As we mentioned in our previous post, we rolled into Clinton, Missouri on Sunday, November 9, 2025, ready to tackle the 240-mile Katy Trail from its western terminus all the way to Saint Charles. November in Missouri isn’t known for balmy cycling weather, but we lucked into an unseasonably warm week. We let a couple of cold days pass, gathered our gear, and circled Tuesday, November 11, as the official Day One of our adventure.
Before pedaling east, we had one important detail to handle: making sure our truck magically appeared in Saint Charles a week later. Greg from Katy Trail Tours and Shuttle handled the “magic” part. We met his colleague at the Clinton Community Center—conveniently right across from the trailhead—handed over the keys, and trusted the universe (and Greg) to do the rest.
Gear-wise, this was our first major trip using our Tailfin AeroPacks on their Pannier Racks. Though Tailfin has since retired the AeroPack in favor of the new CargoPack, ours were perfect for this trip: one rear bag each for cycling clothes, street clothes, shoes, tools, coats, rain gear, and toiletries. Up front, we both used Route Werks bags—mine the original bag, my spouse’s the big bag—stuffed with the usual assortment of gloves, sunscreen, battery pack, credit cards, snacks, and random “this might come in handy” items. Both systems were quiet, stable, and gloriously drama-free.
Day 1 — Clinton to Sedalia
We rolled out around 11 a.m. under a crisp and windy 56-degree sky. While waiting to leave, we were freezing, but the moment we found our rhythm and picked up the tailwind, it felt like a warm, sunny fall day. This leg was one of our shortest—just 37.5 miles from Clinton to Sedalia. We’d booked the Holiday Inn Express because they allow bikes in the room. (A non-negotiable travel rule.)
The trail was in excellent shape: well-packed crushed limestone just right under our 38 mm tires. Being November, the leaves had taken over, forming golden, red, and bronze drifts. In spots they were so deep we couldn’t see the surface—just a ribbon of color ahead. We aimed for the clear patches and enjoyed the soft rustle of leaves swirling beneath the wheels.
Not everything on the trail was soft and friendly. Plenty of acorns snapped like bubble wrap under our tires, and larger, less pleasant nuts demanded some quick maneuvering. And then there were the Osage oranges—rock-hard, grapefruit-sized, and not something you want to meet at speed. We steered wide.
Wildlife was out in force: red squirrels gathering acorns, deer browsing near the trail, hawks overhead, flashes of cardinals, other birds we couldn’t identify, and one lone possum shuffling somewhere important. Short bridges and small tunnels punctuated the miles, giving the ride personality.
In Windsor, we stopped at Casey’s for pizza slices and water, stretched our legs, and continued toward Sedalia.
We checked into the hotel early afternoon, plugged in the bikes, and made a beeline for the pool and hot tub—which we had entirely to ourselves. Later we walked to Colton’s Steak House for dinner. Feeling ambitious, we tried to go to a movie across the street. Unfortunately, that “street” was more like a multi-lane obstacle course, and our legs had already filed their complaints for the day. Enter Sedalia’s $10-anywhere taxi service.
A 500-year-old minivan arrived, piloted by one of the most unusual characters I’ve ever entrusted with my safety. We survived the ride, enjoyed the movie, and experienced the same bizarre trip back—same driver, same van, same sense that this might be our last earthly experience.
And that wrapped up Day 1: nearly 38 miles, a quiet swim, a hearty dinner, an unforgettable taxi ride, and a movie night. A solid start to our Katy Trail adventure.
Day 2 — Sedalia to Boonville
We rolled out of Sedalia around noon, waiting just long enough for the temperature to reach a comfortable 60 degrees. That’s my magic number: shorts, jersey, no jacket, no long gloves, no regrets. With only 42.3 miles to ride and our Boonville rental not available until 4 p.m., there was no reason to rush.
The trail initially felt familiar—leaf-covered, quiet, smooth—but gradually the landscape shifted. Flat farmland gave way to rocky cuts where the old MKT rail line muscled through the terrain. These miniature canyons were shady, cool, and dramatic without being intimidating. It felt like the trail’s version of secret passages.
We also traded yesterday’s small bridges for larger train trestles. Their wooden planks rattled under our wheels with an uncanny clack-clack rhythm, like ghost trains pacing us across. Occasionally an old signal or tunnel entrance reminded us that this wasn’t just a bike path—it was a rail line with a long memory.
A few homeowners had added their own whimsical touches. One farm had lined its fence with old bicycles—some antique, some artistic, all delightful. We saluted.
Crossing I-70 triggered something deep and adolescent in both of us, and soon we were fist-pumping like overexcited twelve-year-olds, coaxing truckers to honk. And bless them—a few did. We pedaled away grinning like kids who’d just gotten away with something.
In Pilot Grove we stopped at Deon’s Bar and Grill. The burgers were good; the Diet Cokes, not so much—expired by about 18 months. One sip sufficed; the grass enjoyed the rest.
We reached Boonville with time to spare, enjoyed our spacious house, cleaned up, and walked to Hotel Frederick for dinner. Beautiful dining room, but. Arctic temperatures. We ate wrapped in down coats like two underprepared explorers.
And that wrapped up Day 2: rocky cuts, train-trestle rhythms, honking truckers, expired soda, and a memorable dinner. Another good day on the Katy.
Day 3 — Boonville to Jefferson City
We rode out around 9:30 a.m., mentally prepared for our longest day—53.1 miles. The morning began with a brisk crossing of the Missouri River and a smooth cruise toward Rocheport. About 90 minutes in, we landed at the Meriwether Café and Bike Shop—a gem. Warm sun, outdoor seating, great food, cheerful service. A highlight stop.
Much of today’s ride threaded between the Missouri River on our right and sheer rock cliffs on our left. You could see how the old rail line wedged itself into the narrow floodplain. The result: miles of level riding with scenery that repeated in the best way—water, rock, leaves, repeat.
This section was busier—maybe two dozen riders in total, which counts as “crowded” on the Katy in November.
We hit the biggest tunnel of the trip, an echo chamber that instantly turned us into children. There’s something irresistible about yelling in a long, cool tunnel just to hear the echoes chase each other down the walls. Highly endorse.
More bridges, more trestles, and one homeowner who had “decorated” their yard with half-buried boats standing upright like nautical tombstones.
We arrived in Jefferson City around 4:30 p.m. After crossing the river, we confronted the world’s most absurd pedestrian ramp—a four-story square spiral we had to ride down to get to street level. Climbing it tomorrow was going to be… memorable.
We checked into the Courtyard Marriott, cleaned up, and Ubered to Paddy Malone’s Irish Pub. The warmth alone was worth the trip. Our return driver had two grown children graduating from BYU—my alma mater—so the conversation felt like a slice of home.
And that wrapped up Day 3: river views, echo tunnels, boat graveyards, a corkscrew descent, and a cozy Irish dinner. A long, excellent day.
Day 4 — Jefferson City to Hermann
We woke early, shuffled down to the hotel breakfast—calories more than cuisine—and set off to beat the forecasted upper-70s heat.
At 8 a.m. we began the climb back up the infamous four-story “fish ladder.” Riding it in reverse was exactly the ridiculous experience we knew it would be. Eventually we reached bridge level, crossed the river, and rejoined the trail.
We settled into a steady pace, and after 2½ hours hunger arrived right on schedule as we rolled into Portland. Holzhauser’s Bar and Grill provided excellent burgers and tater tots. Shade was harder to come by, but we found a bench with “just enough” cover along the river.
We reached Hermann at 2:30 p.m. after a pleasant 48.7 miles, only to find our room’s automated lock still “processing.” So we detoured to Downtown Deli Custard Shoppe. Their sundaes were like upgraded Peanut Buster Parfaits—one of the top morale boosters of the entire ride.
By 4 p.m. the lock finally cooperated. After cleaning up, we strolled the waterfront and ended up at 4th Street Pizza for dinner: appetizer, BBQ chicken pizza, dessert. Carb-loading is an essential part of any multiday ride—don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
This was our fourth consecutive riding day, and the hot tub in our suite felt like we’d reached a hidden bonus level. A rest day tomorrow would’ve been lovely, but rain was forecast in Saint Charles on Monday afternoon, and we were determined to beat it. So the plan remained simple: pedal on.
And that wrapped up Day 4: a warm ride, a “fish ladder climb”, burgers on the river, and an ice cream reward.
Day 5 — Hermann to Washington
We woke excited—not because the ride was demanding, but because after today we’d finally get a day off the bikes to attend church and rest.
Breakfast came first. We walked to Hermann Wurst Haus, pausing to watch a tugboat pushing a barge upstream—a mesmerizing reminder that the Missouri River is still a working highway of commerce.
The Wurst Haus serves an all-you-can-eat breakfast cafeteria-style in the back of their sausage shop. It’s hearty, delicious, and far better than any meal hiding behind a wall of bratwurst has a right to be.
The ride was easy—just 34.8 miles with a friendly tailwind giving us a gentle push. We arrived at our Airbnb, “The Tiny House,” just before 1 p.m. The host let us check in early, which felt like pure luxury.
The Tiny House was genuinely tiny—but perfect: kitchen, washer and dryer (hallelujah), comfy bed, and just enough space to avoid tripping over each other. Clean clothes felt miraculous.
Dinner was at Sugarfire Smoke House, where we demolished ribs, baked beans, and pecan pie so good we immediately bought a second slice “for later.” We returned to the Tiny House early, ready for church in the morning.
And that wrapped up Day 5: a great breakfast, a wonderful tailwind, a “Tiny House”, and BBQ!
Day 6 — Sunday in Washington
We started Sunday with breakfast at Cowan’s, where the biscuits and gravy earned instant “must return” status. We also ordered pie because… Sunday. Breakfast pie is absolutely a thing.
We tried to get an Uber to church but struck out, so we walked the brisk 30 minutes instead. Arriving in cycling clothes proved to be the ultimate missionary attractant: two eager sisters lit up like they’d found golden investigators. We asked for restrooms and water fountains, and they dutifully escorted their “prospects”—who regrettably were about 45 years too late.
After church we wandered through downtown Washington, a charming mix of brick buildings and tidy storefronts. At Kim’s Candy Dish we shared a chocolate so good we immediately reentered and bought two more “for later.” This became a pattern.
Lunch at Oak & Front Kitchen was cozy and satisfying. Then, upholding tradition, we returned to Cowan’s for more pie. At that point we were so full we could barely waddle back into town. While plodding along our spirits were raised by a Santa sighting; hard to believe Christmas is only a month away.
Hours later, miraculously hungry again, we walked to Marquart’s Landing for our final meal of the day. It was the perfect capstone to a restful Sunday—good food, good company, and no pedaling.
And that wrapped up Day 6: a wonderful worship service, good food, and more pie than we deserved.
Day 7 — Washington to Saint Charles
We opened our final morning at Undergrounds Coffee. The egg sandwiches weren’t memorable, but they were warm and filling—good enough fuel for the final stretch.
Even though today’s ride was nearly as short as Saturday’s—38.4 miles—the trail made sure we didn’t coast to the finish. A stubborn 10 mph headwind dug in right from the start, and temperatures dropped ten degrees. After five days of forgiving weather, the Katy seemed determined to remind us who was in charge.
Just east of Augusta, we made a steep detour up to Klondike Lake. The climb was short but tough, the kind that makes you ask, “Why are we doing this?” The answer waited at the top: clear, still water framed by bright white sand cliffs—dramatic, unexpected, beautiful. We circled the lake and crossed the bridge, savoring the calm before descending back into the headwind.
Missouri wasn’t done surprising us. Near a long bluff we found more “neighbor art”—enormous butterflies painted on the cliff face, bright and cheerful against the gray sky. A welcome distraction from the cold.
By early afternoon we rolled triumphantly into Saint Charles, snapped our victory photo, and reclaimed our truck—always a relief to find it precisely where it should be. With the final 38.4 miles finished, we checked into the Drury Plaza Hotel, thawed out, and celebrated with steak at Firebirds. A movie afterward capped the day, thunder growling outside as rain hammered the theater roof. The storm hit exactly as forecast—just hours after we’d arrived.
When we stepped outside, the rain eased long enough for us to reach the hotel mostly dry—a final small mercy.
And that wrapped up Day 7: a hard-earned finish, a satisfying celebration, and the last miles of a wonderful 256-mile adventure. Pedal on.
