We rode for 95 miles in 95 degrees yesterday into St. Louis, MO. It was hot and ended up being quite a long day, but with about 15 miles left we cruised down a broad, open street where the Gateway to the West appeared on the horizon and gave us life.
We crossed the mighty Mississippi, brown waters swirling and trembling with power, and had to stop to admire its beauty for a while. Kate told me a couple days ago about a rock that she keeps with her - she calls it her worry rock and squeezes it whenever she is feeling troubled. As I stared into those waters, she came up and held out a smooth, white rock. "This is my worry rock," she said, "and I have nothing to worry about." And into the mighty river it went.
We finished crossing the river and went up to the Gateway. I laid under it and the deep blue Missouri sky for a while, in wonder at the size of the structure and the symbolic meaning of it for us, and then passed through our gateway to the West.
We crossed the mighty Mississippi, brown waters swirling and trembling with power, and had to stop to admire its beauty for a while. Kate told me a couple days ago about a rock that she keeps with her - she calls it her worry rock and squeezes it whenever she is feeling troubled. As I stared into those waters, she came up and held out a smooth, white rock. "This is my worry rock," she said, "and I have nothing to worry about." And into the mighty river it went.
We finished crossing the river and went up to the Gateway. I laid under it and the deep blue Missouri sky for a while, in wonder at the size of the structure and the symbolic meaning of it for us, and then passed through our gateway to the West.
