94: please disturb, the sugru fail, dronedusting, underground pipeline, in the thumb, stifling subway, addams house, bad axe, cross on the road, your right of way, oh - it's quiet, proud of my ingenuity, presumed dead this pleasant evening - My Midlife Crisis

July 30, 2025

94: please disturb, the sugru fail, dronedusting, underground pipeline, in the thumb, stifling subway, addams house, bad axe, cross on the road, your right of way, oh - it's quiet, proud of my ingenuity, presumed dead this pleasant evening

Yale to Otter Lake

I slept nine and a half hours, and was unhurried this morning since the high is only going to be 81 degrees. Five minutes after I woke up I was still laying in bed, feeling more rested than I had in days, when the housekeeper unlocked the door and came in.

It’s amazing how many times this happens… at least once every bike trip. I’m sure it’s because there’s no car outside; they assume the occupants have already left. Leaving a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the doorknob makes no difference. They just assume you forgot to remove it. I’m curious about your experiences, and what, if anything, you do to prevent it. Here’s a picture of a motel door so you’ll have a place to leave comments. Points for guessing the hotel.

I previously mentioned about how the spacers on my bags were trying to slide off and disappear, so I put some Sugru on the sides. It worked on this one for about a week, then the Sugru fell off. I have to double check every morning to slip it back into place.

Is this the end of traditional crop dusting with airplanes?

I found it interesting that because of the standardization of signage I know exactly what that sign used to say.

An odd name, until you realize that I'm in the "thumb" region of Michigan. If you look at it on a map you'll see what I mean.

Around 12:30 I stopped at Subway for lunch. It was pushing 80F/26.6C outside, and I welcomed the air conditioning. When I stepped inside the restaurant it was stifling, like an attic in summer, with no discernible change in temperature.

I sat down to eat and noticed the anemic speed of the fan, a few revolutions per minute and not even enough to scare away any dust bunnies lurking nearby. When I asked the cashier if I could turn up the speed she said it was already as high as it would go. I was sweating, but figured that by now it would be even hotter outside.

After finishing my sandwich I blogged for an hour or so, accompanied by a fearless fly that periodically appeared.

Eventually, it was time to get back on the road so I prepped myself for the blast of heat I was about to feel. However, upon pushing the door open I felt like I had just walked into a Beer Cooler at a convenience store. It was cooler outside than it was inside, and with a breeze to boot.

What kind of receiver is that at the top? It doesn't appear to be able to spin.

I think I found the The Addams Family house.

Lizzie Borden: "It wasn't me! It was the Bad Axe!"

It's green, so go ahead... you have the right-of-way.

When I rolled into the Otter Lake Campground I saw a small wooden building with a woman sitting outside, apparently enjoying the cooling weather. It had the feel right before a storm, a sudden drop in temperature, and the wind was picking up. I asked about a campsite and although the website said that primitive camping is $25.00, she let me know that bikers camp for free. After a couple of minutes flipping through pages in a spiral notebook she announced, “I’ll put you on The Point.”

“Anyplace quiet and tucked into a corner would be nice.”

“Oh, it’s quiet.” It wasn't a reassuring statement, and seemed more like something you'd see in a horror movie where the killer says it with a knowing nod just before leading someone to the chamber in the basement where it's "quiet."

She climbed into the nearby golf cart and I followed her on my bike, the wind now starting to buffet. We left the park, went down a dirt road, turned a corner, and parked. After some difficulty unlocking a gate, she drove through to an open area where there were no other campers, with the exception of some RVs across the small creek. It was more than adequate, it was nice.

With the wind picking up even more, and the smell of rain in the air, I checked my weather app: rain in twenty minutes, so I started setting up my tent as quickly as I could.

Twenty minutes later it started raining, not heavily, but a steady patter on my tent. The woman drove up in her golf cart again to let me know that they’re closing the shower early because it’s so dead (her words, not mine), and if I wanted to use the facilities I’d need to go now.

From under the protection of the golf cart she asked, “Want a ride?”

“Sure!” As fast as I could, I grabbed my toiletries bag and a change of clothes, then hopped into golf cart.

“But I can’t bring you back,” she said as we were driving away.

Carolyn is 60ish with a round, jolly face that's seen a lot of sun. She's about 5’2” (1.57 meters) and has a single, dainty braid, dyed green, and several pieces of large jewelry… rings, necklaces.

“Normally, it’s pretty busy. Cleaning restrooms, cleaning up campsites, washing off goose poop from everywhere. Those geese, I hate 'em! They’re assholes!” she laughed. “But they’re afraid of me!”

“My grandfather lived here, and my dad lived here. I learned to swim in Otter Lake right over there," she said as she retrieved the keys and pointed, "and I’ve lived in Otter Lake all my life.”

A minute later, while walking to the shower: “I’ve lost 54 pounds so far.”

"That's impressive," I replied, and asked how.

“Common sense. I just eat right. Not many carbs, and healthy stuff. My husband is really proud of me.” He should be, and she should be proud of herself.

After unlocking the restroom facilities, she was off.

As soon as I finished showering, I realized that I brought the wrong bag. Instead of my camping bag, which contains my soap and towel, I brought my hotel bag. Really, though, I just needed to rinse off the sweat so it wasn’t a big deal. Drying off, though…. a towel would be nice.

I used my hands as squeegees to scrape as much water as I could, then grabbed some paper towels. Four paper towels, as a matter of fact. For some reason, it only dispensed four, then developed a severe case of paper towel constipation. I waved my hand like I was trying to flag down a taxi but it was futile. I even tried a digital disimpaction, but it appeared that four was going to be my limit.

With a limit of four, I decided some strategic drying was in order, so I began with my torso, where my pants and shirt would be, leaving the rest fairly wet.

Then I looked across the room....Aha! Toilet paper! I pulled some out and peered through the one-ply paper. It was so thin that I don’t see how anyone could use it to wipe up after a bowel movement without needing to soak their hands in bleach afterwards.

Regardless, I commenced to complete the drying process. Because it was so thin, it simply disintegrated the moment it touched my skin. I think a mild sweat would've done the same thing.

Consequently, when I was finished there were about two hundred flecks of paper on various parts of my body, and I looked like a guy who had cut himself shaving.... his entire body.

Proud of my ingenuity in using the tools at hand to get dry, I opened the door and boldly stepped out into the rain, getting instantly wet, and trotted back to my tent as quickly as a 66-year-old man can run a quarter of a mile in flip-flops.

I spent one of the most pleasant evenings yet, confined to my tent, listening to the soft rain, and doing some writing. There was no cell service, which (1) ensured that Heather was convinced I was dead, and (2) made the evening more productive because I didn't get distracted as I sometimes do, throwing myself down a rabbit hole to learn more about pencil-sharpening competitions, extreme ironing, and strange town names. I fell asleep at midnight to the soft patter of rain.

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Today's ride: 41 miles (66 km)
Total: 2,480 miles (3,991 km)

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