Make It Stop

July 17:  Make It Stop

Miles 337-375:  38 miles

Today was torture. My sleep at the one-step-above-fleabag hotel was almost nonexistent. It rained all night and was still raining the next morning we went to the supposedly highly rated restaurant where it was Mexican Thursday. I ordered chilaquiles but I didn't get chilaquiles. I got some cheese-covered scrambled eggs with chili beans and terrible rice that upset my stomach.

US 23 is getting super hilly, and the shoulder is getting smaller, so we take a side road to follow the Lake.   We follow Lakeshore Road down to lush green fields backed by huge trees. We're especially interested in the Pebble houses along the way.  I am not sure they are   called Pebble Houses as they are in upstate New York, but the craftsmanship is quite similar.  The entire surface of the house is constructed with hand size river stones. They seem to grow from the landscape and have an aura of permanence.  

We travel to an abandoned town named Alcona that was one of the victims of the 1911 fire. The town’s churches, stores, and lumber mills are long gone, now recently replaced by newly built McMansions at the water’s edge.

Alas, at Black River, we had to climb back up to Highway 23. And my goodness what a climb! I took Heidi out of the crate and slowly pushed the bike up the slope.

Up top, we want to visit the locally famous Mountain Bar and Grill, which has been a stop at the junction of US 23 and Black River since 1936. However, it was not open when we arrived at 11:30 AM. Tired from the climb and tired in general, we sat on chairs outside the door and waited.  I fell asleep sitting up. Right at 12noon, they let us in, the first customers of the day.

Within 15 minutes the place was nearly full, probably because it was a rainy drizzly day. Folks—that is-- families with little children, fishing buddies, ladies who lunch, and rained out dates-- said “Let's go to the Mountain instead of the Lake.”  With its big fireplace, wooden everything. and required dead animals on the wall, it could have been could have been any place Wyoming.

Right after the mountain grill, there were three big daunting hills which were impossible to ride and required our tried-and-true strategy of “push 40 steps, breathe 20 breaths, repeat” over and over, until we get to the top.   We look forward to a nice downhill, but alas, very short ride down leads to the next big uphill.   In less than a mile, we have gained 400 feet in elevation. The first big hills we have encountered on this trip, they presage our travels to come.

I am dead tired after these hills.  We still have 15 miles to Alpena.

The ride is pretty, occasionally stunning-- like when we circle the big wetlands south of Alpena. But every pedal is an effort. I'm moaning and groaning as I push exhausted into the headwind. I don't think I've ever worked so hard to make miles.  We pass the 45th parallel, halfway to the North Pole, which should be a celebration, but every pedal hurts, so we just keep plugging on, wanting this ride to stop.

 The entrance to Alpena is a surprise. A big plastic land has developed with all the usual chain suspects.  It extends for several miles before the mom-and-pop motel just outside city limits where we will stay the night.  The motel is a welcome sight.  It is green, with flowers, and is well maintained.  I bet it was the first thing travelers saw coming from the south when it was first built in the 1960’s.   Now it is overwhelmed by all the tacky chain restaurants, Wal-Mart, etc.

The innkeeper, a big frowsy woman originally from South Africa, gives me the third degree about the dog. I promise a quiet well-mannered service dog.  To be sure, she puts us in the room next to the office.

In the room I collapse on the bed, and sleep until we go eat at a nice Italian restaurant just across the street.

Back in our room, we are asleep by 8:00 PM.  Heidi, as promised, is quiet and respectful.  She bumps me to take her out, which I do, half asleep, but sure to take her off motel property.  I sleep until 7am the next morning.