Day 39: The Gift of Wind
Our forecast called for thunderstorms in the afternoon so Jenny and I got up early. I woke up at five and worked on breakfast and trolled the internet trying to find an apartment in Seattle. Side note: apartment searching while on a cross country trip is a nightmare. More on that later. Monroeville was cool in the morning, and there was a slight fog hanging over the fields. The wind was blowing us gently towards our destination of Bowling Green and things were shaping up for a nice morning.
The windfarms were turning with us as we passed and we made good time, following river roads and cutting through farms. Still endless fields of corn and soybeans, but occasinally there would be another plant in the mix like peppers or squash.
The rain hit us around Napoleon, and dumped for about an hour. I got a flat tire at about the same time so we elected to wait out the storm in a coffee shop in town. The coffee was great and it was nice to have a break. I repaired my tube with a patch kit inside while the rain continued on outside.
The rain eventully cleared and we cruised the rest of the day, making a significant stop for cantelope, peaches and apples at a roadside stand after 70 miles. Even with a headwind we were still moving fast and the day was hot. Some nice fruit, especially after several days of sparse fruit and vegetable options made the afternoon massively more enjoyable. We each had half a cantelope and four peaches each, essentially making for a light snack during such a ride.
That evening we wandered around Bowling Green, a nice sized college town of 30,000. We stopped in a bar for beer and nachos, which ended up being a bit comical due to the portion sizing. One “appetizer” of nachos was a six inch tall mountain of chips, beans, guac, cheese and salsa, served as a pile on a fourteen inch pizza platter. I could not help but laugh at the size of the thing and Jenny and I both cracked up. We were so happy to have the food and it was so delicious with the beer. Our waitress could tell it had been a long day, the type where your exhaustion makes just about anything comical.
Jenny had been on the phone with a man named Matt (unfortunately never got his full name) about staying the night in his backyard. We made our way there only after a sizeable amount of ice cream. We camped in the backyard with the fireflies. Matt and his family were at the county fair on the edge of town and returned late. There was a monster truck rally at the fair that night and it filled the town with thunderous noise. The announcer called the names of the trucks, encouraging the crowd and the drivers while the trucks themselves roared like thunder echoeing off the buildings in town. Tis the season for off road mayhem in Indiana and Ohio.
Mileage: 90
Day 40: Warmshowers
Matt ended up being aa great host, as all of my hosts have been so far. He was incredibly friendly, overwhelming generous and hospitable. In the morning he made us waffles and bacon (for me, Jenny is a vegetarian), while his golden retriever Olive begged us for attention. Matt told us stories of the history of the area and of his travels throughout Eastern Europe. He is a lawyer (now running for judge) who worked for several years on elections monitoring and the democratic process in former soviet republics. His two toe-headed kids joined us for breakfast before moving outside to play and I was full of happiness that people like Matt exist. He was a man working his entire life in every way for the good of other human beings. We were lucky to have stayed with him.
Jenny and I got on the road around eleven with our tailwind replaced by a headwind. We stopped for groceries in Pemberville, then again in Fremont OH so I could make a phone call to a prospective living situation in Seattle. The phone call went well, but we were way behind schedule after the numerous stops. We soldiered on with a great bit of rail to trail between us and lake Erie.
We had secured another warmshowers host for the evening, this time with Dennis Zimmerman. He and his wife are sailors living with a lake view in their condominium. Their house was beautiful and they themselves were exceptinoally warm and gentle in welcoming us into their home. Dennis made us bratwurst (veggie dogs for Jenny) with sauerkraut to which I added my daily half pound of pasta, while we all told stories of the bike tours we’d gone on. Dennis also treated us to one of his homebrewed christmas ales. It was delicious and spicey with cinammon and maybe some nutmeg. Dennis and his wife were tourists also, having gotten into warmshowers hosting that way. They had plenty of stories of the interesting folks that had stayed there and Jenny had a great time reading the stories in the guestbook while I wrote in my own journal.
Mileage: 79
Day 41: Departures and Ghetto Detours
That morning Dennis made us all waffles for the second amazing breakfast of the week. Jenny and I stayed late at the Zimmerman telling more stories and talking while both of us journalled. Despite not having too much to do other than biking, getting everything written down can sometimes be a difficult task. The rides take a long time, as does eating to maintain energy levels but the most signficant obstacle to writing is sheer exhaustion. At the end of the day after riding 90 miles and being fully baked in the sun, writing even a few sentences can feel like too much of a task. It was nice to have a lot of coffee and a stomach full of waffles at the Zimmerman house to motivate my last update on the blog.
Jenny and I had some excellent cycling ahead of us that day. We took route six towards Cleveland. The route follows the lake through several wealthy neighborhoods. The houses were enjoyable to look at and a nice breeze coming off the lake was keeping us cool. The road became rather terrible after a certain point though. The shoulder came and went and the patchwork pothole fill job was aggravating, but the scenery was beautiful and having a riding partner made things easier to handle.
Jenny had to stop in lakewood, being way ahead of schedule for her destination of Cleveland the next day. I kept going with the goal of making it through the city and into the next town before night fall. I stopped to print and fill out a rental application for the apartment in Seattle and then set off into downtown Cleveland.
Cleveland is a terrible place to ride a bicycle. The roads are atrocious and the cycling infrastruction is spotty at best. The harsh winter absolutely tears up the asphault and the potholes were large enough to knock one of my panniers off. I’m taking several feet deep potholes. I’m talking you could plant a tree in these potholes. I’m talking you could fill them with water and swim in these potholes. I was dogged and trugged through the buildings and the traffic.
Eventually I made it to a bike path that skirted the city, only to have the wire on my front derailer snap clean in half. Interestingly, I wasn’t too mad. Earlier on this tour, and always during my commuting in the Bay Area, this sort of mechanical problem would have gotten me real worked up, instantly angered and fuming about losing time. Now after 3,000 miles, a major failure didn’t seem quite as bad. It was simply another part of the tour, another punch to roll with that would lead to a good story.
Within a minute of pulling off the bike path a guy rolled up on a Giant Defy (a nice road bike.) he introduced himself as Mike and asked if he could help. “Truthfully,” I said “I don’t think there’s a lot either of us could do, this cable is toast.” I needed to go to a bike shop for a new cable, the lack of replacement constituting a singificant hole in my repair kit. Mike helped me get the derailer limit screws tightened so I could at least ride in a reasonable gear instead of being stuck in my granny chain ring. He was incredibly helpful and when I asked about the nearest bike shop he offered to escort me his friend Bill’s place where he had some spare cables. As I’m attaching my bags to my bike racks I hear this thud on the table and glance up to where Mike was standing. Lying on the table is a 1911 .45 handgun. Handcannon. Mike smiles, seeing my surprised look and explains “Bill’s is through the ghetto from here and I carry to get home… its the ghetto man.” He proceeds to strap the pistol to his waist and described needing the ordinance for protection while riding through his neighborhood. “It’s an open carry state.” he said cheerfully.
So I let Mike lead me through the neighborhoods (‘hoods?), gun on display and everything while he chatted away about everything. He told me all about the neighborhood, how it was changing and gentrifying, how it was still dangerous (and warranted a gun), how it was full of potholes (clearly) and how he had lived there for most of his life. He was a great riding partner and had a serious command of the road, I’m guessing born from the confidence inspired by his hip-born thuggery.
I felt like I was in the opening scene of a Grand Theft Auto game, being escorted by a local through the hood to a buddy’s place to get hooked up with some goods. It was amazing if not a bit freightening. The cables at Bill’s place ended up being a bit too frayed for me to get into my cable housing, so we set off again to Eddy’s Bike Shop where they got me fixed up quick.
Mike hung around until he was sure I was going to be ok. He gave me alot of great info about places to camp in the city, grocery stores, all the good stuff. A great man.
I bought a generous supply of cliff bars at the bike shop and made my way back to the lake road. From then it was smooth sailing (and wonderful shifting) to the Perry Township Park where I camped free of charge thanks to the generosity of the campground host. The ghetto detour with Mike set me back a few miles and a few hours, but I was happy to have met such a great guy and doubly so to have such an intersting story.
Mileage: 82 + a little extra through pothole city.
Note: Mike was hit by a car shortly after escorting me to the bike shop. He was rear ended which crushed his back wheel and flipped him onto the hood of the car. They slammed the breaks, catapulting him onto his now ruined bike. Mike of course drew his .45, after which the people in the car sped off leaving Mike on the road. “A hit and skip” as he described. Mike was unharmed, having texted me after release from the hospital, but his bike was toast. A terrible turn of events for a man who went well out of his way to help a stranger. The universe owes Mikes Simpson a favor or two. A message to Cleveland: please improve your bike infrastructure. This is how cyclists get killed.
Day 42: Tortoise Mode
Most people are familiar with the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare. I like to describe the slow and stready approach to cycling, hiking, climbing and the like as “Tortoise Mode”, because it does win out in the end. I am decidedly not in “Tortoise Mode” on this trip and day 42 was no exception. I slept in late, lazed around my campsite enjoying Lake Erie and the breeze, watched clouds of condensation drift from the cooling tower of the power plant down the shore and took a long shower. It was a beautiful morning and I had time to eat two breakfasts before starting.
When I did finally mount my tiny metal horse, I took off with speed in the mode of the hare as I am wont to do. It was around midday, the sun was out and the wind was blowing directly into my face. I was glad to have survived Cleveland and the ride along the water was some of the best riding of the trip so far. I stopped for fish and chips at a small resort town, guzzling root beer and tartar sauce before getting back on the bike and speeding the rest of the way. There is a “zone” you can enter, almost like a fugue state while riding hard. The discomfort of the saddle drifts away, your recognition of the surroundings becomes perfunctory and your mind begins to thin out as the only thoughts become: breath in, breath out, pedal, drink. It’s amazing. I was in this state most of the day flying through seaside towns, mentally drifting, physically pushing my limits.
I didn’t stop very often, except to take photos of the state welcome signs I passed as I moved from Ohio into Pennsylvania and then into New York. It was a great day if an uneventful one. I rolled into a campground on the state line of New York at 9 pm, made pasta and hit the sack. Sometimes the days are simple.
Mileage: 90
Andrew Bondesson 