Not sure who the author is, but it sums up my observations and feelings about President and Mrs. Truman.

 

Harry & Bess

Harry Truman was a different kind of President.  He probably made as many, or more important decisions regarding our nation's history as any of the other 42 Presidents preceding him.  However, a measure of his greatness may rest on what he did after he left the White House.

The only asset he had when he died was the house he lived in, which was in Independence Missouri .  His wife had inherited the house from her mother and father and other than their years in the White House, they lived their entire lives there.

When he retired from office in 1952 his income was a U.S. Army pension reported to have been $13,507.72 a year.  Congress, noting that he was paying for his stamps and personally licking them, granted him an 'allowance' and, later, a retroactive pension of $25,000 per year.

After President Eisenhower was inaugurated,  Harry and Bess drove home to Missouri by themselves.  There was no Secret Service following them.

When offered corporate positions at large salaries, he declined, stating, "You don't want me.  You want the office of the President, and that doesn't belong to me.  It belongs to the American people and it's not for sale."

Even later, on May 6, 1971, when Congress was preparing to award him the Medal of Honor on his 87th birthday, he refused to accept it, writing, "I don't consider that I have done anything which should be the reason for any award, Congressional or otherwise."

As president he paid for all of his own travel expenses and food.

Modern politicians have found a new level of success in cashing in on the Presidency, resulting in untold wealth.  Today, many in Congress also have found a way to become quite wealthy while enjoying the fruits of their offices. Political offices are now for sale (cf. Illinois ).

Good old Harry Truman was correct when he observed, "My choices in life were either to be a piano player in a whore house or a politician.  And to tell the truth, there's hardly any difference!

I say dig him up and clone him!

 

On a personal note, I actually met Harry Truman in 1960.  My parents and I took a flight from New York's LaGuardia airport to Ithaca, NY for my college interview at Cornell.  A few minutes before boarding, Harry Truman and his lone security escort walked up to the boarding area and waited off to the side for the flight.  My Mom quickly spotted the former President and could hardly keep still when we all boarded the DC3.  In mid-flight, she got up and walked back to his row and introduced herself as a great admirer and former campaign volunteer for his 1948 election.  Later, when I attended the Cornell Hotel School and worked at the Statler Inn on campus, I actually inspected the registration card that Mr. Truman signed when he checked in following that flight.  He stated his occupation as "Retired Farmer" and signed the card, Harry S. Truman.

 ...and now back to BikerBuck's 50-50...

I had some sketchy information about a short bike trail in Independence but was unable to find it right away, so decided to press on to the Mississippi River border in hopes of striking a proper ride in Hannibal, where I also want to peek in on the Mark Twain story.  At the town of Monroe, MO I was bewitched by the signs for the Mark Twain Lake and State Park so went about 25 miles afield to check it out.  Indeed there is a huge (20,000 acre) lake and sizable campground, plus a visitor center that houses the Clement house from the time of Samuel's birth.  Well the whole thing is in the final weeks of a major renno, but a nice Ranger let me peek inside the center and I could see the house still wrapped completely in protective plastic while the ceiling of the center is being replaced.

Looking through the main entry I could see into the space where the Cabin-in-a-Baggie is hangin' loose.

I did check out the camping options but decided it was not going to work so moved on and arrived in Hannibal at dusk, checked in to the Best Western and took to the streets. Small place, entirely devoted to things Twain, and mildly tawdry. Got a line on a possible trail very close by, but now have to decide whether to drop down to St. Charles tomorrow to pick up the Katy Trail, which is the Big Daddy of MO cycle trails.  Rain is in the forecast, will just have to see what the day hands me in the morning.

Topeka Treasures

I was searching for a bike trail in Kansas not too far from my quarters in Stilwell and landed on the Landon Nature Trail in Topeka, which happens to be the state capitol. From what I could tell the trail is a bit short for my 50km threshold, but what caught my attention is the location of the trail head: right next to the Brown vs. Board of Education National Monument.

As a kid who attended three years of high school in FL, SC and TN between 1956 and '59 I was keenly aware of the Supreme Court ruling that is widely credited with reversing the "separate but equal" doctrine and led to the integration of "public" schools throughout the country.

The National Park Service arm of the Department of the Interior operates the facility in the Monroe School building. The presentations are expertly designed using multi-media storytelling and archival displays of key documents along with sustinct interpretations and followup facts.  The memorial is easy to find off the major highways through Topeka, which is less than 100 miles from Kansas City.  Do bookmark this place in your heartland travel plans.

Ah yes, the bike trail. A very ambitious and well executed trail that essentially connects downtown Topeka with the outlying urban core.  The bad news #1 is that there are no signs or route maps in evidence and it more or less ends abruptly at a food processing plant after about 8 miles. But mind you, the trail itself is beautiful and there is very little street traffic interface.

When the trail ended at the food factory I just started poking around, riding up one boulevard and down a little parkway, then following a sign to an RV park on the presumption that RV parks are in fun places.  Finally took a right simply to avoid a monster hill, then after passing a honky tonk and a C store I came upon a carving next to an interesting bridge. That carving was the key to second not-so-hidden Treasure.

I went to the intersection and took a left to cross over that beckoning bridge, and discovered.....

Lake Shawnee County Park

Whatever your image of a county park, prepare to re-set your expectations.  Get this.....

Gardens - plural - to die for.

 

Bank fishing.

Did I mention gardens?

A real pretty lake complete with wildlife.

And are ready for this... a sports complex with fields for baseball, football, soccer with bleachers and grandstands; an RV and camping park, a marina, a Frisbee golf course!, an Inn, of course the 7 mile bike way around the whole park, and.....

.....a championship golf course.

I'm sure I've left some things out, but you get the picture.  A real treasure, and being well used on a Thursday.  I made my way back to the trail head and noted that there was one more spur on the Landon Trail, which I needed to ride to top off my mileage.  So I peeled off at the clever little biking traffic circle and headed out with high expectations for a great finish and maybe even some more treasure hunting, when I came upon.......

OH NO, bad news #2. And all I needed was two more miles!

You know, I'm just going to leave this ride at 47km and be good with it.  I couldn't be happier with the whole experience today.  It reaffirms my belief that if you put yourself in a place and in the moment for something nice to happen it usually does.  Mind you there was nothing simple about plopping myself down in Topeka, Kansas this morning, but thanks to my generous cousin Fred and the support of my friends and family I did get my booty to that trail head today.  And as we have all heard, ninety percent of success is simply showing up.  

Tomorrow I intend to show up at my favorite President's house.

Bushwhacker Kin

After the hectic departure from Norfolk, NE yesterday I make it down to Stilwell, Kansas to catch up with my first cousin Fred Wilburn, retired American Airlines captain and bi-continental homemaker at his Italian villa near Castiglion Fiorentino and his creekside spread in Kansas.  Fred and I were reconnected last year when we join two other senior cousins to track down ancestral data in Oklahoma and Texas. On his own, Fred has undertaken the research on our Missouri kin, notably our great great grandfather and his family who were celebrated Bushwhackers during the border wars in Kansas and Missouri during the American Civil War period (aka the War of Northern Aggression.)

 Cover Couple on "Bushwhacker Musings" the house organ of the impressive Bushwhacker Museum in Nevada, Missouri. These are our great great maternal grandparents, William "Old Man" Gabbert and his wife Rebecca, circa. 1860.

The burning of Nevada is recalled in a street mural that covers the side of a prominent building.

This panel depicts the Gabberts' daughter Eliza, a local heroine in her own right.

As is our custom, Fred and I spent a bit of time in the local cemetery to pay respects.

Fred enjoys his adopted sport of Bocce and built a first rate court at his Kansas place.  Do not play Bocce with this man for money....I'm just sayin'...

We've had a great time devouring fabulous Italian cuisine prepared by Fred, lots of road time tracking out of the way places where our kin lived, exchanging updates on our own families and just plain taking a break.  Mahalo, cuz!

Cowboy Trail Tale

Goofy sign at the park in Norfolk, NE where the mother of all R2T paths begins.

I almost scratched the Cowboy Trail ride.  Last night I drove out about 20 miles on a road that parallels the trail and just took a look at what the vistas and environment might be like on the ride. BORE-ING. I drove back to the Super 8 and dove into my laptop and re-researched Nebraska bike trails.  Nothing to hang my hat on. Turned in at midnight not knowing what I was going to do in the morning.  And fell asleep to the sound of heavy rain.

Sure enough, after a Super 8 waffle and watered down OJ and coffee in the bright sunny morning the choice was clear: Cowboy Trail, baybee. That's what I planned 3 months ago and that's what I did. 

Jumped into the Town and Country and drove all 2 miles to the park where the trail starts and I was off.  Beautiful trail.  Concrete paving as smooth as Jackson's okole. Perfect. For 2.5 miles, then it turned to gravel. The isty bitsy kind - about the size of Hinode poured right out of the bag. With soft powdery, I don't know what you call it, "sand", in and amongst it.  But it was still pretty firm because it was wet from the rain and I kept going OK.  And then, at about 5 miles.....

Bridge out! Sign said, "Cowboy Trail Closed Until Further Notice."  Bummers.  But then.....

I met Dale, local resident who rides at least 10 miles on the Trail daily. He turned out to be my English speaking native guide and showed me - actually rode with me - a way around the kapu section and back on the trail.  Dale's biking tales were fascinating, like the day he rode 100 miles for the first time, but that's a story for another day.  Mahalo, Dale!

Once I settled into my rhythm the scenery opened up and I began to dig what the Cowboy Trail is about.

Beautiful spots along the river with benches for Fredericking. (Ask Donivee what that means, if you don't already know.)

"Who's yo daddy, who's yo daddy.  No, seriously, who is your actual father 'cause I'm pickin' up a strange vibe here."

St. Patrick's Cemetery in Battle Creek, NE beckoned and I was fascinated by the surnames of the settlers who arrive two hundred years ago to tame the plains, raise their families and become the original Americans.

Our heritage.  In repose beside a biking trail. It's more than just "rails to trails," isn't it?

There were many more ah ha moments this morning, and endless unanswered questions.  Like, why is it called the "Cowboy Trail?" Though the answer might seem obvious, how come it wasn't named the "Nation Builders' Trail" or the "Settlers' Trail?"  All of these thoughts surrounded me this morning as I dawdled and took pictures and fought the growing headwind that joined forces with the now dry and fluffy gravel to make every revolution of the crank a mini-masochistic moment.  Then, just as I hit my 17 mile turn around point, my cellphone rang.

It was the desk clerk at the Super 8 reminding me that check out time was 11am but she would give me until 11:30 because "At Super 8 we're Super Great!" She didn't really say that. But it fact it was 10:30 am and I wasn't at all sure if I could power back the 17 miles, jump in the T & C and make it back in an hour to forestall a late check out charge.  So I just went for it and lo and behold my old friend Tailwind saved my bacon.  The gravel trail was like a magic carpet with 15 knots of wind on my port quarter. Got back to the park, dove into the Chrysler, blasted back to The 8 (that's what the road warriors call it), power slid into the first parking stall like a Duke, swaggered up to the desk at precisely 12:29pm (OK so I was an hour late) and of course no one was there at the desk. She was having lunch with the housekeeper in the breakfast lounge. Neither could care less what time I checked out, they just needed to know if I was staying another night.  And neither was old enough to remember the Dukes of Hazard.

So the racing back thing was unnecessary but the ride turned out to be very memorable.  Thanks, Dale. Thanks Cowboys. And thanks, neighbors.