In 1998 my friend, Eric, and I, along with two friends (Dave from Michigan and his friend, Jim), had ridden the first third of the St. Paul, MN to New Orleans, LA ride Eric and I had decided to do. We ended in Galena, IL and had planned to start in Galena and ride to St. Louis, MO the next year. For some reason that part of the ride was put off until 2000, when Eric, Dave, Eric’s friend, Jim (a different Jim than 1998), and I started out on the second leg of our three part quest. I should let you know now that, for some reason, the third leg never happened.
We all met in Dubuque, IA at the same hotel, the Julien Inn, at which we had spent our last night on the ’98 ride, Dave driving from Michigan and Eric, Jim, and I from St. Paul. We spent the night in the hotel and, the next day, started for St. Louis. We had left our cars in the parking lot of the Julien Inn, with the owner’s permission, and planned to rent a U-Haul truck in St. Louis for the return trip.
We started out fairly early in the morning and, as it was early October, it was very cold (lower to mid-20’s) and there was a heavy coating of frost on the rooftops as we rode out of town. This wasn’t our first rodeo, however, and we had brought clothing meant for cold-weather riding. Our bikes were packed with our provisions and, with the addition of the heavy clothes, we found riding, especially up steep hills (of which there were many) somewhat challenging. We managed to survive the cold morning and as the day wore on the temps climbed, if not to actual warmth, at least to more comfortable (lower 40’s).
We crossed the Mississippi to the Illinois side and continued south. The day passed with nothing too exciting happening, and we rode through gentle rolling hills and, finally, flat prairie, on varying services—highways with wide shoulders, a gravel road or two, short bike trails, small town streets, and harrowing highways with very narrow shoulders.
We pulled into Rock Island, IL in the early evening and found a nice hotel, as camping was not terribly attractive in the cold weather, ate dinner, and went to bed. It had been a challenging hundred-mile day (aren’t they all?) and all of us were worn out.
Early the next morning we were on the road again, after having eaten at the hotel complimentary breakfast. Eating in the hotels like that is doubly advantageous; we get a good start to the day and we don’t have to stop an hour into the ride to fuel up. On the other hand there were times, even throughout the day, when I had to use one of my favorite lines from an old cowboy TV show (Rawhide?), “C’mon, boys, we’re burning daylight.”
It was another cold day as we started off, this time on a nice bike trail along the river and we got to watch a river barge trying to maneuver to keep its load between the channel markers.
Along the entire route we had stayed close to the National Great River Road but, as the route is a highway with sometimes heavy traffic and fairly narrow shoulders, we did our best to make use of bike trails, gravel roads (when necessary), small town streets, and less-traveled highways. The scenery was tranquil as we rode past corn fields being harvested and the bean fields waiting their turn (or the other way around, ask Eric, he’s the part time farmer). And riding through the rural area has its share of treats—the nicely-kept farms with their red barns, cows in the pastures, front porches with rocking chairs (sometimes occupied, in which case we’d get a friendly wave), and old bridges.
The route isn’t too difficult to follow—just keep the river on your right. If you notice the river is on your left and you haven’t crossed a bridge or you see a road sign that says, “Great River Road—North” you should probably check your bearings. At one point we ran out of these friendly routes and had to use the main highway, which seemed to have narrowed, and the traffic was heavy. When a flatbed semi-truck passed (with on-coming traffic so the driver couldn’t move over) came so close to Dave that he swore he could have reached out and touched it, we decided to get off the highway and find another way to continue south. There is always, of course, another way. We took a side road east about a mile and found a lightly travelled country highway and turned south, paralleling the route itself. After ten miles or so of pleasant riding the pavement ended and we had to follow a loose gravel road for several miles, not pleasant but doable. We headed west again, found another paved road with little traffic and rode the final miles in relative comfort, ending the day in a motel in Keithsburg, IL.
The next morning was another cool one and our first leg of the ride brought us ten miles to Oquawka, IL. As we entered town we saw a sign pointing out “Norma Jean’s Grave” which raised our curiosity, of course. We inquired at a local gas station and were told the story. It seems an elephant named Norma Jean was brought to town in 1972 by a circus and was killed when the tree to which she was chained was struck by lightning. She had been buried close by and the local pharmacist started a fund and raised enough money to place a small memorial on top the grave. We detoured a couple of blocks to see the monument but, sadly, I neglected to get a photo so readers are obliged to imagine or make the trip to see for themselves.
A few miles south of Oquawka we passed the Harrison covered bridge which had a great warning painted above its entrance. We were careful not to disobey any of the restrictions.
We rode to and through Nauvoo, IL and continued to a bridge leading across the river to Keokuk, IA where we found a nice Holiday Inn near the bridge, which we would have to re-cross the next morning, and spent the night.
Wednesday morning we headed back across the bridge to IL and, once again, headed south. We found a backroad that paralleled the river and started one of the more pleasant sections of riding of the entire trip. The road went on for miles, was almost devoid of traffic, and was relatively flat. We rode for hours feeling as if the road belonged to us, and again enjoyed watching the crops in the fields being harvested. At one point along a river levee we just had to stop, take our bikes onto the levee, and take a photo of us alongside the “No Trespassing on Levee” sign, leaving before the Levee Police could get there.
We continued south on roadways varying from almost no traffic to heavy traffic until late afternoon and came to the I-72 bridge across the river and into Hannibal, MO. A sign on the bridge said bicycle traffic was allowed and the shoulder was wide so other than the traffic noise the ride across was pleasant enough. We spent the night in a cheaper hotel.
The next day found us riding through rolling hills, some steeper than others, on lightly traveled roads and all-in-all it was a nice, scenic day of riding. The weather had warmed to, if not short-sleeve weather, at least light jacket weather, but a somewhat stiff head wind had come up and we spent the better part of the day riding in a pace line. It was a long ride, though, and we had to ride hard to catch the ferry across the Mississippi back to the Illinois side of our route. We managed to make the ferry and had a nice ride across the river.
But by the time we had gotten off the ferry the sun had set and the dark was approaching quickly. We dug out all the lights we had with us and must have looked like four Christmas trees going down the road. None of us like to ride in the dark and we were greatly relieved to get to our destination, the small town of Brussels, IL. We asked at a local tavern about campgrounds and were told there were none but the tavern owner told us the American Legion across the street sometimes allows camping on their lawn. The owner was kind enough to call the president of the chapter and obtain permission for us to camp. As it had been a 90-mile day, was pitch black, and was a nice night for camping, we were quite happy to pitch our tents, grab dinner at the tavern, and hit the sack.
We started riding the next day on a hilly and winding road that again took us through woodlands and farms, and was very pleasant because of the lack of traffic. We found another ferry landing with a ferry that would take us across the Illinois River and back to the Illinois side of the trip, and the ferryman told us of a bike path not far from the opposite landing. We were able to find the trail without too much difficulty and enjoyed about 25 miles of pleasant riding to Alton, IL. While we were still several miles from Alton Eric’s back bike rack broke on one side and fell backward to the roadway, pulling him to a rather sharp and unexpected stop. Once more Eric and Dave worked their magic and jury-rigged a fix using a bungee cord with a couple of zip-ties holding it in place and we were able to finish the ride no worse for wear (and glad we had brought enough zip-ties). As we continued the ride we knew at some point we were going to have to cross the river again to get to the Missouri side, but as we rode toward a highway bridge crossing the river, we saw that it was heavily traveled and had a very narrow shoulder, and decided to stay on the Illinois side for a while.
As we pulled into Alton we were looking for a place to eat and hoping to find a place to cross the river to Missouri. This is where we ran into a real piece of luck caused by our failure to listen well. We stopped at a new gas station and were told that if we followed the street we were on three blocks and turned right we’d find a nice restaurant. We dutifully rode down the street three and ALL FOUR OF US turned LEFT! Before realizing our mistake we spotted The Hartford Barbeque Rib House that looked like our kind of stop and, laughing at our failure to follow directions, entered the café. There were few patrons in the place due to the hour (after the lunch rush) and we asked the owner/cook/waitress, Chris, about a bridge crossing the river to St. Louis. She came up with but rejected several ideas, then her face lit up and she told us about a bridge in a town nearby, the Chain of Rocks Bridge, that had been closed to auto traffic but was open for pedestrian and bicycle traffic on the weekends that would be perfect for us—except that this was Friday so the bridge was closed. Just as we were lamenting the idea of having to go many miles out of our way to get to another river crossing Chris said Deanna, the Assistant City Manager, usually comes in about this time and we could ask her about the bridge. Sure enough, Deanna walked in a minute later and, after hearing of our dilemma, said she would call the mayor of Madison, the city controlling the bridge. The mayor of Madison told Deanna he’d have “Gene,” who Chris and Deanna both knew, meet us at the bridge and open it for us. Man, I love this country and the people in it! As it was a 45-minute ride to the bridge we hurriedly packed up and, after thanking Chris and Deanna profusely, got on our way. Two miles down the road Chris caught up to us in her car and gave me a pill bottle containing a key and small amount of money that I had left on the table in our rush to get on the road. I was running out of ways to thank her, but I gave it my best shot. What a wonderful lady!
Sure enough, when we got to the bridge “Gene” was waiting for us and opened the large gate (which we could have not gotten around even if we had wished to do so) so we could ride across. The ride across, with no traffic, the rushing river beneath us, and the skyline of St. Louis in the distance, was really nice. As he had to come with us to open the gate on the other side Gene followed us across in his city van, unlocked the gate, let us out, then followed us for a half-mile of busy highway, with his flashers on, to a bike trail that would take us into the heart of St. Louis. We couldn’t have asked for more and will always be grateful to Chris, Deanna, and Gene.
A short ride later we were in St Louis and shortly after that we were resting on the well-kept lawn under the Arch—The Gateway to the West. We were tired and happy that the ride was over, but also very happy to have accomplished the ride. We had covered 450 miles over six days, we had seen some beautiful scenery, enjoyed great, and some challenging, riding, worked our way out of several minor jams, had slept under the stars, and had met wonderful people. As I lie on my back on the green grass under the Arch looking up at a beautiful monument and a beautiful blue sky I was struck by the joy of riding, how lucky I was to partake in that joy, and how wonderful our country is and its people are.
That evening, after finding a hotel and cleaning up, we walked around town, stopping at the federal courthouse, where the Dred Scott decision had been decided, then walked around Old Town St. Louis, ending up at LaFitte’s for an end-of-the-ride celebratory dinner at an outdoor table watching the moon rise and discussing the high and low points of the trip. The low points of any trip make the high points even better, and the high points always include the people we met along the way.
The next day I procured a U-Haul truck for the ride home and, using my police connections (30 years with the St. Paul Police) got a lift to the U-Haul place with an accommodating St. Louis police squad (as my other stories have pointed out, I’m not shy about asking for a favor). We rode home squeezed into the U-Haul reminiscing about the rides we have ridden together.
Sixteen years later I thought of all the wonderful countryside I have traversed across this country and all the wonderful people I have met on rides through the years and thought to myself, “Make America Great AGAIN?” America has been great for decades and decades, and will be great for decades to come, not because of our political parties, but because of the wonderful people who occupy it!
