Katy Trail – Rocheport, Missouri

I stayed overnight at the Rocheport trailhead for the Katy Trail. It was pitch black when I arrived—thick cloud cover, no moon, no stars. The paved parking lot was empty, and the stillness of the place made it feel like I had the entire Missouri River valley to myself. Honestly, it turned out to be a fantastic overnight spot.

Around 4:30 a.m., I woke to the sound of a Barred Owl calling from the trees behind me. Its “who-cooks-for-you” call echoed through the darkness, sharp and wild. At one point it seemed to be harassing a crow, which I also heard squawking back. The forest had its own little drama playing out while I lay there listening.

I’m not sure what time I finally got up, but as the first gray light crept in I walked the hundred yards over to the bike shop and café near the trailhead. Pancakes and a cappuccino hit the spot for breakfast. While there, I bought another water bottle holder. I struck up a conversation with a couple from Illinois who were also riding the trail. They gave me a few tips for places to visit when I get up their way. I’d run into them several more times during the day, the kind of easy camaraderie you often find on long trails.

The Katy Trail

The Katy Trail is one of the great biking treasures in the United States. At 240 miles long, it’s the country’s longest developed rail-trail, built along the old corridor of the Missouri–Kansas–Texas Railroad (locals shortened it to “K-T,” which became “Katy”). When the rail line shut down in the 1980s, Missouri had the foresight to preserve the corridor, and in 1990 it officially became a state park.

The section near Rocheport is one of the most iconic. The trail winds flat and easy along the Missouri River, cutting through tall river bluffs, farmland, and stretches of thick green forest. Just outside Rocheport, there’s a 243-foot tunnel blasted through the bluff when the railroad was built in the 1890s. Riding through it feels like slipping back in time, cool air wrapping around you as your tires echo off the stone walls.

Because the trail is so well maintained and so accessible, bikers come here from all over the country. Rocheport itself feels like a starting hub. By midmorning the parking lot was full of license plates from a dozen different states, and riders were gearing up—road bikes, hybrids, touring bikes loaded with panniers, even families on ebikes. There’s a sense of community out there: everyone is doing their own ride, but we’re all sharing the same ribbon of trail carved through Missouri’s history.

Encounters on the Trail

Midway through the ride, I came across a woman with a flat tire on her ebike. Two other women were already helping her, so I didn’t want to interfere, but when I noticed they were about to take the whole wheel apart, I suggested another approach—just patch it without removing everything. They liked the idea. I pulled out my patch kit and, sure enough, there were two pinch holes. They got it sealed, but when it came time to reassemble, things got tricky. The disc brake wasn’t lined up and a cable was blocking the axle. They wrestled with it for a while, but eventually the owner sighed and said she’d call her brother-in-law to pick her up. Hours later, to my surprise, I saw the same group flying down the trail toward me, all smiles, waving and calling out, “We got it fixed!” That’s the spirit of the trail—one way or another, you keep rolling.

I passed “BoatHenge,” which I’d seen mentioned on a website, and decided to turn around for a quick photo. It’s not really a destination like “Carhenge,” but since I was already there, why not? Built in 1993 by a group of local artists using old fiberglass boats set upright in a semicircle along the Missouri River, BoatHenge was created as a playful homage to Stonehenge and has since become a quirky roadside landmark.

About twenty miles from the end of my 60-mile ride, I was parched. I hadn’t brought enough water, and the sun was pushing the temperature into the 80s. I spotted a little farm stand along the trail, the kind of self-serve building where you normally leave cash in a box. Inside, a woman was already looking around. I said something about how they probably didn’t take credit cards. She looked at me, held out a bottle of cold water, and said, “You need a water? I’ll buy you one—just pass it along.” That hit me. Trail magic, plain and simple. I thanked her, cracked it open, and drank it down in seconds. It was exactly what I needed to keep going.

Back at Rocheport

I made it back to the van around 4 p.m. after the full sixty miles. My toes were aching—something unusual for me—but otherwise I felt good. The heat had climbed, so I swung open the back doors of the van and took a quick shower. Nothing feels better than rinsing off trail dust after a hot ride. I tried to nap but never really fell asleep. Instead, I caught up with my brother via text messages and then FaceTimed with my son and granddaughter, which lifted my spirits more than any rest could have.

By evening, I wasn’t in the mood to cook, so I searched for food in Columbia, about fifteen miles away. I ended up at Addison’s – An American Grill downtown. Sitting at the bar, I ordered the salmon served over potatoes with asparagus. The savory mustard sauce pulled everything together perfectly. After a long day in the saddle, that meal felt like pure reward.

Slightly reenergized, I drove back to my quiet spot at the Rocheport trailhead. The lot had mostly emptied again. I didn’t feel like doing much, so I propped up my feet, watched an episode of The Voice, and was asleep before 10.

This is how the Katy Trail leaves its mark—not just the miles you put in, but the people you meet, the little acts of kindness, the sense of history under your tires, and the rhythm of life that slows down when you let the trail carry you.