Issue:
September/October 2004

Text:
Christian Neuhauser

Photography:
Christian Neuhauser

Geographic Region:
MO, USA

Pages:
106 - 111

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Fathers are Everywhere
Of course, I haven't taken up the clerical collar – only two people call me father – but I do offer up prayers for their safekeeping whenever they join us on tours. This time, I'm introducing the boys to scooters. "Don't lean over too much and always think about how much more limited the ground clearance is compared to a motorcycle," I warn. "Can we start now?" they reply in unison. Manuel on the
Piaggio BV 200 and Florian on the Aprilia Atlantic 500 cannot wait to hit the road. Finally, Christa is ready on her Aprilia Scarabeo and, once I turn the key on the Vespa 200GT, we take off.

Unlike Marquette and Jolliet, our expedition comes at Missouri from the west, leaving from Kansas City. On the way towards Jefferson City, the state capital, we experience a new situation. Always well organized and sticklers for exact route planning, we have to deal with a handful of detours. Strong thunderstorms dumping a tremendous amount of rain over the preceding days have changed our tour. Some roads in the backcountry wind through smooth rolling hills and the bright sun on the freshly washed trees and grassland casts all we see in a lush green glow. Now and then impressive farms with bright white fences scroll by.

The boys have fun crossing the little ponds on the road and almost everywhere we look, firemen or police officers are on hand to make sure no one gets bogged down or hurt. We pass Sedalia. Some of the musicologists among you already know its significance – the birthplace of Ragtime. Manuel and Florian aren't terribly impressed by my Scott Joplin monologue, but they have to grant the man his props when they realize we couldn't have Hip Hop or Rock 'n' Roll without the strong influences of R&B and Ragtime.

The Journey Starts
Behind us, 61 boring miles on Hwy 50, and in front of us, we see a dull gray cityscape made even less inviting by the dark clouds overhead. We cruise through downtown Jefferson City hoping to find a nice café or restaurant, but there is nothing to see other than the colorless office buildings. The only appealing facility seems to be the capitol, nicely situated on a hill. Somewhat disappointed, we disappear and turn after 19 miles onto Route 100. Our scooters run perfectly over the rolling hills and through the vibrant green valleys. Sometimes steep grades challenge the engines, and the two 200cc scooters need a special technique. With a full open throttle, we chase them down and then we use the surplus of speed to keep up with the Scarabeo and Atlantic. Sweepers and tight turns are changing fast all through the hilly terrain. It is like a continuous coaster ride. But having passed several signs indicating the Lewis & Clark Trail, I stop the ride at the next historical marker.

The big smiles fade from the lips of the rest of my scooter family. They're none too happy about this unexpected interruption, but I always try to interest my boys in history, especially in this case, when we're talking about the greatest expedition in the nation's history.

The afternoon was fair, the river (later nicknamed "Big Muddy") flowed thick and muddy, and a gentle breeze coaxed the big keelboat and two pirogues, one red and one white, on their way. At the crack of a gunshot Captain William Clark set sail up the Missouri River to spend nearly two and a half years traveling 8,000 miles across the endless, mostly unmapped country west of the Mississippi. A week later at Saint Charles, Meriwether Lewis joined Clark and his crew for the big journey. Finally, on May 21, 1804, the entire assembled Corps of Discovery rowed away.

"Whoa," says Florian, "that was exactly 200 years ago."

Motels, restaurants, and the Weather Channel make any of our excursions safer and convenient compared to the old days, not to mention little items known as maps. Back then they had great swathes of unmapped areas to explore, now we have "poorly mapped" counties. Somehow, we get lost, but utilizing my "unerring" sense of direction, I find the way back to route 100.

We arrive in Hermann. A few comments in guidebooks about this town's German heritage had intrigued me, and flower–decked with salmon–colored brick buildings, Hermann is the first highlight of note in miles, but the German designation seems inappropriate. It is, however, worth a stop at the Deutschheim State Historic Site to admire two houses filled with original furnishings evoking domestic life in the 19th century. But today, how sad – the museum is closed. The boys laugh: "We know you always say traveling is good for education, but we're here to test scooters, aren't we?" So, we leave one of the oldest vineyard areas in Missouri and hit the road towards Washington.

Tired, we cross the city limits after 240 miles. The engines, running like Swiss clockworks, have convinced us as travel companions. On the sometimes-bumpy roads, the suspension supporting these smaller wheels did a great job. Fittingly, for explorers of our ilk, we've reserved rooms in what the brochure touts as "Washington's finest motel," the Lewis & Clark Inn, and the owners, Robert and Donna Noelker, greet us warmly.

The river is why Washington is here. Indeed, the Washington Riverfront is still the central focus of downtown. Beginning as merely a good place to land a boat, Washington grew along with the burgeoning commerce on the river. Located between Jefferson City and St. Louis, Washington, with a grand total of 11,000 residents, is considered something of a metropolis hereabouts.

And an interesting bit of history was made here in the 1860's when a woodworker mechanized the production of corncob pipes. The factory that supplied such aficionados as Mark Twain and Gen. Douglas MacArthur still stands on Front Street, turning out some 7,000 pipes a day.

The Way Back
In the evening, we hang out at The Landing on Front Street, a local institution that's a great place for dinner and casual conversations with the people living here. We certainly become a topic for conversations when we show up with our scooters, especially when parking the svelte Italians between some macho Harleys. I get a few questions about performance and comfort, and I readily satisfy their curiosity, describing the Aprilias and Piaggios, and explaining "what in the world" we're doing here. As usual, the hours slip by as we fall into the comfortable routine of exchanging old biker stories.

In the morning, we cross the bridge towards Dutzow on Route 47. We halt in this 1832 German town to see the only point of interest: the grave in which Daniel Boone may or may not be laid to rest. Boone's body is buried beside his wife on a hill, as the backwoodsman wished, to overlook his beloved Missouri bottomland.

Route 94 meanders along the Missouri River and I understand Daniel's wish exactly. After a short visit by the grave, we start our scooters and hit the road west, just like the folks in the mid-1800s who began moving into the newly opened territories of the West. These wanderers may have moved along on the California, Oregon, and the Santa Fe Trails, but they all started out in Missouri, where they outfitted the trip. Along these trails, new villages began to flourish; but today, we pass only one drowsy town after another. The road continues over green velvet countryside dotted with old farms. Some 70 miles beyond Washington, the route approaches Jefferson City. From far away, we again see the gray dome of the state capitol building, dominating the skyline.

On they way back to Kansas City, we cross Independence, home of one of the most illustrious Missourians ever, Harry S. Truman, the haberdasher who became a Jackson County judge, a Senator and Vice President before taking the oath of office as the 33rd President of the United States.

Other famous Missourians include the notorious outlaw Jesse James, one of America's greatest scientists, George Washington Carver, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Margeret Tobin Brown alias Unsinkable Molly Brown. Last but not least, America's most revered humorist, Mark Twain, spent his boyhood by the river in Hannibal, MO.

The entire trip was an unexpected, wonderful experience. Motorcycling in Missouri is usually connected with the Ozarks. While not as challenging as their mountainous cousins to the south, the roads in the Rhineland offer an equally enjoyable ride.

The cruise along the Missouri will spoil bike and scooter enthusiasts with its great scenery and winding roads. Some roads may surprise riders with steep grades and sharp turns.

Spring trips may surprise you with severe thunderstorms, which normally don't last very long. Summer is a good time to cruise through the sun-drenched rolling hills or to ride along the lazy flowing Missouri River. But the best rides are taken in fall when leaves are changing and villages are putting on their colorful Oktoberfest celebrations. That's the time of year to shorten the daily ride, find a cozy B&B, and stroll through vast, cool wine cellars of Missouri's many vintners.