Day 18: Rest Day in St. Joseph, Missouri

And, boy, did I need it.

My legs were so tired from want amounted to back-to-back century rides with 200 miles ridden over the past two days.

Besides sleeping in (which meant sleeping until 6 a.m. instead of heading downstairs for breakfast at that time), my morning consisted of breakfast, washing and lubing my bike, washing my clothes and getting a massage.

We made a quick trip to the local bike shop, Horizon Cycling, but it was a wasted effort.  They were fresh out of the types of pedals I use so I'll continue to use the borrowed pair Gene gave me back in White City for the duration of the ride into Indianapolis.  Shouldn't be a problem.

The early portion of the afternoon was spent sightseeing.  A bunch of us hitched a ride into town from a former America By Bicycle staffer and rider who now resides in St. Joe's.  He can come to the hotel last night to offer his services.  As he lives on the bike route, many years ago, he used to host one of the SAG stops right at his home.  He now spends more time away from St. Joe's so no more SAG hostings.

St. Joe's had its heyday in the early to mid-1800's.  It was the western terminus for eastern railroads.  The town was the last stop for supplies for those traveling to the west -- whether they were panhandlers searching for gold, Mormons fleeing religious persecution, or the Army heading for their western outposts. 

Although it's hard to see on this map, the route we rode from San Francisco to Salt Lake City was the same route as the Pony Express.  From Salt Lake City to St. Joseph, the Pony Express used the more northerly Mormon Trail/Oregon-California Trail.  We, instead, rode the Santa Fe Trail into St. Joseph, a more southerly route.

Today, it is a shadow of it's former self.  Much of the museum/waterfront district that we saw today was rundown and well past its prime.  Even the historical district is falling apart.  While there have been attempts to revitalize the waterfront area near the museums, nothing had taken and the area continues to slowly decay.  

What we saw yesterday as we rode into town was in stark contrast to today.  Yesterday, we passed homes that looked like their would fit right in around Montclair.  Some developments could easily have been anywhere in the New York metro area.  Such a difference between one end of the city and the other.

The site of his actual house was farther up the hill.  While wanted by the Federal government, Jesse James remained a local hero in these parts.

We toured the Pony Express Museum as well as the house where Jesse James met his demise.  We were also going to see the Patee House Museum but the power went down in that part of town, so we could only see it from the outside.

A Moment In Time:  at 7:15 p.m. on April 3, 1860, The Pony Express begins.  Riders will carry the news of Presidential elections, the firing on Ft. Sumter and the start of the Civil War to citizens in California.  Total time for mail to get to the West Coast:  10 days.  Prior to that by boat:  2-3 months.

The Pony Express Museum was actually worth the visit.  I had no idea that, for all it's legends and notoriety, the actual operations were but a moment in time.  The entire endeavor lasted a mere 19 months, by which time telegraph lines from the same St. Joseph to Sacramento route were completed and shut down the relay mail service.

The Patee House was the state-of-the-art hotel of its time, and that meant ANYWHERE in the United States.  All the rooms had individual baths and many had showers, unheard of at that time.  Trivia bit:  Walter Cronkite's father has a dental practice in this building years after the hotel was closed down and it was renovated into offices.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with the Dutch watching the thrilling Germany-Algeria World Cup match.  What started as four of us sitting in the lobby watching the game on their big screen TV soon turned into a festival of 20-30 people all cheering, drinking, laughing and enjoying the exciting match.  Total strangers all, yet all brought together for an hour of great fun.

Tomorrow, we're back in the saddle and off to Chillicothe, Missouri -- the home of the original bread slicing machine (I've been cautioned not to refer to that town as "the home of sliced bread").  90 more miles of rolling hills.