I awoke to sound of a cuckoo clock quite refreshed. Curtis was heading off work and I was able to grab a quick photo of him and Sue before he left. This was taken on their porch; you can see the lake in the background.

One of Curtsis’ artistic talents extends to T-shirt design and when Sue goes on a cycle trip he does her a silk screen shirt. Their N.Z. design was particularly popular when they were in the South Island since he made the mainland much larger than the North Island. They continually received comments that it was good to see a map with things showing the right perspective. Their tours are named ‘Cycle Paths’ which sounds similar to psychopath. That’s a good way of describing some hard core cycle tourists and so I feel honoured that they gave me one of their shirts.

The time to go was reached too soon and I headed out about 8:30. I cycled north to the town of Bath where I found a restaurant that was serving breakfast. I had my staple of hotcakes and orange juice. Their was a fishing tournament coming up and were planning to have a huge number of patrons over the weekend. One would never envisage that a sleepy town like this would be bursting at the seams. As I was leaving the cook and waitress came outside to have a cigarette. Both of them were very overweight and they were joined by an even fatter local who had a smoke with them. They all made comments to the effect that it is crazy to do something like this since it involves way too much exercise. One could tell that exercise was an anathema to them. Pity, since they sure could have used it!

18 = Mailbox

I received directions from them and set out to the east. I had an abominable head wind from the east again. Like most of Michigan, this was beautiful countryside with a slightly rolling road going through tree-lined lanes, as you can see from the photo below.

My map could at best have been described as inadequate, at worst quite useless. I eventually passed Interstate 69 and found ‘Lansing Road’ which headed NE towards Flint. It ran parallel to the Interstate but was much quieter with very little traffic. Except for the wind, it was a lovely day and I enjoyed cycling past fields of golden wheat – a nice change from the corn.

I cycled as far as Durand and then headed east, south of Flint. There was the standard collection of fast food restaurants in Durand, with a few more than usual due to the presence of an Interstate off-ramp, and I stopped in the parking lot of one to check my map. A fellow came up wearing a bike T-shirt and chatted with me. He told me of how there were lots of cyclists in the area and that they regularly did group rides. We had a nice talk before I headed on into the headwind.

Due to the excellent sign posting, I got lost and after cycling a few km it felt as though I was going too far north. I saw an elderly man cutting his lawn and stopped to ask directions. Usually, ride on mowers are employed for this task which is not surprising given the size of the lawns many people have to cut; they are often huge by overseas standards. Fortunately, he had a small push mower and didn’t mind my interrupting him. I found that I was indeed on the wrong road and received directions back to the correct road. How travellers when presented with an unmarked fork in a road are to know the correct one to take obviously hasn’t entered the thoughts of the Michigan traffic engineers!

When I had made my way back to the correct road I stopped and had a break for some food and a bit of a rest. A van stopped at the intersection and Jack got out to have a chat. He was a very keen cyclist and was interested in finding out about my travels. When I say keen, I mean very keen. He didn’t carry a picture of his wife or family but of his bicycle! He told me that there is a large ‘Rails to Trails’ programme in Michigan and many old railway lines have been converted to cycle paths. I had searched the Internet for information like this and he told me that there are books around, but you need to know where to look. At least I now know what it is called so next time I go cycling in the U.S.A. I’ll have a better chance of finding the correct information.

After a nice visit Jack had to head off to continue his business trip and I continued east. My map didn’t have all the towns on it so I was pleased when I crossed the Interstate as it meant that I was south of Flint. I stopped and called Lis and while we were talking I noticed that my rear tyre was shredding in the sidewall. This was very bad news as my tyre patch kit would not handle this sort of failure. It was undoubtedly due to the tyre not being completely round. I suspect that it had started rubbing on the brakes or it may be that the additional load due to the dynamic forces induced by being out of round caused it. Either way, it was unlikely that it would make it all the way to Canada.

I was near Grand Blanc and I asked a young man walking down the road if there was a bicycle shop in town and he confirmed that there was. I received directions at a gas station and after cycling about 6 km I found it. I was a bit reticent when I saw on the awning that they sold cycles and vacuums, but when I went inside I found that it was a very upmarket and professional cycle shop.

There were four bike mechanics and they were most helpful. We took off my wheel and the lead mechanic Aaron spent the next 30+ minutes working on the wheel. He was very skilled and managed to eliminate most of the out of roundness in the wheel while keeping it true. I was very impressed. We replaced the tyre and after making a few more adjustments I was ready to go on. They told me that this area was very popular for cycling, and this was evidenced by the size and quality of shop and the range of equipment available. I was so thankful to have found them and this was yet another example of how God has watched over me this trip. Every time I’ve had a major problem on this trip it has been within easy reach of a bicycle shop.

I had lost a lot of time through this diversion—I had to travel slowly due to the bad tyre as well as the time fixing the bicycle—but I was now confident that there would be no more problems and the bicycle rode so much better now that Aaron had fixed the wheel. This was not always obvious since many of Michigan’s roads were rough and so the vibrations were lost in the ups and downs of the pavements (particularly the patches) but on the occasional smooth sections there was a noticeable difference.

Aaron gave me good directions and I went back the way I had come and turned east onto Parry road which took me towards Canada. I knew that I was getting close when I saw a Canadian National train heading towards the east. It made me feel good to be so close to Canada which, in spite of my life as an expatriate for the last 20 years, is a place that will always be home for me.

Michigan has regular small shops on its roads called ‘Party Shops’. I was always reticent about visiting one but by 18:00 I was in need of something to eat so I stopped and bought a sandwich and fruit juice. It was nice to sit in the sun and relax for a bit since I still had a bit of a ride ahead of me.

The cycling through this area was much the same as the other parts of Michigan, lots of farms interspersed with trees. Near the village of Metamora I passed a school which had the sign below. Now we are talking of a town with one traffic light, in a beautiful rural area. If they have to post signs saying that they are a ‘Gun Free Zone’, one wonders what it is like in the inner cities. I have heard that they have metal detectors and security guards, but the fact that signs and efforts like this exist are an inditement on the American gun culture. I have often been asked if I am not afraid of cycling in America. The only think that frightens me is the fact that while all countries have crazies, in America they have ready access to guns. However, I’ve been fortunate so far …

There were a number of lovely houses and churches along this road and the photos below. There is some beautiful old architecture in rural America, much of it dating back over 100 years.

I was entertained as I travelled by an array of election signs. Unlike many countries, the U.S.A. has many positions that are elected and in this country it definitely was election season. There were signs for the Sheriff ‘Elect Joe Bloggs for a safer community’ and other positions such as ‘Probate Judge’. While it is good in principle, one wonders whether judges let their sentencing reflect the fact that they need to be re-elected. I envisaged seeing signs ‘Elect Hanging Judge Jones’ or the like.

There was a long construction zone east of Metamora and there were the usual woman operating the Stop/Go signs. At the end of the zone I asked the sign woman why it was that it seemed to be that this job is assigned almost exclusively to young, attractive women. She said that it was because drivers were less likely to abuse them than if they were crusty old men. There is probably a lot of truth in that …

The road I was on ended at Highway 53, south of Imlay City. There was a Mobil gas station on the corner where I refilled my water bottles. If I continued due east I would come to Canada, but unfortunately, there were no roads on my map. Not that this meant too much, given that I had cycled well over 100 km on roads that didn’t exist, so I asked directions hoping that there would be some back road to Canada. Unfortunately, for once the map was correct so I faced a 15 km ride north before heading east.

I reached Imlay City at 21:00 h and went in search of a phone to tell my parents in Toronto my plans. I found several that were broken and then the one that worked required more money than I had with me so I had to resort to a collect call. I guess parents are used to such actions, even when their kids are in their 40’s since my parents accepted the charges. I told them that I was still about 75 km from Canada and I would try to make it there even though some of the travel would be in the dark. It wouldn’t be the first time I had done it and wasn’t overly concerned.

By the time I found the correct road to take me to Port Huron and was pleased to find that it had a good shoulder for riding on. Also, the traffic was not too heavy. So I peddled away, and cycled at as fast a pace as I could manage; since it was fairly flat I was able to make good time and, at least until it got too dark to read my speedometer, I was travelling at about 25 km/h. Not bad for on old guy of 40 having already travelled over 150 km.

The traffic got lighter and lighter as time went on. This was a good thing as the road was another example of the high quality of Michigan’s secondary road network: bone jarring in places. It was a concrete pavement and the slabs were badly stepped with lots of edge failure. This was particularly pronounced when travelling near the shoulder as I would hit these failed areas with sufficient force that I thought I would fall off my bike, or break my wheel again. The shoulder was even worse since it was bituminous with almost continuous patches. Fortunately, when the traffic was light I was able to ride down the middle of the lane which was much smoother than near the edge. Since it was dark I had a lot of advance notice of traffic coming from behind and I moved off the edge of the road to the shoulder when this happened.

I stopped at 22:00 for a short rest and had a bite to eat. I was swarmed by mosquitoes and was thankful to have my trusty spray with me. I wonder what the locals thought when they saw this cyclist camped out at the side of the road so late at night eating some tinned food … the few that passed me did a double take.

Soon I was on my way again, refreshed from the break and continued towards Pot Huron which was the city on the American side of the border. It was getting quite cool so I stopped and fished out some of my cold weather gear that had been packed away since the Rockies. I was glad that I still had it since otherwise the ride would have been most unpleasant.

In the outskirts of Port Huron I stopped at a gas station and had a break. It is amazing how chocolate can re-energise one when tired from exercise. I received directions to the bridge to Canada (one must cross the St. Clair river) and headed off in that direction. I found the road to the bridge as described, but was disconcerted to see that it was pointing to an Interstate and that there were signs saying no cyclists allowed. I decided to head into town further and get some directions which proved difficult since it was after 23:00 and everything was closed. Eventually, I found a 7-Eleven that was open and found out that it was possible to get to the bridge through the centre of town, although the directions were less than useless.

I dead reckoned myself to the centre of town and found a canal/river heading towards the east so I turned north since this would take me parallel to the river and towards where the bridge would be. I was surprised at how nice the central part of Port Huron was; it did not have the urban decay that I had seen in other American cities. I passed a carnival and decided that it would be best to head east towards the river. There was a fellow riding a children’s bike and I asked him directions. Doug said that he had nothing to do so he would ride with me.

We passed many stately old homes and other buildings, all of which appeared to be in good condition, but this may have been due to most things appearing better than they really are in the dark. Doug said that Port Huron had an illustrious history and that Thomas Edison hailed from there. It seemed like a delightful town and it was a pity I couldn’t stay longer.

I got to the bridge area and bid farewell to Doug. As I went to go to the bridge I saw the signs again that there were no bicycles allowed on the bridge. I ignored them and cycled up to the tool both and parked my bike to talk to one of the toll collectors. I said that it appeared that I am not permitted to cycle across the bridge so what were my options. He indicated that there was three options open to me. (a) I could take the ferry across. That’s great, where is it I asked. ’30 miles south’ he said. OK what’s my next option? (b) I could take the tunnel across. While I don’t like tunnels that was acceptable so where is it I asked. ‘70 miles south in Detroit’. Hmmm. What is option (c)? Call a taxi and have them take you and your bike across. Obviously Tom the toll collector was a bit of a comedian, but then one has to be when spending 8 hours a day collecting money in a toll booth.

I decided that (c) was the only option since I couldn’t prevail on Tom to let me cycle across the bridge. I asked for a phone number for a taxi and he searched for it in his booth but was unable to find it. After trying unsuccessfully to find it in a second booth he was a bit frustrated. He commented that they used to drop cyclists off on the Canadian side but Canadian immigration wouldn’t always let them in so they were then called to come back and pick them up again. I said that there was not much chance of that happening with me since I was Canadian and I showed him my passport. He decided to call his boss and asked if he could drop me off and was given permission so before he had a chance to change his mind I put my bike in the back of the bridge’s pickup truck and was chauffeured across to the Canadian side. He dropped me off just before the customs booth and went back to the American side.

For the record, this mindless hassle is not due to the Americans but the Canadians (hard as that may be to believe). It seems that even though the bridge has a sidewalk on it, the Canadians have decided that it is too difficult to cater for bicycles and pedestrians at their side and so have banned them from the bridge. Pretty pathetic and I’m going to write to the Minister of Immigration and suggest that they get with it.

What I hadn’t told Tom when I showed him my Canadian passport was that it had expired a few weeks before. I know I should have, but I was confident that I would be able to prevail on Canadian immigration to let me in. It was 00:50 when I reached the immigration booth and there was a woman in her 20’s studying Ph balances in between servicing immigrants. She had a cursory look at my passport and said ‘given that you are on a bicycle it is unlikely you are bringing anything into Canada’ and I concurred so she waved me through and I was in Canada. Unfortunately, it was quite dark so the photo below didn’t come out as well as I had hoped it would.

I had an important meeting that evening in Toronto to attend so I had decided to break my trip in Sarnia Ontario and get to Toronto. I asked the immigration officer where the train station was and she gave me somewhat confusing directions but added an important bit of information: the train left at 05:25 a.m. Since it was after 1 a.m. by now I decided that I would head down to the train station and crash there for the few hours until the train left. I got lost and found my way to the casino where I got better directions. After navigating my way through a maze of empty streets I reached the train station. It was deserted and so I decided to have a sleep in front of the door. That way, if I was asleep when the station opened I would be woken up by passengers having to step around me. The photo below shows my luxurious sleeping quarters. I rolled out my mat and made myself as comfortable as I could.

I was not overly successful at sleeping, in spite of having cycled almost 225 km. First, the mosquitoes attacked me so it was time to fossic through my bags and get the spray. Then the light from the nearby lamps kept me awake so I had to find my sleeping mask. Then there was the noise of the trains so time for ear plugs. Finally, I got quite cold so I dug out my Polartec jacket. Yes, with a bit of planning I could have foreseen all of these but hey, it had been a long day. I found out later that there is a train tunnel under the river and where I tried sleeping was the shunting yard so it was no wonder that I didn't get much rest!

Finally about 4 a.m. I decided that I was not going to get much rest beyond my couple of hours of snoozing and I headed off in search of some sustenance. I found an all night 7-Eleven which had vegetarian pita which was a good start. They advised me of a donut shop that was nearby and I cycled over. I enjoyed a nice cup of hot chocolate and a toasted bagel. It was great to warm up and I was quite impressed with how much more sophisticated Tim Horton’s donut shops are than they used to be. Very upmarket with much more than donuts.

About 4:40 I started back to the train station, and I will finish my description of the journey tomorrow.