Rolling on the Riverfront

It was absolutely not my intention to wind up exhausted, on a bike, ten miles from home in way north St.Louis at dusk. Everything follows quite naturally, as you shall see.

Saturday, I tried to sleep in, and I made it to nine o'clock.
Had a good morning of laundry, and then caught the maintenance guy doing yardwork outside. I told him about our funky faucets and together we disassembled and reassembled the faucet. Turned out to be tons of sand and rocks in the filter. Where is this coming from? Old pipes? Anyway, he also changed the light bulb in our stairwell so we no longer have to use the desk lamp perched on the landing.

It was a beautiful day going to waste, and I sat thinking about things I'd always wanted to see in St.Louis but never had the time to do, so I hit on the idea of biking the St.Louis Riverfront trail. I'd heard about it from my downstairs neighbor, who is an avid bicyclist, and I wanted to bike it. It was a gorgeous day, so I threw my beat up water bottle and a light jacket in my backpack, and hit the road. Why take the metro or bus when its only seven miles to the river?

I was cruising along Washington, north of St.Louis university, when I happened to pass what looked like a brewery. I'd been thinking about a beer, actually, so I swung around and it happened to be Urban Chestnut brewery, which makes Wing Nut beer. So I parked my bike and enjoyed a glass of beer and read about the history of beer making in the city of St.Louis, a book pulled from a shelf of books all about, surprise surprise, beer.

After the beer, I continued east towards the riverfront. I accosted a bored looking woman standing on the street corner wearing an "official guide" shirt, and asked her how I could get to City Garden, an acclaimed urban sculpture park in the middle of downtown.

"ohhhh, are you going to the Occupy St.Louis protesters?" she asked me. I was kind of flustered, wait, what? There's a sympathy movement here? She interpreted my flustered response as evasiveness and knowingly gave me directions to where the protesters were encamped. I guess I fit the protester type.

I biked down to the square where I locked up my bike and walked around. It was a small group, maybe 50 protesters or so. Small groups talking or resting, sitting on the steps. A line of about 20 stood on the street corner waving homemade placards. As if to reiterate the unfocused aim of the organization, the placards ranged from calls for forgiveness of student debt, to solidarity and recognizance of the plutocracy running the country, to outright support of anarchy. "We are all in this together" read one massive banner attached to the colonnade. It seemed well organized. There were daily schedules posted everywhere, signs reminding protesters that drinking and drugs were not accepted here, manifestos. There were several enterprising tables selling food and drinks. I saw perhaps seven large camping tents set up. No police. It was actually quiet enough that the plaza was also occupied by wedding photography parties, taking advantage of the beautiful fall weather and the backdrop of the Arch.

I sympathize with the 'occupation' movement. Our generation, and the middle and lower classes, are getting screwed- we've been getting screwed for a long time, but the facade of equal opportunity has begun to crumble. Our socioeconomic system is a game. Those with power make the rules of the game.   They are only subject to laws which are enforced by the government. In theory, politics has been the means of balancing the power equation, and it has been to a certain extent in the past. But now, there is confusion and a lack of faith in the political system, and there is frustration without outlet. People are angry, but I sense they don't know whom to be angry at. The Fed? Politicians? Wall Street? Corporations? Free market capitalism? Neo-liberalism? They know they are getting royally screwed, but when they turn around all they see are shrugs and the game.

Personally, I'd tell the protesters to get political. Quit protesting on street corners, and talk to your alderman, senator, congressman. Tell them you want to tax hospitals. Tell them to tax corporations. Tell them YES for regulation. They are your voice. Yes, it's a grand hustle, but at least, in America, the cheaters at the table have a fear of the giant with the big stick.

Anyway, I'll get off the soapbox. Political ranting on a blog is like passing gas on a bicycle: its mildly obnoxious to a few people, humorous to others, but it just makes you look like an ass and really, nobody cares. No, really, this month, 75% of the visitors to this blog are searching for ways to make a dia de los muertos costume. (apologies to those who ended up here. You can find out my costume advice by using the 'archive' tab and clicking over to 'october 2010')

I bicycled by the arch, and headed down to the riverfront. More weddings under the arch. I swear, I saw at least five separate wedding groups. There, in the shadow of the amazing and fantastical ancient power and light building was the riverfront trailhead.

The St.Louis Riverfront trail stretches from the base of the arch north along the Mississippi river. Sometimes the concrete trail is on the river side of the flood walls, sometimes on the city side of the floodwall, and sometimes its on top of the earthen levees. The city of St.Louis is quickly forgetten in this strange space between heavy industry and the wilderness of the riverfront. To the left, a concrete and steel desert devoid of people, but filled with massive pieces of whirring machinery, smoke stacks, pipes, and rail yards. To the right, lush, overgrown mat of vegiation, stretching to the hidden river edge. I forget sometimes how big the Mississippi is. This is the waterway of the Americas, the historic path of conquistadors, spaniards, frenchmen, rebels, Mark Twain. Across the river, in the distance, huge mud flats, and walls of forest.

I got lost once and lost the trail. After pedalling through some industrial metalwork yards, I was able to find it again. I rode on and on. It's all relatively flat, so on my bike, I was able to just go. I followed the trail for the full 10 miles. I'd intended to peel away somewhere along the path, cut back to the southwest, or the south, since the trail follows the northwestern arc of the river. Unfortunately, that didn't really work out.

There's a portion of the trail that goes through the woods in Chain of Rocks Park. It's actually a whole series of streets which look like they were laid out, and then abandoned. Full width, asphalt streets, curbs and gutters, entirely covered with fallen trees, leaves. Lamp posts, lost in the canopy. An abandoned street in the forest. Eerie.

Anyway, I popped out in a residential neighborhood proceeded to bike the absolute wrong way. When I hit the 270, I thought, well, crap. This is nowhere. Quite literally.

I turned around and biked a few miles down until I realized it was getting very late to be bicycling and it was later than prudent for a white boy to be hanging out in way north St.Louis. I called a friend of mine to ask for directions, and to find out about how I could take the bus out of there.

I gave her my cross roads and she swore. "how the hell..." she began. "you're ten miles from home," she told me, and trying to take a bus will take an hour and a half and I can't even begin to describe the bus changes you're going to have to make." I told her it'd be faster for me to bike, and then she told me she was coming out to pick me up. I ended up locking up my bike and waiting at the bus stop. It took her about twenty minutes to get out there.

St.Louis is a city which has its streets and transit systems organized around the central axis where the money and power are. Not one but two parallel freeways service the white, wealthy wedge of Grand center, CWE, Forest Park, U city, Clayton, and the wealthiest suburbs which extend in that narrow window west. It is almost impossible to go north or south in St.Louis. There aren't even arterial roads. Which is why it takes five minutes to travel ten miles east or west, and four times as long to travel the same distance north or south.

Anyway, she picked me up, swearing the entire time, and talking about how sketchy the neighborhoods she had to drive through were. The one I was waiting in actually wasn't that bad. If a neighborhood has a real grocery store, it can't be that bad. A grocery store says that there's money and stability. Show me a neighborhood without a grocery store, or local businesses or restaurants, and I get really nervous. This one wasn't really too bad.

We ended up getting some Thai for dinner on Delmar, and she dropped me at school afterwards. It was nice, I finally got a chance to catch up.