September 25

Yesterday my chain started squeaking and I really started to regret not remembering the one thing I did, bike lube. Yesterday was also the hilliest 80 plus miles I’ve ever ridden.

Yesterday, my front derailleur stopped letting me shift to my biggest chain ring—the one that makes those monster climbs up the hill worth it when you finally make it to the top and begin the inevitable decline—the one you pretty much only use when speeding down hills. I could still go fast down those hills, but only as fast as gravity would allow. Pedaling was pointless. I just coasted down every hill. Still, my top speed for the day was 34 miles per hour. I wonder how fast I could have gone if I had the capability to shift to that big chain ring.

After a day of the incessant squeaking and futile downhill “pedaling,” it was an easy decision to find a bike shop soon. I needed chain lube and a new shifter cable. I replaced one shifter cable before I left, but neglected to change this one, of course.

I found a bike shop in Green Bay with the help of Cha Cha. Then I called them to make sure they were actually a bike shop. They didn’t have the work “bike,” “bicycle,” or “cycle” in their name, but they told me they are indeed a bike shop. Then I called them again after getting directions once, and they gave me more specific instructions on how to find their store:

“It looks kind of like a warehouse”

I found it. This place looked just like a warehouse. And they hooked me up! Holy shit, I bought chain lube, $7.99; three cliff bars, approximately $4; and two Luna bars, $2 is a lowball estimate; on top of that they replaced my shifter cable and made some minor adjustments to both of my shifters that are difficult to do on the road with no bike stand. I had resigned to paying at least $25 for everything I was to leave with. They charged me 16 dollars. That means they gave me a free cable and housing and free labor. Sure it was easy, but holy fuck, those guys were great to me. If anyone is ever in Green Bay I highly recommend In Competition Sports. That shop is exactly what a local bike shop should be.

And they gave me great directions out of town and to my next stop: Oconto, Wisconsin. I would be almost to Michigan, twenty-two miles from the state line when I stop riding for the day, without having eaten a single piece of Wisconsin cheese.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention I didn’t leave my campsite until 11 a.m. today. Not good. I’m getting increasingly less organized with each day.

By the time I made it out of the Green Bay city limits it was almost 4. Shit. I had at least 20 miles to go until Oconto. Twenty mile is without figuring in the detour, which I had to figure out a bike friendly detour to the original detour because it took you on an interstate highway, with the detour, and some wandering, my ride from Green Bay was closer to 30 miles. I arrived in Oconto before the sun set with the help of Ian, his computer, google maps, a couple handfuls of chocolate-heavy trail mix, and two water bottles’ worth of water. The temperature was dropping quickly, but it hadn’t started to rain yet.

For the ride from Green Bay I hovered in the 18-20 miles per hour range. The rest of the day, and most of the trip, I’ve been living comfortably in the 12-16 mph range. I should eat more of that trail mix.

Really, though, I think I’m getting into better biking shape.

In Oconto I discovered another Subway, but hoped I could find something else. Subway should use me as the central character of a new marketing campaign: it’s Sam, he rode his bike around Lake Michigan and only ate Subway.

I’ve also eaten food I brought from home, which was running low as I pedaled up to the Riverview Inn in Oconto. The woman at the front desk gave me a list of restaurants in the area after I checked in, and menus for the places that deliver. I told her I didn’t eat meat. She showed me the one restaurant I could possibly eat at, other than Subway. Then I saw the light flash in her eyes:

“There’s also a grocery store right over there,” She pointed behind her, “just a block down 41 on the right. The have a deli with a pretty good pasta salad, and other things.”

“That’s close! I could walk there.”

“…Yeah…you could.” She didn’t understand how nice it is do not have to ride your bike just to find something to eat when that’s all you’ve been doing for the past few days.

After about a minute of looking through the delivery menus and the very similar variations of typical “family style” restaurants I went to the grocery store. I bought the pasta salad. It had lots of vegetables in it, awesome. I also bought some Newman’s own pasta sauce and great northern white beans. This was better than any family style restaurant. I restocked on road foods: trail mix, instant oats, and wheat tortillas (accidentally bought ones with chives, oops). I grabbed a small carton of chocolate soymilk, too. Tomorrow’s oatmeal for breakfast is going to be delicious with that soymilk. I’m going to have to practice some self control to save some of it for the morning.

It’s raining now. I’m glad I chose to sleep indoors tonight. The forecast is cold for the next week. Low temperatures are predicted to drop into the 30’s, with highs for the day in the 50’s.

Fall really has arrived.

I talked to Ian on the phone, also. We talked about traveling alone. I've decided I like traveling with another person, he feels the same way. The benefits to having a travel companion greatly outweigh the disadvantages of having another person with you. And, the advantages of traveling alone are greatly outweighed by the disadvantages of traveling alone, the main one being that you are alone. This isn't the type of alone that is staying in your room all day. No, this is a different type of alone, a kind you can only know if you've traveled for significant lengths of time without anyone else.

There Ian, I remembered the way I articulated it to myself while riding that I couldn't remember when I was talking to you on the phone.

This is the only picture I took today. I just couldn't resist...

I need to remember to take more pictures.

September 24

Today was great. The end.

I realized this trip isn’t about getting anywhere, it’s about going there, and being there, wherever there happens to be. Even if there isn’t the place you were shooting for that morning, it’s still somewhere. And frankly, it is where you are so you’d better be happy with it. I thought I knew that already, but it really clicked now. I get it. I understand.

I was searching for a road that runs parallel to the larger and busier highway than I had hoped for. I was frustrated because this neighborhood was full of dead ends. But I found the road after only 10 minutes. I felt tired most of the day. I thought I was getting sick. I thought I was too tired to ride over 12 miles per hour—a relatively slow speed compared to the 15 miles per hour I usually can average. I realized all these things were a part of where I was and that is something. And that something is where I am so I’d better learn to enjoy it.

In reality, I don’t think I was all that tired today. This was the hilliest 75 miles I’ve ever rode in one day. And to top every one of those hills which I climbed today, this campsite I’m at, High Cliff State Park, is actually on a high cliff. You can get to the top of it, the hill with high cliffs, that is, and you have to if you want to camp here, but you have to work, or have a vehicle that does the work for you. I don’t have one of those right now. Instead, I climbed the hill on the only vehicle I have, my bike. This thing is close to a 30 degree incline for a quarter mile.

After climbing the hill once, and dropping off my stuff, I had to go get firewood, conveniently located at the park entrance, at the bottom of the hill. Climbing that hill with a “bundle” of firewood balanced on top of my rack was a challenge, but I made it. (Ironically, I didn’t use the firewood. Everything else was too wet for this city boy posing as an amateur outdoorsman to get a fire going. Oh well, I’m warm enough in my sleeping bag.)

Today was today—great. High Cliff State Park is great. There’s a cool bench on one of the really awesome hiking trails. And I climbed one of the high cliffs! Yeah!

The bench has a beautiful little poem on it:

Standing on top of this, I just had to climb down it.

The view from below:

I hiked farther down the hill:

I made it down to Lake Winnebago just as the sun was setting:

September 23

I woke up just after 6 a.m. I started boiling water for my instant coffee and equally as instant oatmeal. The sun wasn’t up yet. In the darkness, I thought about my potentially smelly and probably hungry little black and white friend trolling around somewhere in the sandy brush between me and Lake Michigan.

He didn’t show up. My coffee and oatmeal were ready as the sun finally decided to show up. I didn’t realize sunrise was this late. Now that I’m thinking about it, the sky has been dark whenever I’ve woken up at or before six lately. I don’t have much sunlight to work with on this trip. This might become problematic when I am fifteen miles away from a camp site and it’s getting close to 5. I’ll just have to deal with this. I am dealing with it, actually, hence my sitting in this hotel lobby at 7 a.m..

I can’t live by my own time, I have to live by the sun. Maybe that’s when people first stopped getting along with the earth, when they started living by their own time and not following the sun’s. Tyler Bee, from the Bee Hive Art Collective, referred to this as “living linearly in a cyclical world,” I think he perfectly articulates what I need to avoid doing this trip. Hotel’s don’t exist cyclically. Well, they sort of do, but only in how they putt new coffee in the pot every morning and clean the rooms when guests leave.

I’m drinking their coffee right now and about to eat some oatmeal and fruit. I’m going to fill my water bottle with orange juice before I leave, too. I like to mix orange juice and water. This mixture is a lot like a sports drink, but without the high fructose corn syrup. This combination is just how I like it—natural and delicious.

But now I’m getting waaay ahead of myself.

Rewind.

Leaving the camp site, I took route 32 north for a couple hours. I quickly passed into Wisconsin. Randy, who I talked to yesterday on the trail, lives in Wisconsin. I was right on the Illinois Wisconsin border.

I found another bike trail in Wisconsin. I thought This is too good to be true. This won’t last long. I took it. The trail took me all the way to Racine, Wisconsin. In Racine the trail had an offshoot off into town, the “Lake Michigan Pathway,” it was called.

I’m touring the Lake Michigan coast. Of course I took this route. The “Pathway” led through a peaceful Racine residential area. Apparently there is a not so nice part of Racine, or at least there exists three drunken “fishermen” who cannot possibly live in the part of Racine I the Lake Michigan Pathway goes through. They told me this was a bad town. They weren’t really fishermen, I just found them drinking at a picnic table near a dock, on Lake Michigan. They kept offering me beers and hamburgers and telling me I needed to read Into The Wild. They kept arguing with each other. They were like little children, all fighting over the attention of one preschool teacher. But little kids are nice, and these men were very kind as well. They certainly meant the very best in everything they did and said to me.

They kept insisting I get this bike map from the library. One of them went with me to the library, he was a bit racist:

“You can’t leave your stuff on your bike while you go inside, the niggers will take it in a second. If you’re gonna be quick, in and out, I’ll watch it for you”

“Okay, but I’m still gonna lock my bike. I don’t know you either. Even though, I do want to trust people I just met like you, I just can’t” I replied.

And then he went off into a drunken diatribe about not trusting strangers, etc. Good advice, but I could tell he was bitter from something. He seemed like the type that once didn’t follow the advice he had just given me. He seemed the most sober out of the three “fishermen” (least drunk is probably a better way to put it, he was still tanked, but seemed to still have some coordination, enough to ride his rusty bike with me 100 yards to the library). And he gave me the best directions. His name is Ricky, he’s the scrawny one on the right in the picture.

The trail guide they all insisted I get was kind of cool, I guess. I had hoped there would be longer routes, but they’re all just 10 mile loop “tours.” I’m going to use part of one route when I get past Green Bay. That will be tomorrow, I hope.

According to the news it's going to rain tomorrow; tomorrow might be another motel night if its rainy. But tonight I’m staying at a campsite on Lake Winnebago.

Shit I’m getting ahead of myself again.

I stopped at a cool coffee shop outside of Racine. The place looked like a house. There wasn’t a parking lot—only a driveway—with a bike rack next to the wheelchair access ramp. I ordered a smoothie. I sat outside, in a garden, under a tree, and ate a cliff bar while enjoying my smoothie. A guy came over and started talking to me. He was with the group of four who seemed to be this place’s only customers besides me. At least I think he was with that group, he might have lived there, he just seemed so comfortable at that house/coffee shop. I guess the whole group could have lived there. Oh well, he was very friendly, and wanted to know where I was from, where I was going, et cetera. He also rides bikes, and his friend had just done a month long tour in Colorado.

Sounds awesome to me.

I pressed on. Those drunk guys took up a lot of my time. Oh well. I rode through Milwaukee, which seemed like a cool town. Maybe next time I should plan my stops better. I could’ve got some great food in Milwaukee and probably maybe a free place to stay with my friend Kyle’s friends, who are in a band that I let stay at my apartment one night last year.

But instead, I just rode through Milwaukee. I did get to enjoy their bike lanes. And I got lost, thus forcing me to see more of the city than I planned.

I stopped at a Caribou Coffee where a cute girl sold me an orange juice and an Odwalla “Green Machine” juice. Fort Washington is a lot like any other suburb in the world. I felt like I was in Naperville, or St. Charles, or Palatine, or Darien, or Downer’s Grove, but I wasn’t in any of those places. I was in some suburb of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, I wrote down the wrong name in my journal. I certainly didn’t stop at a Caribou Coffee in Fort Washington and sleep in Fort Washington, because I rode about 2 more hours after that orange juice and green juice break. Maybe it was Whitefish Bay, or Fox Point, who cares. The girl was pretty, had a cute, timid smile, and was very nice. Usually nice isn’t a very complimentary adjective for someone, in my opinion, but when they are a total stranger, it’s a huge compliment. Do I look intimidating in a cycling jersey and shorts? She seemed shy. Oh well, she filled both of my water bottles for me even though the water cooler was on my side of the counter.

And then I got to Fort Washington. This is a cool town with lots of restaurants that have a lot of meat, especially fish. I ate at Subway. I bought some hummus from a grocery store to “beef” up my sandwich.