My trip and its unexpected end

 

 Hospitals are my business

To contribute to the Muscular Dystrophy Association, click here: Jon's MDA drive.

I promised to post updates on my bike trip as it happened, like I did in 2019, but wi-fi is scarce to non-existent in the wilds of western Michigan, so I'm finally getting to it now -- now that the trip is over. Careful readers will notice that this was not the planned end date, and we'll get to that.

Here's a little summary: 

In my ongoing quest to cross the country, I left Ludington early Wednesday, June 16, and followed the meandering roads of US Bike Route 20 into the Manistee National Forest. There was little wind, only modest hills and very little traffic, and this was easily the best of my three -- yes, just three -- riding days.

I took a break in the village of Freesoil, maybe 20 miles in, and was eyed by a lingering pickup driver who didn't seem inclined to share any of his soil, so I pushed on a couple miles to where there was a wooded site off the road with a big sign that said, "Camp Sauble Cages of Carnage." Now, I'm not going to pontificate on everything I saw, but Camp Sauble was pretty interesting. 

Camp Sauble

There were large chainlink cages set out across acres of land. Were they wild animal cages? Dog cages? I did a little studying. Turns out, no, they were boy cages. 

In the late 1980s this was a "boot camp" offered to young offenders as an alternative to prison in return for reduced time. One source called its methods "shock incarceration." As the Camp Sauble website says:

   From the moment the squad car doors opened the guards took total control. Inmates were slammed

   against the bumper of the squad car, called "Maggot" and "Scum" in true old school military style.

Good old military style.

Lately the camp has become a source of funding for local fire departments as a haunted house. Not so different from what it was.

 

*

I didn't know it then, but I was passing through a region pocked by small, amoeba-shaped lakes. Here's the rest of the day: 

Clear enough

Maybe "Sha Na Na" would've had more cachet.

Just in case you need to call 1995.  

Lucky 7 on a day off.

Development!

Lake country.

I was tempted.

Not hardly.

Calling me out by name.

My route. Nicely marked!

* 

My second day is best forgotten. I got lost at one point and went miles out of my way and had to go back, and, in another case, was misdirected by a sign, which sent me in a circle, costing me more miles. Though I spent a lot of time riding through trails in the Manistee National Forest looking for campsites, what I found were mostly privately owned lands within the forest. There are campsites somewhere there -- plenty of them -- but I really hadn't studied it, and in the end I rode to the little town of Ashton, charged my phone at an outlet outside the fire station, bought some food in the one store in town, and camped in a church's backyard. I tried to call the pastor, but his number was disconnected, so I thought it was safe, the lack of a pastor in this case being preferable. I didn't even set up my tent, just laid out in my bag -- and of course got wet. Yet still slept well. I left one of my "business cards" about my trip on my spokes, in case I was investigated. And in the morning it was gone. 

My card, front and back:

*

Well, of course, I didn't finish what I started. In the morning, my third day, I rode about 12 miles south, to the Reed City area, where, from a house at the edge of the Pere Marquette Trail, a man called out to offer me coffee. We introduced ourselves -- he was Mark -- and we sat on his porch and conversed for maybe an hour. He talked about his dogs, his life as a trucker and a cabbie, his wife, his grown kids who live next door. I told him about my trip. I lingered, thinking I had my day's allotment in the bag -- 30-something more miles on a flat paved trail? Easy. And meeting people -- that's part of it, right?

Mark with his "Norwegian Ridgeback" mixes, Turbo (left) and Axel. I think they are, really, Rhodesian Ridgeback mixes. He warned me not to make sudden movements around 

the young one, Turbo, and he had Axel scramble up the side of the tree 

next to his house as a demonstration of his prowess. 

I was impressed -- and too slow with the camera, alas.

At last I set out on the trail. For about 100 yards I thought, "This is great!" But it didn't take long to see how dull it would be -- wide, highway-like pavement, no shade, few turns, no up and down. I tried to keep a steady pace, but every few miles I kept thinking of reasons to stop -- I should eat one of my bananas; or how about a swig of orange juice? More than once I stopped altogether, set the bike down, and laid in the grass next to the trail, catnapping. I couldn't quite account for this, my dread of going on. I'm not a fast rider, but you wouldn't call me a shirker, and in retrospect it had to be the heat that lay like a blanket. I made a lengthy stop for soda and ice, and a few miles later stopped in a small town called Evart and got a giant milkshake, which I thought would jazz me up, but it seemed to slow me down, all my energy suddenly going to my stomach. 

I finally collapsed in a swerving, slow-motion way maybe 7 miles short of the town of Clare, my goal, where I expected to meet my friend Bruce. I had a clear sense that I was in trouble, but thought I could push through it -- what's 7 miles? -- and I was on the ground when a pedestrian discovered me. He said he was a former police officer, and he talked to me about my condition, asked me how I felt. I might have made little sense. He said he'd like to call an EMT crew. I objected, said I didn't need it, but he called anyway -- and it was the right choice.

I spent three days in the Clare hospital on a drip line taking fluids. My wife and the dog came and got me, and now I'm home, feeling vaguely like I'm still traveling and have happened upon a pretty nice rental that I'm disinclined to leave.

I wonder if I'll ride again, at least in the way I have. Getting hit by a car with my friend Mark in 2019, and now this -- it makes you think. Maybe a supported ride would work? I have yet even to take a local ride since my return, which I usually do almost daily. I'll be mulling it all over till spring.