Miles to date: 3,002.8
As I stretched on the carpet with my morning coffee, Nancy in the kitchen was preparing a beautiful breakfast spread. She put some classic rock mix on the stereo: Fleetwood Mac, Doobie Brothers, America, Kansas… It was nice to hear something other than the Goo Goo Dolls which seemed to play for 6 hours the night before. I didn’t know the Goo Goo Dolls had 6 hours of music in their catalog; and I didn’t know whether to blame Todd or Rick for that selection; it was nice to start the day with more familiar favorites, reminding me that all we are is dust in the wind.
Ah, wind. It found us early and often, as expected. It seemed the gales of November came early. We were a little anxious about the headwinds before we started: with only two of us, we only get to draft 50% of the time. But, with the fitness we’ve developed and mental fortitude, there was really nothing to worry about and we enjoyed the opportunity to work for one another. Though as the day grew longer and the gusts hit us unfettered across the Detroit River and Lake St Clair, it elicited responses from us like: “WOW!” and “Hoowee!” and “Oh boy!” The winds were as bad as we’ve experienced to date – 79 miles today felt like 100.
On the commute from Pinckney to Detroit, we decided to take saddle breaks every 70 minutes; but in the second segment we were looking for a convenience store and rode for over 2 hours without a break. Shortly after that stop in southwestern Detroit, with little help from Ride with GPS app which wanted us to cross through a fenced restricted area, we found our way to the Gordie Howe Bridge for the crossing into Canada.
The border crossing was a lot of fun. The new bridge was designed with bikers and pedestrians in mind, and there didn’t appear to be anyone else crossing over into Canada today on foot or bike. We paused for selfies along the way and felt a little giddy as we hit the international boundary at the top of the bridge. The “good cop, bad cop” duo at the Canadian passport control was as expected; there I was with my immigration form, big enough to keep me warm when the cold wind was coming; in the end both officers were impressed and encouraging in our cross-continental excursion. We left the border crossing with restaurant recommendations from the border officers and a newfound enthusiasm for Canada.
On the Canadian side of the border, the wind intensified and never halted, and neither did we. We rode 20 miles to Twiggs Tavern in Emeryville Ontario, where the local crowd was happy, friendly and excited to hear about our journey. We talked a little politics, we laughed at proposals to rename Lake Erie to Lake Pennsylvania, and Geeto and I talked about the merits of moving to Canada where sanity and straightforwardness generally seem to thrive. The locals gave us recommendations for dining, and they all laughed when we said we were staying at Le Petit Dragon Motel. Bartender Tim said his parents wedding party all stayed there in 1996; Geeto and I speculated that the Dragon was the location where his young life truly began. Nobody really knew much about the motel, so I did tell them I would provide a brief review in today’s blog so they could have more insight.
After a few recovery drinks with the locals at Twiggs, we pressed on the final 2.5 miles to the motel. Halfway there, a local resident Moe tried to lure us to his home with a couple of Old Vienna lagers; he was interested to hear more about our journey, but we were already at our legal limit for bike riding and had to turn him down… immediately I was sorry as this probably could’ve turned into an overnight stay on the shores of Lake St Clair… next time Moe!
A mile later riding with a Canadian rainbow, Le Petit Dragon motel lobby was cramped and filled with photos of anglers and their quarry – which was mostly muskellunge and sturgeon. The proprietor Peter seemed very proud of these fishermen photos, though it seemed most predated bartender Tim’s parents’ wedding. We filled in the archaic motel paperwork which required both of our mobile phone numbers and signatures, then we proceeded to Room #4.
Remember my description of types 1, 2, 3 fun from yesterday? Le Petit Dragon is type 3 – one of those difficult and emotionally draining events that you later look back on and laugh, but in the moment is painful. It seemed we stepped into a scene from a Coen brothers movie, possibly “No Country for Old Men”. The room was 1972 vintage – when the motel was built I’m sure it advertised its unique (at the time) air conditioning in every room. The lavender towels with cream colored toilet and shower were quite fitting. But, the shower was warm and powerful and the beds relatively comfortable (certainly an improvement from an air mattress on the cold ground in a cow pasture), so we were happy enough to remain. On a scale of 1-5, I would rate “le dragon” between “sometimes” and “rarely”; but at 65 USD per night, I suppose you get what you pay for. I only hope I don’t answer a knock at the door tonight to find a psychopath with a captive bolt gun.
My biggest disappointment today… I let Geeto go to sleep before we recorded a “happy birthday” salute to daughter Caroline’s roommate – Meggs Benedict. Happy Birthday Meggs! 🎈🎂 Keep being awesome and enjoy life daily as it comes to you.
Tomorrow, we have a 72-mile challenge into the same prolonged headwinds. We remain perplexed… why does the wind continue to be so perfectly affixed against us? But, we’re promised sunshine and perfect temperatures in our daily grind – a tradeoff we’re happy to have as we plan to camp at the Natterjack Brewery tomorrow night: Day 42: Belle River to West Lorne
For the Pedaling Pilgrims! playlist today, I have a couple additions: As we’re now without Lecy, and the carnival support of various cling-ons is complete, it’s just the two of us. We ran as a pretty efficient 3-car train before, now we’re just Two Trains.
As we approached the border crossing, we were a little nervous. We talked about how many miles we would have to add if we were turned away and sent back toward Ohio on the south side of Lake Pennsylvania. As we entered the passport control office, each of us was humming to a half forgotten echo in the brain; I don’t think this experience is quite what Kris Kristofferson had in mind, but… Border Lord
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