BikeSuperior

Cycled out of Thunder Bay at 6:00 a.m. refreshed by a rest day including carbs and beer (more carbs).  Sorry Baldwin Lake but Thunder Bay Wood Fired Pizza beats Zimmy's hands down. About 20 miles I'm at the border crossing and hoping for a big welcome home.  Presenting my Nexus card, which is supposed to be a special get out of Camada free card, issued jointly by the U.S. & Canada, I'm invited in for coffee, donuts and waterboarding. It seems that two weeks of beard and wild hair puts me in the ISIS suicide bomber alert profile.  Now, I've had that card and used it 100 times to clear TSA pre-check in the last 5 years. But fail to shave and suddenly I'm a terrorist. And I thought that ICE wasn't supposed to be racially profiling. Following my release from solitary, I'm back on the road in the God forsaken backwater of Northern Minnesota. I ride another 50 miles without cell service or a WiFi provider. I suspect that my bride is getting worried, but I ca

Today is a rest day. Not sitting in the saddle even to go to dinner. If it is not walkable, it is out of range. As luck would have it I'm right in the middle of Thunder Bay's annual Busker Festival. For the uninitiated, a Busker is a street performer looking for gratuities.  I can't to you how unimaginably bad the performers are but somehow, it manages to add to the charm of the festival. There is a hula-hoop girl that doesn't really hula, but walks in a circle carrying various hoops while recorded music plays. Then there is the duo of a 16 year old accoustic guitar player singing into Mr. microphone while his little brother beats on a Toys R Us drum set.  Finally, a New Zealander with a big gold front tooth manages to climb up on a 5 foot tall unicycle on the 6th try and holds an unplugged electric guitar which he never plays. This is all incredibly amusing and has brought out the whole town. 500 miles into BikeSuperior and the journey continues in the morning. Expec

The day starts with the best of intentions - ride a grueling stretch to Nipigon and decide at that time just how much further to go. The hills live up to their legend with some rain and wind thrown in for good measure. A 6 am departure gets into Nipigon only 30 miles away at 10:30. I wander into a very busy Tim Horton's wet and expectant as I line up for the day's first cup of coffee. The restaurant is warm and dry so coffee stretches into a 90 minute rest. I still have not settled on a final destination but there are 3 campgrounds between Nipigon and Thunder Bay. The furthest is  Mirror Lake which has the best reputation but is 62 miles total trip for the day. At Nipigon the road turns south and flattens out to an astounding speed (it's all relative folks). In no time I'm past Mirror Lake and on the way to Thunder Bay for a total day's ride of 100 miles. At the Pass Lake Husky service area I run into the characters of the day. Albert is a trucker that makes his l

Light rain and fog this morning that is supposed to move out quickly. The fog lifted around 7:30 and off I go with occasional sprinkles.  Schriber is only 9 miles so I skip morning coffee in favor of breakfast when I arrive. For the past 20 miles I have seen one billboard after another advertising places in the town of Schribee and even some Chamber of Commerce type signs extolling the beauty of Schriber. Wow!  Hoodwinked again. This place is a bonafide dump with one restaurant - a Robins donut shop. I drink my coffee amid two tables of local deaf retirees yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. Some enterprising audiologist should open a hearing aid store here and make a killing. I was hoping to wait out the rain, but riding wet is preferable to the company of screaming geezers. The nearer I come to Thunder Bay, the Closer together points of interest are clustered. Just 13 miles past Schriber is a little fishing town called Rossport featuring a half dozen cute little B&

The bear awakens hungry. Breaking camp at 7:00 am, I'm on the road after a protein bar and a pack of Gu. Between here and Terrace Bay 36 miles away there is nothing to eat except pine cones. I'm thinking that I can cover that ground in about 3 1/2 hours until I get to the first Hill.  HO LEE FUK (inside joke for the Tans') I might need ropes and pitons to get up this thing. I chug to the top, have a Cedar Point ride down the other side and am facing the same thing all over again. Ther was not a straight or flat stretch all the way to Terrace Bay. Adding to the burden is a rapidly developing head wind that ultimately reaches about 15 mph. A truck passing me hits a bird and it carroms off his wind shield to the road side. I give some thought to starting a fire and having roast quail. Here's the thing about hills and wind - they slow you down. Yesterday I was making 10 mph and today I'm making 6. That doesn't sound like a big deal until you do some math. I did ab

Gordon and I left Marathon separately.  He is riding for a charity and is behind because he stayed a few days in the Soo to do radio and TV interviews.  I don't want to slow him any further, so I opt for a long breakfast before taking off. My starting point, Marathon, has only one redeeming quality - it is on Lake Superior. Otherwise, nothing going on here. I'm happy to have Superior on my left again. From Wawa to Marathon, a distance of 120 miles, the Trans Canada moves inland. The scenery is wild, but blindingly monotonous after 14 hours of peddling. The day was short, only 38 miles to Neya Provincial Park.  The park may be the most beautiful campground I have ever seen. I secured a site situated about a 9 iron from the water. The park also lays claim to being a German POW camp during WWII. I scoped out the relics which were largely just deteriorating foundations. The visitors center has a miniature scale model of the prison as it existed in the 40's as well as some loc

Day 5 begins in the company of a half-dozen bikers all camped in the town square in Hooverville style. I'm the first to break camp and make my way to the road. About an hour later, Gordon catches up to me and, being the slowest bike on the Trans-Canada highway, I waved him through. He says he prefers company and although ahead of me, he is matching my speed. We stop for lunch at the only restaurant between our White River starting point and the destination of Marathon. The restaurant is only a few months old and, based on the number of failed businesses along the route, I question the probability of success but hope for the best. Nice people trying hard to make a go of it. Over lunch, we share some of our personal history and discuss world politics. Gordon is a Canaduan originally from Vancouver. He moved to Europe 25 years ago and ended up as a banker in Edinburgh.  Now married to a Scot with two kids in college, he became a British subject by way of his heritage. He also aban

Day 3 was a recovery day. Spent some time watching the Open, had awesome Chinese in downtown Wawa and regained my legs. Dinner at the motel restaurant was Polish food served by Polish waiter - Paul who hails from Vancouver but comes to Wawa during summers. The whole staff is a polish reminiscent of Legs Inn in Cross Village north of Harbor Springs. Rested and refreshed, I set off for White River which is a very reasonable 60 mile trip. A 10 mph headwind turns this 7 hour ride into a 9 hour ride and causes me to miss the end of the Open. I pull into a restaurant with TV’s just in time to see the sports press interviewing Tiger Woods who was tied for 5th. This as opposed to talking with the tournament winner.  On a high note, I’m grateful for much less abusive hills and also for cool temps. Along the way, I met Monty, a Canadian, who is on his second circle tour. We are traveling in opposite directions so it is likely that we will meet in Michigan 2 or 3 weeks from now. Monty is an i

This blogging stuff is way harder in an iPhone than it is on a Surface. Day 2 is one that I hope not to repeat on this trip. The weather forecast is for rain overnight tonight, continuing into Saturday 7/21. I modified the original plan to accommodate the rain prediction.  At the time it seemed like a good idea. Rather than 40 miles to Agatha Bay on Friday and then 50 miles to Wawa in the rain in Saturday I’ll just do the whole thing in one day. So... I start out on a beautiful morning that quickly steams into the 80’s.  Up north is not supposed to be this hot or this humid. The gentle hills also turn into killer mountains that strain every inch of gluts and quads.  In all a 4,000 ft elevation gain. Several of these “hills” were at grades that forced me into hiking mode. My Apple Watch says that I covered 35, a 000 steps totaling 17 miles - uphill. The day’smileage total was 92. Most of the Ontario Provincial Park is undeveloped. No food, no gas, no hotels, and no stores. A prote

Hey FOB’s (friends of bike) - I’m baaaack!  Have had some WiFi issues. I entered the Ontario provincial park at the end of day one. The park is big on breath-taking scenery but connectivity is not a priority. Started the day in Sault Ste. Marie, MI and immediately crossed the Canadian border over the International Bridge to Sault Ste Marie, Ontario. Now you might romanticize this city to be the gateway to the great white north with towering pines and hardscrabble granite. Nope. The Soo, in Canada, is a gritty industrial city with belching smokestacks and a parade of 1,000 foot freighters passing through its locks. I think it may qualify as a S*hole which led me to the conclusion that there must be a long line of immigrants requesting amnesty. But when I passed U.S. customs there were no signs of huddled masses. Not a single anchor baby waited in the holding tank after being ripped from his mother’s arms. The whole scene made me think we need to rethink our new policy permitting entry

A frequent inquiry:  "Why are you doing this?" The comic below from yesterday's Chicago Tribune struck a chord.  I first heard the question "why?" from my sole mate when the adventure began to take shape.  My first reaction was that she should already know the answer.  But with some reflection the reason for the question (not the answer) becomes clearer; we share many interests, but not universally.  We both love cooking and wine, sunset cruises, Sunday golf and evenings with our friends and neighbors.  But my wife and best friend finds sleeping in the wilderness to be unthinkable.  "Painful" is how she would label a month on a bike which is the same description I would ascribe to a book club meeting. So, for Nina and some other friends that have had the same question, the answer is so eloquently stated below.  The physical challenge, which is most frequently cited by observers, is only one element of the total.  Physically and mentally, I hope to

Happy to report that temporarily suspending bike training for golf practice ultimately paid off.  My partner and I won our flight at Montreux in Nevada.  Four strong matches to establish a lead and we limped home in the final match to a win.  The week was not without drama - naturally.  In the practice round on Wednesday I injured my elbow when I hit the big ball before I hit the little ball.  Reno has an emergency orthopedic clinic that reluctantly agreed to a cortisone injection and also provided an arm brace.  The steroid worked its magic on day two following my partner's back injury sustained while carrying me during the recovery period. This evening we will collect our winnings (shhh - please don't tell the IRS) enjoy the company of fellow competitors and a few cocktails.  We fly back to Chicago Sunday morning and leave for Sault Ste. Marie on Wednesday.  Thursday morning my adventure begins on the shores of Lake Superior. A couple of last minute preparations were

Summer plopped down on us in a big way - 90° with humidity to match. My days are spent working in the yard, riding when I can and hitting golf balls on the range. In addition to my scheduled adventure, I also agreed to participate in an invitational tournament with a good friend in Reno, Nevada. – NEXT WEEK!! I have not played golf with a purpose in about 4 years. For our first retirement, we sold our home in Atlanta and moved permanently into our lake home in Michigan. I became a truly passionate player. In each of the first few years of retirement, I logged over 130 games per year. Keep in mind that a golf-year in Michigan is only 6 to 7 months long. But the hand of fate is unpredictable, as am I. After a few years of enjoying the good life, I took a mulligan and went back to work in Chicago. The windy city is a great place to work, eat and drink, but it is a lousy place to hone a golf game – especially without a vehicle. Playing golf around Chicago is an all-day endeavor wit