Dennis and the Arsenal on Wheels

 

Every morning without fail, Dennis saddles up his bicycle like a cowboy mounting a horse. Except this ain’t the Wild West—it’s the Blue River Trail in Missouri. Still, judging by his setup, you’d think he was about to ride through grizzly country instead of a paved path next to joggers, dog walkers, and teenagers with earbuds.

On his handlebars sits a GoPro pointing forward, another one behind him, both blinking red like HAL 9000. Strapped to the front of his bike? A very big revolver, the kind that can shoot .44 Magnum shells or even .410 shotgun shells. Across the frame? A can of bear spray. Wedged in the basket? A full-blown police billy club, the kind you’d expect in a riot, not a riverside ride.

“Mountain cats!” he’ll say, pointing at the tree line.
“Water moccasins, don’t step near the reeds!”
“Bears! They’re out there. Don’t let anyone tell you Missouri ain’t got ‘em.”
And of course, “The dogs. Oh lord, the dogs. Meanest, wildest pack you’ll ever meet.”

Anyone else would sound paranoid. But Dennis delivers it with such gusto, you half expect a panther to leap out of the brush at any moment. The man narrates the trail like he’s guiding a National Geographic expedition, except his bike squeaks the whole time.

And yet, Dennis isn’t some cranky survivalist. No, he’s a sweetheart wrapped in kevlar. New to the trail? He’ll stop, pull out a laminated map he made himself, and explain how to avoid “snake alley” near the rocks. Got a flat tire? He’s got tools. Out of water? He’ll hand you a spare bottle.

He’ll even pose for a picture if you ask nicely, standing tall beside his bike arsenal like a cross between Mad Max and Mr. Rogers. And just when you’re about to laugh, Dennis will smile, wave, and say:

“Be careful now. Trail looks peaceful—but that’s when they get ya.”