<commit_before>---
title: "Katy Trail"
classes: wide
header:
  image: /assets/images/selfie.jpg
  caption: "[**On the trail**](https://newlanguagestudio.com)"
excerpt: "On the way back, my shoulders chafed from the straps, my legs sore and toe blistered, there were long shadeless stretches, punctuated with skinks, grasshoppers, and dragonflies."
tags:
  - value
  - continuity
  - drift
  - bots
  - robots
  - python
  - speculation
---

# Katy Trail

I walked into Windsor, Missouri, about six in the evening, August 10th. I'd left Clinton around half past ten that morning. A caboose that had been donated to the town from the Missouri-Kansas-Texas (MKT) railway after it shut down in the 80s marks the spot of the old depot. I was near the Katy-Rick Junction, where the Rock Island Spur meets the main branch of the Katy Trail. A display by the stranded caboose had a map of the town, telling me *You are Here*, a few blocks away from Main Street. The trail continued alluringly Northeast off into a shaded tunnel of trees, going to Sedalia.

![Windsor](/assets/images/windsor-map.png)

When that train car had been given to Windsor, according to the [online article](https://www.windsormo.org/area-attractions/our-caboose), the enterprising antiquarians of Windsor washed away the rust and grime of decades of accumlated use to reveal stars and stripes commemorating the "Spirit of '76". "Adding even more intrigue," the article goes on, "the original number of the caboose was discovered to be No. 76, not No. 130, as earlier thought."

There was this one guy I talked to while resting by this haunted caboose, and the rain-proofed display offering a summary of its significance. In the scant seconds our interaction lasted, I felt like there was the largest transfer of information, verbal and non-verbal, of anyone I interacted with on the trip. After head nods and a few sentences, we quickly came to an understanding of who each other were.

I told him I'd walked from Clinton, and was looking for somewhere to camp. He told me about a guy named Dale, who you could rent cabins from, but also gave rather elaborate instructions about how to get to another place, behind the fair grounds, where you could camp for free.<commit_msg>Update 2022-08-15-katy-trail.md<commit_after>---
title: "Katy Trail"
classes: wide
header:
  image: /assets/images/selfie.jpg
  caption: "[**On the trail**](https://newlanguagestudio.com)"
excerpt: "On the way back, my shoulders chafed from the straps, my legs sore and toe blistered, there were long shadeless stretches, punctuated with skinks, grasshoppers, and dragonflies."
tags:
  - value
  - continuity
  - drift
  - bots
  - robots
  - python
  - speculation
---

# Katy Trail

I walked into Windsor, Missouri, about six in the evening, August 10th. I'd left Clinton around half past ten that morning. A caboose that had been donated to the town from the Missouri-Kansas-Texas (MKT) railway after it shut down in the 80s marks the spot of the old depot. I was near the Katy-Rick Junction, where the Rock Island Spur meets the main branch of the Katy Trail. A display by the stranded caboose had a map of the town, telling me *You are Here*, a few blocks away from Main Street. The trail continued alluringly Northeast off into a shaded tunnel of trees, going to Sedalia.

![Windsor](/assets/images/windsor-map.png)

When that train car had been given to Windsor, according to the [online article](https://www.windsormo.org/area-attractions/our-caboose), the enterprising local antiquarians washed away the rust and grime of decades of accumulated use to reveal stars and stripes commemorating the "Spirit of '76". "Adding even more intrigue," the article goes on, "the original number of the caboose was discovered to be No. 76, not No. 130, as earlier thought."

There was this one guy I talked to while resting by this haunted caboose, and the rain-proofed display offering a summary of its significance. In the scant seconds our interaction lasted, I felt like there was the largest transfer of information, verbal and non-verbal, of anyone I interacted with on the trip. After head nods and a few sentences, we quickly came to an understanding of who each other were.

I told him I'd walked from Clinton, and was looking for somewhere to camp. He told me about a guy named Dale, who you could rent cabins from, but also gave rather elaborate instructions about how to get to another place, behind the fair grounds, where you could camp for free.
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