Like the B side of Abbey Road, here are some loose fragments thrown together.

• Joy: Few things give me as much joy as going to a Nats game with my kids.
• Gratitude: My father was an ophthalmologist. In my life I have had severe myopia, two retinal detachments, cataracts in both eyes, secondary cataracts in both eyes, and glaucoma. I am thankful my father was not a psychiatrist. Or a proctologist.
• Vagina: I was riding home on the Mount Vernon Trail this week. As I approached the Memorial Bridge underpass, a male passenger in a car passing on the George Washington Memorial Parkway yelled “VAGINA!” at me.
• Sting: Riding to work yesterday at my usual 10 mile per hour pace along Union Street in Old Town Alexandria, a pedestrian said hello and told me that the police were ticketing cyclists up ahead. A block later, another pedestrian warned me. I was given three more warnings by pedestrians until I finally saw the police. I pulled over and laughed. This had to be the lamest stop sign sting ever.
• Safety: The police are trying to make Old Town safer for pedestrians in the morning. The pedestrians don’t seem all that worried, mostly because pedestrian safety is not a problem on Union Street in the morning. It’s in the evenings when drivers are randomly wandering looking for parking spaces or trying to rush home and the Lance Mamilots are speeding through stop signs. Ticketing harmless early morning commuters just pisses people off to no purpose. It also does wonders for citizen/police relations.
• Blind: I pointed out to the police officer that homeowners routinely park illegally blocking sidewalks and bike lanes in Old Town. He said, “If you call it in, we’ll come and ticket them.” Apparently, seeing the violations (they occur on virtually every block down near the river) is not enough to get them to act. You could probably rob a bank in Old Town during a cell phone outage.
• Doom: A similar police response occured in Rosslyn, near my office. I was nearly hit by a red light runner in the fabled Intersection of Doom this week. I complained to the Arlington police via Twitter and they said that the county cut their funding for enforcement in this intersection but that they “will investigate” any traffic violations that I call in. Seriously. They actually said that.
• Cut: If only I could get a 10 percent cut of all the traffic and parking violations I see on my bike commute each day. I could buy a new bike. Next week!
• Disrespect: Apparently, many drivers think the Mount Vernon Trail is a turn around lane. Several times each week I have to stop while a car does a three point turn across the trail. Why can’t they just use some other part of the road or a driveway? It’s as if they go out of their way to treat trail users with disrepect.
• Wave: When I yell at a driver who does something blatantly illegal like run a red light or turn across a crosswalk with bikes or pedestrians in it, the driver usually waves. Sometimes with a cell phone in hand.
• Being: I cannot understand how anyone can sit and meditate for long periods of time. They probably can’t understand how I can ride a bike for hours at a time. Doesn’t much matter since our minds get the same result.
• Friend: When you tell a friend, “We’ll get together soon enough” you really ought not wait six months then invite him to an event with 40+ other people. You don’t want a friend, your ego wants an audience.
• Irony: I haven’t been to Friday Coffee Club in months. The new location is farther from my line of travel in the mornings. I miss the people but I don’t miss getting up a half hour earlier on a Friday so I can ride bleary eyed to get a cup of caffeine.
• Busy: This has been the busiest three months I can remember. All of these things have happened since May 1:
  • An event ride in NYC
  • A ride in an ambulance to an ER (okay, not planned but still…) followed by a week of recovery
  • Three bike events in one weekend
  • A two-week trip to four Scandinavian countries
  • A two-week bike trip in northern Wisconsin and Michigan
  • More baseball games than I can remember attending
  • A family reunion
  • Hanging with my kids who were both home for a week for the first time since last May.
• Busier: I have even more stuff on my calendar through the middle of August. So if you live in DC and you haven’t seen me in a while, we’ll get together soon enough. Doh!

I used my phone to take the pictures in my earlier blog posts about my Tour into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I also had a dedicated point and shoot camera with me. Today I uploaded all the camera pictures as well as the phone pictures. They are on my Flickr page. Check them out.

My motel turned out to be just fine so were my two tall boys and bag of Munchos, dinner of champions.

I hit the road after 8 and had nothing in my legs. The wind was in my face and was surprisingly strong for early morning.

A half mile out of town I started up another dune. It was nowhere near as bad as the two whoppers yesterday. The ride down the backside really woke my ass up.

Just before Onekama I climbed another dune. These dunes, by the way, are forested so there is at least some shade. On the way down hill to Onekama I saw a fully loaded cyclist on his way up. He had a big smile on his face. The ignorance of youth. A second tourist was not far behind but he only had rear panniers. Cheater.

In Onekama I stopped at a cafe. The yogini owner (she dropped the word yoga every minute) made excellent scones and coffee. I had one of each but they didn’t put a dent in my hunger.

A customer and friend of the owner came in and started chatting with me. She asked where I was staying during my trip: “Camping? Golden showers?  Motels?”

It was one of those moments when you wish you had a witty retort. Somehow I managed to not react to her malapropism. (She meant “warm showers” an online resource for sheltering bike tourists.)

I rolled out of the yoga java shop with a caffeine buzz but not much belly fuel. I immediately rode past two places serving actual sustenance.  Can’t stop now. On to Manistee 14 mikes south.

Lake. Woods. Farm. Hills up. Hills down. Headwinds.

Pedal pedal .

I stopped at Manistee Beach because The Mule wanted to pose in front of Lake Michigan again.

I missed a turn outside Manistee. When I realized my error I back tracked and stopped at The Captain’s Restsurant. These folks served me a proper breakfast. Actually it was the size of two proper breakfasts. (I actually qualified for their senior breakfast deal, but the menu said the portions were smaller. Forget that!)

The last 25 miles to Ludington seemed to take forever even though I was riding considerably faster with some food in my engine.

Then I saw the ferry. And my car. And it was over. 50 1/2 miles today. 833 for the 11-day trip.

Dang.

I can’t say I woke up because I never really fell asleep. I am not a happy camper. In my sleep deprived state it took me over an hour to break camp. The road out of the camp ground went straight up so I finally told my ego to shut up and used my granny gear. It turns out that it was good practice for later on.

I started out on flat roads, a surprise because I was near Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore. This area has immense (900+ feet) sand dunes so I was certain I’d be climbing them on my bike.

For the first 20 miles dunes were the least of my worries. A relentless 15 to 20 mile per hour headwind pushed me into a crawl. At mile 10 the shoulder of the road became a ragged mess.

Fueled only by a banana and an apple I made it 23 miles to the cutsie town of Glen Arbor. I stopped at a coffee house for java, a breakfast sandwich, and a cherry turnover. It was probably 2000 calories but my hunger raged on nevertheless. So I stopped at a grocery store and bought a sports drink. This revived me somewhat.

I entered the Sleeping Bear park on a bike path. It was very busy with tourists. When I came to a steep hill, all the tourists riding unloaded bikes were walking. I dropped The Mule into granny gear and rode past them.

To this point, the dunes were simply sandy forested hills, but when the path emerged from the woods, and there were the bare dunes. They are IMMENSE. Kids were coming down a path that was so steep that they would lose control and slide and tumble. A few minutes later the bike path veered away. It was then I realized that the immense dune was only the bottom half of the mass of sand!

In the town of Empire I stopped for lunch. I ate and drank (water and a beer). I left feeling much more energetic. The next ten miles once again reminded me of upstate New York outside of Albany where I grew up.

As I rode past Crystal Lake the winds picked up dramatically. The lake had whitecaps  and breakers on it.

I managed to survive the five-mile beat down and rolled into Frankfort where I made a status check. I was 56 miles into a very challenging ride. The temperature had risen into the high 80s and the humidity was high as well.

I decided to call it a day at the first motel I saw. There was no motel in sight as I rolled past Elberta so I plodded ahead. I wasn’t seeing very much as my head was down to avoid the wind.

I entered the Arcadia Dunes area. Until now, the roads and bike paths had gone around the dunes. In Arcadia the road climbed them. Back into the granny gear, I slogged up one half mile climb. The mile-long descent was breathtaking.

After a mile of flat roads, hill/dune no. 2 arose. I was grinding away when I heard a rumbling sound. A man on a huge mountain bike (a 29er) came screaming down the hill. The thick treads on his tires made the noise.

I finally reached the summit and took a moment to take in the awesome view of Lake Michigan.

Note the bending trees.

The descent into Arcadia was scary but fun. In town I saw only one motel. I spotted two women with bikes eating ice cream at a picnic table near the road.

Holly and Kristen talked my ear off and recommended a place right on the lake about a mile back. I rode there only to see it had no vacancies.

I found a place back in town. It’s a Felkerino kind of place, right out of the 1960s.

So ended a 72-mile day. There’s about 60 left. Holly and Kristen said that there are more dune climbs (albeit shorter ones) at the start of tomorrow’s festivities. Then the route flattens for the final 30-ish miles into Ludington.

My  co-worker Kelly told me that this area of Michigan was where cherries are grown. Are they ever! I rode by orchard after orchard of cherry trees laden with thousands of bright red cherries.

Hops are another popular crop here and I saw many hoppy farms. Not to be outdone by the beer boom, there are over 20 wineries here.

My hotel was overpriced but it was outdated. I went out for a beer and some food last night. The first cafe sat me at a table, gave me a menu, then ignored me for 15 minutes.

I walked out and found a good place a block away. I had whitefish and a beer made in Royal  Oak MI. Both hit the spot.  I barely made it back to the hotel. I was exhausted.  I fell asleep on top of the covers.

In the morning I made sure that I ingested a full continent for my continental breakfast then hit the road.

I was expecting lake views but instead saw mikes of cherry orchards on gently rolling roads.

In Eastport I raided a market for fruit and liquids. The route turned inward, away from Lake Michigan on a road along Trout Lake. I enjoyed the flat ride so much I missed my turn by a mile.

Back on course I climbed one mean nasty hill past a sand and rock operation. The ensuing downhill was enjoyable but my knees thought it was a bad trade.

In Elk Rapids I had lunch. The Totty Bowl was tater tots, eggs, sausage, cheese, and gravy. It made for a nice calorie bomb.

Shortly after Elk Rapids I picked up the Traverse Area Rail Trail. This took me through Traverse City where I stopped for an early dinner at a brew pub. The fish sandwich was great and so was the cherry beer.

I checked for hotels nearby but they were all back a few miles, out of sight on the main road.

I decided to ride on. The TART continued for another 17 miles so I figured I’d ride it all the way to the end and find a hotel in Suttons Bay.

There were no hotels to be found so I continued on to a campground. My tent is pitched far from the RVers. I’m in the woods. I am hoping to sleep like a log after another 87-mile day.

I awoke at 5:30 from an ineffective sleep. I glided the loaded Mule to the ferry which was over 2 miles distant. I managed to stumble into a high speed ferry. It looks like your basic small boat but it reared up as soon as it cleared the no wake zone. Smooth as silk. Not a touch of motion sickness.

It was before 8 and I was on car-free Mackinac Island. I grabbed breakfast in a cafe before taking The Mule for a gentle lap on the flat road around the edge of the island. It was so peaceful. Just some runners (oh how I’d kill to run a lap or two in this cool air), some walkers, bicyclists, and horse drawn vehicles.

I stopped to climb to the top of a stone arch. 200+ steps that my weary legs didn’t need.

A learned a few minutes later that it was clearly visible from the road.

Soon the circuit was done but not before I gawked at some magnificent Victorians.

The ferry to Mackinac City was a bit choppier but my stomach behaved. (For surviving 3 ferry rides without calling Ralph I get Carl Kassel’s voice on my answering machine.)

Mac City was confusing but I soon found the bike path out of town. No matter how hard I tried I could not get The Mule over 10 miles per hour.

This worsened when the bike path gave way to bumpy, rolling, winter weathered country roads. A headwind was not helping the situation.

I passed the town of Bliss and went into a gas station minimart. On the UP humanity came in large white male bodies. Here was the most incredible hodgepodge of humanity. Cat hats. Young women struggling to carry huge boxes of PBRs. The guy in front of me was chanelling Dennis Rodman: African American, 6 foot tall, 145 pounds, nasty looking ring in his left nostril, stud in his lower lip, pink bra under a lacy top with spaghetti shoulder straps. (Dude, your bra was too big. Either get yourself some man boobs or drop down a size.) I’d venture to guess he’s not a Yooper.

Outside while eating, Toby, a 40 something white man wearing a baseball cap with the word “bliss” on it, explained that the Bliss music festival is going on. It’s been in business for over 30 years. We discussed Hot Tuna, Arlo Guthrie, and Peter Yarrow before
I rolled out, still struggling. I finally figured out that my tent which was tied down to my rear rack was pressing against my brake cable.

Good thing I figured it out. The next 20 miles were on a road called the Tunnel of Trees. I finally started to enjoy the day when a detour sent me straight up a long. windy, bumpy hill. I managed to find a pedaling rhythm at 4 miles per hour. Something still felt wrong. After I descended back to my route, I stopped and saw that my left pedal had lost part of its structure. Basically the platform was about to slide off the pedal axle.

Dang.

The Tunnel of Trees ran along a bluff affording views of the lake and awesome homed of every design imaginable clinging to the hillside.

The route descended to the lakeside and gave way to a bike path. Smooth. Flat. I cruised around Little Traverse Bay. When I got to Petoskey, I re-checked my bad pedal. It was literally falling apart. It was 5 pm on a Sunday. I called some bike shops and one answered the phone. “Were closed, but bring it in. We’ll help you out.”

The Bahnhof Ski shop was just a mile further along my route. In 15 minutes they had me back on the road. I didn’t take a picture of them but I am so grateful for their help.

They sent me on my way with recommendations of motels in Charlevoix, 17 miles away. The ride was mostly on a bike path along the bay and the lake. It gave way to streets lined with flowers.

I crashed at The Lodge and hit the streets for much needed liquid refreshment.

Another 83 miles in the books.

After a restful and dry stay in a hotel in Manistique, I rolled out on US 2, headed east with no set destination. I was playing the day by ear.

The road angled northward at the start into a strong wind. Despite yesterday’s difficult finish, my legs seemed fresh. When the road angled east and the headwind went away, I rolled effortlessly on the flat highway.

It was a bit disappointing that the next 50+ miles had no views of the lake but there were plenty of trees and ferns and swamps to keep me entertained. There was even a roadkill porcupine. Damned thing was huge.

I snacked the whole way and it seemed to keep my energy level on an even keel. At 12:30 I stopped for lunch at a sub shop. Nice people (again). Yoopers are like that.

After lunch the views of Lake Michigan opened up. Under a clear blue sky there is only one way to describe it:

WOW!

I actually worried that drivers would be gawking at the endless blue and run me over. Soon I was passing through dunes. Cars were parked on my paved shoulder forcingme  out into the travel lane.

Not ideal but traffic was light and forgiving.

(Around this time The Mule hit 41,000 miles. Go Mule!)

The beaches went on for miles. It reminded me of the Pacific Coast Highway between Santa Barbara and Malibu.

Every few miles the flats would give way to a climb up to some bluffs. This made the last ten miles honest. For my troubles I got my first views of the Mackinaw Strait Bridge. Cool.

I pulled into a state park near the bridge. The cost of camping is only slightly less than a cheap motel. I think I’ll be moteling more next week.

I’m dining on whitefish with Escanaba Black Beer in St Ignace. Tomorrow the ferry to Mackinaw Island and the lower penninsula.