An explanation would probably help you out. Here goes. We woke up in Seney, MI, determined to make a break for the Canadian border. We weren’t on the run or anything, and our experience in the U.S. had been quite pleasant so far, but we were both eager to get back on Canadian soil. Plus, we had a connection in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, through my cousin Ryan, and the prospect of a warm bed and some friendly faces was pulling us north like a magnetic pole.
To make a long story short (and I’ll make it long again in a minute), we didn’t make it. America had a few cards up its sleeve, and decided to play them all, one after another, in a dramatic and devastating showdown that would make those televised poker championships on TSN seem like a real bore in comparison (oh wait…). It started in the driveway of the campground, where we discovered I’d picked up a flat tire the night before. No matter, we said, a quick fix, easy. As I was pumping up my patched tube, we were given an ominous warning from the campground owner: “Rain’s a-coming,” he drawled, “And it’s a-coming hard”.
Right. Thank you mysterious man. He was right though, and the rain did come. Hard. Remember what I said about not stopping for rain when you’re already on the bikes? Well, that was a lie, apparently. At around the thirty kilometer mark, we bailed out when we saw a sheltered picnic table. Had a bit of breakfast while we waited for the storm to blow over, and then continued down the road. It wasn’t long before I got my second flat of the day – a decisive burst signaling that we’d be held up for another half hour. No problem, we’ll still get there, just an hour later than expected. No big deal.
Onward we go. The rain was gone by now, but replaced by no slouch of a headwind, which we struggled against for a while until stopping for lunch on the side of the road. Feeling the need for a bit of extra fuel, we made our way to a nearby restaurant for pie (peanut butter and banana pie!). This was necessary, as the headwind had only increased when we got back on the road. A rare easterly, straight and true, kept us crawling for 40km or more towards an interstate junction where we turned north towards the border. Oh how we were delighted to turn north! What fun to have a crosswind and not a headwind! We might still make it before dark, we thought! Keep going!
We hadn’t gone 1km on the Interstate before we were pulled over (for real!) by a police car, lights-a-flashing. A stern woman got out and informed us that cyclists are forbidden on Michigan interstates. Whoops. She turned us around (after taking down our information and making us wait for about 20 minutes), and told us we had to take an alternate route along a secondary highway instead.
By this point, we were pretty much ready to throw in the towel, but something (Stupidity? Stubbornness? Blind ambition?) kept us going.
As we pulled into Sault Ste. Marie, on the Michigan side, the final card was laid on the table: a huge, snarling beast of a thunderstorm, gathering itself up in front of us, guarding the entrance to Canada like some kind of mythical gatekeeping hellhound. Keep in mind that this particular border crossing is nothing but a long metal bridge that crosses from one side of the great lakes to the other. In other words, it was here that we were forced to admit defeat. The only cards we had up our sleeve were fatigue, dehydration, and fear. And so we resigned ourselves to the idea that we would spend the night in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, instead of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, where a friendly family with a nice warm bed was waiting for us.
To add insult to injury, we were out of campground territory, and would be forced to pony up for a hotel room. Now you might think – hey, that’s just what you wanted! A nice hotel room. But the thing is, we wanted a hotel room the night before, a nice cheap one in rural Michigan. Not a high-priced tourist trap one in a border town, 8km away from a free bed. So grudgingly, we found the nearest hotel, and asked for a room. To our surprise, they turned us away – they were full. We went to three other hotels before we found a vacant one, and by this time the lightning storm was in its full glory. Imagine us, biking through a thunderstorm from hotel to hotel, ready to throw our money away to whoever would have us, and we’re turned away left and right. Unbelievable.
In the end, we were quite relieved to pay the folks at the Soo Locks Lodge, and trudge wearily up to our posh room (which by our mere presence, disheveled and smelly, was undoubtedly devalued considerably – we took some satisfaction in this). America, you win.
Stats:
Av. Spd.: 17.7km/h
Mx. Spd.: 28.5km/h
Personification of America as cruel, inconsistent, and money-grubbing: Unfair? Apt? You decide.
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