T+106: Pere Michigan

Mile 3757: Rome, NY

We are waiting out the rain this morning, hoping to make our passage into the Adirondacks today.  It is really clear that fall is closing in.  As the crow flies, it is 350 miles to the Portland, Maine.  The question looming: should we make a run for the coast and forgo the mountains, or hope for another round of good weather?

 

The Pere Marquette trail in central Michigan has received multiple awards, and rightfully so.  The track from Evart to Clare, Michigan passes in and out of forests, alongside marshes, rivers, and lakes.  It is well marked and well maintained.  Because it is rather far from highways, there are a lot of animals and birds.  Just outside of the crossroads town of Lake, we pass a hiker laden with all sorts of photographic equipment, fisherman’s vest, Indiana Jones hat: the whole regalia.  He asks if we have seen any bear scat.  We answer no, but sure enough, a mile down the road, in the opposite direction, we spot the unmistakable signs of a berry eating bear.

Lake is at an unusual spot in Michigan.  Barely higher than the surrounding country, it sits in a circle of marshy lakes.  To the west, water flows to Lake Michigan; to the east, streams run to Saginaw Bay in Lake Huron.  Wes is standing on his pedals, making a small hill, when we hear the unmistakable SPROING!  He has broken another spoke.   We are about 20 miles to Clare, where we know there is a bike shop.   Another repair.

We make it to Clare to discover that the bike shop is closed on Wednesdays and, of course, it is Wednesday.  There are two other shops on our path: one is an auto shop in Coleman, then big shop in Midland.  Wes will have to nurse his bike to the next repair.

Just down the street from the bike shop, we experience a curious cultural anomaly.   Clare had a bakery that had been in business since the 1890’s, but was slowly dying.  It was a few days from closing, when the entire police department of this small town pooled their money, bought the bakery, and renamed it Cops and Doughnuts, and began decorating it gave it lots of goofy cop jokes. It is now a hopping joint, with visitors from all over the world, and a big crowd when we stop in.   We are eating our coffee and muffin, when a big group of the owners/local police stop in.   A handsome, young, slender cop stops by our table and asks how we like our food.  We talk about their decision to keep the business going, how much it has grown, and how it has become the anchor of a downtown revival.

Once we leave Clare, the landscape changes as we enter the flatlands of the Saginaw Bay.  This whole area was once underwater: its lake heritage shows in the bogs, salt wells, and miles of perfectly flat cropland.   As we have been traveling, we often play “Name that crop!”  Of course, corn, and wheat, and soybeans are easy.  What is this crop that looks like lettuce, or maybe collard greens?  There are miles and miles of it.  What is it?

In Coleman, we stop at the Bike and Auto.  Sorry, the bike guy is gone for the week.  After admiring the Raleigh bikes for sale at this shop, and laughing that the antique Raleigh on display looks just like Wes’ bike, we plug on.   For the first time since we entered Michigan, we are passing through farm towns.  When we stop at a little diner to get yet another root beer float, the farmers look at us, but don’t speak.  We drink our sweet treat and are just about ready to go, when one man asks us where we headed.  When we tell him we have been and where we are going, a dam breaks loose.  Now people all over the diner are asking us questions about our travels.  It was clear they were interested, but they didn’t feel comfortable starting a conversation. 

The path to Midland is well marked, with lots of pretty little pocket parks.  Wes and I vow to bring some of our Lower Michigan friends up to this wonderful trail.  There starts to be lots of riders and walkers on the trail.  At one point, we see a young mom along with her eight year old son taking an afternoon ride.  The little boy is fascinated by our bikes and trailers, and speeds up to ride alongside of us.  I slow down to answer his questions.  When he finds out we rode all the way from the Pacific Ocean, he asks, “Is there a bike trail around the whole world?”  I tell him no, but that there should be.  He tells me all about the sites along the trail, and really wants us to go off the trail to see a big bog.  He is riding a small BMX bike, which he is really pedaling as he works to stay alongside me.  We talk about how he could fix his brakes and tighten his chain.  In the meantime, Wes is getting further and further ahead.  The little boy wants to show me how fast he can go, so he speeds up.  I let him win for a while, then slip into my top chain ring and easily move past him.  He tries to keep up for a while, but can’t.  As I move away, he calls after me, “Don’t forget to stop by the bog!”   We don’t stop, but I wish we had.

Just outside of Midland, we pass the 3000 mile mark on the trip.  This feels momentous.  We have taken photos at many of the 500 and 1000 marks.  It will be interesting to compare the photos after this trip is over. 

We cruise into Midland, stop a nice little craft brewpub, eat great home-made food from a food cart, and make our way to our room.  We are following the hazy instructions to our motel, when we come across another young male on a bike.  He is a bit older, perhaps 12, and like us, pedaling hard in the right lane in heavy 5 o’clock traffic.   We talk a bit as we go by.   Some blocks later, we are at a confusing intersection, trying to determine what to do, when we are  re-joined by the young teenager.  We ask if he lives nearby. He does.  We ask if he knows how to get to our motel.  He does.  His directions are clear, precise, and well-spoken.  He rides with us some blocks, asking about our trip.   This is one lively mind in a body of a boy.  Just as he turns off, he provides an exact visual description of our hotel and its environs, then wishes us well.  We tell him to start planning for his bicycle trip across the country.  He says he will.  We believe him. 

We find the motel easily with the boy’s instructions and description, but it is now too late to repair Wes’ bike today, so we will have to do the repairs tomorrow.  The next morning is very rainy.  It is just been a few days since our break at Ludington, but remembering some of other disastrous attempt to ride in the rain, we decide to stay, do repairs, and work on the blog.   This of course ensures that the rain will lift.  It does. 

On the way to the bike shop, we are riding on a very uncomfortable, busy road, so decide to cut off into the paths of the Whiting Forest.  There is an open gate on the paths, so we take it and soon find ourselves biking through the wonders of the Dow Gardens.   There are sculptures, exotic landscapes, and intricate bridges.  It is rightfully one of the celebrated tourist stops of Michigan.  There are also docents leading groups on tours.  One was taking a group of 12 over a bridge, “Please note the sunburst design of the bridge, which is picked up in the layout of the…. HEY! You can’t ride bikes in here!”  Wes rides a bit further.  The tour guide says, “The nerve!”  I am not sure Wes even hears, but I get off my bike.  We push our bikes around a bit further, looking for a way to get out of the gardens.  The only way out is through the gift shop.  We shamefacedly scoot our bikes through while the salespeople laugh and customers gawk.

At the bike shop, after telling them we just replaced five spokes and now have another broken spoke, the bike tech asks, “Why didn’t you just replace the wheel?—You are just going to keep breaking spokes if they are this fragile.”  We think about it and realize that this is probably the wheel that was put on Wes bike during our last bike trip—in Quebec—in 1998.   So we buy a new wheel two days after getting five spokes replaced.  More fine planning on our part.

We explore downtown Midland, which has a big park where the Tittabawassee and Chippewa Rivers join, and which is crossed by a three-way bridge called the Tridge.  We take pictures and explore the grounds.  As we make our way back to our room, we come across a hill planted with thousands of dahlias.   Wes and I had visited Midland years and years before and remembered it as a chemical factory town.  Now we see it as one garden spot after another, with big trees, lots of open spaces, and very active corporate culture.  Did we not have eyes to see or has it changed that much in 25 years?
 

Leaving Midland the next day, we enter the lea side of Saginaw Bay.  We have left the wonderful environs of the 150 mile Pere Marquette trail.  It is back to farm roads and traffic.  It is fine, but we miss the secret passage across Michigan on its wonderful, beautiful rails to trails conversion.

 

Posted from Rome, NY