Lake Michigan Cycling Trip Day 6: The Trouble With German

The trouble with German is there is no way to fall off and hurt yourself.

So explains Mark Twain in his amusing and apropos “Taming the Bicycle.” His thought is that one learns better those things which threaten pain and injury upon failure. Luckily, I’ve avoided pain and injury on this trip, for the most part.

If you asked me whether that was the case this morning as I stumbled out of bed, sore and creaky, I may have had a different answer. Or on one of the times I dishonorably dismounted the bicycle in those first couple days. If you had asked me this afternoon, when I was puking my guts out over the edge of the Coral Sea, I probably would have said something to you not becoming of a lady.

I awoke at the Holiday Motel this morning, grudgingly enjoyed foam-cup-coffee and allegedly homemade banana bread, and got on the road by 9:30. Not before I realized I’d been using my pump wrong and what I’d actually been inflating was the pump itself, rather than the tube. No matter; off I plodded down Route 2, creaks and all.

The ride was uneventful. I enjoyed lunch at a roadside park, and stopped for a soda around 3. The clerk talked about other cyclists she had seen come through. She said one guy came all the way from Nevada, and all she could say was, “Why??”

I rolled up to Pier 3 in Escanaba around 4 (cute town, by the way), and Stretch and I were off. He helped me on the boat and said, “It’s gonna be a rough ride.”

I replied, “Just tell me which side to puke off of.”

“Take your pick,” he said, while starting up the motor.

I’ll spare you the precise details of the debacle, but we traveled slow and clumsily over to Jackson Harbor on Washington Island. Opening my little eyes upon arrival, well, it looked like a little piece of heaven. I felt that way about the whole island. It was tranquil, with farms and old homes, modest but charming. The beauty was in the details, much like in the French countryside. Or Town and Country, if you don’t get abroad much.

It was just before twilight and the place was desolate. There was the very rare car, but no figures to be seen. I nearly had the place to myself. When I got to the ferry harbor, it was dead quiet. No one selling tickets, cleaning up the ferry, nada. I tracked down a couple on a nearby boat by sound, and they were kind enough to tell me another ferry would be by in an hour and to let me use a phone — AT&T is a no go on the island.

The ferry did come, right as dusk turned to night. Me and the scant few passengers who had arrived filed aboard. When I disembarked in Northport on the mainland, I expected to find something, anything, to justify its dot on the map. Not so. Just a vending machine. With half Mountain Dew. I was shaking with hunger, but feared that might put me over the edge. The lady selling tickets helped me call a few places in nearish towns, but no luck, and she had to go on the last ferry the other direction. She repeated menacingly, “You should’ve stayed on the island.” I had gathered that by this point, as it was pitch black, the end of a road in the middle of nowhere, and the few souls left were getting on the last lonely ferry.

I didn’t bother putting back on my biking shorts or shoes, but I did dig out my headlamp and took to the lampless road. It was both dodgey and serene. There was not a single car, and the pavement was pristine — the best I’ve seen all trip. I had visions of bears jumping out of the woods on either side, seizing me akin to Jaws. Yet my irrational fears gave way to simply enjoying feeling strangely disconnected from the world. I added one moment of Transcendence to that daisy chain I’ve been working on.

I made it to the first motel two miles down the road, and was chastised by the proprietress in her bath robe for waking her after 9:30. A guest told me about another place not too far away, The Shoreline. I found it and received a much warmer reception. They have a nice bar/restaurant and were kind enough to make me food past well past serving hours since I was famished. Once again, best turkey sandwich and chowder ever. I chatted with a nice biker couple from Green Bay and a herpetologist from Albuquerque in the bar.

Tomorrow, I plan to get probably to Sturgeon Bay. They have plenty of motels there and it’s a more manageable 55 or 60 miles. Frankly, I am kind of tapped, so a shorter, more relaxing day would serve me well.

Miles cycled today: 70.8
Avg speed: 10.5
Time in saddle: 6:40
Total miles cycled so far: 370.3

Gain: 719 feet

Expenditures:
$1.00 Diet Coke and Blow Pop
$250.00 charter boat to Wash Island
$8.00 ferry from Wash Island to mainland
$22.14 dinner at Shoreline
$132.xx room at Shoreline
TOTAL: $413.14