Afternoon on the Mississippi River 2: Less talk, more pictures

And now the "high water" part.

I got off the bus at City Centre in Moline and unfolded Scooty-Puff the Incredible Folding Bike, all set to hit the Great River Trail. Except... where was it again? The river was easy to find, but I knew the trail was like the Lakefront Path---only accessible at certain points along its length. I finally gave up looking for one of those points and scrambled over some landscaping that separated the riverwalk from a parking lot. I headed east because the wind blew me in that direction. But just as I was marveling at how unusually hassle-free this particular bike trail excursion was turning out... the riverwalk ended.

Here's the thing: The Great River Trail through downtown Moline (The Sequel) follows a riverwalk, the kind of nicely landscaped meandering strip of concrete and brick that's perfect for a nice stroll but not so much for a bike ride. To the west it turns into something more trail-like, but to the east the riverwalk ends rather abruptly in the parking lot of a hotel that apparently couldn't be bothered to extend it across their property. (Incidentally, it was the very hotel I'd decided to patronize. Well, just see if I do that again, you jerks.) Another ped network of concrete and brick leads around the hotel on the landward side through some kind of plaza, but the whole thing was fenced off for some Cinco de Mayo thing.

Then I remembered that every map and guide I'd ever seen of the GRT actually directed cyclists along a brief on-street route to bypass that entire hiccup, but of course I'd been a complete dunderhead and left both my 2006 GITAP cue sheets and "circulation" copy of Biking Illinois at home. I finally gave up yet again and thrashed through yet more landscaping between the pool and a maintenance shed, stopping long enough to scrawl "Not very bike-friendly!" in the mud. (Seriously, would it have killed them to lay down 10 yards' worth of of asphalt between the two parking lots?) The actual, honest-to-goodness bike trail picked up again under the I-74 bridge, and I was finally finally on my way up to Empire Park in East Moline---or so I thought.

Turns out the Ben Butterworth Memorial Parkway was underwater.








Well, there goes that idea. Perhaps I'd have better luck downriver; I recalled that the trail ran across the top of a levee through Rock Island.

But first I'd have to get to Rock Island. (And, er, reset digi's white balance. Is it "sunny" or only partially so today?)



I improvised along local streets that might actually have been service drives that might actually have been off-limits to the general public. But all the gates I passed were open, and I have a pretty good Stupid Chicagoan routine that's gotten me out of these kinds of situations before. Luckily I didn't need it this time and was soon back on the trail. But for now, back to the pictures.

Structures of architectural and historical interest at the Rock Island Arsenal.


Swans Pelicans (I think?) gathered on Sylvan Island. I just now learned that the whole thing used to be a steel plant. Another brownfield transformed. [More on that one later.]


A couple of ducks cross the trail at the flooded part between Moline and Rock Island.



Centennial Bridge, a local landmark.

I continued downriver, hoping I could keep up my lucky-enough streak. If I could make it down to Sunset Park, then I'd be able to say that I've ridden the entire Great River Trail. Sunset Park was also flooded (and technically closed), but enough of it was above water that I could make it all the way to the RiverWay kiosk that marked the trail terminus.

Mission accomplished. And I had a nice strong tailwind to push me back to the hotel in Moline, too. What a wonderful day.

In other spot-on news, this. I thought something very similar to myself when I returned to the Ben Butterworth Parkway on Sunday morning. (The water had receded enough by then that the trail was passable, provided you were willing to do the cyclocross thing and carry your bike through ankle-deep mud. Which I totally was.) Actually my first thought was that I like it here and I want to stay. Damn that river; I think I must have left my heart along its banks long ago. Perhaps that's what it is I've been searching for this whole time. Perhaps I'd be happier if I got to see it every day, instead of the lake.

But anyway, I looked down at the muddy cuffs of my jeans, and then over at My Little Folder (substitute one word in the My Little Pony theme song, if you remember it), and thought with some amusement that nobody who saw me would ever consider me a bike tourist. And yet here I am.

Here I am.