Rogers Dam (its been a dry summer, there's not much water flowing)
Wednesday, August 14
I stopped first at the motel office for a couple of danishes
and a cup of coffee (free continental breakfast). Then I rode south on Old
131 to Rogers Heights, where I ate a real breakfast (french toast) at the
Seasons Country Inn near Rogers Dam.
Rogers Dam (its been a dry summer, there's not much water flowing)
Still heading south on Old 131, I crossed over the Muskegon River.
Muskegon River
I then headed east on less-traveled farm roads for the rest of
the day. On Five Mile Road, I came upon an Amish farmer mowing hay with
team of three horses.
Amish farmer mowing hay with horse drawn equipment
I waited for about 15 minutes while he greased the equipment as the horses stood relatively still. Then, when he got under way, the horses seemed to respond promptly to the task and a dog tagged along. There were other Amish people out in the field, forming the hay into bales.
Note 12/96: I misspoke; it wasn't hay. I was corrected by one of the readers (. . @oa.ithaca.edu) via e-mail (I really appreciate feedback):
[T]he Amish mowing by horse power in the field were certainly not mowing hay. That's grain of some sort; wheat I'd guess by color and length. And they're not forming bales, of course. Those structures I think are called stooks in some parts. Getting ready to dry and carry off for threshing.
I knew I didn't know what I was seeing, but I didn't want to bother the farmers, especially since I took their pictures, which I understand they don't like. Often on the trip, I've been there all alone on my bicycle trying to determine from my own knowledge what exactly I was seeing and then, without the benefit of any input from the local area, I've felt compelled to describe what I saw to you, my readers. I know you want to see it and I can only help those of you who know I'm wrong will tell me so.
I responded:
The hardest part of this website is saying something about what I see when I don't get a chance to talk to somebody at the scene so I can know what I am seeing. I know nothing about hay or grains. I really appreciate getting input from folks like you who do know what I saw. It is my intention over the next few weeks before I leave for Florida to make some corrections--but some folks have suggested I leave the typos. I haven't decided.
At Altona, there is an old dam. I stopped there to drink some
Gatorade and stretch my legs. The river looked to offer some nice fishing
holes and a sign a few miles back announced a canoe launch site.
Altona dam
As of noon, I had only ridden 18 miles. There's a tricky intersection
on 5 Mile at Hall's Corner. Road signs angle traffic to the north, but 5
Mile continues to the east. I continued along to the east on 5 Mile. As
I rode along today, I saw several different vestiges of bicycle tours--old
route markings in the road. There were some relatively recent markers here.
These low volume paved roads make for great bicycle touring.
At Blanchard, I stopped for lunch while coincidentally waiting out a thunderstorm.
Because I packed my camera in a One-Zip to protect it from the rain, I didn't
take any pictures, but Blanchard is a neat little town. There are several
antique stores and some excellent eating options. I selected the Rathskeller,
a cellar where stews and soups are served.
Rathskeller, Blanchard, Michigan
I waited for about an hour in Blanchard. The heavy rain stopped and it cleared to sunny, so I took off once again. A couple of miles east of Blanchard the lightening and thunder started up again; this time from all 4 directions. If lightening strikes golfers, there is no good reason to expect immunity for bicyclists. I reached a point where I was concerned about my safety. I saw a man in his yard and rode there asking him if I could stand in his breezeway until the storm blew over. Initially, he seemed a bit apprehensive, but as we talked, he realized I wasn't planning to harm him, so he invited me in for coffee. We drank the coffee and discussed my trip and the bicycle accident that recently killed his 72 year old brother (he crashed while riding in the dark without a helmet, ended up paralyzed and the family had just pulled the plug on life support pursuant to his living will). It was pouring rain while we talked, but when it stopped I took off again. After stopping in Blanchard and then again almost immediately, I'd lost over 2 hours of riding time.
When I finally got back on the road, I had a tailwind and felt
pretty good about the day, but, I came upon a civil defense official in
a pickup truck parked in an intersection. He advised me to seek shelter
immediately; that I was in extreme danger from a potential tornado--two
storm fronts were approaching on a collision course.
I did see what looked like a funnel cloud.
Funnel cloud near Winn, Michigan
I then pedaled at top speed (20-25 mph on the flats; more downhill)
toward the nearest town: Winn. Most of the houses in the area were of frame
construction. I saw a general store though that was constructed of brick.
Recalling the Three Little Pigs story, I elected to seek shelter in the
brick building.
Brick general store at Winn, Michigan
That storm never struck, so I took off once again. At Shepherd,
it got ominously dark and I heard thunder once again, so I decided to stop
for something to eat (and possibly stay the night). I had a mushroom-swiss
burger and took off after the rain stopped once again. This time the wind
calmed and I was able to make some serious progress. Initially, I was trying
for Alma for the night, but as I got to Alma, it was not yet 8:00 PM, so
I decided to push on for Ithaca--about 10 miles south.
A few miles out of Ithaca, I had one of the most difficult dog chases of
the trip. A yellow lab took after me with everything he had. Several times
he was growling just inches from my cleat-bound heels. I yelled: "NO"
repeatedly. That usually works the best. Finally though, he reached some
sort of imaginary boundary where he stopped dead in his tracks. Ever since
I heard of somebody breaking their hip when they ran over a little dog,
that's been my big fear, not the teeth. I can usually outrun any dog on
the flats, but at such speeds falling could be real bad. Oh well, I survived
this one.
In the Ithaca area, I passed hundreds of acres of pickles, about 100 acres
of (pungent) onions and various other crops. The farmland here is quite
fertile.
As I got into Ithaca, it was getting dark, and I couldn't remember where
there was a motel, so I stopped at a drug store. The clerk said there was
one on the main drag just a few blocks east of downtown, but that it "was
a creepy place." I prepared for the worst. I made it to the Ithaca
Motel (old, but well maintained and clean), where I managed to get inside
before the air raid (weather) warning sirens sounded. The Ithaca Motel wasn't
"creepy" at all. Sometimes I think it would be good for small
town motels to hold periodic open houses so the locals can see that Norman
Bates doesn't own the local motel, that the rooms are clean and the people
are friendly, so that they can knowledgeably recommend them to visitors.
The problem otherwise, is that local folks, who never stay in motels in
their own town, have no idea at all what the places are like. The clerk
who misinformed me in Ithaca was young and was probably operating off some
rumors from high school or middle school in characterizing the place as
"creepy."
I'd done real well--73 miles despite a late departure and about 4 hours of waiting.
This is what I produced, when I fell asleep on the keyboard as I was programming this page:
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
It should have been: "zzzzzzzzzzzzz." Oh well.
73 miles.
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997
