Recently in touring Category

So it's just a little bit more than 24 hours since I completed my longest bicycle tour to date, 859.25 miles over 10 days of riding. I'll get the stories and pictures posted over the next few weeks, but there's something I'd like to start with... 

Now, everybody seems real impressed by what I've accomplished, but honestly- I'm rather humbled by what I came across the weekend before I left.  On my way home from 12 hours of Potluck, I saw a bunch of bicycles stopped on the side of the road, one of which was upside down on it's seat and handlebars.  Looked like a flat tire.  Since I had a full size floor pump with me, I'd figured I'd stop to help.

What I encountered really impressed me.  It was a group of about a dozen teenage girls, pedaling their way across the UP.  Now, I follow all kinds of hardcore adventure touring races; the trans-wisconsin, the tour divde, etc. These girls beat them all. 

Any schmoe can spend a zillion bucks on equipment, spend months or even years training, and still keep the ol' Visa card in their back pocket for an easy out when things get really ugly.

Not these girls. They had a collection of old step-through hybrid bikes running semi-knobby tires and had Walmart's finest in outdoor gear unceremoniously bungie corded to their bikes.  I think the only nod to actual cycling clothing any of the girls had was one with a "Livestrong" t-shirt. 

And you know what?  They were out doing it, and clearly having a great time.  Hell, I'd be surprised if they had a collective $250 in saved up babysitting money between the lot of them. And they were still looking forward to what the journey brought their way, despite the day's setbacks.

Turns out, they didn't even really need my help, or that of the two motorcyclists that also stopped. They had spare tubes and a pump and were having no problem getting themselves going again.   

It's too easy to put off a bicycle trip because you don't think you have the right equipment or enough money or whatever. These girls didn't. 25 years from now, they'll still be reflecting on what they learned on that trip.  If you can pedal across the UP with only what these girls had available to them, you can probably accomplish damn near anything in life. 

It's one of the few, truly inspiring things I've seen in the bicycle world. I hope the rest of their trip went well, but given their resourcefulness up to that point, I wouldn't be surprised at all if it went great.   

It really set the tone for my upcoming tour. I had a couple of down moments along the way, but man... I didn't want to be outdone by a bunch of teenage girls!  :)  

I did this one last year for Fat Tire and have been looking for a good opportunity to do it again. Bikepack to a race, carrying whatever I need for raceday and camping there with me on the bike.  And it goes without saying I race whatever bike I ride there too. 

Miner's Revenge was the perfect race to do this. The race is only maybe 35 miles from my house and a weekend of camping is just part of the event with plenty of nice spots right on site.  Plus it's kind of a technical course with lots of opportunities to hurt myself by riding over my head, so knowing I have to get me and the bike back home under my own power is kind of a good motivator to chill out a bit.

The big plan was to leave Friday right after work and take the long way there, camping along the way someplace.  It's usually a nice idea in theory, but rarely works out for me. Instead, I found myself packing for the trip at midnight and on the road the next morning at 7:30AM.  I was hoping to stick with dirt as much as possible, but a navigational error put me behind schedule a little more than I'd like. (Did you know there's a drainage ditch between Greenland, MI and my house named "Greenland"? My GPS does.)  I hopped out on the pavement for the last 15-20 miles into Mass City and cranked her up making it to registration with minutes to spare.  A side benefit of this was that everybody coming from Marquette for the race that morning now knew me as the doofus that rode his bike to the race. 

The race went well. I started in the back and managed to work my way up a bit on the climbs, but took it easy on the descents. I managed to avoid getting into the red mist of racing too much and had an enjoyable ride, joking with folks on the trail and really enjoying the new singletrack.  Rob and his crew have been hard at work and have built some awesome new trails out there. I wish I could have made it down to help them out this year, but they seem to be getting along fine without me right now.  I also just plain flat out enjoy this event. A lot of traditional mountain bike races are lacking in technical challenges. Not so here, and it's certainly not lacking in aerobic challenges either. You have to be a strong all around rider to excel at this event. Which is probably why I finished way in the back. But finish, I did- with me and the bike in one piece.  

Shortly thereafter, a friend of mine showed up with a cooler full of beer. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the Coors Light, or maybe it was just the fact that he had a truck and could haul the twisted remains of me and the bike home if it didn't work out, but I decided to do the downhill event as well.  I figured I was in way over my head when I was the only one at the start line in spandex on a bike sporting a rear rack instead of rear suspension. Nonetheless, I managed to post some not totally embarrassing times. The course was a fun and it was worth the $10 entry fee just to ride in a 6x6 Pinzgauer up the old ski hill to the start.

We set to work on the rest of the beer around the bonfire that night and it wasn't too long before I wandered off and passed out in my bivy sack for the night.  I woke up feeling pretty good, but there was a low point early on that I report with much sorrow. I was handed my first significant defeat of the season by Grandma's Cafe in Mass City, MI.  Usually, there are several foodstuffs that I never really fill up on, I just merely run out- pancakes being one of them.  Well, Grandma's serves a pretty colossal pile and I was forced to admit defeat and not finish them. 

The ride home proved pretty uneventful and I managed to avoid most of the rain.  I'm getting my bikepacking setup a little more dialed in. I think I'm going to need a tent to keep doing this comfortably in the midwest, but I was only an extra pair of bikeshorts away from having everything I needed to keep pedaling for a whole week with me on this trip. I'm looking forward to my next bikepacking trip to Copper Harbor for Fat Tire.  

I think it's been at least two or three posts since I talked about the Tour Divide in this blog. Have you been following it this year? I'm rooting hard for Patrick Tsai. I passed him in the Almanzo 100 and he's currently sticking it out in last place.  It's very much one of those "if he can do it..." sort of things. 

The final mountain bike race on my calendar was the Copper Harbor Fat Tire Festival on labor day weekend.  The only problem is, it's on Sunday. This is probably great if you're coming from out of town, but it kinda kills the whole weekend for us local folks. 

So what to do when you've got a whole day both before and after a race? Ride there and back, of course!  

My obsession with the Tour Divide race is fairly well documented here, and I was kind of frustrated on my Manitowoc tour with being banished to the pavement. So, I ordered up a rack for my mountain bike and stripped down my touring setup to the bare essentials.

I was feeling pretty smug about being Mr. Badass Touring Racer for my plans to ride to Copper Harbor and back until I was riding home from work on Thursday night and ran into a couple of guys from Marquette riding down the highway on their way to Copper Harbor for the race too.

Buncha showoffs.  :)  

Anyway, Saturday morning I took off. The plan was to stick with snowmobile trails as much as possible. Had a nice ride through the old mining ruins of the Keweenaw. 



Once I hit Allouez, I decided to make some time and rode pavement all the way into Copper Harbor. Had plenty of time to register, grab a nice dinner at the Mariner North and head out to my super secret camp site out past the tip of the Keweenaw. I was kind of worried about backcountry camping on labor day weekend, but only one other group had found my spot, and they were camping way down the beach.  



I registered 86 miles for the day. Despite rolling on 2.3" knobbies, I still managed to average about 10mph.  Only about 2mph slower than 35c touring tires and a heck of a lot more comfortable.  

I had myself a nice Polynesian themed happy hour with dried squid and pineapple while I watched the sun go down. 




Rode back into town early the next morning. Thankfully, the team tent was on hand to stash my gear in during the race.

Time to start mentally prepping myself for the race.  I decided to go with the "just have fun and cruise this one" philosophy. After all, I still had to pedal 80 miles or so back home tomorrow, and this race is very technical and it's easy for me to get in over my head and crash if I'm not careful.  

As usual, I took it easy for maybe a whole 5 minutes into the race. 

The first part of the race has a climb up some double track and I was stuck behind a couple of guys riding side by side. The people in front of them were pulling away and the gap was getting bigger and bigger.  Good thing I've got myself a pretty good bag of asshole roadie tricks now. 

I just inserted myself between them and held my ground. If you've ever ridden cyclocross or a crit, this is no big deal. You regularly come into contact with other racers and you sort of learn to lean on them without letting the bikes come into contact. 

This utterly freaks out midpack mountain bikers.  

The guy on the left held his ground pretty well, but the guy on the right immediately headed for the bushes. 

Well shoot, looks like I'm racing now. 

Which was really OK, as the first part of the course really suits me- lots of steep quick climbs that I can power up. The slower traffic from the long race was really killing my big gear mashing technique, but I still found myself in the top 20 for the short race. 

Of course, you know how these stories go now.  "I was doing great until..."

Well, I knew I couldn't hang onto that top 20 for long. Although the first part of the course is lots of quick, steep ups, the latter part is lots of quick, steep downs. It gets so bad in some places, I have to get off and run my bike, and I certainly can't bomb it at race pace.

Before that though, there's some intermediary fast and flowing stuff. Unfortunately, me and a couple of other guys were stuck behind a slower long course racer. After a bunch of incessant whining on our part, he finally let us by and I immediately started riding well outside of my actual ability. I knew I was being a little reckless, so I let the guys behind me by so I wouldn't have any incentive to try and stay ahead of them. 

Didn't work though.

I was happily bombing along when I caught my shoulder on a tree, which bumped my handlebars into another tree, which bounced me off a third and landed me in a pile on top of my bike.  I managed to land on top of my up pointed handlebars right on my collarbone. My collarbone area was screaming in pain, but didn't feel broken, although what really had me worried was the dull twinge in my knee. 

I managed to get up and get going before anybody passed me, but my race was pretty much done at that point.  The only way to get any kind of edge from here on out was to bomb the downhills faster than anybody else, and my confidence was so shaken, I'd have a tough time riding it at Sunday morning cruising pace. 

I managed to hang on to a 36th overall, 30th in my division. A really good finish on my part that I'm quite proud of.  

(Image courtesy of Juskuz.)

This was followed by the famed "Festival" part of the Fat Tire Festival. I kicked back with a beer in my hand and a bag of ice on my knee and it wasn't long before I was feeling no pain whatsoever.  

Just after sunset, I cruised out to a secluded spot a couple of miles out of town and passed out for the night.  

Woke up the next morning and SWEET JESUS MOTHER OF GOD WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY KNEE?!

First problem was, it hurt like hell. The most concerning issue was the fact it was now approximately twice the size it used to be.  Once I actually got on the bike and started pedaling though, it didn't really bother me all that much.  I couldn't hammer, but I could certainly spin.  

I ambled my way into town to survey the wreckage left from last night. 



Ate a huge breakfast and pointed my bike southward.  

Man, that was a slog home. but I made it. And I'm now horribly, horribly hooked on this whole bikepacking thing.  I'm now lusting for a 29er hard tail with some custom bikepacking bags and a lightweight sleeping setup to carry with me. I could really get into this touring/racing thing. It adds a whole new spin on "run what you brung".   

And it only took a week or two for my knee to return to a normal size and color.  


 

Somehwere south of Crandon, WI to Lac Vieux Desert, WI- ~90miles

By this time, I'd learned an important lesson in bicycle touring- never, ever, EVER stop on the side of road unless you want company.  Closely examine any feature of your bicycle and somebody will offer mechanical help, look at a map and people will offer directions, lay the bike on the side of the road and duck into the woods to take a leak and MY GOD THERE'S BEEN A HORRIBLE ACCIDENT!!!  (I really need to get a kickstand).  

Anyway, one thing I find completely odd is the number of people who ask me for directions. Seriously, the last guy you want to ask for directions is the strung out touring rider with a map and GPS strapped to his handlebars.  Nonetheless, I had some guy in a minivan wave me down to ask if I knew where "Chicken In The Woods Road" was? 

Huh? 

Yep, I guess I heard that right. 

"Uh, no. I don't."

Although I felt I should have responded with something like "No, but the blue dog barks at midnight." just to see where it got me. 

About thirty miles later though (man, that guy was lost)....



Had another nice ride on Military Rd. that day and pressed on up US-45 to a National Forest campground right on the border of MI on Lac Vieux Desert (it's French for "big lake that stays shallow enough to wade in about 1/4 mile out from the beach"). Nice for a National Forest campground, but I gotta say- those private campgrounds spoiled me. They were all cheaper, had hot showers, and had surprisingly way better tent sites.

 Lac Vieux Desert, WI to Askel, MI- ~100 miles

 Crossed the WI/MI border early in the day.



The ride was pretty pleasent until Kenton, MI. After that, I was on the home stretch and couldn't wait to get home. Those final miles just dragged on and on.  I was half tempted to dump the bags in the bushes and come back for them with the car. 

I made it home without incident, just in time to watch the weather turn cold and rainy for the rest of the weekend. 

I'm really tempted to wax poetic here about how the whole touring thing is awesome and i had such a great time and blah, blah, blah. But really, I was kinda glad to be home and off the bike for a bit.  Although it only took a couple of days before I started planning my next stupid bike trip.  Don't touch that dial.... 

I'm running a bit of backlog now in my dumb bicycle stories, so I'm going to try and get this wrapped up here soon by writing up a few days at a time. 

Besides, given an outdated AAA map of WI and MN as my only paper maps available to me in Ludington, I didn't have much to go on to assemble a different route back than the one I took down. 

There were some promising choices heading up the coast, but all of them put me within close proximity to Green Bay or Appleton. Without detailed info from a cyclist point of view, I could easily wind up in some kind of suburban shopping mall hell. It's be navigable, but not much fun. I figured I'd stick with what I knew. 

Spent my final night in Ludington at my grandparent's house, woke up early on Monday morning, and had myself a nice little ride over to the ferry dock.  The day crowd is definitely a different bunch than the midnight crossing crowd, that's for sure.  The batteries in my camera died right after I boarded, so not much photographic evidence of this trip.

We interrupt this tour report to bring you an important message.

On August 28th, 2009, the editors of "Bad Decision Bicyclist" mistakenly reported that "Touring by bicycle is awesome." 

This is incorrect, it should read as follows:

Touring by bicycle is for fat, slow guys with beards on overloaded bikes with yellow fenders and blinkie lights.

Bikepacking is, in fact, where it's at, yo. 

The editors of "Bad Decision Bicyclist" sincerely regret this mistake and are also incapable of growing a beard. 

High Cliff State Park to Manitowoc, 40ish miles.  

Despite all the beer, I was feeling pretty good this morning. I guess I figured I was almost within walking distance now.  Not much to worry about. 

Still, with all day to cover only slightly over 30 miles to go to the edge of Manitowoc, I just couldn't find my rhythm. The first twenty miles of any given day are always the toughest for me. Once I get into it, I can go all day.  With such a short distance to cover and some less than remarkable scenery as the rural landscape began to turn more suburban, the miles just seemed to crawl by.   

Despite that though, the end of the road beckoned, and I made some good time. Pulled into Manitowoc just in time to watch the 1PM ferry crossing heading out. 


So now I had 11 hours or so to kill, waiting for the ferry to get to Ludington, turn around, and pick me up shortly after midnight.  

First thing I did was hit the bikeshop downtown to buy a new tube and a bike lock so I could ditch the bike for a couple hours.  The dude behind the counter knew a couple MTU students whose names I didn't recognize, but it was cool to see how popular MTU and the Keweenaw are with bicyclists in the midwest.  He gave me a couple good restaurant recommendations too.

So, time to do the tourist thing! 

You can't miss the Manitowoc Maritime Musem- it's a pretty prominent feature of downtown. Looked like a great place to kill a couple hours- and it was.  Oh, sure- they had all kinds of neat things-

A tour of the USS Cobia, a WWII era submarine similar to those that were built in Manitowoc during the war.




A big section devoted to boats built in Wisconsin. Here's a really neat wooden C scow, a type of boat I always thought was cool. 


But tucked away in a corner was one of those unique historical anecdotes that gives you a whole new perspective on the people from a certain place and time.


After all that local history, I needed a nap, so I rolled down to the waterfront and stretched out in what I thought was a public park.  When I woke up and hour or so later, I noticed that that just 30 yards away or so was a patio near a hotel that was now setup for some al fresco dining. The patrons seemed slightly less than impressed by a sleepy cyclist crawling out of the nearby bushes.  I should have gone over there and asked if they had any spare change. 

I was hungry now, and ultimately decided that the "Tequila Rose" would work. What an odd place it turned out to be. 

The first thing you notice is that it's a Mexican Restaurant/Biker Bar. And like any good modern "Biker Bar", it looks like somebody raided the Harley Davidson(tm) dealer tchotchke trove just last week. The place was finley appointed with the latest and greatest in officially licensed merchandise from The Motor Company(tm).  I think the ultimate in this culture clash was their fajitas with smoked sausage and ham.  

Anyway, they had an awesome selection of localish beers on tap, and I set to work sampling each one, pint by pint.  As I was doing this, an interesting phenomenon was happening. Packs, literally packs of women would come in, order a bunch of margaritas and once the tequila and their curiosity about the loaded bicycle parked out front got the better of them would proceed to start flirting with me such that even a bonehead like me could pick up on it. 

This was probably more female attention than I've had in the last 10 years combined. A man with more social graces may have been able to use this to his advantage, but I was in a purely dumbfounded state of shock and awe.  Besides, ladies- this Prince Charming needs to get out of here and get his ass on a boat by midnight and before your tequila buzz wears off.   

OK, my exploits as the suave, sophisticated, homeless, beer swilling cyclist of Manitowoc aside- I was really looking forward to my trip on the SS Badger.  I've been watching this thing come and go from Ludington ever since I was a little kid and have wanted to ride it for years.  At midnight, in Manitowoc, it's a little different than I remember.

Backed into the dock.


Loading up the coal for the boilers.


The empty cargo hold.


I had read that a popular option on the midnight crossing was to grab a deck chair and sleep out on the deck during the 4 hour crossing. With a light rain falling, there weren't a whole lot of takers. Still, I followed one guy's lead and dragged a deck chair under one of the lifeboats. 



Shortly after departing, the rain stopped and we had a nice tailwind and some nicely rolling waves.  With the light midnight crossing load, the boat would roll with the waves and made for a very, very pleasant snooze on the way over. 

I woke up just as we were pulling into Ludington, met my dad for breakfast, and them promptly embarked on a strict training program of beer consumption, eating, sleeping on the couch, and falling off of tubes being pulled behind boats in preparation for my trip home. 

 

 

Shawano, WI to High Cliff State Park, WI - 80ish miles

"Oof." 

"Look at all those dead fat squirrels." 

"Did I do that?"  

Morning on Day 4 was a little rough. 

Thankfully, the hotel had a pretty good looking spread for breakfast and I set to work getting us much of my $104 back as I could in waffles, biscuits, and gravy.

Got off to a good start. Although Shawano is pretty much the point where you go from idyllic rolling farmlands like you'd see pictured on a butter container to the factory farms that produce that butter. Still, the morning start was nice and the roads were good.   Even some nice scenery along the way. 


"Hey, if that last ski hill was super awesome, maybe this one is too."


"Oh, maybe not."


It was a pretty good day up through Shiocton.   It still wasn't exactly bad after that, but I had a 14 mile straight stretch of road to do.  Wind wasn't exactly against me, but it wasn't behind me either.  Besides, on this stretch I started to become familiar with the "liquid waste" trucks.  See, two things are trucked out of factory dairy farms. One is made into delicious cheese curds, the other is transported in uncapped tanker trucks. Yay for fenders!  

Anyway, all those Fat Squirrels from the nigh before finally caught up with me around Freedom, WI (Midwest capital of cheesey American Flag imagery).  I decided a nap in the park would be just the thing. I sat and snoozed amongst the 47 american flags flapping in the breeze, when I looked over at my rear wheel....

"*%&#$*(%!!!"   (I know, it hardly seems like I censor myself in this blog- but in this case, I should.)

 Yep, nearly every one of the rim eyelets for the drive side spokes on my rear wheel was cracked.   I guess I shouldn't be surprised. After two cyclocross seasons and all kinds of other offroad abuse under me, it's a wonder these wheels haven't run off and joined the circus. Still, massive rim failure was not a problem I was equipped to deal with.  

Not much I could do about it though. Just time to get back on the bike and ride.  

Getting through Wrightstown wasn't a whole lot of fun, but it sure beat trying to ride through Appleton.   Finally arrived at my destination for the night- High Cliff State Park near Sherwood, WI.  

The night before, I used the hotel computer to connect with some friends.  My friend Nancy had warned me about this supposedly huge climb I'd have to do to get to the campground.  Somehow, I sort of snuck into the park on a service road and made it to the campground with no climbs.  Except I couldn't find an office or anything in the campground to register.  I finally asked somebody. They directed me to the office.  Down the hill. 

"WHEEEEEE!!!!!!"  

"That was fun." 

I get myself all registered up for the night.  

I then realized I should have ditched all my baggage back at the campground.  

Still, once I was back at the top of the hill, I was done for the night. 

30 minutes later, my buddy "Hodag" from ADVRider pulled in with a cooler full of beer.  After discussing my trip so far and the various merits of ditching the tent for a hammock, we head into town for some grub.  

So, I have this little problem.  I always meet really weird people at bars.  Not good weird. Creepy weird. They always leave everybody I'm with alone and just sort of naturally gravitate towards me.  I guess I'm special like that. 

I'm on about my third Spotted Cow and I notice this guy on the barstool next to me will just not stop staring at me.  Not covertly either.   After about a half hour of creeping me out, he goes off on same ramble about "trying to figure me out" and "wondering if I'm some kind of surfer dude".  No, my drunken creepy new Sherwood, WI friend- just the unfortunate effects of too much SDC pool chlorine combined with too much sun.  

Eventually he wanders off, and after a few more Spotted Cows, Hodag drops me off at the campsite with a few more beers. Had a nice night, sitting on the cliff watching the sun go down over Lake Winnebago whilst polishing off the last of the Miller High Life. 

Now, maybe I had too many Spotted Cows or something, but all night, it sounded like the campsite was just crawling with raccoons.   I never actually saw any, but I like, totally swear, man... there were tons of them out there.  Or something.  

Hiles, WI to Shawano, WI - 106 miles

Woke up to some beautiful weather and got started on some great roads, the miles were just flying by today.   Didn't stop much, but there were a few interesting sights along the way. 

Every railroad tie along these tracks was just covered in taconite pellets. 


I'm probably one of the few bicycle tourists who was really excited to go by the Crandon Offroad Raceway.
  

Part of my super top secret mission as an operative of the People's Front of Superior was inspecting Wisconsin's defenses against a possible invasion from the north.



South of Crandon, just after crossing the Wolf River, you go through one of the few really hilly sections of this route. Actually, it's just one big hill.  Taking a picture of this sign part way up was a good excuse to stop and take a break. 


The UP is dotted with tons of small local ski hills, most of which are no longer used, get tracked up by snowmobilers, or are converted to sledding hills that skiers aren't allowed on anymore. Still, on a moderately light powder day (a frequent occurence in the UP), these hills are just awesome, awesome fun on a pair of heavy duty cross country skis.  I'd like to hit as many as I can before they're gone forever.  Once I got to the top of the hill, I was at the top of the ski hill. Looks like I'm going to have to come back and vist, if not for the hill itself, but also the surrounding wooded hills probably offer some great tree skiing. 


Pulled into Mattoon and stopped to sample the local cuisine.


Funny thing is, Mattoon looked damn familiar.  I knew I had been there before. As I progressed down the route through Leopolis, that feeling just got stronger.  Later that night, after digging through some old emails, I realized I passed within maybe a mile of buddy's farm that I had visited by motorcycle back in 2006. 

Someplace in the area, shortly after a nice officer flashed his lights at me for passing a minivan on a double yellow in front of him.  I didn't actually get pulled over. I just stopped to kneel in prayer to whatever deity was responsible for letting me off.  (And yes, that's the same tent, sleeping pad, and sleeping bag I'm hauling around on this trip)


In my defense, fast driving would seem to be a popular thing in this area. I passed by two garages containing seriously built Miatas- roll bars, sticky tires, agressive suspension, the whole nine yards.  Not exactly easy Sunday driving material. I wonder what cool finds might be sleeping in all the old barns in the area.   

The defenses seem to get weaker the further south I get.


Got to Shawano later that evening and I was done for.  Well past the 100 mile mark for the day. The problem was all my camping gear was still a little soggy and the campgrounds were another 5 miles out of town.  But hey, look at that, a Comfort Inn & Suites, right on the route. With a hut tub!  I sort of knew maybe 25 miles back that I was going to end up in a hotel that night, so I tried to set some price limits in my head. I should know better. Once I'm standing in the lobby after a hard couple days on the road, mere feet from the hot tub and cold beer, you can pretty much take me for everything I'm worth. They let me off easy for $104.  

Sold!
 

A couple of these, a good soak in the hottub, and I was feeling no pain.


Later, I would learn this hotel is regularly used for swinger parties.  I never would have known. Well, maybe all the naked people wandering about the pool area should have been a warning, but I didn't want to question any local customs. Or interrupt my hot, bubbly, beer buzzed bliss in the hot tub.