Almost one year to the day from last years Fall ride I swung my leg across my Goldwing, punched the start button and pointed the front tire toward the weekend.  My route this year would take me to the wilds of Missouri, the Ozarks and the Mark Twain National Forest. 

 

   It was after lunch before I could get away from work so the plan was to get to Missouri the fastest way possible. I-44 then north on 71 would lead me toward Kansas City and on to Watkins Woolen Mill State Park for my first night of camping.  The real tour would begin on day 2.  This year I had my mind set to check out some historical sites starting with Hauns Mill and then follow Lewis and Clarks trail along the Missouri River down to Jefferson City, the capital of the “Show Me” state and then drop into the heart of the Ozarks and enjoy the Fall foliage as I wind my way through the Mark Twain National Forest taking the long way home.

 

  Usually October means cool temperatures and bright sunshine but this day would be a T-shirt ride.  Blasting up the freeway with the cruise control set at 75 mph and the Mp3 player cranking out all my personal favorites I had time to dwell on my plans for the next 2 ½ days.  Would I get through Kansas City unscathed?  Would I get to my campground before dark?  Could I find Hauns Mill tomorrow morning? 

 

   Traveling 4 trouble free hours I entered Kansas City’s south end at 5:00 p.m.  Gee that shouldn’t be any problem on a Friday evening should it?  I had insider information from a co-worker and former resident of KC of the route I should take through town and actually the plan was working well until the last few miles of the city when traffic came to a screeching halt.   After snail pacing through the last couple miles and passing the traffic accident that slowed our progress I exited town and found highway 69 that would take me to my accommodations for the night. 

 

   The sun was just setting and the air was cool and I was looking forward to being in the woods, smelling campfires and sleeping in my tent.  I entered the campground and was greeted by a sign that said, “No Vacancy”.  I rolled in anyway and found the Ranger and he confirmed the bad news. He was really helpful though and drew me a map to another private campground about 10 miles away.  He even used his cell phone and called them for me.  Sure enough they had vacancy. I was on my way.  It was getting dark now but his directions were true and I pulled into a pretty nice looking campground with plenty of vacancy.  I stopped the bike, flipped my kickstand down and hopped off.  I wandered around the office building and found an elderly lady that appeared to be the proprietor of this fine campground.  She was pleasant with her greeting and said she didn’t hear me pull in.  No surprise, I’m riding a Goldwing. I told her I needed a campsite for the evening and she said, “Sure, how many?”  “Just me” I explained, “I’m on my bike and I only need a tent site.”  Suddenly her whole demeanor changed. “We don’t take tenters.”  “Wha.. Why, Excuse Me?  You don’t allow tents?  Why not?”  “I don’t have time to explain it to you, she said.”  I tried to convince her to make an exception for me since it was already dark and I didn’t know anywhere else to go but she wouldn’t be persuaded. Tenter discrimination.  That was a first for me.  I walked back over to my bike, pulled out the flyer the ranger gave me back at Watkins Woolen Mill and found Wallace State Park another 15 miles up the road.  I flipped open the cell phone and called them.  “Sure we have vacancy, come on up.”  That was great news.  I was getting tired now. I had been up since 3:30 a.m. so I could go to work early and then of course the 4 hour ride to Kansas City, the hour to navigate through her roadways only to find two campgrounds that couldn’t accommodate me.  I was off again and easily found Wallace State Park and the camp host.  She too was very nice and told me she thought she had some vacancies and told me which areas to try.  I meandered through the campground on the very narrow dark roads but couldn’t see any open campsites.  Bare in mind it is a Friday evening in a very beautiful wooded State Park in Autumn.  Why  wouldn’t they be full.  I finally concluded that there was no room for me here either.  I began a maneuver I have performed, it seems, a thousand times before and I thought nothing of cranking my handlebars full left to make a U-turn when suddenly something went wrong. The bike lurched ahead instantly and just as instantly stopped. I could tell it was about to lurch again so I stopped the madness by grabbing the front brake hard.  Have you ever tried to hold up an 800 lb motorcycle fully loaded for a camping trip with a 45 degree list?  It would be an exercise in futility and possibly even injury so I let go, bailed off and Rudy fell over on the crash bars.  A nice thing about the Goldwing is that they don’t fall clear over, they mearly list over onto the crash bars and come to a rest.  Thinking back I can only settle on one conclusion for the mishap and that is that I must have been in second gear rather than first when I went into my turn.  Man what a drag! I have never dropped this bike.  I could see some of the campers looking over at me from their fires.  I hoped they wouldn’t come over to help because I am “motorcycle guy”.  I didn’t want to deal with the humiliation.  I knew how to pick up the Goldwing because even though I had never dropped this bike doesn’t mean I have never dropped one before.  I cranked the handlebars hard left and grabbed hold.  I put my back against the seat and facing away from the bike and grabbed the aft passenger handle.  I began to push backward and the Wing stood right back up.  I hopped on hit the start button and was out of that campground and on my way to…..  I had no idea.  I rode for a few miles running my options through my head which didn’t take long because I didn’t have many options. 

 

   The green mileage sign informed me that Cameron was only 5 miles away with plenty of accommodations for those with poor planning abilities.  That’s me.  I pulled in, found the Econo Lodge and checked in for the night.  Not exactly the way I envisioned my first night camping but when traveling I guess some exceptions have to be made.  Day 1 ended with my tripmeter showing 342 miles. 

 

   Saturday morning found me up early with anticipation of visiting Hauns Mill and riding all day.  Usually, for me, one of the first things I do on a motorcycle trip each morning is seek out that special little place where I can enjoy a big country style breakfast.  This morning was different.  I was hungry but I was also feeling anxious about finding Hauns Mill.  I guess I better explain Hauns Mill before I go any further.  Hauns Mill is the site of one of our nations earliest tragedies. 

 

   In 1838 about 75 Latter-Day Saint families, or the Mormons as they are sometimes called, lived on and around Jacob Hauns Mill on Shoal Creek.   The early Saints and the Missourian’s had locked horns several times prior.  Even though the leader of the small community had struck a peace accord with the head of the local Missouri Militia, Missouri’s Governor Boggs signed the infamous "extermination order" declaring that the Mormons should either be driven out of the state or exterminated and their fate was sealed.  250 crazed bloodthirsty militiamen stormed Hauns Mill with their guns a blazing.  They began shooting the men and when the Mormons begged for peace the Militia told them, “All men who want peace go into the blacksmith shop.”  Several men ran in to the shop only to have the Militia open fire on the shop shooting between the cracks in the boards.  They shot down men and boys in cold blood killing 19 of the early Mormons.  They wounded many others before stealing cattle, horses, boots, guns and anything they wanted and riding out.  The wounded Saints and now widows and orphans were scared that the militia might come back.  Having no means and fearful of time, they took the bodies of the dead and dropped them all down the well and buried it up without so much as a funeral and they all fled to safety.  That's it in a nutshell.  To this day the location of the well has been lost to the ages and on the grounds there is no sign of any buildings, mill or anything.  Keep in mind this took place 167 years ago. 

 

   I wasn’t really sure of what I would see at Hauns Mill but I wanted to see it.  I researched it quite a bit on the internet and there just really isn't that much info about how to find it.  One sight gave some directions but even still they were sketchy.  It talked of dirt roads with ruts, turn right at the T in the road, and follow the cardboard signs and such.  So I wasn't really confident that I could even find it. 

 

   I packed the bike and took off with the gusto of a great explorer only to see my red fuel light come on within 10 minutes.  Oops.  In my excitement I forgot to fill up at Cameron.  Now I was headed off to the wilderness on empty. 

 

  I had gotten caught in a traffic jam in Kansas City, was too late to secure a campsite for the night, dumped my bike in the campground, had to sleep at an Econo Lodge instead of the much anticipated campground and now I took off on my great adventure into the wilderness without gassing up.  Things weren’t going well for “motorcycle guy”.  

 

I milked the bike on to Hamilton where I topped off my 6 gallon tank and then I was off to the back roads.  I passed by some old houses and spotted some old geezers standing outside wearing bib overalls watching the day go by.  I couldn't help but wonder if any of their grand daddy's were militiamen in 1838?  The first 10 miles of country roads were paved. Then suddenly the paved road turned hard left but my directions were to continue on the gravel road.  It became apparent to me that Missouri gravel roads are dustier than our Oklahoma gravel roads.  Just an observation.  I traveled the gravel road for about 2 or 3 miles till I came to an intersection with the one and only directions sign I would see.  It was a small sign on a telephone poll with Hauns Mill and an arrow. 

Except for that marker in the ground there is no sign that anybody has ever been there.  It’s very quiet and serene. You can look around and picture the bustling little community that once filled that meadow along the creek.  I looked around and tried to envision the militia storming in to the area.  I walked off into the trees on the paths that led to the creek.  I searched through the tall grass in the trees for the old sign but found nothing.  It sure seems like there ought to be more there but there isn't.  I was glad I found that marker in the ground so I knew I really was there at Hauns Mill otherwise I would always just wonder and think I was probably close.  I took a few pictures, cast my eyes round about and mounted up and headed off.