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DAY
31
It's Sunday. I stroll down the main street at 7 am, the bar
is quiet, there's an Amish furniture shop which holds my interest
for a long time. I have a lot of respect for the Amish community,
I think the concept of a simple lifestyle has a lot of merit - a
bit like cycle touring really! The day becomes hot quickly - high
humidity. I miss the small sign that indicates Highway 30 and cycle
south instead of east. After seven miles I backtrack up the hill
and head in the right direction. This country is hilly but nevertheless
enjoyable touring. After an hour I paddle in a small trout stream
and plunge my head into the water to cool down. The road continues
diving down into valleys and climbing up the other side. I pass
farmhouses and, a couple of times, large dogs chase me down the
road. Eventually I stop at a cemetery beside a large, impressive
Lutheran church. Huge shady pines surround the grounds and I sit,
my back against a trunk, and make some tomato sandwiches. Graveyards
are good places to rest, the residents are quiet and reading epitaphs
is an interesting pastime. Most of the people here were Scandinavian,
probably Lutheran. The stone beside me reads 'Mary Hoolstad 1836-1889.'
I think about the life she must have had; pioneers in this land
so far from home. I drift off to sleep with the scent of pine, lost
in the dark shadows of the pine trees.
When I arrive in Rushford I prop the bike
up against the wall next to Spriggs Bar and Eatery. Inside I sit
down (after a wash!) at a white tablecloth and silverware. This
looks a bit expensive, I thought, but today I'll treat myself! I
think I deserve it! Soup, vegetarian pasta, iced tea and coffee.
After an hour I walk out into the sunshine thinking “This
is real cycle touring!" From here I follow the Root River up
to La Crescent and cross over the Mississippi into La Crosse and
Wisconsin. I was sitting on the kerb outside a gas station thinking
about the best route out of town when a couple of young cycle tourists
stopped. I haven't seen any cyclists for a couple of weeks so it
was interesting to talk to these guys. They were touring coast to
coast and had heard of my ride and the bike along the way. They
were staying the night at La Crosse but, even though it was 6.30
pm, I wanted to get a couple of hours' riding before dark. I started
out on Highway 33 but changed my mind after half an hour and headed
north to Highway 16. When it was dark I stopped in a small motel
in Sparta. I needed a good shower and I planned to get away early
the next day.
DAY 32
Highway 33 runs almost parallel to the new Interstate. It is quiet,
but doesn't seem to get much maintenance - lots of bumps and potholes.
With a light wind behind me and the sun shining, I set off early,
keeping a fast pace and feeling good. By mid-morning I reached Mauston
(50 miles) on Highway 82, crossing the Wisconsin River towards Oxford.
This area has many lakes and as the road dipped down a hill and
bordered the water I stopped. A group of elderly people were enjoying
a picnic accompanied by loud German music coming from their car.
I took off my shirt and shoes and leapt off the embankment. It's
one of those feelings - if you could bottle it you'd make a fortune
- a hot, sweaty body plunging into cold water. I stayed 20 minutes,
dried myself, changed my shorts behind a bush and I was pedalling
with renewed vigour! I stopped at a gas station and everyone was
complaining about the heat and humidity. "You must be crazy"
was one comment. Perhaps he's right.
In Princeton I stop to get a cold drink
and, as I usually do, sit on the kerb and watch the world go by.
I saw a husky dog in a car, beautiful ice-blue eyes staring at me.
All the windows were closed and he was feeling the heat. I talked
to him for a while and when the owner turned up, a very large man,
I suggested that the dog would probably like the window open. The
answer was short and rude. I watched the blue eyes looking at me
through the back window as they drove away.  By
the time I reach Font Du Lac on the southern shore of Lake Winnebago
it was dark - I had ridden 140 miles but decided to continue on
up the eastern shore until I found a camp site. I rode past a marina
on the waterfront and headed north. The road was very quiet - all
I could see was the white line in front of my light. For some reason
I expected a lot of houses up the coast but apart from 2 small towns
it was darkness and the odd farmhouse. I rode for 20 miles then
at 11.30 pm, when the road turned towards Lake Michigan, I found
a picnic table under a tree. I spread out my mat on the table and
climbed into the sleeping bag. Mosquitoes kept me awake even though
I was wearing repellent. At about 1 am I finally got to sleep. 162
miles - my longest day.
DAY 33
I woke early and lay still, wondering how my body would function
after yesterday. Perhaps I should just lie here all day. The ferry
calls - one at lunchtime (1 pm) and the 'red-eye special' at 12.30
am from Mantiwok across Lake Michigan to Ludington. I had been badly
organised with regards to food and drink - just half a bottle of
water. I used some to brush my teeth, some to wash my face and drank
the rest. I could see Lake Winnebago in the distance, the only view
of the water in daylight. Up and over the first hill, my legs weary
from the big effort yesterday. I soon got into a rhythm and, after
about an hour, I came across a gas station where I bought a coffee
and a nut bar. The road linking the two lakes (Winnebago and Michigan)
was a series of small hills passing farms and a few small communities.
Dogs would bark at me from every farmhouse, passing on a message
to the next one - 'Bicycle coming!" It was like a scene from
101 Dalmatians as the relay of barks moved across the landscape.
After a couple of big dogs chased me down the road I think their
message changed to "eat that cyclist!" After 33 miles
I arrived at the ferry terminal a couple of hours early. Cars were
lined up in long queues. I bought the ticket (US$50) and used the
washroom to get cleaned up. Inside the terminal building I had a
couple of cups of free coffee and long conversations with people
about the bike and journey. The crossing takes four hours - I caught
up with some sleep, wrote in my journal and sat out in the sun enjoying
the sea air.
At the Ludington terminal I met another
cyclist who was heading for North Dakota. We talked for 15 minutes
about bikes, weather, road conditions etc. He went on the ferry
and I followed the road south. It's another one of those 'this doesn't
look like the road on the map' instances. If a road follows a river
or railway it's not always flat, if a road follows a lakeside you
don't necessarily see the lake at all! It was about 8 pm when I
pedalled into the waterside town of Pentwater - an attractive tourist
town with a marina, small restaurants and boutique shops. I sat
by the waterside for an hour watching people pack up after a day's
fishing or sailing. Seagulls balanced on posts, people laughed;
in the cosy houses across the inlet I could see people sitting on
decks overlooking the water. I felt hungry and very tired all of
a sudden. I made sandwiches at a picnic table and set off to find
the State Park campground just a few miles away. I cycled around
the park in the dark - people sitting around fires, RVs, vans -
but no place to pitch my tent. I was stopped by a man called Dave
- he suggested I camp next to his friend Ron Pepper's van. Ron and
I talked for an hour or so before I had a shower and hit the sleeping
bag.
DAY 34
Ron, a computer sales executive, took me to breakfast in Pentwater.
It was a leisurely morning talking about life and computers. He
bought me a Pentwater baseball cap on the way 'home' so that I wouldn't
forget the town. Ron is one of those people who give you faith in
humanity - kind, polite, good sense of humour. We shook hands and
I promised to keep in touch by e-mail. From Pentwater I headed south
on a road that runs parallel to the freeway until I hit a bike trail
near Hart. Away from traffic, the trail snaked through the countryside
through corridors of trees, open farmland and past white-washed
wooden houses. I turned east onto Highway 20. This was the beginning
of long, straight roads across Michigan. The grey line of asphalt
was a series of small hills, just enough to push hard on the pedals
over the crest. The landscape is a chequerboard of small pine forests,
farmland and houses. On the way to the town of White Cloud I stopped
at a roadside rest area and parked my bike next to an old black
car with lots of chrome shining in the afternoon sun. I sat down
with a drink and some fruit and talked to the owner of the car,
Joshua, sitting in a folding chair watching the traffic go by. He
has a long red beard and round glasses (straight out of ZZ Top).
He asked where I was heading and went on to tell me that 'heading
east' is good karma. You have the sunrise in front of you every
morning and you're travelling towards a new day. I told him that
riding east had its merits - the hot afternoon sun is behind you
and, most importantly, the sun is behind you in the evening, allowing
motorists to see you in the monotone dusk light. Riding west, drivers
have the sun in their eyes and the cyclist becomes another silhouette
in the landscape. Joshua is from California - he has inherited enough
money to allow him a nomadic life, journeying around the country
with no destination. "I am an observer, not a participant,
in the game of life." He smiles and wishes me 'good karma'
as I head off east. I pass through the town of White Cloud (nice
name) and listen to music as I navigate the poorly maintained shoulder
with the odd interstate truck and groups of cars passing every five
minutes or so. It's an odd phenomenon, and one that cyclists will
be familiar with, when you don't see traffic for some time and vehicles
will cross paths exactly at your location. When I reach Stanwood,
an Amish couple on a horse and buggy pass me in the opposite direction
- they wave and turn down towards a farmhouse
I started my ride at 12.30 pm so by the
time I hit Highway 46, which will take me across the state of Michigan
to Lake Huron, it is dark. When I reach '6 Lakes' I've covered 100
miles and the sign 'campground' puts a smile on my face. My front
light points down a track past farmhouses and into a forest where
small animals dart across my pod of light and eventually I reach
a silent campground with a few vans and tents. I quietly put the
tent up, take a shower and crawl into my sleeping bag.
DAY 35
In the morning I unzip the flysheet and 30 metres away is a beautiful
lake reflecting grey rain clouds. I meet the manager of the campground,
Ron. He is intrigued by the journey and the bicycle and refuses
to take any money. I'm invited to breakfast with Dick and Boots.
Their van is parked nearby as they are on vacation for a week. Dick
is the Mayor of Swartz Creek, Michigan, and we talked for an hour
over sausages, bacon, eggs and coffee. By the time I left at 11
am it was raining with a strong headwind. It took three hours to
cover the first 30 miles to Alma. I spent two hours in the local
library waiting for the conditions to improve and headed east towards
Saginaw, 40 miles away. The headwind persisted as I fought the miles
down the long, straight road. A lot of country towns I have passed
through in North America have mega-supermarkets such as Wal-Mart
on the outskirts. Even though the products are cheaper and the stores
are open 24 hours a day, I try to avoid them on principle. They
move in, build a huge concrete castle with a five acre moat around
and rip the heart out of the town. It's a death sentence to all
the struggling family businesses in the town centre - families that
have been running stores for generations.
When I eventually arrive in Saginaw it
is very late. Initially the city presents old houses, a country
club and parks, but that slowly changes into a run-down, less prosperous
neighbourhood. Street gangs of young children cruising the streets
after midnight and youths in hot cars slow down, music loud, and
point in my direction. I head up a hill and find a baseball park,
throw my sleeping mat down on a seat, close my eyes and drift off
to sleep. Half an hour later I wake up - it is raining. Rolling
up my wet mat and sleeping bag, I jump on the bike and decide to
head out of town. It's 2 am and all of a sudden I'm on a B-grade
movie set - store fronts have iron grills over doors and windows
and groups of men are in the shadows, cars cruise alongside me in
the rain, people shouting in my direction. I decide to pull into
a gas station and take refuge for a while. Half a dozen cars are
parked as I make my way to the door - it's locked. A voice on a
loudspeaker asks me what I want. Walking to the window I see a lady
inside. "Can I get a coffee please?" I ask. "85 cents,
you want cream with that?" I put the money on a small turntable
within the bullet proof glass console and the coffee appears. "Where
are you from?" she asks. "Australia," I shout. "No
kiddin', I was born in Australia" she replies. The doors are
unlocked. "You better come in." Megan Mason lived in Brisbane
until she married an American in 1982. Since then she's had three
children, divorced and worked for six years at this gas station
on night shift and a beauty salon during the day. In her bag she
had photographs of her life so long ago in Australia - with a seal
at 'Sea World' on the Gold Coast, her father in his lifesaving outfit,
her brother in Queensland. We talked for about an hour. There was
a man working there too as she wasn't allowed to be on her own.
She talked to me about the people who came and went - crack addicts,
drug dealers, pimps. I was told about gunfights and looked at the
bullet holes in the back wall. "It took the police 45 minutes
to get here when we had our last gunfight." "They won't
touch your bike, I hope," Megan said. "If it was a car
with the keys in the ignition it would be gone by now." When
it was time to leave, the rain still falling, I was told to keep
cycling until I crossed the bridge a couple of miles away - "don't
stop for anyone." 20 minutes later I was out of town pedalling
quickly in a thunderstorm, my mind still back in Saginaw. Deciding
that it wasn't worth stopping, I kept cycling. Trucks flashed past,
monsters in the darkness roaring and throwing water over me. Eventually
the rain stopped and the sun began to lighten the sky. "Is
this good karma?" I thought. At a park I changed into dry clothes,
ate a Mars bar and continued on.
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