The strange thing was, no one smiles in Germany, no one smiles in Michigan, yet put the two together and everyone smiles.
Caramel Pig
Peddling the Dirt across North America
Mad Tractors and Crystal Clear Water
Stage 9
Muskegon, Michigan, USA – London, Ontario, Canada 355.99 Miles – 572.91 Kilometres Total distance ridden 3514.08 Miles – 5655.36 Kilometres It had been a functional and late night. Our sleep was fleeting which meant getting up was difficult. We had to pay at check-out and the office didn't open until 10 a.m. I was having trouble with our maps, so farted around until 11 a.m. On top of this we had forgotten the time change. Ugh, late starts don't often end well. |
With the exception of a small detour to dodge a gravel road, it was pretty pleasant riding all the way to Newaygo.
We were tired, which means our spirits were quite low, and we laboured through a less than average lunch in a rather pleasant Brooks Park. We had watched through the filtered sunlight a father playing some sort of game with his kids, we couldn't quite work out what they were doing. After they had finished and just as they were jumping into their car, I noticed the father point us out to his weans. Then these two lovely children shyly sauntered over and gave us two painted stones. One had a shining sun on it and the other had the word 'faith'. This was such a simple gesture which turned our lethargic afternoon into a day of joy. Kids, whoever you were, thanks so much. |
Happier, we packed our things and started to leave. Nearby was what looked like a large extended family picnic, someone from this group tentatively asked if we could take their photo and as thanks, gave us a bag of delicious watermelon.
What a wonderful experience this pretty little city was.
The rest of the day was on busy shoulder-less roads which wore us down. We pulled into the K&K campsite, near Hardy Dam Pond. I'm not too sure what we had done, but basically some mean, officious campground staff sent us packing. Fickle as tour cyclists are, our good day was going sour again. On the way out some cheerful kid yelled goodbye to us and we almost burst into tears.
We found our way to Oxbow Park campground. It was the last Saturday of the summer school holidays and the place was packed full of party-goers. They were having their final shindig before the end of the season. Our campsite was right on the water overlooking the Hardy Dam and the sunset was beautiful, but unfortunately it was silhouetted by scores of drunk people. It turned out to be a noisy and unpleasant night.
After rising at 5 a.m., we wasted no time in leaving. The roads were good and quiet, but unfortunately provided us with a headwind.
What a wonderful experience this pretty little city was.
The rest of the day was on busy shoulder-less roads which wore us down. We pulled into the K&K campsite, near Hardy Dam Pond. I'm not too sure what we had done, but basically some mean, officious campground staff sent us packing. Fickle as tour cyclists are, our good day was going sour again. On the way out some cheerful kid yelled goodbye to us and we almost burst into tears.
We found our way to Oxbow Park campground. It was the last Saturday of the summer school holidays and the place was packed full of party-goers. They were having their final shindig before the end of the season. Our campsite was right on the water overlooking the Hardy Dam and the sunset was beautiful, but unfortunately it was silhouetted by scores of drunk people. It turned out to be a noisy and unpleasant night.
After rising at 5 a.m., we wasted no time in leaving. The roads were good and quiet, but unfortunately provided us with a headwind.
We bumped into two things at Blanchard Millpond. First was the very gorgeous 'God's Little Acre Wayside Chapel'. This rustic, tiny, timber building was a peaceful and very short distraction. Just behind it was a vintage machinery gymkhana. I spent the next few hours on cloud nine searching for an English Fowler traction engine. I saw a million John Deere tractors and a platoon of Allis-Chalmers, but no Fowlers. I suspect Sharon was quite happy to be on a schedule, otherwise I would have pitched tent for the night. Alas, eventually we cycled out over dry clod to rejoin W Blanchard Rd and cycle in a straight line to Shepherd.
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We arrived there at 2:15 p.m., which gave us 30 minutes in the community park to cook a quick lunch before our friend Žaneta from Lithuania and her new husband Ben arrived. We hadn't been able to find a 'Welcome to Michigan' sign upon our late night exit of the ferry and were not expecting to find one as we left the state, so had asked them to bring materials so we could make our own sign. This kept the four of us busy for about an hour. Because we couldn't agree on which sign was the most effective, we actually made two. The rest of the afternoon and early evening was spent sitting outside in a pleasant cafe/restaurant before our guests sadly had to depart for their home town.
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It was time to find a free place to camp. On the main street beside the Beacon and Bridge Market, we found a rather busy park. There seemed to be some kind of function there. Keeping our distance, we hung around until about 8 p.m. when they eventually decided to leave. Quickly we pushed our bikes into the pavilion and marked our territory. No sooner had we done this than a couple of kids came over to play with us. They ran around the tables and jumped across the chairs all whilst asking us questions. We must have been pretty safe, because eventually they presented us with two painted stones and asked us to hide them in another town in plain sight. Much to their excitement, I told them we would hide them somewhere in Canada.
The concrete floor of the pavilion provided us with the first good sleep we had had for a few days. Rain started falling as we packed up but it didn't really matter, because I knew most of the morning was going to be flat, windless and boring.
We were happily following the Chippewa Trail when suddenly a closed bridge confronted us. It was crossable, people were working on it. So being Kiwi-Lithuanian and somewhat used to flexible cultures, I asked if they would be kind enough to let us quietly push our bikes the short distance over. I was met with yet another officious American who was set on making us backtrack on our bikes to find an alternative route into the city. This was annoying, mostly because if they had warned us earlier, then we could have easily redirected off the trail and followed roads, instead of cycling the same miles twice.
The next event was perhaps the lowest we stooped on the whole trip. We could not find a toilet in Midland. And of course it is pretty hard to cross your legs when riding a bicycle. We rode, we searched and we begged our bladders to behave, but eventually we had to let nature take its course. In total desperation we found some poor homeowner's front lawn. It had a few shrubs on it. We scurried off our bikes, quickly peed on the frightened flora and fortunately took off again without being noticed. One hundred metres later we rode passed an unlocked Portaloo and about another 100 metres after that, the town suddenly opened up into countryside. Och aye, we lived to tell the story and the plants are probably better off for it.
Shortly afterwards we arrived at non-cycle friendly and unremarkable Bay City. We stopped at a park shelter and cooked lunch before risking the horrific roads and biking into Walmart. Walmart is the antithesis of tour riding. One involves appreciating fresh air, nature and simplicity, the other involves stale air and cheap plastic goods whose manufacturing is destroying our planet. I don't like Walmart and don't have to go there, but gosh more than once on this trip, hypocritically, I was really thankful for the store.
The concrete floor of the pavilion provided us with the first good sleep we had had for a few days. Rain started falling as we packed up but it didn't really matter, because I knew most of the morning was going to be flat, windless and boring.
We were happily following the Chippewa Trail when suddenly a closed bridge confronted us. It was crossable, people were working on it. So being Kiwi-Lithuanian and somewhat used to flexible cultures, I asked if they would be kind enough to let us quietly push our bikes the short distance over. I was met with yet another officious American who was set on making us backtrack on our bikes to find an alternative route into the city. This was annoying, mostly because if they had warned us earlier, then we could have easily redirected off the trail and followed roads, instead of cycling the same miles twice.
The next event was perhaps the lowest we stooped on the whole trip. We could not find a toilet in Midland. And of course it is pretty hard to cross your legs when riding a bicycle. We rode, we searched and we begged our bladders to behave, but eventually we had to let nature take its course. In total desperation we found some poor homeowner's front lawn. It had a few shrubs on it. We scurried off our bikes, quickly peed on the frightened flora and fortunately took off again without being noticed. One hundred metres later we rode passed an unlocked Portaloo and about another 100 metres after that, the town suddenly opened up into countryside. Och aye, we lived to tell the story and the plants are probably better off for it.
Shortly afterwards we arrived at non-cycle friendly and unremarkable Bay City. We stopped at a park shelter and cooked lunch before risking the horrific roads and biking into Walmart. Walmart is the antithesis of tour riding. One involves appreciating fresh air, nature and simplicity, the other involves stale air and cheap plastic goods whose manufacturing is destroying our planet. I don't like Walmart and don't have to go there, but gosh more than once on this trip, hypocritically, I was really thankful for the store.
It rained as we left the shop and again this was okay, because we only had a few miles to travel until we ended up at our Warm Showers. This night we were hosted by Greg and Kim, who were pastoring the neighbouring Evangelical church. I liked them; I couldn't fit them into a box, which meant they were my kind of people. We shared a family meal before retiring to a honking big recreational vehicle for the night.
I jokingly call RVs 'the enemy' because so many times we have come close to losing our lives at their expense. It was really interesting to finally get a good look inside one of the behemoths. I can see the attraction and how wonderful it must be to be able to park one of these mansions at your favourite spot and relax the summer away. |
We were up at seven and packing wet washing into our panniers before embarking along dodgy bike paths through cool morning fog. We followed quiet ACA roads through corn, beet, sugar and cucumber. It was all very pleasant and pastoral until we hit the horrendously scary town of Frankenmuth. This place was kitsch beyond belief. It was trying to be a smiley German theme town. The strange thing was, no one smiles in Germany, no one smiles in Michigan, yet put the two together and everyone smiles. Some happy stranger stopped and told us the largest Christmas market in the USA, the world or even the universe was just down the road. This was a truly horrific thought and for me a place well worth missing.
We needed a break and were conveniently rescued by a dinky roadside table, an okay beverage from The Harvest Coffeehouse and our books. It was total escapism. For about 30 minutes, Siobhan Clarke and I trudged through Edinburgh's underbelly, solving crimes. I would have been even happier if I could have kept reading as we cycled out of town. Our bike passed two humiliated horses dragging tired old carts - this was a sight I could have done without. |
Oh my goodness, was I happy when the streets opened to roads and the abundance of flapping flags was exchanged for dark, pregnant skies. We found a cycle path and fair dinkum motored along. We watched the heavens turn from dark to black and churl in anguish before punching out stinging, solid drops of rain. Knowing we only had a few hundred metres to go, we found power we didn't know we had and zoomed into a gazebo right beside our destination campground. And at that very moment, God let loose his wrath for that miserable fake German town and threw a wall of wet thunder at the earth. I cringed in fear, pulled out my book and went back to Edinburgh, while Sharon sat and wrote letters home. This fury trapped us for four hours. About the time the rain stopped, the city council kicked us out of their park. We pitched our dry tent under wet skies on soaked, long grass and fretted ourselves to sleep.
The morning greeted us with dank humid condensation. We dragged our sodden tent back to our gazebo prison, strung up our clothes line and cooked breakfast. Out of nowhere, my phone started trilling. It was six a.m. and people were trying to sleep in their RVs. Our foster son's name, Pavelas, appeared on the screen. He had no idea what time it was in Otter Lake. I spent about 30 joyful minutes whispering to him, before riding out of town in a beautiful state of homesickness, embraced by a melancholic morning mist.
Again Michigan was pretty boring and the best I can tell you is that we turned four corners and followed the 90 and 19 all the way to Yale.
The morning greeted us with dank humid condensation. We dragged our sodden tent back to our gazebo prison, strung up our clothes line and cooked breakfast. Out of nowhere, my phone started trilling. It was six a.m. and people were trying to sleep in their RVs. Our foster son's name, Pavelas, appeared on the screen. He had no idea what time it was in Otter Lake. I spent about 30 joyful minutes whispering to him, before riding out of town in a beautiful state of homesickness, embraced by a melancholic morning mist.
Again Michigan was pretty boring and the best I can tell you is that we turned four corners and followed the 90 and 19 all the way to Yale.
Yale was a sweet place. We loved our stay at the character ridden Yale Hotel. The proprietor was very welcoming, explained that the hotel was being done up and that she would give us rougher rooms at a discounted cyclists' rate. I can concur, the place was a wee bit rough, however this allowed us to be relaxed about drying our soaked tent and wet clothes in our room. We cooked our meal in their second floor kitchen and I sat on their large balcony overlooking the street and started reading Anne of Green Gables.
Whilst having my afternoon shower, I spied this lovely sign on their shared bathroom mirror: 'To whom ever is leaving greasy ass sticky sh#t all over the counter - Clean the f@#k up after your self! Shelley'. |
We were wanting an earlyish start and to buy breakfast. Shelley called the Red Dog Cafe and convinced them to open thirty minutes early for us.
So after a sound sleep in single beds, we pushed our loaded bikes out of the hotel dining room into a chilly dawn. As we sauntered across the road, we spotted the silhouettes of two old time cowboys and for a moment it felt like we were in a Western.
Once again our waitress couldn't believe how much breakfast we were ordering and had to drag it all out on four plates. Personally, I would have been happy to have had our pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausages all piled up. What I wasn't happy about was being watched by close to a hundred cute dogs hanging in picture frames.
For a last stop in dour, flat Michigan, Yale served us well. The people were pleasant, but gosh I could have killed for a smile.
There wasn't really anything worth mentioning until Marine City and the only thing worth talking about in that town was the ferry we left on. My highlight of Michigan was catching the Daldean Chatham across the beautiful and very clean Saint Clair River.
So after a sound sleep in single beds, we pushed our loaded bikes out of the hotel dining room into a chilly dawn. As we sauntered across the road, we spotted the silhouettes of two old time cowboys and for a moment it felt like we were in a Western.
Once again our waitress couldn't believe how much breakfast we were ordering and had to drag it all out on four plates. Personally, I would have been happy to have had our pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausages all piled up. What I wasn't happy about was being watched by close to a hundred cute dogs hanging in picture frames.
For a last stop in dour, flat Michigan, Yale served us well. The people were pleasant, but gosh I could have killed for a smile.
There wasn't really anything worth mentioning until Marine City and the only thing worth talking about in that town was the ferry we left on. My highlight of Michigan was catching the Daldean Chatham across the beautiful and very clean Saint Clair River.
After 92 days on the road, we were no longer in the United States and had now entered Canada. The first thing we noticed was people smiling again. Sombra, Ontario greeted us with a 'Welcome to Ontario' sign. Just as we plonked our bikes in front of it, a kid mowing the lawns trotted up and happily offered to take our photo.
It is always a culture shock when travelling from the USA to Canada. It is almost like Canadians have less pride. Their lawns are longer, verges are rougher, lights dimmer and their streets more littered. We immediately discovered that it is harder to tour cycle on the northern side of the border. Our first hurdle was finding an ATM, the closest was eight kilometres down the road at Port Lambton.
After using the bank machine, we decided to cook lunch beside the river. Just as we were doing our dishes, a man who I will call Jack arrived on a Giant bicycle. He was a lovely old fella and promptly invited us home. He informed us that he and his wife had previously had bad experiences with cyclists and we were not allowed in his home. Rain was forecast and after watching us trying to find a tree to pitch our tent under, he offered us his garage, bathroom and invited us in for tea.
Somewhere during the afternoon, two odd things happened. He asked me how many flat tyres we had had. I replied, 'None, we are riding Schwalbe Marathon Plus'. His reply was, 'We'll see about that'. The other odd thing is that he randomly gave me a tool for turning tube valves.
Later that day, I noticed my wheel was flat. Without thinking, I switched tubes and pumped up both the new one and, out of interest, I tightened the valve with my new tool and inflated the old one as well.
In the morning both tubes were still fully pumped.
We cycled south into a strong, tiring headwind. Another bridge was closed in Wallaceburg. We stopped and were looking for another route, when a lovely couple wound down their window and said, 'Follow us, we will show you the way out'. This was another difference between the two countries. In the USA we needed to ask for help, where Canadians always offered.
My tube didn't seem right, so we stopped in Dresden at a tyre service station and I put my old tube back in. I pumped it up and everything was fine again. It was here where the possibility dawned on me, that did our host let down my tyre because I had proudly stated we had had no flats? After all, he had pre-empted my problem by randomly gifting me a valve tightener. Who knows!
We continued to battle hard winds along what I thought was going to be a quiet road. We later discovered that the main road was closed and we were on the detour.
We had lunch at a water park in Ridgetown. This was Canada, which means that town rest areas are not necessarily set up with electricity, toilets, water and shelter. We sat at a lovely bench and cooked our lunch, but could not find an outside tap to wash our dishes, however they did have some kind of children's water playground. Whilst Sharon was trying to work out how to get water out of what can best be described as a green pole, I discovered lodged in the ground, a foot pump. I stomped on it and suddenly water was shooting up from the concrete, out the pole and down from red and yellow arches. Not only did this give Sharon a rather damp fright, she was left running from apparatus to apparatus trying to work out which one was going to squirt water next. It was the most entertaining dishwashing escapade I have ever experienced.
At around 5 p.m. we turned down a gravel road toward the campground at Clearville Park. They were going to charge us $35 when the only thing we needed other than a patch of ground was a loo. Thirty five bucks is an expensive toilet. Sharon didn't think it was worth it, so we cycled back up the hill to check out the local Scout Camp. The place was thick bush and looked somewhat abandoned. We couldn't find anyone to ask and didn't feel right about stealthily pitching our tent there.
On the main road, we asked a couple in a pickup truck if they knew where we could legally and freely camp. They gave us two illegal options.
It is always a culture shock when travelling from the USA to Canada. It is almost like Canadians have less pride. Their lawns are longer, verges are rougher, lights dimmer and their streets more littered. We immediately discovered that it is harder to tour cycle on the northern side of the border. Our first hurdle was finding an ATM, the closest was eight kilometres down the road at Port Lambton.
After using the bank machine, we decided to cook lunch beside the river. Just as we were doing our dishes, a man who I will call Jack arrived on a Giant bicycle. He was a lovely old fella and promptly invited us home. He informed us that he and his wife had previously had bad experiences with cyclists and we were not allowed in his home. Rain was forecast and after watching us trying to find a tree to pitch our tent under, he offered us his garage, bathroom and invited us in for tea.
Somewhere during the afternoon, two odd things happened. He asked me how many flat tyres we had had. I replied, 'None, we are riding Schwalbe Marathon Plus'. His reply was, 'We'll see about that'. The other odd thing is that he randomly gave me a tool for turning tube valves.
Later that day, I noticed my wheel was flat. Without thinking, I switched tubes and pumped up both the new one and, out of interest, I tightened the valve with my new tool and inflated the old one as well.
In the morning both tubes were still fully pumped.
We cycled south into a strong, tiring headwind. Another bridge was closed in Wallaceburg. We stopped and were looking for another route, when a lovely couple wound down their window and said, 'Follow us, we will show you the way out'. This was another difference between the two countries. In the USA we needed to ask for help, where Canadians always offered.
My tube didn't seem right, so we stopped in Dresden at a tyre service station and I put my old tube back in. I pumped it up and everything was fine again. It was here where the possibility dawned on me, that did our host let down my tyre because I had proudly stated we had had no flats? After all, he had pre-empted my problem by randomly gifting me a valve tightener. Who knows!
We continued to battle hard winds along what I thought was going to be a quiet road. We later discovered that the main road was closed and we were on the detour.
We had lunch at a water park in Ridgetown. This was Canada, which means that town rest areas are not necessarily set up with electricity, toilets, water and shelter. We sat at a lovely bench and cooked our lunch, but could not find an outside tap to wash our dishes, however they did have some kind of children's water playground. Whilst Sharon was trying to work out how to get water out of what can best be described as a green pole, I discovered lodged in the ground, a foot pump. I stomped on it and suddenly water was shooting up from the concrete, out the pole and down from red and yellow arches. Not only did this give Sharon a rather damp fright, she was left running from apparatus to apparatus trying to work out which one was going to squirt water next. It was the most entertaining dishwashing escapade I have ever experienced.
At around 5 p.m. we turned down a gravel road toward the campground at Clearville Park. They were going to charge us $35 when the only thing we needed other than a patch of ground was a loo. Thirty five bucks is an expensive toilet. Sharon didn't think it was worth it, so we cycled back up the hill to check out the local Scout Camp. The place was thick bush and looked somewhat abandoned. We couldn't find anyone to ask and didn't feel right about stealthily pitching our tent there.
On the main road, we asked a couple in a pickup truck if they knew where we could legally and freely camp. They gave us two illegal options.
Just as it was nearing dusk, we stumbled upon the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada's Bethel Park. It was a retreat site. We rolled on in, found people sitting around a campfire and asked if we could camp. The person I asked, asked her cyclist boss, who in return asked the woman in charge of hospitality, then this hospitality lady went and sought consent from the first person I asked. With the circle complete, we were welcomed to stay the night. |
They were nice people, we camped in their field, used their toilet and shower. It was a windy night, so no dew. We slept well in the physical presence of God and the good news was, the price was paid for us.
The next day was to be a planned short one. I was very excited about meeting up with a Bible College room-mate. Annoyingly, the day provided us with yet more headwinds. We had panihapon on the steps of an Anglican Church in Burwells Corner. Unfortunately, we had not found any shops and had no milk or yogurt. We ended up pouring Gatorade on our Cornflakes and persevering through a rather hydrating meal. |
It was just hard yakka all the way into quaint and beautiful Port Stanley. We arrived a little early, so sat and rested at the harbour and watched the bridge go up and down. Ever since entering the United States, I had wanted to have an equal status chat with a black person. I had met plenty of strangers on our ride who prattled away to me as my equivalent. I had talked with plenty of black people, but they were all serving me. Within minutes of sitting on our bench here in Canada, a black couple walked up to me with a bunch of intelligent questions and were open to my queries. It was a pleasant encounter and unlike in the USA, I didn't sense a natural racial divide.
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We moved on to the very tasty Village Square Coffee House and wolfed down some delicious, carbohydrate filled cinnamon rolls. Somewhere around here our friend called so we dashed outside and met them.
It is always great to meet friends with a shared history. We threw our bikes in the back of their borrowed, wheelchair accessible car and zoomed off in a cloud of dust and conversation towards London.
It was the Friday afternoon of Labour Day weekend. Our bikes really needed a good service, therefore the first port of call was a bike shop. It was a nice shop, but big, busy and full of employees who just wanted to get home. They were not interested in helping, however they did notice my rear rack was broken, so they sold and installed the only one in stock. It wasn't really suitable, but would last at least until the end of our ride. The rack sat too high above my wheel, which meant I would be quite unstable at speed.
We had a long evening meal with our friends and chatted late into the night. This was a special time.
It is always great to meet friends with a shared history. We threw our bikes in the back of their borrowed, wheelchair accessible car and zoomed off in a cloud of dust and conversation towards London.
It was the Friday afternoon of Labour Day weekend. Our bikes really needed a good service, therefore the first port of call was a bike shop. It was a nice shop, but big, busy and full of employees who just wanted to get home. They were not interested in helping, however they did notice my rear rack was broken, so they sold and installed the only one in stock. It wasn't really suitable, but would last at least until the end of our ride. The rack sat too high above my wheel, which meant I would be quite unstable at speed.
We had a long evening meal with our friends and chatted late into the night. This was a special time.
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