Hello Michigan!

I knew I was going to love Michigan when I saw the familiar yellow sign with a bicycle on it—the first of the trip, I think, or at least since Washington state. What’s more, highway 2 along the upper peninsula is actually an official bike route!

I can’t say I immediately noticed a change in the traffic’s attitude to me, but that is because 99% of the drivers I have encountered have been respectful and given me as much room as possible, and about 95% of the roads I have been on have had a decent and/or amazing shoulder.

Still it was comforting to know I was on a bicycle route, and as I reached Little Bay de Noc, and got my first glimpse of Lake Michigan, I also encountered a bike path that I enjoyed for several kms. Of course it did not last long, and I was soon back on the highway, but the shoulder was so generous that I kept a good distance from the steady traffic.

It was beautiful riding through Hiawatha National Forest, with the sun shining brightly, and then, in late afternoon, it was fascinating to ride into the fog that had descended over the lake. When I stopped just outside of Manistique, the beach was quite ghostly, and I felt as if the day had been turned upside down, and it was suddenly early morning.

I could feel a chill creeping in, and with a few

more miles still to go, and groceries to buy (goodness, that feels like a prosaic rendering of Frost’s famous lines in Stopping By the Woods), I got back on my bike. Seeing that my hotel was on the eastern side of town, I stopped for groceries first, and I’m glad I did, as once I got into the hotel, I had no desire to go back out into the darkening day. Instead, I got some laundry done, and if that doesn’t seem like a joyous task, try travelling for a month with three days worth of clothes, as I know some of you have done, and you will appreciate the joy of clean clothing.

But for a faint musty smell, my room was splendid enough, and I had real penne pasta from the deli, with red wine of course, followed by gelato, so it was a pretty swell evening.

Today I am heading into a slight headwind, but am aiming for St. Ignace, where I will arrange to get a ride across the Mackinaw Bridge as bicyclists are not allowed on the bridge.  Interestingly, you can also arrange to have the bridge authorities drive your car across if you are not comfortable doing so.

On a final note, I was tempted to title this post, Take The High Road, based on a billboard I saw advertising a cannabis store, but I just couldn’t tie it in thematically, although now that I think of it, I guess the highway on the upper peninsula is a high road of sorts. I just hope no drivers opt for the high road.

What Wisconsin Has to Offer

I know some of you are on the edge of your seats, waiting to hear about my farm breakfast, so I should let you know at the outset that I was so hungry and had been hauling these oatmeal packets with me for miles, so I ended up making breakfast at my cabin. It was a good thing too, because by the time I headed over to the farmhouse at 8, breakfast was long over, though Helen did offer me coffee, assuming I had already had breakfast, because I had told her, via James, that I didn’t need any meals. I was more interested in meeting the owners, Helen and Jim, and I am sure it will come as no surprise that they were wonderful: very welcoming, interested in my ride, and keen to offer suggestions for my route that day. Jim asked what I did when not pedalling, and when I explained I was a retired teacher, he said he was as well, as was Helen’s brother, who was also sitting around the large kitchen table. Helen was busy baking, sliding two desserts into the oven as I arrived, while two other women, who also worked on the farm, rushed about getting things ready for the next guests. It was a welcoming place, to say the least, and had I not a 185 km ride ahead of me, I would have been very tempted to sit and talk about the state of affairs in education and to ask them more about their wonderful farm. But such is the nature of this trip that I am always eager to get on the road in order to get a little closer to home.

The women warned me it was foggy out and that there was more road work ahead where again flagmen would be controlling traffic. I told them I had extra lights on the back of my bike and that I would get off the road if I didn’t feel safe, then headed down the lane, under the beautiful arches, and out into the silent day.

It was foggy, but I could still see well up the road, so I felt very safe, and the road work had been delayed—probably due to the fog—so that was one less stressor for me.

Within an hour the fog had burned off, and I was riding into another perfect fall day in Wisconsin. I think it was my prettiest day of riding since riding around Glacier Park. It was not as dramatic, of course, but the light was perfect, especially as it glittered on the lakes I rode past, and the fall foliage was spectacular.

I stopped in Crandon, still 80 km away from Pembine, as it was the only town with a real grocery store, but it was worth hauling this donut, amongst other groceries, and yes a wee box of vino, for those 80 km.

Knowing that I had a motel booked in Pembine, and having a cloudless sky and the slightest of tailwinds, I felt ebullient as I rode along in the golden hours of late afternoon.

I got to The Grand Motel before 6, and though it might not be everyone’s idea of grand, I was happy to see an autumnal display of pumpkins and hay bales in front of the office, and to find a newly renovated room that was impeccably clean. For me, that was plenty grand.

With Michigan only 20 km away, I am heading into one of the prettiest parts of the trip, riding the northern peninsula of the state, and today looks like another perfect day for pedalling.

How Lucky I Am

If I had an editor, she might take me to task for overusing the theme of good fortune, but as this blog is a one woman show, I will risk such repetition, as I cannot help but tell you of the wonderful luck I had yesterday.

After breakfast, during which I packed up an extra bagel with pb, some granola bars, and a wee package of those powdered donuts that leave a ridiculous white O around your mouth, I headed into a slight headwind. The wind was less of an issue than the roadwork, though, as they were repaving a 10 mile stretch of highway, which meant lots of trucks rumbling past.

My good fortune began, ironically, at a stretch where traffic was reduced to one lane. The flagman held us there for about 10 minutes, as the westbound traffic was allowed to come through. My stress level rose as I turned to see the number of cars and trucks lining up behind me. When we finally got to go, the flagman stopped me, and said I needed to wait until all of the other traffic went ahead, because he didn’t want me between the traffic and the pavers. He must have seen the stress in my face, as he said, don’t worry it is only a mile to the next flagman, and he will hold the traffic until you are through. Once I knew this, I relaxed and asked him about his job. Did he get tired standing on his feet all day, did he get any breaks, did he have enough water? He said he didn’t get breaks, that he was used to being on his feet, and he would likely be there until 7 again that night. The thought of such sounded exhausting, but he was cheerful about it all, and I imagined he had a young family at home he was supporting through these twelve hour day shifts. He gave me a good dose of perspective, and once he allowed me to go, I flew down that road with the lane to myself. As I rode past the work crew, I could smell the hot tar and feel the vibrations of the roller going back and forth over the new asphalt. Knowing I was holding up traffic, I rode as hard as I could, and despite the wind kept my speed at 30 km/hr. I was also eager to reach the next flagman to thank him for holding the traffic. He offered a big smile and wave in return.

I kept cranking as hard as I could, knowing the traffic would be held up behind me for at least 10 minutes as the westbound traffic got to go through. I made it to Bruce, where the road work ended, and finally relaxed and inhaled a few granola bars.

My original goal had been Prentice. It would be a relatively short day of 120 km, but given the swirling winds it might be enough. I did have a stretch where the winds dropped enough that I could listen to Demon Copperhead for a few hours. I was thankful for the clear skies and beautiful forested roads to balance the continual darkness of that poor character’s life, but just as the clouds overhead started to build, his life began to look up.

Demon’s luck might have been turning around, but Prentice’s sure wasn’t. I rolled past the motel I was going to stay at to find not a car in sight and the curtains all closed.  No problem, I would check out what else the town had to offer. Not much beyond a deserted Main Street. I checked Google maps and saw no other option for motels, so did a search for hotels nearby, and saw that 20 km up the road was a place called Palmquist Farm. The next resorts were 50 km away.

I went to the web site for Palmquist Farm and found they rented cabins, and offered meals. The place looked wonderful, so I called to book a cabin, but got only an answering machine at which time I left a typically long winded message, explaining I was travelling by bicycle, wanted to book a cabin, and would just continue on to the farm in hopes they had something.

I came to the turnoff for the farm, found it was down a freshly gravelled road, and tried to pick a line that would keep me upright through the deeper troughs of gravel.

Reaching the farm I was greeted by a beautiful archway made out of hand carved wood. I rode up to the farmhouse and was happy to see several vehicles, but there was no one in sight. I got off my bike and tried calling again. No answer. I went up to the farmhouse, where the only resident seemed to be a friendly black lab lolling on the grass.

Hearing machinery in the distance, I walked out past the big barn and saw someone working the backhoe. Feeling foolish but with no other options, I walked around to where he might see me, and waved until I caught his eye. He immediately turned off the engine and hopped down. In his 20s or 30s, he was very friendly, and said he worked for the owners. When I explained that I had tried to book a cabin, and got no answer, he said they were away at an event, and he would try to call their cell phone. It took him some time to reach them, during which he cheerfully showed me the farmhouse where guests eat, and introduced me to Buster, the beloved black lab. When he finally reached the owner, I could hear her explaining that they had no clean cabins and to tell me they were sorry, but then she paused and said, she’s on her bike? When James, the farmhand, said yes, and relayed, as I prompted, that I had enough food (yes Tami, I had a “pasta” kit) and a sleeping bag, so I didn’t need anything, she said, okay she can use the red cabin. Perhaps, gentle reader, you can imagine the relief I felt at that moment as James walked me over to a lovely cabin. It is huge, with three bedrooms, a stone fireplace, and a kitchen area with microwave and fridge. I could not ask for more.

After unpacking and showering, I went exploring. The farm has been in the family since 1919, when the family first came from Finland, and it has been operating as a vacation farm since 1949. It is a perfect spot for cross country skiers, as it has miles of trails on the property, which weave around a pond and lake amongst other features. If it were closer, I would love to come back in the winter to stay. These cabins would be even more charming then.

I made my way around the lake and back, and then began to feel the fatigue of the day set in, so I set up my wee stove on the front porch, and made my dinner, all the while gazing at the large apple tree that had been planted 100 years ago. (Much of these details I learned from a book published about the farm, which I found in the livingroom, and which I read on the comfy couch nestled under my sleeping bag.)

It was the perfect end to the day, so you can see why I felt compelled to speak of my incredible good fortune. Had I not found James out there on the tractor, digging out the manure from the paddock, and had he not pleaded my case, I would have been back on the road, pedalling for another few hours. I hope to see him this morning to thank him once more, and I am certainly looking forward to meeting the owners and to thanking them for their graciousness. I might even get to enjoy a good country breakfast.

PS will post all my pics of the farm tonight when I have wifi!