A Mishmash

 

A Mishmash  

July 6, Miles 119-159

Postcard Cabins outside Columbiaville, MI:  Can you believe it?  We cycled 40 miles yesterday!  What a mishmash it was. 

From our freeway motel through industrial Grand Blanc, we are following the marked Iron Belle Trail.  The route turns us left to take us to a dotted line route.  There is no trail, no signs, just a swampy bottom following high voltage power lines.  The next solid line is in downtown Flint about 10 miles away.

We navigate our way there through Burton and southside Flint, both of which have plenty of abandoned buildings covered in graffiti.  Every so often, a big corporate building sticks out in the otherwise blighted surroundings.

As we enter downtown Flint, nothing is open.  The only sound are the competing chimes of several churches.  When we get to the Flint River, where the trail is supposed to be found, we try several times to get on the streamside Riverwalk, only to be stranded and have to go back to the surface.   Again, we curse the lack of signage.  After 3 or four tries, we join the riverwalk, but it's neglected and bumpy with roots.  We cross through construction sites and past abandoned houses and churches on the north side, peering at the State of Michigan map to not miss the multiple crossings of the river on sometimes quite rickety bridges.

Near the north end of town, after riding sixteen miles, we spot a McDonalds and go in for breakfast.  We are stopped at the door and told, “No dogs.”  Poor Heidi has to stay outside in the heat (though in shade.)  I check on her every few minutes and she stares at me with baleful eyes.  She won’t eat any dog food, but will take a bit of butter from our perfectly plastic breakfast.

We spy the trail passing to the side of the infamous Flint Water Treatment plant, where ten years ago, they tried to pass off brownish water full of lead to the townspeople of the city.  As we go along, however, the trail starts getting better.

It is cool under the sheltering trees.  Before long, we are on a smooth, well-maintained path—

with signage!  The ride is beautiful, taking us in and out of glimpses of the Flint River and C.S Mott Lake.  There are few hikers or walkers, but a number of kayakers plying the placid waters. 

We have great fun-- until we get to the Richfield County Park part of the trail, where the solid line on the map and Iron Belle signage stops.  A dotted line on the map tells us to turn left, which takes us on a circle past beautiful and unused baseball, tennis, and basketball courts. 

We spot a road to our right and go there, but now we are confused.  We were supposed to exit the park in the north, but we are in the south.  At first, we don’t know that and start going west.  Wes recalls he has a compass, and we realize we had gotten completely turned around in that figure eight of a park. 

We are off the map.  It is blazing hot.  We must make our own way to Columbiaville, where we have secured a “glamping” cabin for two days, where I will catch up on the blog and do my business meeting for the Great Lakes Odyssey Radio Hour.

We are in hilly, rural country.  We are out of water.  At Highway 15, we spot a Marathon gas station, with an attached pizza stand.  Inside, with the dog allowed, the owner gives us his only two bottles of water, which we immediately down.  When we ask for more, he tells to go to the party store next door to get drinks.  I purchase two big cans of flavored ice tea, and we order a big salad. 

We are overheated and dehydrated but begin to revive.  The owner asks where we are going.  When we tell him, he exclaims, “That’s quite a haul.  I don’t think I could do it!” Outside, as we load up the dog, a woman getting gas says, “I can’t believe you are biking in this heat!”  Neither can we.

It is quite a haul.  Up and downhills, I seek whatever patch of shade I can find to wait for Wes plugging along behind me.  We are still a few miles from Columbiaville when Wes announces he can’t go anymore. 

But like Beckett characters who can’t go on, we go on.

At Columbiaville, we need to get supplies for our glamping cabin. We pass by the Dollar Tree store and go to the only other store in this little town.  It says “grocery store,” but really, it’s a liquor store.  I purchase some wine, two small pasta salads, and tired looking cold cuts.

We still have a few miles to the cabin.  The road says it is closed, but we see cars passing the barriers, so we do too.  A few hundred yards down the newly asphalted road, the sky opens, and we are pelted by rain.

We lurk under a tree and I call the accommodations.  Can we really make it on this road?  How far is it?  The straight-up Millennial voice on the other end says, “Oh yeah, you can go on the road.  I don’t know how far it is…one, maybe two miles.  Not far.”

The steam rises from the black asphalt as we inch our way to the cabin.  I peer at the mailboxes, wanting the numbers to go down much faster than they do.  When I spot the turn off, I enter the steep dirt driveway and let Heidi out of her box.  She immediately runs into stands of poison ivy.  I watch for Wes who rides right by the entrance and barely hears my shouted cry.

Our glamping cabin/trailer is nicely appointed, quite small with fantastic views of the surrounding trees.  I can’t wait to get out of these wet and sticky clothes and have showered and changed within five minutes of arrival.

A raging rainstorm blows in with huge cracking thunder.  Heidi runs about the 8 x 12 trailer, and finally decides the shower is her safe spot.  Wes and I drink hot chocolate and rum, eat our delicious but small salads and are astonished that we made 40 miles today…and are still standing. 

Only one problem—I cannot post my blog and do my meeting: tomorrow.  There’s no WIFI.  So much for that respite in the trees.

We are in the comfy bed before dark and soon asleep to the sound of pelting rain.