Turtle whisperer

Do I have to be part of this blog?

Well, the ride between Hermann and St. Louis was the best stretch of riding I’ve had on the trip! I woke up early and checked the weather—it looked like I had a window if I got my butt out of bed and moving. I was on the trail by 7:15.

The trail was full of bikers—some on organized tours, others riding solo. Why so many people on this trail? Do Missourians not have enough to do, so they all ride some lame trail? NO. This is a world-class trail. Riders came from all over the United States to experience it. It starts in Kansas City and ends in St. Louis. It’s flat, well-surfaced, and winds through beautiful little towns.

Shantel, a bike tour leader, trying to take a break from her guests. I rode along side her and asked her a lot of questions until she said she had a migraine.

Hermann, Missouri was lovely—filled with historic buildings, wine tasting rooms, fun restaurants, and a vibe that would put Napa or Sonoma to shame. And to top it off, it’s right on this incredible bike trail.

The Leaning Tower of Hermann.

I arrived late yesterday afternoon and meandered through the charming streets. I thought I heard live music and followed the sound to a beer garden. The singer/guitarist was fantastic—just as good as the originals he was covering. The place was packed with healthy-looking people on bike tours. I had such a great time, sitting in the pleasant afternoon weather, listening to great music, and chatting with bikers (not the leather-clad kind, but the Lycra-wearing variety).

I met a wonderful couple from Wisconsin. They’d taken some of the same trips my wife and I had—Croatia and Vietnam. They said they were loving the Katy Trail.

The vibe on the trail was communal—no one flying along in a rush. Most people were riding with a partner or a small group, chatting happily. For me, it was a major shift in perspective. I was now the big vehicle on the “road,” and I had to slow down to match their pace. A lot of the time, that turned into a conversation, a photo, and a shared agreement that right here, right now, was the best place we could be.

Chatting with bikers trying to enjoy the peace and quiet

The highlight of the ride? A giant snapping turtle (at least giant to me). I’d just been filming myself telling a story about something I once did to embarrass my kids at a Jamba Juice. It involved a turtle in a shoebox and a harmless mistake on my part—one that resulted in a level of public embarrassment usually reserved for accidental nudity at a funeral.

Earlier, I’d seen a small box turtle on the trail. It triggered the memory, and I regretted not stopping. That guilt prompted the retelling of my Jamba Juice disgrace. I had just finished filming that story, feeling pretty good about myself, when I rounded a corner—and there she was: the mother of all turtles.

I tell a story about a turtle in a box in Jamba Juice where I make an innocent mistake

I don’t mean that literally. While I may be an expert in Maupin genealogy, I’m ignorant of turtle lineages and plan to remain so. Like many of you, I’ve watched an extensive number of YouTube videos of alligator snapping turtles harassed by content-creating hillbillies. There are so many of them—finding them, getting bitten by them, monologuing about them—that I was dumbstruck by the chance to have my own snapping turtle encounter.

Man minding his own business gets bit by snapping turtle. Is anyone safe? I bet that was filmed in Florida.

The turtle and I spent some real quality time together, which I filmed. Please do not take this video, strip out the audio, and add Barry White music. That would be worse than what happened at Jamba Juice. . Please feel sorry for my family and the turtle too.

I even annoy a turtle by talking to it

I made about 70 miles that day, ending in a suburb of St. Louis. I stopped into an Ethiopian coffee shop—easily the most zen place I’ve hung out in. They made me an iced coffee drink that made every Frappuccino or frappe seem like it had been extruded by a dog.

They played Ethiopian music, and I’ve got to tell you—it’s marvelous. I asked the owner’s relatives where it was from, and they said, “Just YouTube.” I have a soft spot for people from Ethiopia. When my mom was in a rehab hospital in Denver for her two stints, most of her caregivers were Ethiopian. They were so kind and gentle with her—we fell in love with all of them.

I don’t think there’s a more beautiful group of people than those from Ethiopia, Eritrea, or Somalia. Somehow, all the best features of the world’s people are combined in their elegant faces.

When I left the coffee shop, the rain had caught up with me. I had all my gear on and was protected from the rain—I just wasn’t protected from falling.

I was riding along a suburban street, coming to a stop, when my unicycle slipped out from under me like I’d hit ice. It may have been caused by my treadless tire. I fell hard, landing on the same shoulder I injured during the “Rescue Me” episode.

Honestly, I feel like I’ve only got one more fall left in me.

I’m excited to get my new tire tomorrow and potentially take a day off. I think I’ll need it—just to be able to get my backpack back on.