Jackie’s avg speed: 8.7 mph
Scott’s avg speed: 9.6 mph
Weather: 70-80 degrees, humid, overcast, some sun

The rain didn’t materialize overnight or during the day. We rationalized the cost of the motel, because it made all the admin calls the night before so easy. Campgrounds don’t have the best WiFi or cell signals, except the spendy KOAs.

It was about 09:30 when we rode into the hazy humid morning in search of the houses Scott’s brother rented and owned when he lived in Port Huron almost 40 years ago. The addresses were close to our route, so it didn’t take a lot of time to find them and take photos. Next up was a hairy trek to the north side to pick up more camping gas and dehydrated meals. We do not recommend riding on 24th Avenue (aka M25). The asphalt was broken and rough on the edge, so we had to ride in a traffic lane. One driver was so frustrated, he honked at Scott three times and cut abruptly in front of him to intimidate an annoying bicyclist. With supplies in hand, we took a different way past the golf course on the way to the bridge.

An international border crossing can be a bureaucratic headache, so we were expecting something complicated when crossing into Canada on bicycles. We rode up the ramp and took the open left lane to a toll booth. A bridge employee greeted us and asked us where we were going in Canada and where we had come from. We were riding from Montana, across the United States to Maine, with a week in Ontario riding along Lake Erie. The expression on her face told us we had significant cred. The guy on the phone the night before said that only cyclists on long distance tours were provided the courtesy of a ride across. She relayed this information to a boss lady on the radio who said she had not been informed we would be coming. And weren’t cyclists supposed to arrive in the morning? Who had we spoken with? (A typical bureaucratic question). Scott did not get the name, but it was a man who was on duty about 20:00. 

The boss on the radio said someone would drive us over when it was convenient. The toll booth operator pointed at a red pickup and told us to load the bikes; the driver would come when he could. We expected to wait, but the driver showed up in a couple minutes. We asked how often he had to carry cyclists across. “About every four or five weeks.” In a couple more minutes, we were at Canadian passport control on the other side. Any firearms, tobacco or alcohol? Nope. Where were we coming from and going to? Montana and Maine. He gave us a swift second look, stamped the passports and passed them back to the driver who handed them to Scott in the front seat.

Passports in hand, we rode the ramp to Venetian Road. The cars were spaced some distance apart as they cleared the other passport lanes, so we had an opening. We pedaled through the riverfront park in Sarnia and kept on riding the designated bike path which went along the river, sometimes on a separate path, sometimes a separate lane on the road. The riverfront path was pleasant, but designed with curves and small knolls to be more interesting for people on casual walks or leisurely bike rides. On that kind of trail it’s impossible to build any momentum. We were also riding against a stiff 12-15 mph wind.

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It was almost 17:00 when we finally got to Sombra, the city on the opposite bank of the St. Clair River from Marine City on the Michigan side. A highway sign said, “Wallaceburg 21.” My heart sank. Wallaceburg was where we wanted to spend the night, but no way could I go 21 more miles. We decided to keep on to Port Lambton and check out lodging options. On the south side of Sombra, we got a lane on the highway and could really move. I had forgotten a cardinal rule of long distance touring. If conditions are difficult, just keep spinning. The road or the weather will change. At about the same time, I realized “21” was kilometers. Only 14 miles to go, 90 minutes max.

The “Blue Water Trail” runs along the St Clair River that forms the border between eastern Michigan and Lambton County, Ontario. The water is a pure sapphire color, unlike anything we had never seen. My iPhone X didn’t really capture that color, so you have to see it for yourself. We heard or read somewhere it was because the St. Clair had been dredged to make shipping channels, removing mud and leaving a clean gravel bed, or because Lake Huron flows into it. A cursory Google search did not bring up any explanations for that color, but I’ll keep looking.

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Like many days of our journey, this one ended on a beautiful trail that followed other blue water channels into the St. Clair. We checked in to the Days Inn, the only motel in Wallaceburg, $145 Canadian/$110 U.S. Not the best deal, but the only one. Still in bike attire - we were that hungry and tired - we walked to Crabbie Joe’s, an Ontario restaurant chain a couple blocks away. Scott had a cheeseburger, the best he’s had in a while, and I ordered the Wicked Shrimp Penne, consisting of “sauteed shrimp, peppers, onions and roasted garlic in Piri Piri pepper spiced sauce. Tossed with penne in a white wine tomato sauce and topped with Parmesean Cheese.” Easily the best meal I’ve had on the road so far. Or maybe our hearty appetites made the food special. We fell asleep shortly after dark.