FRONT RANGE FREEDOM TOUR has its roots in a crazy dream.
In 2011, Becky, Monte, and I did a 1500-mile handcycle journey along the length of the Mississippi River. Here’s one of the iconic incidents from that journey.
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I looked forward to Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge from the beginning of the ride.
An intriguing web page convinced me I didn’t want to miss St Louis Riverfront Trail and its Mississippi River crossing at Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge. However, reaching this historic landmark wasn’t quite as simple as I imagined.
Sunday morning brought a beautiful sunrise and church in Alton, Illinois. I planned to speak there and ride the Illinois side of the river to a trail that connected to the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge. The weather was perfect. The route was well-marked. I’d do about thirty miles, cross the river, and complete the ride at the base of the Arch. An ideal commemoration of the halfway point of our epic journey.
Beautiful. Perfect. Well-marked. Ideal. Should have been sufficient warning.
The ride was as beautiful as advertised—a busy four-lane, lots of Sunday traffic, but nice, wide shoulders. The atmosphere was more hectic than usual because as I traveled south hundreds of cyclists pedaled north as part of a one-day century ride. Between motorcycles, Sunday drivers, and cyclists, it was a bit of a distracting, circus-type atmosphere. Becky lived with fear, but I really enjoyed the ride.
As I cranked along my attention was oddly diverted. As I watched cyclists traveling the opposite direction, I caught myself wondering who had the easier ride. I rode slightly downhill with the river, but into a breeze. They had the opposite conditions. I wondered whether I’d rather ride downhill into the wind or uphill with it. Silly question.
First, it didn’t matter. I had my path, they had theirs. Wondering who had the easier task was absolutely pointless.
Second, if I wanted easy I could have stayed home and played video games. The point is to travel well and appreciate my path. Four weeks had passed quickly, and soon we’d be finished. I wanted to enjoy each moment of this amazing journey without wasting time on pointless speculation.
Finally, by focusing on someone else’s task I looked to my left. Meanwhile, a beautiful stretch of shining water passed unnoticed on my right. This was a scene I’d likely never see again. I missed it because I wondered about what someone else was doing.
This sort of comparing is wasteful activity, taking attention from what’s before me. It’s an excuse. As long as I’m concerned with someone else who might have more or less, I don’t have to dig into my own work.
What matters isn’t the other guy’s path. What matters is moving forward. Anything that distracts me from pursuing my dream needs to be discarded.
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About fifteen miles down the road I passed through a park that connected to a trail. The trail follows the top of a series of levees, and every mile or so the trail descends and then ascends again to accommodate a break in the levee for a service road. It’s actually a cool way to construct a trail system—mostly.
There were few times during the eight weeks of RICH’S RIDE when I actually felt frightened. The next hour or so brought one of those occasions.
The levees wandered away from the main roads, and as evening approached it became a more difficult to be certain I followed the correct path. In a few spots pavement turned to gravel, which made pedaling harder and the path even more vague. Finally I reached a road which I felt pretty certain would lead me to the Old Chain of Rocks Bridge, though I’d have been more confident if there had been a sign confirming that fact. Sunlight was fading. I had to decide. So I turned right down an unmarked two lane road. After a few hundred yards I came to a one lane bridge marked by a rather ominous sign:
Chouteau Island. Closed dusk to dawn.
Now you’re thinking what I should have been thinking. Getting dark. No clue where I am. About to cross a one-lane bridge to nowhere, and nowhere closes at dusk. But I was determined, so up and over this creaky old bridge I went.
Chouteau Island looked deserted. The moment I exited that ancient bridge in the fast-fading light I knew I’d made a mistake. Whether I was lost or not I had no business being out here. I suddenly remembered the dangerous reputation of East St Louis.
Phone call. Where are you? I don’t know. I see you on the GPS. I’ll come back over the bridge. Whew! There’s the trailer. We hugged in relief. We both knew I pushed it too far.
A fine line separates perseverance from stupid, and I don’t think that line’s always clear. It’s easy in hindsight to distinguish stubbornness from tenacity, but in the line of fire it’s not always simple. God’s not safe, and neither are God-inspired dreams. When you’re chasing a dream you take some risks, and you just do your best to find courage without recklessness. However, on that Sunday evening I did find one clear distinction. When it’s getting dark and you’re about to cross a dilapidated single lane bridge with a sign that says: Chouteau Island. Closed dusk to dawn, you’re probably about to cross from determined into stupid.
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The next morning Becky and I sat in bright sunshine at the base of that same single lane bridge.
Chouteau Island turned out to be a redevelopment area. What looked like a deserted, scary road last night was a re-emerging neighborhood scattered with construction projects. I was still surprised that no signs publicized Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge.
Finally. A small parking lot and an almost secluded entrance to one of the narrowest bridges I’d ever seen. This was once part of legendary Route 66. Difficult to imagine that this thin ribbon of pavement, now open only to cycles and pedestrians, once constituted a major U.S. thoroughfare.
Besides its limited width and being nearly a mile long, the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge is remarkable for two things. First, it’s really steep! I had to work hard to crank up the incline designed to allow sufficient clearance for river traffic. The bridge also has an unusual twenty-two degree bend.
The apex offered a great view of the river. I stopped and thought a bit about what I’d noticed about the river as I traveled and lived with it.
I’ve lived in the Midwest a lot of my life. I can’t imagine how many times I’ve crossed the Mississippi River without paying much attention. At freeway speeds it’s there one moment and gone the next. But when you travel along its length on a bike you have time to notice stuff. Small stuff, subtle changes, things you don’t see from the bridges. You realize that the river isn’t constant, that it’s not just a big ribbon of water. The river has a life of its own, and you can only perceive its nature by being with it for a while. Drive-by encounters won’t do.
I think dreams work like that. When you pass by someone’s dream, it’s hard to understand. There’s a lot going on that you can’t see from the bridge at highway speed. Perhaps that’s why others’ dreams are so hard to understand. When you live with a dream, it looks a lot different than it appears on a quick fly-over. Maybe the idea that seems crazy from the bridge at freeway speed makes more sense when you travel with it a while. Maybe we should be a bit slower to judge the worthiness of a dream when we bump into it the first time.
Becky and Monte waited for me partway across. We enjoyed splendid river views, shot some video, and chatted with a few tourists. It was fun to wonder about the adventures that crossed that bridge and imagine the dreams people chased along its narrow corridor.
Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge was a highlight. It would have been easy to skip it. We had miles to cover and it was just an old abandoned bridge. But I’m glad we took time to go back.
When you’re chasing a dream you need to stay focused, but you need to stay focused on the right things. This dream was never about covering miles. Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge helped us remember that. We’re a culture of freeways and efficiency. I saw the river more clearly sitting atop the Old Chain Of Rocks Bridge than I ever did whizzing across a freeway bridge. That’s the sort of perspective you need to follow a river—or a dream.
You need to be careful when you’re chasing a dream that you don’t run too fast. A dream is a mystical thing that may not be right where you expect it. It’s worth the time and effort to reach remarkable, out-of-the-way places. Sometimes that’s where mystical things hang out.