93: second crossing, cedar lawn, blown gasket, bitter gun owner, the dead zone, french fry tree, golden silos, honey hole, dg vs. fd, welcome to yail, blm hotel, ypl, bologna festival, sweet dreams, real food

July 29, 2025

Sarnia to Yale

Having seamlessly crossed from the US to Canada, I suspected the trip back would be pretty simple - however, I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was. Oddly, it was all automated. When I pulled up to the kiosk I wasn't even asked for my passport, just $8.80.

As I pulled forward, I thought, "Surely it can't be this easy. But, this is the New World in which we live.

I'm now back in America, still unbelieving at how easy it was.

Easy, until I realized how ridiculous that thought was - it was just the toll booth for the Blue Water Bridge crossing.

Now I came to the actual immigration. Very slowly, so as not to get deported, I pulled up to the first sign. It was about fifty feet before the booth, and read, “Hold up ID,” so I held up my passport to the camera. “Interesting tactic,” I thought. This way they can check you out in the computer before you even get to the Border Patrol Agent in the booth.... just in case I have a bomb in the back. Or if I'm the wrong color.

After more than thirty seconds of holding my passport up, nothing happened. No voice telling me to proceed, or even to wait. Then I noticed that I couldn’t actually see a camera, just the sign, and with no accompanying speaker, so I pulled forward, slowly and carefully to the booth.

The agent looked to be about 25, his gun and extra magazines partially visible beneath his bulletproof vest. Short cropped hair with an all-business attitude.

Straight to the point, and accusingly: “Why’d you stop back there?”

“There was a sign. It said hold up ID, so I did.”

It’s really interesting how someone who shows absolutely no emotion, no affect, no downward curl of the corners of his mouth, whose expression didn’t change one millimeter, could express such utter disdain. Even now, I’m trying to determine his technique.

And do they take a special class in not showing emotion?
“I saw that eyebrow twitch, Murphy. You think this is a joke, son?”
[no apparent facial change in Murphy]
"Okay then, that's how you wanna play it? Laughing at me??"

Anyway, we continued our terse conversation:

“What’s in the back?”

“A bicycle and pannier bags,” I explained, almost verbatim from yesterday. “I’m riding from Key West to the UP and wanted to ride in Canada, but you can’t take a bike across the bridge.”

Nothing. Unless he was laughing at me and I didn't know it.

“Is it unlocked?”

I’ll show him terse: a curt nod.

I heard the back panel slide up then, a couple of minutes later, back down. He reappeared, then dismissed me with “Have a good day.” It had the sincerity of a politician who just got asked by a reporter about financial discrepancies and the dead prostitute found in his bed.

It felt good to get back on the bike.

You'd think they would've learned some common sense by the time they graduated.

I couldn't figure out why RideWithGPS wanted me to take this route,

when there's a perfectly good Rail Trail that's shorter, and with no traffic.

This probably blew out of a car, making it a blown gasket.

When I got to Emmett Road there was only a single lane because they were repaving one side of the road. I let all of the other cars and trucks pass, then slid in line behind them. As I passed the guy with the "Slow" and "Stop" sign on a pole, I asked him how far down the road the construction went.

"We're doing a mile and a half today," he responded.

I would've pedaled on the section that was blocked off, but this every 50 feet wouldn't allow it.

Knowing that they wouldn't allow any vehicles to come in my direction until I reached the end of the 1.5 miles, I rode hard.

That didn't last long.

When I spied another guy at about the halfway mark holding the same kind of pole at the intersection of Norman Road I rolled to a stop.

Gasping, I told him, "You can tell the guy at the other end that he can let the traffic go. I hate to hold up traffic so I'm gonna stop here a minute."

He spoke into the radio attached to his lapel, "Hey, that guy on the bike you told me about, he just stopped here so you can open it." A pause as he listened to the response on his earpiece. "No, we're just chillin'." Another pause. "Okay. The Dead Zone."

He told me that I didn't have to wait, and that I could ride in The Dead Zone which, I assumed, was heading straight at the oncoming 18-wheelers. However, it's the section of road that's blocked off, but where they haven't started working on yet.

In the Dead Zone, I rode the rest of the way protected from all vehicles.

It looks like green beans are growing on this tree, or maybe unripened french fries - I can't tell from this distance.

I really hope "mi honey hole" is a fishing term.

When I reached the edge of the town where I'll be staying tonight there was a Dollar General AND a Family Dollar (you can see the red sign of the latter in the center of the picture). In a town of 1800 people, these two are essentially tied together by the wrists in a back alley in a fight to the death with knives.

This is one of the world's dumbest jokes, so I like it, although it works better when spoken instead of being read:
Boss: “There's a three-year gap in your resumé. Where were you during that time?”
Man: “Right, that! I went to Yail!”
Boss: “Yale?”
Man: “Yessir, Yail!”
Boss: “Well, we could use a smart guy like you. When can you start?”
Man (beaming): “Right away! I can’t believe it… I finally got a yob!”

I rode into town about 11:30, just as the sun started to explode, burning all of creation.

As I was eating a sandwich at the diner on the Main Street, I noticed the Yale Hotel across the street. It looked like a historic, elegant place to stay, but I couldn’t find a price online for this three star hotel. I thought it peculiar that a hotel, especially in rural America where Trump signs abound, would be flying a Black Lives Matter banner.

After I finished my overpriced lunch I walked my bike over to see what I could discover. The place was unlike any hotel I’d ever seen. Beneath the window with a Black Lives Matter sticker, there were toddler’s toys. When I walked through the front door I saw even more toys littering the floor… skates, a Big Wheel, some games. There were also signs about inclusion and a pride flag. It was quite peculiar.

What I DIDN'T see was person. I stood there a couple of minutes and finally called the number I found online. It simply rang and rang, and after about thirty seconds finally disconnected.

I sat outside on the front porch for another ten minutes watching the traffic pass, trucks with “God, Guns, and Trump” stickers, and wondered how a place like this could remain open.

When it became evident that I couldn't contact them, I pedaled over to one of my favorite places: the public library.

There wasn't a way to keep an eye on my bike so Jeanette, one of the librarians, kindly let me bring it inside. It was in the way, but they didn't complain or ask me to remove it.

I stayed there for a couple of hours, soaking up the air conditioning like a sponge.... a decent metaphor since I'd be sweating like a squeezed one as soon as I walked outside. Before leaving I was able to chat briefly with Jeanette.

“You just missed the town’s Bologna Festival. It was last week.”

I wondered, but didn’t ask, what events there might be at a Bologna Festival. A bologna eating contest, certainly, but what else? A Slippery Bologna Toss? Miss Bologna Pageant? (and wouldn’t that look good on a resumé) Hide the Bologna, like Easter eggs, for the kids? Vendors, of course, would be hawking various flavors of bologna: raspberry bologna, peanut butter bologna, and ice cream bologna.

You could buy wooden souvenir bologna sticks (ultimately used to club siblings into unconsciousness), stuffed animals in the shape of bologna ("So soft and cuddly, but don’t eat it kids!"), face painting ("What is that tattoo on her face?!? Bologna? Oh, I thought it was... oh, never mind. Honey, I am never letting you take the kids out alone again"), and a Ouija Bologna board to tell your future ("Death at 50 from a bologna-induced heart attack"). And don’t forget to sign up to win a ride in the Wiener Mobile!

I love all libraries, and all librarians.

I couldn't contact the Yale Hotel by phone, and the only other way I could determine to get in touch with them was via Facebook Messenger. I left a message but never got a response, so my next (only) option was the Sweet Dreams Motel.

The cost for a night wasn’t posted online, so I called the number and left a message. Instead of a call, I received a text, after which Bonnie, the owner, and I messaged each other a few times.

With a name like "Sweet Dreams Motel" (I imagined a buzzing neon marquis with the "S" and an "E" not working), a website proudly advertising a refrigerator with "a separate freezer compartment," and a cost of $75.00 ("CASH ONLY"), I had visions of a room with holes in the walls, likely from gunshots, insects the size of a dinner plate hungrily crawling across the sheet toward me, and suspicious objects floating in the toilet. A finger, perhaps.

What I found was , clean, spacious, air conditioned rooms (plural: two rooms, one 25 x 20 feet and the other 10 x 15 feet, each with a queen bed) with soft sheets, a good mattress (if a bit farty-sounding), and no bothersome neighbors.

When she came to pick up the cash and found I was a cyclist she only accepted $60.00 because she’s so fond of bikers. And trusting: she had previously told me she was unsure if she'd be able to make it this evening, and told me that I could just leave the cash on the dresser if she didn't.

This is the second bedroom, the one I didn't use at all. I don't know why I didn't take any pictures of the main room.

and THIS is what the advertisement meant, not that there was a separate freezer compartment inside a minifridge

For dinner I went to the closest place to the motel, the A&W Diner. Sitting alone at my table, I overheard a woman ordering:
Six-year-old with an extra 10 lbs: "I want fries!"
Mother with an extra 50 lbs: "No." Spoken with loving firmness. "We're ordering 'real food'."
I was happy to see at least one person in a room literally full of overweight people (about ten at that point) taking control of her child's diet.
She continued:
"Can I get a large order of chicken nuggets?"

I'm so judgy, and rightfully so since my diet consists of only healthy foods.

a picture after almost everyone had cleared out

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Today's ride: 27 miles (43 km)
Total: 2,439 miles (3,925 km)

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Jon Ayling"A Slippery Bologna Toss? Miss Bologna Pageant? (and wouldn’t that look good on a resumé) Hide the Bologna, like Easter eggs, for the kids?" Lol 😀

I'm doing all I can to avoid riffing further on "hide the Bologna" to make a truly tasteless joke. I apologise in advance, even without explicitly making it.
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