Katy Trail

Yesterday, Kelly and I loaded our bikes onto the back of the VW and took a day trip to Rocheport and Booneville, Missouri; two towns next to each other in the middle of the state, just west of Columbia. For years, we have driven past these exits on our way to St. Louis, to visit our cousins, but we’d never gotten off the highway for a look-see. From Kansas City, Booneville is the last exit before, and Rocheport is the first exit after, Missouri’s “halfway bridge” on I-70. 

Rocheport was our first stop. Frommer's has listed it as one of America's 10 Coolest Small Towns, and while that seem like a stretch, it really is a sweet place to be. It's filled with dozens of quaint Bed & Breakfasts and fun little antique and specialty shops. There are several restaurants, but one has live music every Friday night. Although we didn't stay for the show, the restaurant's website had a YouTube clip of the bluegrass group that was scheduled and it looked like it would have been really fun to stay. The town totally caters to the cyclists and weekend overnighters, who come from the nearby surrounding areas, as well as Kansas City and St. Louis. 

Tunnel just west of Rocheport. The temperature
was at least 10 degrees cooler in there!

The Katy Trail is a recreational rail trail that runs 240 miles on the former Missouri-Kansas-Texas (MKT) Railroad. Running mostly along the northern bank of the Missouri River, it is the country’s longest rails-to-trails trail. We saw hikers, cyclists, families, couples and singles yesterday on the hard, flat crushed limestone path. The part of the Katy we were on is also part of the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail. While we could have jumped onto the Katy much closer to Kansas City, we really wanted the picturesque and shady lanes that this stretch is known for. Even with the heat and humidity, it was a lovely ride.

The trail goes from Clinton to St. Charles, and I believe there are plans to extend the west trail all the way to Kansas City.

From the Main Street, we first rode west for a couple of miles, through the tunnel and along the wetlands. We stopped just in front of the tunnel and hiked to the top of the bluff to see the River.

About 2 miles east of Rocheport is an access trail up to the Les Bourgeois Vineyard and Restaurant. We locked our bikes at the bottom, and took the short, but steep hike up the trail, to the restaurant on top of the bluff. Overlooking the river from this height, it's so easy to see why it's nicknamed the Muddy Mo - with all the rain we've been getting, the water was up and moving pretty fast. Our waitress said they see very little boat and barge traffic - maybe only a few a week. Sitting at our table we just watched the hawks flying overhead and the water moving below.

I'd love to come back in the fall when the colors are changing and turn this into a weekend.

I took this photo especially for my little friend, Katy Gunther!

A view from the top

On the Les Bourgeois trail

Clouds & Poems

Last night, I chased a cloudy sky for an hour. First, because of the incredible colors
radiating brilliant pinks and violets high into the sky, and later because of the
threatening black shelf looming low, taunting me with its elusive lightening bolts
that evaded my slow shutter-finger. 

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.” 

― Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds

Shawnee Mission Lake

“There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

Isabel consuming Boston

Last night's cloud, and elusive lightening bolts - Western Shawnee

“The sun always shines above the clouds.”
― Paul F. Davis

Naples, Florida

“So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.”
― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
― John Lubbock, The Use Of Life

A Flint Hills' Sky

Konza Prairie

“Aren't the clouds beautiful? They look like big balls of cotton... I could just lie here all day, and watch them drift by... If you use your imagination, you can see lots of things in the cloud formations... What do you think you see, Linus?"
"Well, those clouds up there look like the map of the British Honduras on the Caribbean... That cloud up there looks a little like the profile of Thomas Eakins, the famous painter and sculptor... And that group of clouds over there gives me the impression of the stoning of Stephen... I can see the apostle Paul standing there to one side..."
"Uh huh... That's very good... What do you see in the clouds, Charlie Brown?"
"Well, I was going to say I saw a ducky and a horsie, but I changed my mind!”
― Charles M. Schulz, The Complete Peanuts, Vol. 5: 1959-1960

“And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright unclouded day.”
― Emily Brontë

Zakynthos, Greece

“when we look up, it widens our horizons. we see what a little speck we are in the universe, so insignificant, and we all take ourselves so seriously, but in the sky, there are no boundaries. No differences of caste or religion or race.” ― Julia Gregson, East of the Sun

Flint Hills, Kansas

A suburban storm raging in Kansas

“It stood calm against the suburban storm raging around it. The thunder screamed across the sky; it slapped the clouds into a heated turmoil that flew towards the south.”
― J.D. Stroube, Caged in Darkness

“What a strange thing it is to wake up to a milk-white overcast June morning! The sun is hidden by a thick cotton blanket of clouds, and the air is vapor-filled and hazy with a concentration of blooming scent.

The world is somnolent and cool, in a temporary reprieve from the normal heat and radiance.

But the sensation of illusion is strong. Because the sun can break through the clouds at any moment . . .

What a soft thoughtful time.

In this illusory gloom, like a night-blooming flower, let your imagination bloom in a riot of color.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

Venice, Italy

This cloud is in need of a poem - feel free to add one to the comment's section.

Finding your way back

Lost…

…in Venice. Not a bad place to wander and roam aimlessly for a few days. Although, that's not entirely true. We had an aim. We always had a goal of finding a specific location. It's just that we never quite got to where we thought we were heading. Bright shiny object. Oh look, a gondola, just over that next bridge. 

It was nice to know that we weren't the only ones who found the lack of a grid or any obvious sign of a numbering system to be a bit, how shall I put it? Italian? At the end of every long alley, attached to every corner of every building is a small sign that says "San Marco" or "Rialto" with a single arrow pointing down yet another long alley, until you spot the next "San Marco" or "Rialto" sign… Bright shiny object. Cool! Look at all those Carnival masks in the window… Wait a minute, haven't we been in this piazza recently? I think we might be going in circles.

At some point during our trip, I stopped photographing the incredible scenes of Venice: the old buildings, the artistic displays of food, the narrow, crowded canals filled with lacquered black boats and their striped gondoliers, the gorgeous Italian women flaunting their long hair and high heels, holding their well-groomed dogs and expensive leather purses. Instead, I turned the camera to the wandering, map-reading tourists, of which I very much related and with whom I commiserated. They, the lost, the sore of foot, the English-only speaking tourist, just looking for their way back.

Some were by themselves. Maybe he lost his partner somewhere along the way?

Some were together, but by their body language, they were clearly "not together." We sat in the piazza drinking our bottle of wine (and reading our maps) and watched this couple try to orient for a good 20  minutes. She, studying the map furiously. He, assuming the arms-crossed, looking-away posture. 

This guy has to be Italian, or at least European. What's the give away? A cross-body bag and a cigarette.

Ahhh, the fold-up, Venice pocket map. Young eyes are a must to be able to read the font on this map. 

Besides sensible footwear and the confused, furrow-browed look of intense concentration, there are certain characteristics common to the lost tourist; a bag or backpack big enough to carry a bottle of water, crouched posture leaning over to see the map more clearly and the unfortunate habit of stopping in the middle of pedestrian traffic to stand and read a map.

I'm thinking this family has the best odds on getting to where they are intending to go. Mom's not sure, but this kid has confidence.

All things considered, I'd take lost in Venice on any given day.

Grand Canal

“By day it is filled with boat traffic - water buses, delivery boats, gondolas - if something floats and it's in Venice, it moves along the Grand Canal. And by daylight it is one of the glories of the Earth. But at night, especially when the moon is full and the soft illumination reflects off the water and onto the palaces - I don't know how to describe it so I won't, but if you died and in your will you asked for your ashes to be spread gently on the Grand Canal at midnight with a full moon, everyone would know this about you - you loved and understood beauty."
― William Goldman, The Silent Gondoliers