Garlets Corners, Mi. to Traverse City, Mi.: O Sunny Day

September 11, 2020

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This morning the sky was blue, the day was sunny, and even though the temperature at 8 AM was 42 degrees, all boded well for a great day on the road

We ran the morning routine (oatmeal, Starbucks instant coffee, some leftover dinner from last night, pack the bikes, sweep the cabin for anything left behind) and off we went. A few miles down the road we were in Goldilocks mode (not too warm, not too cold, just right).

Our day started on Michigan Highway M-37, on which we had ridden the last 13 miles of yesterday's route. M-37 has all the charm of a visit to the DMV. Not a wretched experience, but without doubt a mind numbing drag. M-37 is a well traveled two lane state highway, with adequate shoulders, but Good God Above! Every Michigander must think they are driving in a NASCAR race. Further, is there a state law that requires every household to own at least one huge pick up truck? Most of that time it felt like F-15’s were roaring past us. To be fair, 8 out of every ten drivers gave us a pretty healthy berth as they passed, but no one slowed below 65 and it was a teeth grinding affair. We rode 15 miles on M-37 and were thrilled when we veered off at Mesick (Yes, that is the actual name of a town we passed through). I want to know the origin story for that name. Alexa, get on that.

The day, though ... oh the weather today. By noon it was a sweetly warm 63 degrees with a gentle east wind and it was delicious. Slowly but surely we were shedding layers of clothing. Margaret started the day wearing, literally, every stitch of cycling gear she brought along. She HATES to be cold. Hates it! But even she succumbed to this perfect day.

Marg Shedding Her Cycling Skin As The Day Heats Up

Michigan appears to have a very logical but unimaginative system for identifying their small county backroads. They assign them numbers instead of names. For instance, for about 7 miles today we cycled on Road No. 9 North. On either side of that road was Road No. 8 North and Road No. 10 North. Intersecting with No. 9 at various times were (and this was very exciting ... wait for it ...) Road No. 14 West, Road No. 12 1/2 West (!), and Road No. 12 3/4 West (!!). How a road is deemed to need a fractional name is beyond my ken, but I find it fascinating.

We're Somewhere Between No. 8 and No. 10, I Reckon

At around 20 miles into the day Margaret and I stopped at a random grassy spot along the route to have a snack. We ate, chit-chatted and took a visit to the trees for a “natural break." Then we were back on the bikes cruising along. About a mile down the road something simply did not feel right to me. I assessed what was making me feel off and realized I was wearing a cycling glove on my right hand but not my left. Argh! I’d taken one glove off to eat some peanuts on our break. Dammit! Hoping it was in my jacket I checked all the pockets to no avail. Not in my handlebar bag either. Hey maybe it was inside my helmet, now perched on top of my head? Nope. I rolled along really bummed, and pondering where and how I’d lost track of it. Another mile goes by ... Ahh, then I remembered I’d set it on my back pannier rack when we were getting ready to roll. Ugh, It surely had fallen off far behind, but ... I slowed to a stop and having no expectations looked back at the rack, and there it was!! There sat my plucky little glove like The Brave Little Toaster, hanging on for dear life, hoping not to be consigned to the pavement. This was an awesome omen. Meanwhile, about a mile ahead of me, Margaret was stopped wondering what in the Hell had happened to her husband. Once I approached she shouted, “You Good?” I excitedly babbled out my story of loss and redemption, she grinned, and asked if we could get going again. Epic moment, although apparently you kind of had to be there to fully appreciate it, judging from Marg’s less-than-awestruck reaction : - )

My Plucky Little Bike Glove, Hanging On For All Its Worth

We rode through the town of Interlochen, home of the famous and prestigious Interlochen School of the Arts. A quick Google search reveals that it was founded in 1928 as a seasonal high school honors orchestra camp, and in 1962 started a full year arts school for high school students wanting to focus their education in the arts. Students attend from all over the country; even the world. Although they mention online that a large percentage of families receive financial aide to attend, tuition to attend as a day school student is $38,000 a year, while tuition, room and board for boarding students is nearly $67,000 a year. It would be fair to say that there is a fairly affluent class of families sending their kids to Interlochen. We were going to swing into the campus and check it out, but the main entrance has a security station with a beefy looking gate and traffic furniture so we felt that was a message to GTFO. More likely it is a Covid precaution, but it did give the campus the feel of a gated community.

We saw a coffee shop in town and screeched to a halt for 3/4 of an hour to down caffeine and cookies. We shot the breeze with a roadie who was doing the same on his day ride.

On the way out of town there was a fellow in front of the local post office with a home made placard he was waving back and forth that said “Save The USPS.” Several cars heading in both directions were honking their horns in support, and when we passed and could read his sign we gave him shouts of support and a thumbs up. He was, I would guess, about 70 and had an epically great, white, bushy beard and a baseball cap pulled over an equally impressive mop of hair. Damn it, we should have stopped and gotten a picture. Just trust me when I say it was a sight to make you smile ... and not in a cynical way.

Changing To A New Section Of The Route Map Is a Big Deal, and Begs For Documentation

All that said, we ended our day in Acme, Michigan just to the east of Traverse City. We are in a Holiday Inn Express and Suites (who names these places anyway?), a well appointed faceless corporate motel that is clean as a whistle and utterly devoid of personality.

The Masked Marauder Ready To Check Into The Holiday Inn Express and Suites. That Is Too Long A Name For A Motel.

Tomorrow we have an interesting choice to be make. The forecast calls for drizzle all day. Not downpours, but just wet enough to whinge about having to ride in it, but not quite bad enough to not ride in it. Will we stay or will we go? Let’s see what kind of backbone we have. I bet we ride. Margaret hates being stationary.

Today's ride: 56 miles (90 km)
Total: 116 miles (187 km)

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