The Illinois River faded in the Suzuki’s rear view mirror. Up ahead, an ominous black cloud engulfed the entire state of Missouri. Intermittent drizzle was soon punctuated by brilliant bolts of lightning. As I rolled into Hannibal, the heavens opened up, pounding me with sheets of heavy rain.
Under a big gas station canopy, a couple of locals told me the Mississippi was eight feet above flood stage. They also warned of numerous road closures throughout the Missouri River Valley. This didn’t bode well for the day’s ride, but since I’m not one to hole up, I gulped the last of my coffee, jumped on the bike and pressed on.
Interstate 72 morphs into U.S. 36 at Hannibal, twenty miles out of town U.S. 24 intersects. It angles southwest, winding through some of the best riding the Show Me State has to offer. Soon a sign advised the birthplace of Mark Twain was just seven miles off the highway. Since the rain had let up I figured I’d check it out. The state has constructed a fitting tribute to its most famous son within the confines of Mark Twain State Park. Along with Twain’s life, slavery in Missouri and the Civil War are also featured. The latter was to be a common theme of this ride.
Back on U.S.24, my brief window slammed shut. The rain returned with a vengeance and the roadway took on the appearance of a river. Keytesville Missouri was the end of the line. There a low-lying stretch was completely swamped. The town as it turned out, was important during the Civil War, as it was home to Sterling Price. I decided to spend the night and take in the museum based on his life. A planter and lawyer as a civilian, Price served with distinction as a U.S. Army brigadier general during the Mexican-American War. Later, he did a stint as governor of Missouri. Then, as ominous clouds of war formed, his state called again. He accepted a command in the Missouri State Guard. While initially opposed to secession, Union outrages caused him to cast his lot with the Confederacy as a Major General, serving in numerous campaigns. It is an odd commentary that a man who served his nation and state so willingly died a pauper after the war.
Missouri 240’s smooth pavement twists and turns through rolling pastureland. I had a blast on its perfectly engineered curves and rises. At Marshall I swung west on U.S. 65 which reconnects to U.S. 24 and parallels I-70 a few miles to the south. The relaxed two-lanes are a different world compared to the intense super-slab. But watch out for Waverly, it’s a speed trap. No, I didn’t get a ticket, but I did observe the local constable doing a good business. The town’s other claim-to-fame is a tidy park dedicated to the memory of another citizen-solider: General Joe Shelby. A life-size bronze statue captures him in full battle dress on his trusty steed. A successful Missourian during the antebellum era, he steam boated and operated a hemp mill at Waverly. As with Price, the fortunes of war would greatly impact his life. I would cross paths with Shelby again before this ride was over.
A few miles up the road Lexington was the site of “The Battle of Hemp Bales,” so named for Sterling Price’s innovative tactic of using the ubiquitous farm product as rolling cover, it represented the greatest victory of the Confederacy in 1861.
Missouri 13 passes within a couple of miles of the Confederate Memorial State Historic Site at Higginsville. As I rode into the grounds, I noticed a large gathering at the cemetery. A park ranger told me that the Confederate Memorial Day ceremonies were just wrapping up, but I was welcome to take in the remainder. An annual event, every state of the former Confederacy was represented. Re-enactors wearing period correct uniforms including cap-and-ball revolvers and cavalry swords milled about. Speeches and prayers were offered to honor those who died fighting for a cause they believed in. As I rode away, I couldn’t help but be moved by the sight of dozens of miniature Stars and Bars flapping gently in the breeze as they marked the graves of the fallen.
Back on 13, I continued south, happy to avoid the crush of I-70 in the distance. At U.S. 50, I headed west. Signs soon alerted of another Civil War site, Lone Jack. I exited, but was perplexed as to exactly where the battlefield was located. At a newly constructed quick-mart, I learned I was standing on it. The property long used for reenactments had been sold recently. Only three acres survive. This is a pity, as Americans need to be reminded of the time when our Union almost didn’t endure. The grounds now consist of a visitor’s center operated by the Friends of Lone Jack and a cemetery. There, Union and Confederate dead are buried just a few yards apart, a rarity in Civil War battlegrounds.
Twenty-five miles to the west, U.S. 71 drives into the heart of Kansas City. What is the current metro area played host to fierce fighting during the Battle of Westport. While there is no longer a battlefield per se, an extensive motor tour winds through points of interest. One of the most haunting was at Forest Hills Cemetery, site of Shelby’s Last Stand. The imposing Confederate Monument guards the final resting place of many of his men. The General himself famously fled across the Rio Grande rather than surrender. Upon his death in 1897, he rejoined his compatriots at the scene of their defeat.
Kansas City boasts of another war memorial, albeit one from a different century. The Liberty Tower was dedicated in 1921to honor those who gave all in “the war to end all wars.” Human nature proved those words premature just two decades later. Exhibits in the accompanying world-class museum paint a picture of the chaos that engulfed the globe and our species’ propensity for self-destruction. King Solomon once said there is nothing new under the sun. This ride reminded me just how providential those words were.
