Fall Bike Ride, Day 3, Clare to Shiawassee River

 Day 3, 74 miles

Another cold or coldish night (42℉). I was surprised because the sky was crystal clear—but it rained a bit during the night. Also, the dew was heavy and in the a.m. tent, etc was wet. Nevertheless, I got packed up quick and pushed bike up the hill to church picnic shelter, where I fired up my stove to make oatmeal and reheat tea. Hmmm. It didn’t seem as hot. All I could seem to accomplish was a warming up. I suspected the fuel. Something wasn’t quite right.

I had a big day and it was Saturday. I would complete the Pere Marquette in Midland and continue on roads to near St. Charles where I’d staked out another stealth spot. So far I was batting zero with these. But, again, hoped everything would turn out. What could I do? So far I’d forgotten my food bag and had to do Plan B for camping spots and things were going well. And now possibly my stove was acting up. I was tired and, just like the day before, each “depot” stop was an occasion to potty, drink tea, stretch. In Coleman I got a breakfast sandwich. This time on a pretzel bun. And, again, the place was busy and I had to wait. I’m so glad these far-off tiny resturants are busy. Hope they can make it.

I had counted on getting water right outside or else at Midland—but the spigots were turned off. I rode across the Tridge, a series of three bridges that underwhelmed me after I had been looking forward to them. Maybe it was lack of water or end of trail and need for phone navigation or the heat, but feeling anxious. I got frustrated with the phone telling me to turn left then right then bonking when I followed the directions. I saw a guy loading a minivan and had a good feeling. I asked, Do you have water?, and he produced a new unopened jug and poured into my bottles. Yay!

The new map was on another scale and things were further apart which made me feel defeated and tired. Also the wind was constant, maybe 20 miles, and even at 8 or 9 mph I was struggling. The river road followed the Tittabawassee. So not a lot of up and down—but more than the PM Trail. I stopped at an apple farm in Freeland, Leaman’s, which was a fall destination point for folks. I thought of buy apple cider donuts until I saw the line. It was crazy. I found a rocking chair off to the side and plugged in phone and had tea and rest of my breakfast sandwich. Maybe it was here or at a gas station stop off Shields Rd where I got more water—where I took off bungees to get to stuff and left my travel towel with my clean underwear rolled up inside.

The sun was getting lower, the wind mitigating incrementally, I hopped onto another series of trails. A short one, Thomas Township Trail, then Saginaw Valley Rail Trail where I was more sheltered from wind by border of trees. Then—barricades with no diversion signs. Then I saw a cycling group at a picnic table in a park. I rode over and asked what was up with the trail. Again, grateful for this interaction. They said just go around, The trail was being repaved, but my bike could handle the small patches of pea gravel between segments. Okay! And I was off.

I felt more energetic with 20 miles to go and the heat not so bad. I made it to St. Charles and congratulated myself on finding a Subway and tucking a foot-long in my bag for at my planned stealth camping spot which I was sure to make before nightfall. It was at this point in feeling good that I realized I didn’t see my travel towel. I stopped on the lonely farm road and, yup, it was not there. No towel, after 25 years of so many adventures, gone, and also the clean underwear that I needed that evening. That I’d been looking forward to.

I kept going. The backroads were quiet with few passing cars. The sun was lower on the horizon. It felt like fall, like Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird. I could hear that piano diddle from the film in my head and the kids running through the woods in their ham outfit trying to escape the white racist guy.

I made it to my spot, Kayak Launch Chesaning on the banks of the Shiawassee River. There was an old guy there just plopping a take-out pizza on a picnic table. He saw me pull up and asked, Is there a trail here? Hmmm. I didn’t want him in my business, and answered I don’t know. I’m just going to eat something too. I went off the sidewalk and down the river a couple of yards and leaned my bike against where the old bridge must’ve been, a ruin of concrete and round rock. I sat on the bank and thought this spot doesn’t look too bad, just when I hear voices. A couple of kayakers were paddling along at dusk. There were some low-level rapids and they pulled off right before them just below me. Well, I thought, this place is busy. But after half an hour, about 6:45 I’d figured out a place at the base of a bluff off to the side of the bank away from view of the bridge over the river and down from the picnic/launch. I was set up by 7:30 and watched the sunset over the river while listening to the water. The night was warm and I didn’t have to wear as many layers.

early morning light

The Tridge, a series of 3 bridges, options