Day 25: Monon, IN to Rensselaer, IN

This was just an all-around lousy day, except for one small bright spot.

We start with an early morning thunderstorm, which encouraged me to sleep in an hour later than usual.  Once I got going, there was a headwind from the west following the departing storm.  I leaned into it and pushed ahead.  Next, I encountered my most dreaded nemesis: road construction.  This piece of roadwork was even more cruel than usual.

The road was all chewed up, prepped for a fresh layer of asphalt.  The cruel part was that the eastbound lane was already finished.  A gorgeous ribbon of dark black smoothness just a few feet to my left.  Why, oh why, couldn’t they have done the westbound side first!?  I tried sneaking onto the newly paved side, then scooting over when oncoming traffic approached, but I was going back and forth so much that it became more frustrating than it was worth.  I eventually gave up and found a parallel farm road to ride on.  These roads are never in good shape, but at least there were a few 20-yard stretches here and there that were almost smooth.

This is about when my brain started rebelling.  I was bored!  The endless miles of corn was starting to get to me.  I tried listening to my iPod, but it didn’t help much.  The lower I sunk mentally, the harder it was to move forward physically.  I tried not to throw the whole trip into question – Why am I putting myself through this, again? – but I couldn’t help it.

My farm roads came to an end, so I cut back to the main highway hoping I’d gotten past the construction zone.  The Corn Gods were with me, and the road was clear.  I was still feeling low when I heard a motorcycle coming up from behind.  Motorcycles are nice because I don’t have to worry about squeezing over as far to the edge of the pavement as possible to avoid getting run over.  The motorcycle engine got louder as it got closer, but it didn’t pass me.  I looked to my left and saw the guy (at least I assume it was a guy), fully decked out in a riding suit and tinted full-head helmet, pacing me.

I had no idea what he was doing until he held his fist out toward me.  It took me a second to catch on, then I swerved out into the road and we exchanged a rolling fist bump.  He then cranked the accelerator and zoomed off with a loud blast of engine power.  In a matter of seconds he was out of sight over the next rise.  And suddenly I wasn’t feeling low anymore.  People can be really fuckin’ cool sometimes!

This emotional boost carried me right into my next disaster.  I realized I wasn’t going to make it across the border into Illinois as I had planned, so I decided to bail out and stop for the night.  The only option was a hotel about 9 miles off my route to the north.  I turned down a dirt farm road and began zig-zagging my way through the grid to get there.  It wasn’t long before I came to a “Road Closed” sign.  The heavy rains from a few days earlier had caused flooding that was still lingering in places.  The road to the right had a “High Water” caution sign, but no sign saying it was closed.  I could have turned back and added an extra couple miles to the end of my already tiring day, but I detoured up the high-water road on the assumption that it couldn’t be all that bad.

In about a mile I came to where the water had over-spilled from some wooded wetlands and was flowing across the road.  It looked to be about 4 inches deep at worst and extended around 300 yards or so – nothing I couldn’t handle.  I still had the option of turning back and finding another way around at this point, but now I’d have to add even more distance.  I confidently plunged ahead.

That confidence lasted until the water became deep enough that my feet would become completely submerged at the bottom of each pedal stroke.  I kept going, sure that at any second it would get shallow again.  It didn’t.

When my forward momentum was finally checked, I stopped and dismounted.  I was nearly halfway across, and my shoes were already soaked.  No point going back, I reasoned, I was already too invested.  I began slogging forward, pushing my bike through the water.  Contrary to popular opinion, the water got even deeper!  It was lapping at my knees, and my panniers were making an effort to float off the racks.  I knew I’d be doing some heavy duty oiling of wheels and chain that night.

It was right about in the middle of all this when a heavy manure smell hit me.  I realized that a lot of this water had to be run-off from the corn fields.  Fields fertilized with manure.  Manure that’s potentially festering with e-coli bacteria.  I was literally up to my knees in bullshit.  All the scabs on my lower legs don’t count as open wounds, do they?  Ugh.

I made it through scenic Lake Cowpoop, applied liberal amounts of antibiotic goo to my legs, and struggled onward.  Just to make things more amusing, when I got to the end of the road, there was a big orange "Road Closed" sign there.  Very funny, Indiana!  I made it to the hotel, immediately took a shower, gave all my bags an anti-bacterial bath, then took another shower.  What a friggin’ day!

What I Learned: Don’t make decisions based solely on time and distance (especially when tempted to take the “shortcut” near the end of the day).

Distance Today: 33 miles
Total Distance: 1,185 miles

Day 24: Roann, IN to Monon, IN

The campground I stayed at overnight was not especially luxurious.  RVs were scattered about haphazardly, there was no office to check in at, and it took asking several random people before I located the owner’s son who showed me to a site.  He explained that the showers had burnt down, so all there was at the “comfort station” was a toilet (not even a functional sink).  He said his dad would be out later to register me.  Dad never bothered to stop by, so I packed up in the morning and left.  If I had to pay, the site would have sucked, but for free it wasn’t too bad.

I was lucky enough to find a small drive-in restaurant for lunch in what looked like the kind of tiny village where I’d normally have to settle for gas station pizza.  I had a yummy BBQ sandwich and onion rings.  I was asked where I was riding to on my way out and talked for a while with an amiable table of locals.  Outside, as I was getting prepped to go, Nathan (the younger guy at the table) came out.  Somewhat flustered, he worked up to asking if I would like to pray with him. 

I told him that if he didn’t mind praying for an atheist, he could go for it.  He asked what I’d like him to pray for on my behalf, and I said, “Not to be squished by a Mack truck.”  He bowed his head and earnestly implored Jesus to watch over me and keep me safe on my journey.  I thanked him, he shook my hand and walked off happy.  Despite my lack of religion, his act of kindness made me feel good.  It wasn’t because, as he believed, he’d done anything that would have a material impact in my life, but in his mind he had done something real to help a stranger.  Since, in my case, praying rather than actually doing something practical was of no meaningful consequence, I had to appreciate his sincerity, as misguided as I felt it was.  Of course, if I do get squished by a Mack truck at some point, I’m instructing the executor of my estate to sue the pants off Nathan for letting me down!

As I continued through the endless tracts of farm world, I really started to notice something a little spooky.  I was never completely out of sight of a building; there was always a house, a barn, a silo, or something up ahead.  But what I never saw were people.  Other than the drivers of the occasional passing car, it seemed like I was completely alone out there.  At least now I know what a post-apocalyptic world will look like when I’m the only survivor.

As I was making a turn onto a new road (an event that has become a high point of any given hour), I over corrected and ran off the pavement and onto the soft shoulder.  This normally isn’t a problem, but this shoulder was extra soft.  My front tire bit into the sand, and next thing I knew my bike was sliding out from under me.  I did my ungainly best to catch myself, but ended up doing a belly flop by the side of the road.  Glad I wasn’t clipped in!

I was also glad that there was no one around to witness my ridiculous display of cycling ineptitude.  When I looked up, there were three children of the corn (two boys and a girl) standing behind an electrified fence that gave off a dangerous sounding snap every few seconds.  Where the fudge did they come from?  They stared at me silently as I got up and regrouped.

 “Is your bike okay?” one of them called out.  I had to smile at this.  In their little kid minds, it was inconceivable that a person could be hurt falling off a bicycle – heck, they do it four times a day!  The real danger in kid-land is damaging your toy.  A skinned knee will fix itself, but a busted wheel is forever.  I assured them the bike was fine, waved and went on my way.   I could feel their spooky little eyes on me for the next mile as I pedaled deeper into the Twilight Zone.

What I Learned:  Never accidentally step in mud while wearing your cycling shoes.  And, if you do, clean them right away.  The mud gets all up in the grooves and cakes around the shoe clip.  When it hardens, it’s like cement and you have to waste a bunch of time soaking your shoes and picking at the crevices to get it all cleaned out.  And that’s time you could be spending relaxing instead of working!

Distance Today: 60 miles
Total Distance: 1,152 miles

Day 23: New Haven, IN to Roann, IN

Got a late start.  This always seems to happen when there’s a Walmart close by where I start.  I managed to get through Fort Wayne with only about a dozen wrong turns.  I stopped at a gas station to get some Gatorade (guess what I forgot to get while at Walmart!), and a nice lady walking by said good morning and commented on the lovely weather were going to have that day.  We exchanged some more idle chit-chat, and as she was going on her way she asked if I was okay for money.  Huh!?

I was too surprised to give the appropriate response, which was, “Please give me money!  Lots and lots of money!”  Instead I told her I was all set and off she went with a smile.  I know I haven’t trimmed my beard in three weeks, but I can’t look THAT much like a homeless person.  And how bad off of a homeless person could I be with bad ass new touring bike loaded with brand new gear?  Next time I’ll be ready for it and make sure I get the handout!

Around dinnertime I arrived in the little town of North Manchester.  It’s got one of those classic main streets lined with the kind of substantial stone and brick buildings they used to build back in the early part of the 20th-century.  I got off my bike and strolled down the sidewalk looking for the quaint restaurant that I was sure would be waiting there for me and soaking in the nostalgia of an era I had never been a part of.  But, there was no quaint cafe or diner. 

There were hardly any businesses at all.  As I looked around I saw that nearly every storefront was empty.  No one had even bothered to put up “For Rent” signs in the windows.  It was rather sad.  There were, not so oddly enough, exactly three (yes, three) used book stores along the two blocks of the main drag.  Only one of them was actually open, but my suspicions about these nefarious establishments is growing.  I ended up at a not-so-quaint Subway that was located at the far end of town.

What I Learned: When you start late, seriously consider cutting the distance you had planned on doing that day.  It’s fairly easy to knock out a big chunk of miles in the morning when you’re rested and looking forward to the ride, but after lunch things slow down some.  Trying to crank out the bulk of the day’s distance in the afternoon is asking for a rough finish to the day.

Distance Today: 53 miles
Total distance: 1092 miles

Day 22: Napoleon, OH to New Haven, IN

The long and not-so-winding road

Today is all about worms, waves, weather and wind.  But not necessarily in that order.

I check my radar app and the massive cloud system overhead is moving eastward.  It looks like I’ll have clear skies in less than an hour.  By the time I’m ready to roll, it’s barely drizzling out.  And I’m off!  Less than an hour later, the skies are decidedly not clear.  The rain has instead picked up.  Well, it’s not like meteorology is a science or anything (it’s more like astrology and horoscopes). 

By lunchtime, it’s really coming down and the wind has picked up something fierce.  I take refuge in a pizza joint with the intention of waiting out the brunt of what has developed into a full-fledged storm.  After more than an hour, it hasn’t let up, and I can’t avoid getting back on the road any longer.  I double check to see if there’s a hotel close by, but no luck.  Gotta press ahead.

I don my rain shell and rain pants, and plunge into the thick of it.  Only a few minutes later, I’m regretting my decision.  While riding in the rain isn’t fun, it’s not all that bad.  You get wet and deal with it.  But, when the rain is cold and being driven into the side of your face by a relentless 20+ MPH wind, it can be somewhat trying.  The real challenge is that wind.

It was blowing hard and steady out of the north.  As I rode west, it pelted me from the side with stinging rain and did everything it could to impede my momentum.  There were stretches where I had to lean to my right to keep from being blown over into the road.  With no hills or woods to get in the way, the wind just shoots across the wide open spaces with impunity.  The large ditches to left and right between the road and the corn fields had flooded – and there were waves!  I’m not talking about ripples from the wind, but actual flippin’ waves!  Who says there’s no surfing in Indiana?

On the few occasions I have to turn north, I’m fighting head-on into the teeth of the beast.  I’m lucky if I can maintain 4 MPH.  Visibility is reduced to less than ten feet, but this doesn’t matter much since I have to keep my head down and body low in an effort to cut into the oncoming gale.  I think about dismounting and walking my bike into the torrent, but that doesn’t seem to be any better of a prospect.  Nothing to do but count the number of feet until the next turn and grind ahead.

Turning west after a foray to the north is sweet relief.  Hey, only one side of my face is getting pelted now, yay!  I can almost get up to 7 MPH, woohoo!  But then I take a turn to the south and my whole universe changes in an instant.

I slow down at the stop sign, crank around to the left, and just like that the storm ends.  Wow, that was abrupt, I think as I pick up speed.  The rain has all but stopped, and the wind has gone quiet.  I knew it couldn’t last forever.  Whew, glad that’s over and done with.  I pedal on in my deluded state until I turn west again.  Just like that, the storm is back.  Singing rain, raging winds, the whole shebang.  WTF!?

With my next southward turn, the calming effect occurs again.  It’s uncanny.  Turning 90 degrees makes the difference between heaven and hell.  I sit up straight in the saddle and get pushed along at 10 MPH by the tailwind without having to pedal.  Freaky!  If I had a sail, I could be in Oklahoma by sundown!

This day came very close to taking the top spot for most difficult day away from Day 4, but even with all the struggles I logged a surprisingly big number of miles.  Plus, this riding day ended before nightfall in a hotel instead of a campsite in a downpour.  I kept telling myself that no matter how bad it got, as long as I was moving forward I’d reach my goal.  It was just a matter of time.  No matter how wet, cold and tired I was, I had endured worse and made it through.  Screw you, storm!  Is this the best you got?

When he rain finally did stop, I was treated to another new experience that I won’t soon forget.  In the previous post, I talked about the wind as a peaceful element gently bringing out the subtle joys of nature.  Today I was introduced to an entirely different aspect of this invisible force.  As I rode, from behind me I heard a mournful wail rising in the distance.  Is that what a tornado sounds like?  I turned to look, but there were only dark clouds.  And yet that low, forlorn sound that was part howl and part moan seemed to loom behind me, emanating more menace than anything I’d ever known before.  I’ve heard the wind blow plenty of times back home, but it sounded nothing like it did on those exposed flatlands.  I couldn’t quite admire the awful beauty of it in the moment as I was certain I was about to be crushed by it at any moment.

What I Learned:  Indiana worms go on a bizarre kind of suicidal stampede during a storm.  As I toiled along through the tempest, I kept noticing worms valiantly attempting to make their way across the road.  The corpses of those who didn’t succeed were grim testimony to the harrowing danger these brave sojourners risked to get to the other side.  Oddly, they were only crossing the east-west roads and were all traveling from north to south.  I have no idea why they were so keen on making this death-defying pilgrimage only to get across a road to a patch of ground that was exactly the same as the one they were leaving.  Dumb worms.

Distance Today: 68 miles
Total Distance: 1,039 miles

Day 21: Fremont, OH to Napoleon, OH

Small town justice.

Instead of following the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA) route, I decided to take a more direct approach and got on Route 24.  I was  loving this road as soon as I got on it.   The pavement was crazy fast and I was zooming along like speed demon (at least like a very un-aerodynamic speed demon loaded down with forty pounds of gear).  There was a lot of fast-moving traffic, including big trucks, but that didn’t bother me as long as I could maintain the 15 MPH pace I was setting.  The only tricky part was the narrow shoulder.  Most of the roads I ride on have little or no shoulder, but this one was different.  

There was a pretty respectable three feet to the right of the solid white line, but there was a continuous rumble strip gouged into the pavement that extended into the shoulder.  This left me with a band of about 18 inches of rideable road between the jarring rumble strip and the soft shoulder.  Occasionally, my foot and a half would shrink down to about less than 10 inches.  Although it wasn’t a big problem, it did require an extra degree of concentration to stay on the right line and avoid the devastating consequences of straying from the thin margin of safety.   Livin’ on the edge, baby!

During the afternoon, I was cruising along through the corn listening to my iPod.  When I reached for a drink, my hand caught on the headphone wires and yanked the earbuds out.  As they dropped, I realized the wires could get caught in the front tire, which could bring me to a sudden and catastrophic stop.   I slammed on the brakes and did a panic unclip from the pedals, but it was too late.   The wires caught, tangled, and popped.  In the contest between earbuds and rapidly spinning bike tire with lots of weight and momentum, the bike tire wins.  Both the earbuds were sheared off the wires, and lost somewhere in the ditch behind me.  That was the end of my iPod action for the day.  But it turned out to be a good thing (not for my wallet, but for my psyche).

Once I resumed, the wind picked up.   It was blowing out of the north, so it wasn’t causing me any trouble ride-wise.  What it did do was tease its way softly along the tops of the corn stalks, setting the leaves swaying in unison.  This created a gentle rustling that was made more powerful by the cumulative effect of countless accrues each playing its individual part in the symphony.  It was a bit like the wind blowing through the trees back home, but there was a unique quality to the sound of all that corn that was unlike anything I’d heard before.  And I would have totally missed out on it if I hadn’t been lucky enough to accidentally destroy my earbuds.

What I Learned: Don’t waste energy getting upset when things don’t go your way because you just might find that an opportunity for something better has opened up.

Distance Today: 70 miles
Total Distance: 971 miles

Day 20: Milan, OH to Fremont, OH

One thing you discover while traveling by bicycle is that it’s not just the different perspective you get of the sights along the way, but also of the smells.  In the space of one mile this morning I was treated to wood smoke, manure, wildflowers, diesel fuel, and sawdust.  Not only do you have more time to see the things around you in more detail, but you often get a more visceral olfactory experience of them as well.  You often know there’s roadkill up ahead before you can see it.  You can always tell if the upcoming farm has livestock before you get to it.  Sometimes you smell the air freshener or cigarette stink from passing cars.  Once in a while you can even pick up the scent of a particular house as you go by (and it’s never a good scent).  The heavy odor of manure never bothered me much while in the protective bubble of a car, but when you’re struggling up a steep hill next to a ripe farm and gasping for air, it’s a whole other level of reality.

With killer storms bearing down on the region, I opted to play it safe, quit early, and take shelter in a crummy motel.  There’s more to be said about smells here, but I’ll spare you trauma. At least there was a Denny’s right next door.  After dinner, I hand washed my riding clothes in the sink, hung them up to dry, and hunkered down for the night, expecting to be woken up several times as the thunder ripped through.

What I Learned: Not all paper towel dispensers are motion activated.  Even though we all know this, it didn’t stop me from standing in a men’s room waving like an idiot at a paper towel thingie repeatedly with no result.  Only when I was about to get very annoyed did I notice the manual crank at the side of the dispenser.  How quaint.

Distance Today: 33 miles
Total Distance: 901 miles

Day 19: Westlake, OH to Milan, OH

It was a good day of riding.  Continued along the coast until just before Huron, then cut inland.  Met a 70-year-old man on his bike returning from a 12-mile ride to go get coffee and a paper, which he does every day.  The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everyone I encountered was a joy beyond reckoning, yada, yada, yada.  Now let’s get to what’s pissing me off!

Noise machines!  No matter where I go, there’s always someone nearby operating some type of noise machine.  It’s starting to drive me crazy.  What’s worse is that a noise machine NEVER fails to materialize when I’m taking a break in some peaceful little spot.  It happened twice today!

I came across a big apartment building overlooking the lake and assumed they would had some sort of walkway or benches at the waterfront.  I was happy to discover I was right.  No sooner had I sat down and started peeling a banana, than a guy with a weed whacker appeared out of nowhere (he was probably hiding in the weeds) and blithely went about making my resting place intolerable.

Later that afternoon, I stumbled on a cute park with a cool old-fashioned clock tower and some shade trees.  I flopped onto the grass and commenced resting like the professional that I am.  Two minutes later, a truck pulls up to the house across the street.  Three guys jump out and within seconds they’ve got two giant mowers going, and the third guy is grinding an edger along the sidewalk.  So much for relaxing in the middle of that cacophony!

As I rode away grumbling, I began to piece together that these weren’t isolated incidents.  At the KOA campground: old guy on a mower circling my site for almost two hours.  Bench outside the store in Amsterdam: guy with a gas-powered weed whacker.  Camping at the lock in Macedon: old guy on a mowing tractor who started cutting the municipal grass at 7:00 in the evening (who does that??).  Taking a break in a gazebo next to a church: guy walking around the grounds with a leaf blower going full-bore - even though there were no leaves to blow! The list goes on.  And that’s when it hit me. 

The noise machines aren’t the problem – grass is the true enemy.  In every case, people were cutting, trimming, or somehow prettifying grass.  I began noticing how many people are out mowing their lawns as I pass.  I begin adding up all the yards, and all the acreage, and all that must be done to maintain it.  Forget the strain on our fresh water resources, the time and money that goes into grass alone has to be staggering in the aggregate.  How can people devote (i.e. waste) so much of their lives taking care of stupid grass?  The one thing that would make it worthwhile is the one thing I never see.

The only time I see anyone out in their yard is when they are tending to the grass.  I’ve passed thousands of homes on this trip so far, and I have yet to see anyone, and I literally mean anyone, using their lawn for any purpose whatsoever.  No kids are playing in it, no one is sitting out in lawn chairs, no family badminton games on the neatly coiffed turf.  The closest I’ve come are dogs standing at the edge of their territory barking at me to keep off the grass (or, as they see it, their painstakingly manicured toilet).  If I actually witnessed people using their yards, it might make at least some sense, but everyone is locked up inside, occasionally glimpsing out the window to see if it’s time to mow the grass again.

If you have a lawn, replace it with green gravel tomorrow – the world will be a better place for it, and you’ll have a whole lot of extra free time and money to do something fun!

This concludes our test of the emergency rant system.  We now return you to your originally scheduled blog already in progress…

What I Learned:  Aside from discovering that lawn care is the new bane of my life, I learned that no matter how careful I am, whenever I do any maintenance on my bike I WILL get grease on my clothes.  I decided to turn my shirt and shorts inside-out from now on when I work on my bike – genius! 

Distance Today: 47 miles
Total Distance: 868 miles

Day 18: Painesvile, OH to Westlake, OH

This is the day I make my dash through Cleveland and do my best to get away with only one or two additional bullet holes in me.  Lightning storms were still moving through, so I got started later than I would have liked.  I was in the city exurbs within a half hour and pedaling my way through one busy commercial strip after another.  I was lucky enough to receive my first volley of verbal abuse from a woman who made a right turn in front of me and yelled, “Get on the sidewalk!”  I had to wonder what part of the word sideWALK her car-centric brain couldn’t comprehend.

I made my final approach into Cleveland on a service road that ran along the lake with a small airport between me and the water.  This route easily took the top spot for the worst “paved” road I’d encountered so far.  It was striped with foot-wide cracks spaced about every 20 feet.  I had to slow to a crawl to keep from rattling my bike to pieces.  It felt like ten miles of bad road, but was probably only a mile and a half at te most.  At least there were no hills.

The Miss Universe of crappy roads deposited me in front of the majestic glass pyramid that is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  I took a couple pictures, but had no desire to go inside.  I might have thought about it if it was free, but being soaked in sweat after a morning of riding isn’t exactly conducive to playing the tourist in enclosed spaces.

Once in the guts of the city, all I had to do was make a left, then a right, and it was pretty much a straight path through and out of the city.  As a nice surprise, my ride took me through some affluent neighborhoods at the west side of town, putting me on idyllic tree-lined boulevards flanked by gorgeous mansions to left and right.   It turned out that Cleveland wasn’t as harrowing as the war stories of a particular E.R. physician had led me to expect.  Maybe next time I’ll try going through at night just to up the excitement factor!

What I Learned: There are some wicked friendly folks working at Circle K (Hi, Huck!).

Distance Today: 45 miles
Total Distance: 821 miles

Day 17: Ashtabula, OH to Painesville, OH

I woke up and was happy to find that I didn’t get rained on overnight – a first!  I should hire myself out to drought-stricken areas – all I’d have to do is set up my tent and the rain would start to pour!  I got rolling and came upon a rare views of Lake Erie.  I stopped to take a picture, but my camera was giving me a “memory card error” message.  As I was futzing around with it, I heard the oddest sound.

“Hurumph!”  Was that a seal?  I looked to the water and seconds later remembered I wasn’t on the ocean.  What the heck was that?  I looked around and behind me was Buffalo Bill!  He’d managed to sneak up and surprise me like the biking ninja that he is.  I was happy to see him and amazed that our paths managed to cross both in time and space after we’d parted going in different directions the other day.  Once we got caught up on old times, we rode together to <town name>.

Although Bill had given up on converting his Canadian funny money to real American currency, he was still in search of a bike shop where he could get a new inner tube.   We made good time getting to town, but it was bigger than I had expected and the location of the bike shop wasn’t as obvious as Bill had anticipated.  I plugged the address into my quietly scheming GPS and we made our way there. 

Bill got his new tube and directions to the nearby bike path.  I had the tension on my shifter cables adjusted, for which I was only charged 5 bucks – sweet!  We once again went our separate ways – he to the bike path and then southward, me on the roads heading west.  Bill let me snap a picture of him, then we said our goodbyes.

My conniving GPS sent me through a confusing jumble of neighborhoods, beeping out turns every few seconds, and even when I did exactly what it told me, it would yell at me and make do a U-turn.  I don’t know what I did to piss that little machine off, but it was intent on exacting its revenge.  Eventually, I ended up on a main road and began cruising…just as my stomach started to rumble. 

The smell of grilled usages was in the air.  I looked around and spotted the source: a sandwich shop I’d almost missed with a woman outside grilling – you guessed it – sausages!  I turned around and pulled in only to be greeted by Buffalo Bill at one of the picnic table talking with a couple of people and already halfway through his lunch.  What the fudge?

It turned out that his bike path intersected my “direct” route here at the sandwich shop.  If I’d just taken the scenic route, like Bill, I could have been halfway through my lunch, too.  Well played, GPS.  When Bill finished and was ready to go, I refused to say goodbye this time and instead said “See you later.”  After he left, I talked with a nice young woman who lived next door and a white-bearded older gentleman enjoying a pint of ice cream with a fork.  Me and the nice young woman (with cute tattoos) talked about my bike trip, while the older gentleman grumbled about how a half gallon of ice cream was cheaper than a pint, but that he couldn’t give away the extra that he couldn’t eat.  I commiserated with his conundrum, lamenting that there wasn’t some sort of appliance that would allow him to freeze the surplus ice cream to enjoy another time.  He remained unconvinced by my fanciful musings.

After lunch, I was making good progress toward the campground I was aiming for, but the weather started looking ugly.  I cut things short and diverted to a hotel about 5 miles from where I was, giving my aggrieved GPS a chance to strike another blow.  It took me off the main roads (always a cause for concern), and sent me up every steep hill it could find between me and my destination.  I’m sure the devious device was very upset when I walked into my room just as the first bolts of lightning began to flash.  Winning! 

What I Learned: The second most common type of litter on the side of the road is, surprisingly, banana peels.  I see at least two a day, with a top score of six.  For some strange reason I've developed the habit of gleefully yelling out, "Banana peel!" now whenever I see one.  The number one item, by the way, is empty cigarette packs (assuming you don't count dead creatures as litter).

Distance Today: 45 miles

Total Distance: 776 miles

Day 16: Erie, PA to Ashtabula, OH

The weather would have been perfect for riding if it wasn’t for the headwind I had to contend with most of the day.   Riding into the wind is very similar to going up a hill, except that there’s no getting to the top (and no free downhill ride as a reward for all the hard work).  But, I knew headwinds would be part of the deal, so I just put my head down and plowed ahead as best as I could.

I was making my way along the alternately ritzy and white-trash coast of Lake Erie and didn’t encounter anyplace to get breakfast – not even a gas station convenience store.  It’s a good thing I’ve been carrying enough emergency supplies or I’d have to resort to raiding chicken coops along the way!  As lunchtime came and went, I was beginning to get desperate.  I switched to a road that paralleled the one I was on in hopes that it might have food, but after about five miles of nothing it ended up merging back up with the road I had abandoned.  Just as I was about to turn to my emergency rations again, I sudden came upon an oasis:  The White Turkey Drive-in!  It was packed with customers, partly due to it being Father’s Day, and partly because it was the only place to eat within a hundred miles. 

I got the Large Marge turkey sandwich, fries, and a root beer float.  The food would have been average on a good day, but as hungry as I was it was a royal feast of delectableness the likes of which I hadn’t dared dream of only an hour earlier.

Shortly after I got going again, I spotted a loaded long-distance rider coming the opposite way.  He veered across the road to say hi and exchange road knowledge.  He was from the U.K. and had been biking around different parts of the world for the past two and a half years – and he looked like it, too.  He was very lean and had the deeply tanned skin of someone who spent all their time outdoors.  The unhealthy looking scab on the bridge of his nose reminded me to be sure I was applying my sun block every day. 

He had ridden across Australia, Eurasia, France, and was about to complete his trek across the U.S. from west to east.  He had a plane ticket out of Boston in two and a half weeks and wanted to know if I thought he could make it in time.  Since it had taken me a little over two weeks to get to where we met, I assured him he’d make it easily.  I gave him a couple route options while looking over his bike.  It had definitely seen a lot of miles (and not a whole lot of maintenance).  I was surprised he could still pedal the thing with all the rust on the chain and gears. 

As we chatted, I noticed that he wasn’t wearing a helmet, didn’t have on bright cyclist clothing, and no GPS or maps were in evidence.  This guy was really going old school.  I began to wonder if he was an adventure cyclist or just a hobo with a bike!  His route was more of a southwest to northeast one, so he didn’t have any input for me on my northerly trajectory.  With mutual wishes of good luck and safe riding, we continued on in opposite directions.

For that night, I found a quiet little campground behind a golf course.  I checked in, and I was the only tenter there (as I am at most of these RV-dominated places).   I threw in a load of laundry and headed down to the game room, which was the only place you could pick up the WiFi signal.  While hanging out there, I met Jessup. 

Jessup and I got to talking; me about my trip and him about hunting.  I asked if he knew whether the no beer sales on Sunday was a campground rule or a local ordinance.  It was a county thing, so I was out of luck beer-wise.  I mentioned how the advantage to brewing your own beer was that you always had a ready supply on hand no matter what day it was.  That’s when he gave me a sly look that came along with a conspiratorial grin.

“I brew m’own stuff, too,” he said.  “But it’s a touch stronger’n beer.” 

“Are you talking about the kind of stuff you’ve got to hide from the G-men?”

“Wait raht here.”  With a wink he was gone.  A minute later he was back with a jug and two shot glasses.  Yep, genuine homemade moonshine.  Pure alcohol distilled from corn and sugar.  Jessup poured me a shot.  It smelled like jet fuel.  I downed it and wheezed my way through the ensuing choking fit.  This made Jessup very happy.

“One hunnerd and forty proof,” he claimed.  To demonstrate, he flipped off the light and flicked his Zippo over his shot glass.  A clean blue flame dance atop the ‘shine.  “You only git that kin’a blue with the good stuff.”  He blew out the flame and threw back the shot – sans the rookie coughing fit. 

He cajoled me into one more shot, but I had to turn down his repeated offers of a third.  We talked for almost an hour about his moonshining exploits.  He was very proud of his product, and I couldn’t blame him.  Jessup was a true craftsman.  As I floated happily back to my tent, I reflected on the fact that I would have never had a unique experience like I’d just had sitting at home in my cozy living room watching TV.

What I Learned: There's a profound difference between living and existing.

Distance Today: 37 miles

Total Distance: 731 miles