KATY TRAIL

Day 4: Ending on a High and Tank 7

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HERMANN - WASHINGTON / 37 MILES

 

By Day 4 we were a well‑oiled packing machine.

Bags zipped, breakfast walked to, bikes rolling—no discussion needed. I threw on my now‑official “riding uniform,” same layers as every day because the weather never changed. Over the Hermann bridge we went, me still praising my e‑bike like it was a religious experience. Without it, my quads would’ve quit before we cleared city limits.

 

Twenty miles later we hit Treloar for lunch… except we got there so fast the place wasn’t even open. No problem. Mark plugged in the bikes like a proud stage‑dad and we lounged on the patio until the burgers and beer started flowing.

 

Naturally, we ended up sitting at the bar—prime real estate for mingling with locals. More storytelling, more laughs, more “you rode from WHERE?” Then came the plot twist: the bridge ahead was out. Detour onto Highway 94. Mark instantly went into Safety Dad Mode and ordered us to crank it. Say no more. We blasted down that road at 25 mph like two caffeinated Tour de France rejects. Honestly? It felt amazing.

 

We chose the longer route to avoid Highway 47, which meant revisiting Augusta Bottoms—the scene of my traumatic pothole‑and‑boulder ride four years ago. Shockingly, it’s now… rideable. This discovery opens up a whole new world: we can bike to Washington for lunch. Huge win.

 

Our last day and ONLY day with ZERO flats. Maybe we finally figured it out. The grand finale? A cold beer—and yes, they had Tank 7 - can you believe it. At this point it felt like the universe was winking at me.

 

I rolled in 3.5 miles short of my third “40,” and Mark was already in “car equals done” mode. No extra laps allowed. So we drove home, and I rolled out my driveway into the neighborhood to finish those last miles. No way was I ending this trip 3.5 miles short of the glory of three 40's. Would you believe the hill up to my house is so steep on TURBO I had to stand and pedal and almost couldn't make it. No wonder I hate riding my hood.

 

Closing the Book on Trip Perfection

- The Ride That Ruined All Future Trips

 

I knew my 60th‑birthday month was officially over the moment this ride ended. Pretty sure my husband was doing silent celebratory jumping jacks behind my back. The man survived a month of “epic celebrating” and was starting to look like he needed a vacation from the vacation.

 

Looking back, the whole trip still feels unreal. We somehow scored four straight days of identical, Groundhog‑Day‑level perfect weather: 50° at 9, 60° at noon, sunshine, puffy clouds, zero wind, zero humidity. In St. Louis. I spend every week dodging humidity, raindrops, and rogue wind gusts just to squeeze in three rides, and suddenly God hands me a four‑day weather miracle as a birthday gift. Outfit planning? Eliminated. Just repeat yesterday.

 

Then came anomaly #2: Tank 7 in four tiny rural towns. I live in St. Louis—an actual city—and can barely find it at two bars. Out in the middle of nowhere? It’s flowing like holy water. That alone qualifies as a pilgrimage. I call it the Quintuple Crown of Drink Selection Perfection.

 

And the best part: my husband. He absolutely crushed this trip. We were a well‑oiled machine, totally in sync, and honestly…it was kind of hot. Every town had its own vibe, every stop brought new people and stories, and the bikes made us instant conversation magnets. Everyone wanted to know where we were headed and what kind of magic e‑bike I was riding.

 

I was genuinely sad when it ended. It’s hard to walk away from trip perfection.

 

If anyone ever asks, I can’t recommend this itinerary enough. The train, the overnights, the daily mileage, the ease of it all—zero stress, zero logistics, all joy.​