Great Allegheny Passage Trail, May 9-12, 2011

Let me just get this out of the way at the beginning: The Great Allegheny Passage bike trail is a national treasure. Although I have not ridden every long-distance bike trail in the country, I feel confident in proclaiming the GAP trail, quite simply, the best. I can imagine none better. The Erie Canalway Trail was interesting, but it is in a different league from the GAP. Other longish trails are nice, I'm sure, both beautiful and well maintained, but none can possible compare to the 135 gorgeous miles of the GAP.

Anyway, on with the trip. More praise at the end.

The intrepid reader (all one of you) will recall that last summer my wife of 25 years (as of day two of that trip) and I rode from Buffalo to Seneca Falls, mostly by way of the Erie Canalway Trail. We rode the longest continuous off-road segment between Lockport and Newark (85 miles), then on- and off-road segments at the beginning and end.

The intrepid reader will recall that we had fun, despite stiff headwinds, March-like temperatures, and, of course, rain. But we were ready for a better experience. That trip and this trip were done in-transit to picking our son up at college in Philadelphia. Both years, we finished our own teaching, frantically graded tests and papers, assigned grades, and leapt in the car to drive far enough to make it possible to ride on Monday-Thursday, before picking the son up on Friday.

This year, the logical trail to try was the Great Allegheny Passage, which runs continuously from Cumberland, MD, to just south of Pittsburgh (soon to be all the way to Pittsburgh). A former rail route, the GAP was reputed to be well-maintained, very scenic, with ample places to stay and dine along the route. Because the Pittsburgh segment is not quite done, we chose to make the northern terminus in or near McKeesport.

The original plan was to end there. In fact, here is the complete original plan. (Do not pay particularly close attention to this, because it changed at the last minute.)

Turn in grades on Saturday, jump in the car on the Saturday evening, drive to, oh, say, Cleveland. Sunday, drive to McKeesport (remember: just south of Pittsburgh), pick up a U-Haul truck. Park the car in McKeesport (where? That was something that needed figuring out), load the bikes into the U-Haul, drive to Cumberland, turn in the U-Haul, spend Sunday night in Cumberland, and begin riding north on Monday. First night, Meyersdale, second night, Ohiopyle, third night Perryopolis, reunite with the car on Thursday. Luckily, that plan did not come to pass. Why luckily? That first day would have been a problem. Stay tuned for the reason.

Instead, here's what we really did: Turn grades in on Saturday, take a bunch of deep breaths, start thinking about packing, load the car on Sunday, read the papers, have a leisurely lunch, leave for Pittsburgh Sunday afternoon. We even had dinner with our son Sam in Ohio on the way. We stayed in a nice Hyatt Place hotel near the Pittsburgh Airport.

And here's where the plan changed dramatically. Rather than leave our car, rent a truck, drive to Maryland and bike back, we reversed it. We left our car and biked south, having reserved a truck in Maryland to drive back to our car.

And where did we leave our car? In reading blogs and discussion groups, it became clear that the best place to leave the car was in the Boston (that's PA) trailhead lot, a few miles south of McKeesport. Free parking, patrolled by police. In fact, when I contacted the Allegheny Trail Alliance (the official umbrella organization of the GAP), the nice woman gave me an email address of someone who would let the police know that the Michigan van was legit.

So that's what we did. No exhausting driving back and forth to position cars prior to the trip. Just park and go.

So there we were, on the trail again after exactly one year. For the gear-heads out there (well, considering the odd gear, I don't suppose real gear-heads would care), but here's how we were outfitted:

Same bikes: 27-year-old Trek 620 with, basically, no original parts other than the cranks and the rear brakes (700C wheels outfitted with 38mm Kenda Qwik Roller tires; full fenders, front and rear racks with Wald baskets, Rivendell shop sacks in each basket, clamp-on handlebar bag, trekking handlebars mounted on a high stem + extension), and a cheap Trek women's hybrid, which, although costing less than $400, has been a completely adequate bike. Cindy's bike had 37 mm tires and a rear rack with a large rack trunk.

Both bikes had full fenders. Interestingly, our only mechanical problems were with the fenders. On the first day, both Cindy's and my front fenders were missing a nut, causing rubbing and annoyance. Nothing that zip ties couldn't fix. But there were more serious fender problems, which I will discuss in a separate post. The official Riv-ish love of fenders has an important caveat.

One last gear comment: The Rivendell shop sacks in baskets are, ahem, a unique way of carrying gear, but it works beautifully. The baskets and racks are completely rigid, so there's little swaying, even though the gear is up high, and the Riv sacks can simply be popped out of the basket and carried in to the inn or B and B at the end of the day. A large and a small Shop Sack (plus Cindy's rack trunk) carried all our clothes for four days.

Getting ready to go at the Boston trailhead

Anyway. We set off from the Boston trailhead at 11:00 or so, riding south along the west bank of the Youghiogheny River, which was to be our companion for nearly three days.  The weather was cool but not cold. I quickly switched to shorts and my normal summer long-sleeved shirt.

(About the weather: Although we had a nice time last year in the windy cold drizzle, we didn't really want to do it again. It has been a cold rainy spring, so we were watching the weather carefully the week before we were scheduled to ride. In fact, we didn't book any reservations until the Friday before we left, when we were sure that the weather was going to cooperate. As if to make up for last year, the weather this time was perfect: Four days of sunny skies and temperatures in the 70s. The last day was very warm at lower elevations, but we were at the high point of the trail, so it was delightfully cool. Despite a rainy spring, the trail surface was dry and firm, with only occasional ruts left from previous muddy rides; clearly, the trail handles rain well.)

Between Boston and Perryopolis

This initial stage of the trail was nice, if not spectacular. The river is very pleasant, wide and slow, lined with trees. We passed through scattered small communities (really, just groups of houses), crossed small roads now and then, and felt like we weren't far from civilization. The trail was in perfect condition: hard-packed stone dust, wide enough for two to ride abreast, with little center vegetation. We passed volunteers who were spraying vegetation along the trail to prevent encroachment; the trail is obviously well cared-for.

Rarely was the trail this primitive.

For the whole trip the CSX railroad tracks ran parallel to the trail on the opposite side of the river. Freight trains rumbled by at regular intervals. 

On this sunny Monday in mid-May, we saw quite a few people using the trail, particularly at the beginning, within 10 miles of the greater Pittsburgh area. Beyond 10 miles, the traffic thinned quite a lot. We didn't see any touring bikers at all this day. In general, the traffic on the trail seems to be quite light this time of year. Overall, we only saw a handful of through-riders going either direction. In the summer and fall, I think trail use is much heavier.

The first of many benches on which we rested.

We were only going 25 miles this first day, so there was no hurry. We stopped fairly often and sat on benches that appeared at regular intervals along the trail. (This proved to be true for the whole trail: There were always benches to sit on, with even an occasional covered picnic table.) The trail was basically flat, with little elevation gain. Although the trail gains nearly 1600 feet between Pittsburgh and its highest point south of Meyersdale, most of that happens in the seventy miles after Connellsville.)

I must say, I was lukewarm about the trail at this point. I had a headache, which the scenery and trail were not enough to make me forget. It was not much different from riding along the Erie Canal.

We were headed for Perryopolis, which is located just off the trail. It doesn't even show on the map as being a trail community. To get there, we had to push our bikes up a very steep hill and ride about a half mile. What we found was a tidy little town of small, well-maintained houses, a small downtown with a "wagon-wheel" layout (designed, the visitor is told many times, by George Washington, who once owned all the land on the which the town stands), and a healthy looking school complex filled with healthy looking students. The town doesn't offer much; we had to walk way down state route 51 to CoGo's gas station to buy a state map, but it seems like a nice little town.

The Inn at Lenora's in Perryopolis

Just off the the rim of the wagon wheel is Lenora's restaurant, which also has an inn attached, called, logically enough, The Inn at Lenora's, a name that doesn't make much sense if you don't know what Lenora's is. This was to be our favorite lodging of the three. A true inn, with nicely appointed rooms and a very good attached restaurant, this was quite a lovely place to stay. Lenora herself is the chef and hostess. We had a nice chat with her as we ate our tasty breakfast seated at the bar.

Day Two, Perryopolis to Ohiopyle, 31 miles

The day started with a lovely downhill run back to the river along a road different from the one we came in on. We almost got to go through a little tunnel until we discovered that the tunnel led to a bridge over the river—and, as a result, over the trail. Instead, we detoured around the small ridge through which the tunnel runs, descending down to the river's edge, where we found the trail. (Actually, I made a quick trip through the tunnel just to have a peek.)

The tunnel on the road from Perryopolis

The scenery improved dramatically on this second day. The first twelve miles to Connellsville were nice (much like the previous 25 miles had been). But starting in Connellsville, the trail follows the Youghiogheny up into Chestnut Ridge and the mountains proper. The river narrows, speeds up, and gets noisy. The river valley has steeper sides with frequent rock faces with small waterfalls tumbling down them.

Between Perryopolis and Connellsville.

Man towing a raft on a trailer north of Connellsville

The trail goes along city streets in Connellsville.

Connellsville is the last major city until Meyersdale, 58 miles away. We shopped at a nice grocery store right next to the trail, on the north side of town. The trail goes right through town, along city streets, before emerging into the suddenly beautiful Yough valley south of town. There was some evidence of soft trail conditions in the past (primarily tire and water flow ruts), but by the time we got there, the trail was hard and dry.

South of Connellsville, the start of truly spectacular scenery

We were only going 36 miles this day, so we again were in no hurry. We made it a point to stop often and enjoy the sights and sounds of the river rushing through its rocky bed.

We met a group of school children wearing shirts that read "Biking 34 Miles for Cystic Fibrosis." Obviously, they were Connellsville children biking the 17 miles to and from Ohiopyle. There were a lot of them. I was glad they weren't going our direction. It would have taken a while to pass them.

Looking upstream toward Ohiopyle

The rapids got bigger and bigger, and the country felt more and more rugged as we approached Ohiopyle. The approach to town from the north is announced by a pair of spectacular bridges over the Youghiogheny, which offer wonderful views up and down the river gorge. It's disorienting to ride into town from the north, because you pass over not one but two bridges, and when you get back alongside the river in town, it seems to be flowing in the wrong direction. This is because the first bridge puts you onto a peninsula formed by a large loop in the river. The second bridge puts you back on the side you started on (technically the west bank), but the river is to your west, and it has momentary doubled back on itself to flow south-ish.

The first Ohiopyle bridge

View from the first bridge

We arrived before the official check-in time to our guesthouse, so we hung out in the park next to the river, enjoying the rapids and waterfall in the warm spring sun. Ohiopyle is not much. Just a few shabby businesses (including a single open restaurant, of sorts) and a few shabby houses with a few residents, most of whom seemed to be kayak bums (the river equivalent of ski bums). This seemed grim to me. I can understand being a ski bum or a windsurf or surf bum. Conditions are constantly changing, making the experience of skiing, surfing, or windsurfing in the same place different every time. Buy kayaking? It's always the same river. Why would you want to do it over and over? Sure, it looks fun. But over and over? The same stretch of river? Give me skiing or windsurfing.

Our lodging this night was the M******* Guest House, which shall go unnamed. It was, basically, a flop house, an old family home in which the owners (not living there any more) were renting out rooms. The front door is always unlocked, so we just let ourselves in. Each bedroom had its own lock and key. We only caught a brief glimpse of our hostess as she dropped off slices of cake-like strawberry bread for breakfast. Otherwise, there was a refrigerator full of bottles of expired orange juice, and a container of stale Maxwell House coffee next to a coffee maker for our breakfasting pleasure. There were also some frozen blueberry muffins. It was hot upstairs, there were no screens in the windows (most of which didn't open anyway), and the toilet broke. Oh, and I spotted a cockroach scurrying under the baseboard. It wasn't as bad as it sounds (and Cindy wasn't as critical as I was), but it was only a place to sleep, nothing more. We were glad we didn't need to share it (and its two bathrooms, one of which was attached to the kitchen) with anyone else.

The area around Ohiopyle is lovely. We took a long hike around the peninsula and then around the rapids. It's easy to see why tourists flock there in summer.

Day Three: Ohiopyle to Rockwood, 31 miles.

Early morning between Ohiopyle and Confluence

We weren't tempted to hang around in Ohiopyle. We also weren't exactly stuffed from our strawberry-ish bread/cake and expired orange juice. So we ate just enough to prevent us from passing out on the trail, and set off for Confluence, 12 miles away, were we were pretty sure we could find an open restaurant for breakfast.

Stopping by the Youghiogheny south of Ohiopyle.

It was yet another lovely day. Sunny, rapidly warming by the time we left at 8:45. The trail continued along the Youghiogheny as far as Confluence, and the scenery continued to be lovely (although the trail leaves the river now and then, making this stretch not quite as perfect as the stretch between Connellsville and Ohiopyle.)

The confluence of the Youghiogheny and Cassellman Rivers

In Confluence (so-named because two rivers and a creek converge at one point), we did indeed find an open restaurant serving breakfast, Sister's Restaurant. (It may have been the only open restaurant in town, which made choosing it easy.) We had an acceptable breakfast, made better when another through-biker on a Rivendell Atlantis pulled up and came in. I think it was the first Rivendell I've seen (other than mine) east of the Mississippi. I didn't rush over and gave him a big hug like a long-lost brother, but I did admire his bike as we were leaving.

Between Confluence and Rockwood

Below Confluence (actually, east from Confluence), we left the Yough and started following the Cassellman River, also beautiful. Less water than the Yough, but nearly as beautiful. The trail stayed mostly right by the river the whole way to Rockwood (17 miles).

The trail continued its steady but slight climb, which started in Connellsville. Although we knew were going up, it only slowed us (or tired us) a tiny amount. This steady climbing over two days was going to pay off big on our final day. On this stretch we were passed by a south-bound biker for the first and only time.

Bridge over Cassellman River

 

One of the regularly spaced covered picnic tables

A closed tunnel that the trail goes around

We arrived in Rockwood at 2:00. (We easily could have gone another 10-15 miles, but this was where the lodging was.) We had milkshakes at the ice cream store in the old mill (and opera house), then found our lodging for the night, The Gingerbread House, just south of town, right next to the trail. We were the only lodgers there, too, but at least it didn't feel like we were living in a ghost house. In fact, it was lovely. Very pleasant room, nice house, even a place to stash our bikes. We met the B&B keeper, arranged for breakfast in the morning, and relaxed for a while.

Gingerbread House B&B in Rockwood

At 5:00 or so, we walked into town to the Rock City Cafe, basically a bar serving food. But our Berk's Burgers (conglomerates of everything under the sun) were tasty, and my draft beer cost a buck. Sleep that night with a window open, listening to a rushing creek.

Day Four, Rockwood to Cumberland (44 miles)
This was payoff day. We would climb another 500 feet in 20 miles, and then plunge 1600 feet in 24 miles. We needed to get to Cumberland by 3:00 to get our U-Haul. We were hoping that we hadn't lost the reservation, since U-Haul had had no way to call us to confirm. (Although the Rockwood visitor's center at the trailhead has a cell-phone signal booster, it only works for Verizon and ATT, not T-Mobile. Grr. So we had our fingers crossed that we wouldn't be stranded in Cumberland.

Salisbury Viaduct, north of Meyersdale

The first twelve miles took us to Meyersdale, the other real city between McKeesport and Cumberland, still climbing, following the Casselman River. After Meyersdale, the trail was in the best condition of all. Wide, hard, fresh crushed stone in many spots. We climbed another eight miles, passing over one of two spectacular viaducts, and over lovely old bridges, until we reached the apex of our journey, the eastern "continental divide" between the Chesapeake and Gulf of Mexico watersheds.

South of Meyersdale

The highest point in the trail

As we were planning, it seemed reasonable to make this the longest day of the trip. We knew that it would end with 24 miles of downhill, but we didn't really know how much down it would be. I mean, I sort of knew, and I read the altitude tables that showed that we would lose the altitude we had gained over three days in 24 miles, but I didn't dare think that it would be ALL downhill, as in glide for 24 miles.

But that's what it was. If it had been paved, we literally could have glided for 24 miles, except for one tiny uphill bump near Frostburg.

We felt giddy. We flew along at 15 mph with virtually no effort, just pedaling to give our legs something to do.

The descent begins

This graphic says it all. Notice Mckeesport (right) and Cumberland (left)

On the way we went through three fun tunnels, including the 3294' Great Savage Tunnel. The trail was perfect. Two miles outside of Cumberland it turned into asphalt for the final sprint.

Big Savage Tunnel, 3294'

Benches and view south of Big Savage

Welcome to MD

The trail runs alongside the scenic railway tracks going into Cumberland.

Arriving in Cumberland

The end of the trip.

We arrived in Cumberland at 2:00. We found our way to the U-haul pickup point (they nearly gave our truck away when they couldn't get hold of us), loaded our bikes in, and roared off for McKeesport, 119 miles away. We dropped the truck off at a transmission shop right next to the trail, unloaded our bikes, and rode the final two miles back to our car, which was where we had left it, no tickets, no dead battery. We loaded our bikes in and drove off. The trip was a success.

What I learned on this trip:
1. Warm sunshine beats cold rain and stiff headwinds.
2. Travel north to south on the GAP unless you want to start with a 24-mile climb. (This wouldn't be impossible. In fact it would be like riding into a 15 mph or so headwind for 24 miles—we've all done it. But it was more fun going down.)
3. Don't use close-fitting fenders. (We both had our fenders nearly torn off when they picked up sticks. See my separate post.)
4. Make reservations. This time of year, it's easy to find lodging. In summer or fall, not so much.
5. Don't try to do the GAP in two days. Take time to putz and enjoy the view. Sit on the benches. Look at the water. Watch the trains go by. Go for a hike in Ohiopyle. We wanted to see Kentuck Knob (Frank Lloyd Wright house not far from Falling Water), but we couldn't figure out a way to get there that didn't involve biking up the steep hill out of the river valley on a busy road.
6. Don't plan on cell phone service. I never had any beyond Connellsville (using T-Mobile, at least). Two of our inns had wi-fi internet. The scary place didn't.
7. Ride the GAP trail. Everyone who can ride a bike should do it.

Studded Tires, Final Post of the Winter

I hope it is safe to say that I am done riding the slush mobile this winter. If so, what's the verdict on the studded tires?

I am convinced they help . . . some, although the Innova ones I bought are useless because the studs are "high carbon steel" rather than carbide, which is something completely different (harder). By the end of the winter the rear studs were ground down smooth, probably more slippery than no studs at all. Next winter I'll invest in some good carbide stud tires.

And did they prevent falls? I'd like to say yes, they prevented 23 falls, but how can I know that? What I do know is that I fell once this winter with the studs. I didn't fall last winter without studs. Hm. I do think the studs help, as long as I continue to ride defensively. (I fell because I hit an ice rut; there was nothing for the studs to grab onto.)

Bike Friday New World Tourist, more

I have now ridden the NWT several hundred miles, and I have enjoyed it. Despite the whippiness of the handlebars, it is really fun to ride. Very comfortable (perfectly set up for my preferred riding position), it rides like a road bike, albeit a very lively one. It tracks nicely, no problem at high speeds. (I've gotten it up to 37 mph with nary a shimmy, even with a handlebar bag.) The gearing (triple front, 8 sp. rear) is good, erring, if anything, on the easy side, which is OK. The easy gear is absurdly easy. Fine. The hardest gear won't allow me to pedal at 30 mph, but so what? What's my hurry?

The 1.5", 100 psi tires roll nicely, and are well suited both to road riding and bike path riding.

Folding and transport are as easy as advertised. During our Arizona trip, there was no problem checking it as luggage in its suitcase, although the suitcase developed a crack in one corner. (I have patched it with epoxy, but I suspect I'll need to reinforce it with glass cloth/epoxy.) Each day, I rode 20 miles before breakfast then did a quick fold and popped the bike in the trunk of the rental car for the day.

Only two comments during my week of riding: From a newspaper seller on a corner in Tucson: "Doesn't it roll slower with the small wheels?" And from three teenagers in Tucson as I rode by: "What the fuck?"

Other details:
Drop bars (quite wide, split at the stem to allow for disassembly when transporting), bar-end shifters, Shimano Deore hubs, Nashbar fat bear trap pedals (really nice--wide platform, grippy, cheap; not stylish, but very nice to ride), Tektro linear-pull brakes with interrupter levers in addition to the normal levers (all Tektro). Brooks B.17 saddle, but with a memory foam cover (more about that later, in case anyone is interested in my butt boils, and who wouldn't be?)

Novatec Dyno-Hub

I didn't have a good reason for this other than boredom and the desire to tinker; my Princeton Tec headlamp and blinky work very well—really, the headlamp works better than any light I've ever fixed to the handlebars.

Nonetheless, I had the itch. My touring/commuting Trek has lights (B&M Lumotec Oval halogen headlight) and a B&M sidewall generator. The halogen headlight is nice (but the beam pattern is blotchy bright rather than uniform), but the sidewall generator only works when it's dry. When the tire gets wet, the generator slips. One solution is to put on a wire roller, but who wants to be tinkering with the generator every time it rains? (The wire roller would chew up the sidewall if left on for long.)

So I broke down and bought the Novatec generator hub from Velo Orange for $35. Dirt cheap, and probably almost worth the very little I paid. But I had a spare rim, tire (a nice Schwalbe Marathon that I haven't been able to use on my defective Velocity Synergy rim) and tube lying around. I bought cheap spokes from Niagara, and built up the wheel. (That's always fun.) So for $55 I got a generator wheel.

And how does it work? Actually, the rolling part is surprisingly good. Everyone moans and groans about hubs that aren't Schmidts, how the rolling resistance will ruin your life, but quite frankly, although I can tell the difference when I switch the light on and off, mostly I would never know it's there. The bike rolls fast, I don't feel like I'm working any harder, and why should a little resistance bother me? It's like the difference between a 3 mph headwindwind and a 3.5 mph headwind. Sure, there's a difference, but not much of one.

The big problem with the Novatec hub is its efficiency. It's not very. It really doesn't put out enough juice to power the halogen headlight at full brightness. The sidewall generator puts out much more power.

I hope the solution is to swap in an LED headlight (I ordered a cheap one from Peter White for $23), which requires much less power to hit its stride. We'll see.

Even with the new headlight, my investment isn't too big. I will then have a bottle generator and light that I could put on the slush mobile.

But I like the idea of having my main workhorse bike have reliable lights all the time, even when I want to jump on it and go to the store at 3 am for some MD 20/20.

Update: Installed the DLumotec Oval. It does reach full intensity with the Novatec hub, but full intensity isn't particularly intense. But that's not the dynamo's fault. It's probably about as intense as the halogen light (different beam color and pattern, of course), but I will continue to use my EOS headlamp, which is dramatically brighter, in addition. The DLumotec will be good as an emergency light and when I don't want to fiddle with the strap-on headlamp; and the always on taillight will be good to have.

Bike Friday New World Tourist

It had been a while since I bought a new bike. Years, in fact. Perhaps four years. Buying pressure builds up. Built up. I finally gave in.

So at the end of January my new Bike Friday New World Tourist arrived in its suitcase. Perfect timing: a new bike in the middle of a snowy winter. But I got 20% off by buying it in the middle of winter, which meant that I was able to get the custom-built NWT for the price of a stock model.

Here's my thinking (and how I justified it to my wife): We have started traveling more, now that kids are off at college. There have been times on trips when I was dying to go for a little bike ride (one time in Breckenridge comes specifically to mind, when I nearly cried every day to see all the beautiful biking going unbiked.), and a bike rental just doesn't cut it. Not even possible much of the time.

A bike in a suitcase would be nice. This is what Bike Fridays are known for: decently rideable bikes that fit in a checkable suitcase, which converts to a usable trailer.

As a perhaps dreamier dream, I would like to ride across the country. But my wife seems to think she'd miss me if I took two months to do it, so I might try to do it in installments. But she doesn't want me taking more than a week at a time. (It's nice to be missed.) That means five days of riding each summer. At 60 miles a day, that would take 12 years. But at 100 miles a day, I could do it in 8 years. Doable.

I'd fly to my destination with my bike in its suitcase/trailer. Unpack, rig up, and ride to the next airport, 500 miles away. Unrig, pack up, fly home. Alternatively, it could be a Tour de Amtrak, perhaps following the route of the Empire Builder from Seattle to Chicago, and then the Lake Shore Limited to NYC.

Jon is not interested in this sort of transcontinental-by-installment trip, so I'd do it by myself. Cindy could meet me in the nice mountainy places.

Anyway, I have been riding the NWT in the basement on rollers. It feels pretty good. I took it out for its maiden road voyage this week during a February thaw. Quite nice, although the steering is a bit weird with the thin "head tube." There's quite a lot of flex. It doesn't ruin the ride, but it is odd. But the fit, being custom, is perfect. Nice high handlebars exactly the right distance from the saddle.

More info, pictures, and reviews later.

February 2011

I don't mind riding in the snow, but I also won't mind not riding in the snow. It's February, winter can end any time.

We have had a pretty constant snow cover since December. The sidewalks have been snow and/or ice covered that whole time. And it's been pretty chilly, with morning temperatures often around 10˚.

We had a major storm this week, which dumped 12" of snow. I lucked out when the university closed, so I didn't need to try to ride through it while it was still coming down. But the sidewalks still aren't plowed, even two days later, so I have been riding in Grand River Avenue, the major four-lane commuting artery. It's OK at 6:00 am. Not so OK other times. Yesterday I just walked my bike through the deep snow on the sidewalk.

But here's a nice mid-winter tip: Staying warm when the temperatures are in the single digits has not been a problem for most of me; I just layer, cover every inch of skin, wear goggles and thick socks. But my hands have still been getting painfully cold. As an experiment, I put a pair of plastic bags over my mittens yesterday, and VOILA! warm hands. It may be funny looking, but at 6:00 AM who sees it?

So All Government Is Bad?

Just try riding your bike on unplowed public sidewalks after a snowstorm. At the rate we're going, the "It's My Money You Can't Have It Not Even To Provide Police And Fire Protection And Certainly Not To Plow Sidewalks" folks will vote down all taxes that make civic life manageable, including money for plowing the sidewalks along stretches of road that have no residences or businesses to take care of it.

Today (Sunday) was the first big snowfall of the newly impoverished township services snow season. Will I have plowed sidewalks for my commute tomorrow? We'll see. Maybe I should bring my own shovel. Or put a plow on my bike.

Greed and selfishness for a worse life.

Update: The sidewalks were partly plowed at 8:00. Not too bad.

Update #2: After a February snowstorm, the sidewalks still aren't plowed after two days.

Update #3: It took more than a week for all the sidewalks to get plowed. During that time I was forced to ride in Grand River Avenue, since there was no other alternative. I guess snowplowing is one of those luxuries that we need to live without in tight budgetary times, like fire and police protection. Wouldn't want to raise taxes to pay for those. Now if someone would just require grocery stores to give me my groceries and gas stations to give me gas, and the power company to give me electricity, I could keep all my money! I think it's safe to say that Ralph Nickleby would have been a Republican. (Look it up.)

Studded Tires

I've toyed with the idea ever since I started winter commuting three years ago: studded snow tires. But they're expensive, and I was fairly satisfied with my solution of using super-knobbies that are deflated to about 40 lbs for better grip. Seemed to work pretty well: No falls last winter; only one fall the winter before.

But what fun are bikes if you can't tinker and buy things for them? So I got a set of Innova (I think) studded tires from Bike Tires Direct (I think that's where I got them). Not super expensive.

They're fine. Clickety-clickety on the pavement. So far no studs have fallen out. But do they prevent me from falling? I think they will only prevent slips on glare ice (which is a good thing, for the few times I ride on glare ice). In snow, however, where the studs don't hit pavement, I'm afraid they're useless. In fact, they're probably worse than my super-knobbies, which chew up the snow and grab hold.

I'll leave them on for a while; but I think I'll probably end up putting the knobbies back on and riding carefully on ice.

Update: Big snow this week on top of slush. As a result, the roads and sidewalks are VERY icy (underneath a layer of hardpack). Perfect conditions, hypothetically, for the studded tires. Do they work? I didn't fall, so they didn't not work. Maybe they are the best I can do in admittedly difficult conditions. As long as I ride as cautiously as I would without them, perhaps they're worth having.

Morons

One evening this week I swapped roles and became a pedestrian on the route I usually bike-commute on, the sidewalk along Grand River Avenue between Okemos and East Lansing. I did the walk after dark, so I experienced all sorts of idiotic night-biking behavior.

There was the moron barreling along with no lights, no reflectors, at top speed. He had to slam on his brakes when I stepped in his path.

There was the moron . . . well, he wasn't exactly a moron . . . well, OK, he was almost a moron: He was roaring along in the heavy 45 mph two lanes no shoulder rush-hour traffic (remember, in the dark) as if he were one of them. You know: Same rules, same rights. He had magnificent lighting--multiple taillights, good bright headlight, reflectors galore--but, let's face it, he was asking to die. He will die honorably, doing the right thing, striking a blow for the cause of bicyclist equality, but dead is dead. Not a moron, but insane.

Then there were the two morons riding on the sidewalk (where, I'm sorry to say, considering how dangerous Grand River Avenue is, they belonged), with good headlights and other safety gear, but they were riding SIDE BY SIDE. On the sidewalk. In the dark. They forced me, the humble pedestrian, onto the grass.

People! When you must ride on the sidewalk in the dark, remember: Pedestrians have no lights; pedestrians are the rightful inhabitants of the sidewalk--you are an interloper; maybe, just maybe, it's a good idea to slow down a little; and (DUH!) use lights.

The Final Tour of 2010

This is a belated posting about a two-day ride I took at the end of August. The purpose of the ride was to explore the possibility of multi-100-mile-day short tours, perhaps five days each, that would take me across the country in 8 years. 

This final big ride of the season took me from Empire to Okemos. I didn’t pretend that it was a quality camping or bike-touring experience. No campfires. No cowboy coffee. No. I set off from Empire at 7:30 and worked my way down very very familiar roads, roads I have driven hundreds of times, riding riding riding. 

It’s amazing how that changes your sense of time and distance. You’d think it would be frustrating, covering in two hours what the car can cover in 20 minutes, but somehow it’s not. It doesn’t actually feel longer, in the sense that you hold in your head this idea of how long it’s going to take, and then you let it tick down. Twenty minutes in a car feels like a long time. Two hours on a bike feels like a long time. Maybe it’s the inactivity of riding in a car vs. the activity of riding the bike. Or maybe just the opposite: the constant pushpushpushpush of your legs on the pedals is mesmerizing, perhaps. Or maybe the trance state you enter while driving has a faster clock, so it doesn’t feel shorter than two hours of biking. I don’t know. 

But it was a nice day for a ride. Quite strong tail wind, nice cool temperature. The Betsie Valley Trail leading into Thompsonville was quite nice. M-115 was fine until Mesick, then horrible and terrifying. I got off it and rambled at right angles on lovely hilly roads to Cadillac. M-115 between Cadillac and Clare has a six-foot shoulder, so it felt like a bike path (but one with semis driving right next to it).

I arrived in Clare, bought a Little Caesar’s large pepperoni pizza for $6. I ate three slices outside the store, then loaded the rest into a zip-lock bag to take to my campsite, which was 5 miles east of town. I was going to stealth camp, but the campground (Herrick Park) was exactly on my route. I needed to detour no more than 1/4 mile. The downside was that it cost $25, and I had no buddy to share the cost with. The upside was that it was almost completely deserted. There were no other campers in sight. I went to bed as soon as it was dark (9:00) and got up at 5:00. 

Since I was equipped for night riding, I packed up and set off at 6:00, riding east, so I watched the sky lighten and turn orange before the sun came up. Pretty. Mrs TomTom told me that there was a variety store in Coleman, 7 miles away. Sure enough, there it was. (You can count on Mrs. TomTom.) Did they have delicious pastries? Hot breakfast sandwiches? No. Bad coffee and Little Debbie was my breakfast. Then ride ride ride. One McDonald’s stop in Ithaca, otherwise, not many stops. 

This second day felt fine, except my butt boils starting acting up. You don’t want to know more. But this would be a problem if I were doing more than two 100-mile days, or a 400 km “brevet”. I still don’t know how people do that, ride 240 miles in one shot. They start at 4:00 in the morning and ride until midnight. How do they do that?

In any case, I arrived in Okemos at about 3:00. The mileage for the first day was 110 miles, for the second it was 95. That counts as two 100-mile days. Could I have done three more? Maybe.

Princeton Tec Head Lamp

My morning commutes are always in the dark this year. I have been experimenting with lights, using everything from a dynamo-driven Lumotec halogen, to an old Specialized battery-powered halogen, to a battery-powered Cateye LED, all of which were mounted on or slightly below the handlebars. The Lumotec was the best, then the halogen Specialized (although I need to recharge the batteries every day). But none was perfect.

At the advice of Grant at Rivendell, I bought (from Rivendell) the Princeton Tec EOS bike light, which can be mounted on the handlebars, but also has a head strap. Wow. This is a bright light. It lights up the entire lane, side to side, and it makes reflective signs (and the reflectors on unlit bikes) flash brightly. Having the beam turn when I turn my head is superior to having it fixed in place. LED, so the batteries will last a long time. Made in the USA. Goes with my Princeton Tec flashing rear light, which is also fantastic.

UPDATE: OK, I guess it was too good to be true. Although the light is wonderfully bright, the fine print says that the "regulated burn time" is one hour on the brightest setting. To define: regulated burn time is when the light is constantly bright without dimming. How much will it dim after one hour? We'll see. They say its total burn time on high is 113 hours, but again the fine print: That's 113 hours until it's as bright as a moonlit night, which hardly counts. Maybe I'll explore the medium setting, which is at full brightness for 10 hours. They also warn that rechargeable batteries aren't as bright. Sigh. 

Update update: I have now run the light at full power for two and a half hours on a single set of energizer alkalines. It's dimmer, but not significantly so. It's very usable still. Perhaps it will last three hours of usable light on a set of batteries. If so, I'd consider that a success. If I need to charge the batteries once a week, with extra juice for when I forget, that's ok. 

Update update update: I have been using the light all fall (two months, so far), and I'm very pleased with it. I charge the batteries once a week (even though they still have plenty of juice) and then run them for three or four hours between charges. Very bright, good wide pattern. It's much safer than a handlebar mounted light because it shows reflectors on oncoming bikes, joggers' clothing, street signs, and parked cars (due to the angle of the light) MUCH more than a low light does.

Updatex4: I finally wore the batteries out in a week: 2x on Sunday, 2x on Monday, 1x on Wednesday, 2x on Thursday, for a total of about three hours. It had almost no juice this morning. These are just sort of ordinary NiMH rechargeable batteries. Good to know. 

The final update? This morning was cold (9˚). The roads and sidewalks were very rutty from a recent snowfall and subsequent incomplete plowing. I discovered a new, horrible problem with my EOS headlamp: In extreme cold, the metal on the hinge (including the plastic-lined locknut) contracts so much that the light flops around. It won't stay pointing forward. So just as I go over a rut, just as I need to the light the most as I'm hitting an ice mound, it flops down and gives me a perfect view of my hands. I have tightened the nut, but it doesn't stay tight. I think I can solve this with . . . gray tape? A paper clip? Dental floss? One of the standard fixes for things. But this problem makes this light (drum roll) A PIECE OF JUNK, at least in very cold weather. Too bad. Great light when it points forward. Useless when it points straight down.

GPS on Tour

For the last two bike tours (small, two- to four-day affairs), I have carried along a cheap TomTom gps unit. On previous trips, there were several occasions when, despite detailed local maps, we didn't know where we were, either because we took a wrong turn, or because the map was not detailed enough. (This happens fairly often in towns and cities.) So I thought, Wouldn't it be nice to have a gps unit to consult at times of uncertainty?

Obviously, there's no way to keep a normal portable gps unit turned on all the time, even if I wanted to. The battery would last about an hour. But as a supplement to maps, and to help find stores and restaurants, it might be nice to be able to turn it on and have a look.

The verdict? I have found it useful. Not a substitue for county maps, but useful. I keep in in my handlebar bag. It takes about a minute to power up and find the satellite, so I don't consult it often. But several times on our Door County trip, I gave it a quick look to tell us which road would take us out of town in the right direction, and it did successfully predict several restaurants and gas stations. Unfortunately, one very unfortunate time, I did not allow it to find the satellite before I consulted about restaurants, and it used the previous coordinates. I didn't notice because I was looking at the list of restaurants, which does not show the map, and I wasn't familiar with the streets that the restaurants were located on. So we went in pursuit of a much needed breakfast stop that wasn't there. Whoops. If I had waited patiently for it to find its satellite, the problem wouldn't have happened.

I suppose the ultimate solution is to use the new Nokia adapter that allows a bike generator to charge electronic devices (supposedly arriving in the U.S. soon). With a generator hub providing steady charge, a gps unit could be mounted on the handlebars and the nice lady could narrate every turn.

Nice, or not? Not, I fear. It won't replace a good map. (But it would be very handy for keeping electronic doodads charged on a long tour.)

Summer 2010 Mini-Tour

Jon and I continued the recent tradition of small bike tours this summer, riding out Door County, WI, and back, for a total of about 240 miles in four days. We have been doing such rides for . . . hm . . . I'm reluctant to say . . . 35 years (although we had a 20-year hiatus while our kids grew up).

The gear: The usual Trek 620 (1984 vintage, although the only original parts are the frame, cranks/bb, seatpost, front derailer, and rear rack) with trekking bars. I liked the rear basket with the Rivendell "shopsack" so much, I bought a small basket and small shopsack for the front. The front bag held my clothes, the rear bag held my tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, stove/pots, poncho/tarp, rain jacket, towel, miscellaneous loose stuff. In order to make room for the front bag, I attached the handlebar bag to the handlebars with the bracket that came with it (it's a Nashbar bag), modified with a stiff metal rod under the stem to keep it from drooping. In that bag I carried personal and small stuff (phone, camera, wallet, spf, head lamp, bug spray, granola bars, gps unit). Tools lived in a seat bag. My fold-up stool was strapped on top of the rear bag. (Both bags had cargo nets, fantastically useful on the road for holding odds and ends like hats and flipflops and drying towels.)

The whole set-up was a little front- and top-heavy, but it was also completely stiff (much less lateral swaying than regular panniers), which was a pretty good tradeoff. The bike handled fine. The advantage of the bags-in-baskets arrangement was that I could pop the front bag out of the basket and take it into my tent (where it served as a lovely pillow when covered with my fleece pants), and I could get at the contents of the back basket without fooling around with flaps and deep panniers. Very convenient.

This year, I rode the slow ferry from Ludington to Manitowoc, arriving at 11:30 pm. Jon drove up from Milwaukee, having worked a full day (and frantically tried to get his new Surly LHT ready). He met me when I rolled off the ferry.

We decided to take our chances on camping this first night. Jon had called the ferry office, and they assured him we could camp near the docks with no problem. This proved to be correct: There was ample grass, benches, even, and a nice wall to hide us from the road, in case the gendarmerie happened by (and cared that we were there). When we arrived, a freighter was unloading nearby; it left in the middle of the night. This was not a scenic wilderness experience, but it was actually quite nice, and it perfectly met our needs.

Up early the next morning, with a good bit of puttering by Jon to make his rig road-ready. Breakfast at the Two Rivers McDonalds after a warm-up ride along the coastal bike trail. This first day proved to be a long one: by the time we arrived at Potowatomi State Park, we had ridden 72 miles. Although it was our first and longest day, it was not our hardest one. In fact, it was pleasant. (The general flatness helped.)

As usual, it was good to be back on the road. We had a nice tail wind, which never hurts, and the temperature was pleasantly warm but not really hot. After our intrepid breakfast (I had cinnaminis and coffee), we set off northwest. Unfortunately, I hadn't really studied the map, so I didn't notice that we should have been going northEAST. By the time we reached Mishicot I had seen the error of our ways. Alas, we needed to start angling back east, losing our nicely won westerliness. Following lovely Wisconsin farm roads, we went north and slightly east, never really hitting any towns as we went.

Finally, by mid-afternoon, we were ready for a break; juice, snacks, and a nice sit-down. But there weren't towns, not between us and Sturgeon Bay. Such route selection is a bad idea. Always have towns to go through. Go out of your way to have towns to go through. We nearly detoured back to Casco at one point (my TomTom, whom we affectionately called "Mrs. TomTom"--actually, Jon called her something like Svetlana--told us that there was a gas station two miles out of our way). We were tempted, but two miles out the way is a long way. Instead, we jumped on the Ahnapee State Trail and booked it for Algoma. 

This was an acceptable trail. Not heavily used, so it was more of a two-track than a full-width trail, but it was in rideable condition. When it looked like the trail might miss the retail section of Algoma, we abandoned it for SR 54. Busy, narrow shoulder, but it took us to Algoma, where we reveled and delighted and gorged at McDonald's.

Gawd. Two McDonald's in one day? Sure. Large drinks were $1, all-you-can-drink, and I drank a lot. I also had a mini-flurry, and I bought a bag of peanuts in the shell at the adjoining convenience store. I didn't really need a whole pound of peanuts, but we enjoyed them as we made a terrible mess. 

For some reason, even though we had gone 50 miles and the afternoon was getting on, we didn't feel discouraged. First day naivete, perhaps. We set off again up highway 42 (the first of many encounters with highway 42), a lovely stretch that we stayed with until Maplewood, at which point we rejoined the Ahnapee State Trail.

Between Maplewood and Sturgeon Bay the trail is very nice, probably because lots of people from Sturgeon Bay use it. It's wide and hard, with nice benches every few miles. We made very good time, arriving in Sturgeon by dinner time.

We decided that cooking was silly on one of these trips. It's not like we're hiking in the wilderness, where you have to boil water to reconstitute your freeze-dried kibble or else starve. No. If one plans carefully, one can be near restaurants at or near dinnertime, at least in civilized parts of the country. And the little extra you spend on restaurant food is more than made up for in convenience and expeditiousness. I'll leave the expedition cooking to the kids. Old farts like us can let someone else make our dinner.

So we had a perfectly acceptable meal in an Italian restaurant in downtown Sturgeon. Not great, but good enough.

Our final goal for the day was Potawatomi State Park, northwest of town. The signs indicated that we needed to take a busy highway to get there, but Mrs. TomTom said that there was a coast road. We started down her coast road, but signs warning of a dead-end stopped us. I suspected that this was a ruse, a dead-end for cars only, but we didn't dare risk it, so we took the busy highway. (The next morning, we accidentally took the coast road: Sure enough, a barrier keeps cars out, but not bikes.)

The state park was fine. Very state parky. On past trips, I have been happy to stay in crowded campgrounds as long as they have showers (and as long as I have ear plugs). But I am starting to get a little sick of crowded campgrounds. The showers are nice, and Jon and I enjoy a good campfire at the end of the day (we each have little folding seats to use by the fire), but I'm starting to get tired of it. My favorite campsite this trip was the first night, on the grass by the ferry dock. Quiet, private. I am going to explore stealth camping on future trips, at least on solo outings.

When we awoke on day 2, it was pouring rain. We have been lucky on our trips, really going all the way back to when we were kids. On our West Coast trip, we had no rain in four weeks. In all our subsequent trips we've had very little rain. (We avoided it two years ago by staying in a motel on the one really stormy night.) But this rain was the real deal. It came down steadily all morning as we were packing up, and for several hours as we rode.

I have been in denial all these years about my tent (Alps Mountaineering Comet I): I knew it leaked, but I didn't want to deal with it. This rain made me want to deal with it. I had puddles in all four corners of the tent. Luckily, my air mattress keeps me high enough off the tent floor (and my mummy-style sleeping bag is very tight, so it doesn't hang over), so nothing got wet. Still . . . if it were to rain for multiple nights, the tent would be pretty unpleasant. (I sealed the seams when I got home. I think the problem is solved.)

I hadn't really made good rain preparations. I accidentally had the right gear, but it wasn't perfect. My Rivendell shopsacks are quite waterproof, and I had draped a poncho over the bike the night before, so none of my belongings were  wet. With a large garbage bag across the top of the shopsack (held in place by the cargo net) as I rode, the bags were very dry. But I didn't have rain procedures for my handlebar bag, so all my maps and papers got soaked. (I have now added zip-lock bags to my gear, large enough to hold the map case. And I'll just automatically store not-in-use maps and papers in a ziplock bag.) The handlebar bag itself was dry, so my wallet, camera, phone, etc, didn't get wet.

The other innovation that I could have tried was to use my large poncho as a tarp: using the stretchy clothesline as a ridge line as at one end, the poncho could be draped over and secured to create a canopy for the tent and/or the bike and/or my little chair (if I didn't have a picnic table). That way, even if it were pouring rain when I was setting up camp, I could create a shelter to help prevent rain getting into the tent as I was pitching it, and while getting in and out.

On that rainy day 2, then, we set off up the newly discovered coast road. It was warm enough that my cheap Nashbar rain jacket was enough protection; I just wore shorts and let my legs get wet. We rode across the bridge and entered Door County proper. For breakfast, we stopped at a nice little restaurant in the middle of town. I ordered pancakes.








We rode for a few hours in the rain, but by the time we reached Egg Harbor, the sun was coming out. We stopped for juice and a sit-down, and hung up our wet gear to dry a little. Egg Harbor is an unpleasant little tourist hole. I have always thought so. I was glad to leave and head up into the peninsula's beautiful interior.

Once you get away from the west coast and Highway 42, Door County is gorgeous and peaceful. (The west coast is gorgeous, but it's hardly peaceful, since that's where the tourists congregate in a vast multitude.) But the beautiful rolling farmland and largely empty roads in the interior make for lovely biking. The one exception was Old Stage Rd, which is the major north-south thoroughfare for locals trying to avoid the crowds of Sister Bay, so traffic is fairly steady, and everyone drives fast, since they're not sight-seeing.


We avoided Fish Creek, Ephraim, and Sister Bay on the way up, so the next town we hit after Egg Harbor was Ellison Bay. I was happy to discover that Ellison Bay is still fairly quiet, as it was when Cindy and I summered there 25 years ago. Give me the tip of the peninsula any day. Because we had a ferry to catch, we soldiered on, arriving at the Northport Ferry dock (which is still not shown correctly on the state highway map) at about 6:00. We were going to eat in Gill's Rock, but nothing seemed appropriate, so we decided to take our chances on Washington Island. Good choice.

The ferry was easy and fun, with beautiful views down the rugged west coast of the peninsula. Washington Island was a biker's paradise, with flat, empty roads. At the main intersection, we found The Albatross hamburger stand. We both had Albie Burgers (but no milkshakes—what were we thinking?). The Albatross is clearly a beloved island tradition, which we were happy to experience.

The campground (Washington Island Camping Retreat) on Washington Island was fine. Not crowded, even on a Saturday night, nicely wooded, acceptable showers. The little camp store sold things like batteries, which our headlamps needed, and drinks, which we needed. They even had free coffee in the morning. Once we got the wet firewood burning (which took a while), we had a roaring blaze.

The next morning, we needed to hurry to catch the 7:45 ferry so we wouldn't be stranded on the island waiting for the next one, unable to start our long day to Algoma. It was five miles, all flat, but we only had 20 minutes. By my math, that meant we needed to average 15 mph. So I set us a brisk pace. I confess that I panicked when it looked like we might not make it, so I raced ahead to employ delaying tactics, if necessary. It proved not necessary. The ferry wasn't close to being on time, and there was no problem slipping the bikes on. There was a long line for cars on that early ferry, but not bikes.

We rode for eight miles, as we like to do before breakfast, and found a nice coffee shop in Ellison Bay, where we had coffee and pastries. Tasty. The hill out of Ellison Bay was the first whopper of the day, the hill out of Sister Bay was the second. The hills are another reason to avoid Highway 42 in DC. The west side is hilly, the east side is flat. So we turned onto Highway 57 in Sister Bay, and rode down the east side, through Bailey's Harbor and Jacksonport. 

We decided to stay on the main roads this day, since it seemed like we had a longer day than usual (which proved to be not true). Mostly, this was fine. Highway 57 is very nice all the way to Jacksonport. Quite pretty, really, with a nice shoulder and moderate traffic. When it leaves the coast, however, it becomes less nice. Traffic gets heavier and moves much faster. And because it's less sheltered (more fields, fewer trees), a south wind makes a difference, as we discovered. We labored away on this stretch until Valmy, where we discovered a convenience store that was selling brats, complete with onions and saurkraut. How could we say no to that? Actually, Jon rode by, perhaps thinking that I wouldn't want to stop. Foolishness! I brought him back to his senses. It was a good thing we did, too, because it was the last food we'd get until Algoma.

After our brats, we turned inland, or at least away from Highway 57. Suddenly, the life of the biker was good again, crossing beautiful Door County fields on empty roads. We crossed 57, still glad to be off it, and took the back way into the outskirts of Sturgeon Bay.

Here we faced a dilemma, one created mostly by our lack of attention to map details. We wanted to cross the Sturgeon Bay Ship Canal at the new bridge on 57, but we couldn't tell if bikes were allowed. We hemmed, we hawed, with studied the map (not very carefully), then decided to take a chance, and set off down the four-lane highway that led to the bridge. Turns out that not only are bikes allowed, there's a separate bike path, right across the bridge. (It's shown on the map, which we missed.)

We had been hoping to find a McDonald's (which, with its free wifi--good for ipod touches--and $1 all-you-can-drinks, is a biker's very good friend), but it was nowhere to be found. Instead, we found plenty of nuthin. So we headed down Highway U toward the coast and Algoma hoping to find a gas station or at least a place to fill our water bottles. 

This proved to be a long slog. At one point, we found a park and collapsed. Well, Jon collapsed on a picnic table. I roamed around looking for cellphone reception. We then dragged our sorry asses back onto the bikes and continued the slog for Algoma, never finding a gas station or store. When we turned south the wind was still blowing pretty hard, so I tucked Jon into my wind shadow and bulled my way through. Not pleasant, but we made it.

Dinner at a sports bar. Bad BBQ beef. But dinner, which was good. The campground was just south of the downtown, so we didn't have far to go (luckily). Not much of a campground. Soggy, with yet more soggy firewood. This batch took hours to catch. We fussed and huffed and puffed and rearranged and added paper and relit and said prayers to the fire gods. Finally the wood had dried out enough to burn, which then made the fire hot enough to dry out and burn subsequent pieces. We sat in our little folding chairs and enjoyed the blaze. I went over to the Piggly Wiggly and bought potato and macaroni salads and salted peanuts in the shell (way too much of everything, it turned out).

The next day, our last, we needed to cover 40 miles by 12:00 so that I could catch the 1:00 ferry. Easy! Except it wasn't so easy, thanks to the wind and the lack of places to buy food. We figured we'd ride 10 miles to Kewaunee and get something there. Sure enough, there were several restaurants. But I, loving McDonald's as I do, consulted Mrs TomTom who told me (I thought) that there was a McD's just south of the town. Actually, she said it was four miles south, which, when I thought about it later, made no sense. So we wheezed our way up the giant Keewaunee hill and headed out of town. But all we could see for miles and miles were corn fields. No McD's. No chance of McD's. Just 25 miles to Two Rivers. On empty stomachs. Into the wind. No coffee.

So we turned around and rode the several miles back into town, down the huge hill. (I hoped that it would disappear as we ate; it didn't.) Lovely breakfast at the restaurant where we should have eaten in the first place. I had pancakes.

And then we set off across the barren wasteland, into the stiff headwind. Very stiff. It was coming at us over the starboard quarter, so drafting was hard, particularly for Jon, who didn't have a mirror, since it required the drafter to ride over to the left, in the traffic lane. Not being able to see the cars and trucks coming at you as you were riding in their lane was a problem.

We labored along like this for a while. But as I looked at my watch and my odometer and my speedometer, it seemed like there might be a chance that I might not make it. So with Jon's blessing, I left the team and set off on my own. I felt bad doing it, not knowing if an arctic storm might bury Jon and the dogs in five feet of snow, but it seemed necessary. I just had more legs for bulling through the wind. I put my head down and churned along at 13 mph. Jon became a tiny speck and eventually disappeared in my mirror. 

Turns out it wasn't necessary. I waited for Jon in Two Rivers (at the McD's, of course), and even after a nice drink at McD's and more slogging into the wind between Two Rivers and Manitowoc, Jon made it to the ferry in time. I had already arrived, but even if I had stuck with Jon, as a good teammate would have done, as a compassionate person would have done, as a patient person would have done, even then, I would have been on time. 

To his credit, Jon was cheerful about the whole affair. Didn't call me names. Didn't accuse me of abandoning him (which I did, after all). Didn't say that I had ruined it for him. No. He seemed glad to have caught up in time. We said our goodbyes, I wheeled my bike onto the ferry, and away I went.