On a brisk fall morning, I arrived at Blanchette Landing in St. Charles, Missouri, ready for an adventure. Or at least as ready as someone with a 20-year-old discount-store bike and a few gaps in his camping gear could be.
I was there for the MO50 Pedal & Paddle Overnighter, presented by Terrain Magazine and Big Muddy Adventures. The annual event combines a 25-mile bike ride on the Katy Trail, an overnight campout, and a 25-mile paddle down the Missouri River.
Big Muddy takes care of most of the heavy lifting, transporting camping gear to Klondike Park and hauling bikes and equipment back to the starting point. Meals, snacks, and beverages are provided, too.
All I had to do was show up, ride, camp, and paddle.
Still, I had a few things to figure out before I was ready to go (see Pedal & Paddle Prep sidebar). And I had no idea how much I’d enjoy the camaraderie, the satisfaction of covering 50 miles under my own power, or the experience of plunging into the Missouri River.
Three Stops Along the Way
On the morning of Saturday, October 3, about 35 of us gathered and put our camping gear in the shuttle van. After Terrain founder and bike guide Brad Kovach delivered some safety tips — including “helmets at all times!” — we began pedaling along the Katy on outskirts of St. Charles.
Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees, casting green patches across the crushed-gravel path. The cool morning air woke up my legs. A few miles in, past the Family Arena, limestone cliffs rose to our right while the Missouri River sparkled to our left.
Our first stop was Greens Bottom Trailhead, approximately eight miles into the ride. We got off our bikes and headed to the support vehicle for a beverage: beer, seltzer, soda, Gatorade, or water.
“Mark Malkowicz of Big Muddy told me that events like this have three kinds of participants,” fellow rider Ashley Gray told me as we sipped our drinks. “Hard-core bikers, people who love nature, and people who like to party.”
Our group had all three covered.
A few miles farther down the trail, the river came back into view and stayed with us until our next stop, Weldon Spring Trailhead. There, I met sisters Peg and Katherine Weathers, who had signed up for the MO50 together.
“I thought the 25 miles on the Katy Trail was very doable,” said Peg. “I also liked that the camping was only one night, and that there wouldn’t just be the two of us in the canoe.”
I’d already ridden farther, and faster, than I ever had before, and my legs were starting to feel it. By the time we reached our third stop, Good News Brewing Company in Defiance, they were burning.
My riding partner, Brendan Cassiday, and I sat down with retired physician Larry Schacht, who had discovered the event almost by chance.
“I’ve lived in St. Louis for 30 years, and never made it to the Katy Trail,” he said. “This past spring I went on the Big Muddy website to sign up for the St. Louis Riverfront Adventure, but I accidentally made the reservation for this trip. I have no regrets, though!”
Nice as the break was, it did my legs no favors. They stiffened as I returned to my bike. Cassiday rode with me as I pedaled the remaining five miles to Klondike.
At our shaded campsite, a group of riders strung a slackline between two trees and took turns trying to walk across it. Sharon Mazimba managed three or four steps before falling off.
“We did a Big Muddy float to an island on the Mississippi last summer,” she told me later, “but I’m very excited for tomorrow, because I haven’t floated for 25 miles before.”
Neither had I.
After dinner (brats, salads, and s’mores) and a bonfire, I headed to my tent. I was glad to have made it through the ride, but I wasn’t looking forward to getting back on my bike the next morning — even for the short downhill ride to the boat ramp.
A Plunge Into the Unknown
Sunday dawned fresh and clear. I’d been up a few times during the night with leg cramps, but a lot of coffee and a breakfast burrito left me ready for the day ahead.
After an easy downhill ride to the Klondike Park boat ramp, Cassiday and I got a look at the Missouri River. It was the color of melted chocolate and rising quickly. Logs and trees with root balls floated by at eight miles an hour.
“Are the logs dangerous?” someone asked.
“No, because we’ll be floating just as fast,” answered Malkowicz. “At this point, we are the logs.”
After a life-jacket fitting and a reminder from Big Muddy founder Mike Clark to “never take it off,” we boarded our craft: a 30-foot voyageur canoe. The rest of the group filed into three similar boats.
At our captain’s command, we started paddling, and he guided the canoe swiftly to the center of the river.
A great blue heron skimmed over the water as we approached Howell Island. Bald eagles, both perched along the riverbanks and soaring overhead, eyed our progress downstream.
The rising water had submerged the familiar beaches where the guides typically stopped for lunch. Instead, they brought all four canoes together on the river, and we ate sandwiches and chips while floating in a makeshift human barge.
After lunch, the canoes split up again. Half an hour later, one of the other boats sidled up next to us.
“I think we have some swimmers on board,” its guide announced.
We rafted up again, and one by one, paddlers began jumping into the murky water. They disappeared below the surface, only to pop back up a moment later, buoyed by their life jackets.
I’d never considered swimming in the Missouri River. But for the next several miles, it was all I could think about.
As the Page Avenue Extension bridge approached, I told the guides I wanted to take the plunge. They were happy to oblige once we’d reached the other side.
I set down my paddle, rose slowly, and moved carefully toward the edge of the canoe. Then, putting one foot on the gunwale, I launched myself into the river.
I kept my eyes closed as I hit the water. Brown sunlight filtered through my eyelids, a contrast to the dappled green of the pervious morning. A moment later, I popped up and started breast-stroking back toward the boat. My shipmates cheered as Cassiday hauled me aboard.
I can’t say the muddy water cured my aching legs, but I didn’t notice them again after that.
Soon, we were passing beneath Interstate 70, skimming past historic downtown St. Charles, and approaching Blanchette Landing. Back on dry land, my fellow adventurers walked quietly to their cars.
We’d spent two days pedaling, camping, and paddling together. Now it was time to head home. I was tired and a little sore. Though parting was sad, I was proud of what I’d accomplished.
Civilization was calling, but now, the call of the wild was not too far behind.
Pedal & Paddle Prep
Before setting out on the MO50 Pedal & Paddle Overnighter, I had two big concerns: my lack of camping gear and my 20-year-old discount-store bike.
My first stop was Alpine Shop, an independent outfitter in Kirkwood, Missouri, where Rene Jones helped me choose a few essentials.
First up was a Kelty Grand Mesa 2 two-person tent ($150). Next came a Sea to Summit self-inflating sleeping mat ($89), followed by a Black Diamond Cosmo R headlamp ($60) for safely moving around at night.
“Of course, you’d need more than this if Big Muddy Adventures wasn’t providing so much,” Jones said.
(Note: Big Muddy also offers a tent and sleeping bag rental package for the MO50 so you aren’t required to purchase your own gear.)
For bike advice, I tapped my riding partner, Brendan Cassiday, a bike technician at The Hub Bicycle Company in Webster Groves. He walked me through what to check before my ride.
“Start with the chain, wheels, brakes, and tires,” he advised. “Make sure everything is working smoothly.”
Check tires for cracks, he said, and inflate them a few days before the ride to make sure they hold air.
Cassiday also suggested carrying a spare tire tube, a basic multitool, a CO2 tire inflater, and a water bottle.
“Even when beverages are provided, you can never have too much water on the trail,” he said.
The lesson? You don’t need to own a garage full of outdoor gear to get started. A few essentials, a little preparation, and a well-organized trip can go a long way.