104: the three sisters, 85 and gone, swimmers of a certain age, barnwheel, harriet quimby, ice cream, the beach, all these bikes, breaker box, much less than cleaning, plastic bathtub-size coffin, 2 surprises, cutthroat marketing, acoustics

August 9, 2025

Manistee to Arcadia

Andy gave me a heads up about the climbing I'll be doing over the next few days. Today's challenge include three hills, locally known as The Three Sisters and, because the temperature is going to be in the 90s, I left early.

The eastern coast of Michigan is very popular among tourists, and Carl warned me that everything is about to get much more expensive. When I looked at hotel prices I immediately saw what he was talking about, and may not see a shower for the next week.

Fortunately, Andy set me up for tonight: he has a friend who attends the Lutheran church in Arcadia, and I'll be able to pitch my tent there.

This guy breezed past me like I was pushing a wheelchair underwater, and I guarantee he had to be at least 85 years old if he was a day.

By the time I stopped in Onekama (Oh-NECK-uh-muh) at the convenience store for lunch it was already 83 degrees, which is about my upper limit for temperature, and I still have another climb ahead of me.

It was so cold inside the store that I went outside to eat my lunch. The guy delivering ice dropped this bag and just left it there, so once he was gone I took advantage of it and filled my water bottles with it using the ice from inside the bag.

The climbs weren't as bad as I was expecting and I plodded upward at about 4 mph. Of course, it helped that about half of it was in the shade, and that I had a 13-17 mph tailwind. When going downhill or on the level I always made sure I pedaled slightly faster or slower than the speed of the wind; otherwise, it would instantly become stiflingly hot.

I hate to do this to you: "Okay, Linda, proffer an offer."

note the wagon wheel stuck on the side of the barn about halfway up..... ???

Harriet Quimby had a varied career. After being born in Arcadia Township, her family moved to Arroyo Grande in California when she was in her teens, then bounced over to San Francisco when she was around 20. She began acting, but after appearing in a couple of plays she realized it wasn't for her and took up journalism, then moved to Manhattan to take a position as a theater critic, publishing more than 250 articles over a nine-year period.

Still restless, she became interested in flying when she attended an Aviation Meet where she met John Moisant, an instructor who taught her how to fly. On August 2, 1911, Quimby passed her pilot's test and became the first American woman to earn a pilot's license.

The press called her the "China Doll" because of her petite stature and fair skin, and she quickly capitalized on her new status by joining an exhibition team and earning as much as $1,500 a flight. Eight months after receiving her pilot's license she became the first woman to fly over the English Channel.

Even while flying she continued writing, documenting her experiences as a pilot, and one of her first articles was entitled "The Dangers of Flying and How to Avoid Them," an account of pilots who had died and a discussion of the need for proper safety precautions. Apparently, she enjoyed writing because that same year, in 1911, she wrote seven screenplays, all of which were developed into silent films directed by the famous D. W. Griffith, of Birth of a Nation fame.

Her article about "The Dangers of Flying" was prophetic because, sadly, at the age of 37, she died while flying.

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When I arrived in Arcadia the streets were blistering. There were only two open businesses in this tiny town and I was magnetically attracted to one of them, the ice cream shop, where I spent the next hour and a half working on the blog.

After I felt like I'd worn out my welcome at the ice cream store, I rode over to the beach to check it out.

The water was cold as I walked ankle deep in the surf, but felt uncomfortable leaving my bike alone for very long.

From there, I rode over to the marina where this gentleman began chatting, and after we worked through the Usual Questions, I started asking him a few.

Scott told me that he no longer takes extended trips, but still has a collection of about 12-13 Schwinn bicycles.

"I don't even know what I'm gonna do with all of 'em."

"Got a favorite?" I asked. He thought for a minute, then said a guy he worked for as an electrician had a beautiful 1965 Schwinn, in pristine condition, complete with a light and a generator to power it that runs off a device pressed to the tire.

"I kept asking if he'd sell it to me but he always said no. Then, one day, he just gave it to me. 'I want you have this,' he said. I was wondering if he was gonna die or something."

"Maybe he was thinking the same thing you were: 'What am I gonna do with all of these bikes?'"

After a pause: "Huh... Maybe. He ain't dead."

Andy put me in touch with Mitch, who is arranging for me to sleep on the Lutheran Church's lawn, and when he texted me I rode over to his place and we walked over to the church grounds. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I'll probably want to be on my way before the 9:00 services in the morning.

Around 3:00, when the temperature reached the mid-90s, I began a scouting mission for someplace with air conditioning. The only other restaurant in this town of 309 people, The MT Plate, was open by that time so I slowly made my way there, pulled out my computer, and nursed my drink for a couple of hours before finally ordering dinner. Jeri, the server, seemed like she didn't mind me loitering at all.

During those three hours, the weather forecast changed completely and a storm rolled over the town. I watched out the window as sheets of rain draped the cars and buildings. The MT Plate closes at 8:00, and by 7:40 I realized I'd probably be setting up a tent in the rain; however, when the owner (I think) of the cafe and I started talking he informed me about a pavilion just a block away - someplace I could wait out the storm, and possibly even camp.

This was taken the next morning. Note the large double doors across the street.

I debated about whether I should pitch my tent under the pavilion. On the one hand, this location will make me as visible as a flare gun, alerting everyone who passes by that there's a vagrant squatting at the pavilion.

On the other hand, not only are there mosquitoes, there are a number of other insects crawling around. Even painting my entire body with insect repellant won't prevent the bugs from crawling all over me while I sleep. They'll be lining up for the Bingham Bug Buffet, and by morning I'll look like The Elephant Man, my entire body swollen and grotesque from bites and rashes.

I thought I might be able to hide in the darkness, but the lights came on at 8:00.

If I could just find a way to turn off the lights then the tent would be my best option, but as it now stands there's no way to become invisible with more than a hundred bulbs lighting up the area like Times Square.

After sunset, the darkness had settled in for the long run and I started snooping around trying to find a way to turn off the lights. There wasn't a light switch, but the nearby breaker box looked promising. I opened it and was presented with eight options, eight switches that may or may not turn off the lights. Or may or may not turn off the power to the neighboring houses.

Should I? These are, after all, breaker boxes, not light switches. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching but the curtain of darkness was impenetrable. There was nothing visible in the pitch outside of the lights' reach, and the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir could be lurking forty feet away and waiting to sing the "Hallelujah Chorus" from Handel's Messiah if I tripped the right one - I would never know.

After a moment of consideration and the thought of, "What's the worst thing that can happen?" I flipped the far left switch and.... nothing. Or perhaps all of the telephones in town quit working, including the one to the dispatcher at the Police Station. I flipped it back up, then flipped the second switch. Again.... nothing, although I was convinced that even though it didn't turn off these lights, the power to the traffic lights was now cut, and I'd soon be hearing a horrific rendering as cars collided. I flipped it back on.

When I flipped the third switch I was greeted with instant darkness and a corresponding silence as the buzz of the lights also stopped. I stood there for a minute as my eyes adjusted, anticipating that the sheriff would soon be pulling up, wild-eyed and frantic, to let me know that the dialysis center's power just died and they desperately needed more people for CPR. When that didn't happen right away, I figured it's probably because the sheriff was getting his dialysis treatment.

On the positive side, that means he won't be running me off.

Once my eyes adjusted I began the task of setting up my tent. During the process, I saw a deer walking down the street. As I continued watching I saw that it was on a leash, being walked by its owner, which seemed peculiar even to me, until I realized I was looking at the biggest dog I'd ever seen.

Now that my tent was set up, it was time to get cleaned up. I used my large biodegradable wipes to give myself a decent scrub, but the heat made it difficult to stop sweating.

"Williams & Bay - Much more than Pumping, but Much less than Cleaning"

You may have noticed that I've taken a few pictures here and there of portable toilets, but it's not because I enjoy using them. I'm not a big fan of walking into a plastic bathtub-size coffin, sitting on top of a hole where there are undoubtedly large, predatory, territorial spiders lurking, then trying to get cleaned up afterwards... all without inhaling throughout the entire process. When I went into the one adjacent to the pavilion, I found a couple of surprises.

nope, the fact that it appears never to have been cleaned wasn't the surprise

The first surprise was the toilet paper. This picture doesn't adequately express the thinness of the tissue. If I wrapped it across my eyes, the only way I'd be able to tell a difference would be if it had previously been used.

The second surprise was actually not a bad one. Note the sticker attached to the back wall.

I thought, "How ingenious!" This is cutthroat marketing at its most vicious. I will forevermore associate Lake Ann Brewing Co. with the smell of shit.

This isn't the first night I've used my portable fan. I tossed it into my panniers at the last minute before the trip, and it's made a massive difference in my comfort level on several nights.

Inside my tent I soon learned about the acoustics of the pavilion. Any sound coming from the other end, even as far as the street, was amplified, and I could hear the softest of sounds. Gnat farts practically sounded like a trombone.

The significance of this is that whispered conversations of people walking by came across as clearly as if they were standing just outside my tent. Countless times I peeked out my door, thinking someone was nearby, only to find them walking down the street.

At 11:58, just as I was dozing off again, I heard gravel crunching under the wheels of a vehicle coming to a stop across the street, or perhaps a few feet from my tent. A couple of minutes later the two large bay doors opened and the lights from a fire truck illuminated my half of the block. There was no siren, but they did turn on the flashing lights, so clearly there was an emergency.

Damn breaker box. I wonder what happened when I turned off those first two switches.

Andy forewarned me that I have a stiff climb tomorrow. It's a 20% grade, the steepest grade I’ve attempted to climb… except that at 20% I have no plans whatsoever to even attempt it.

A good night's sleep would've helped, though.

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Today's ride: 26 miles (42 km)
Total: 2,761 miles (4,443 km)

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Jeff LeeThis writeup reminded me of some of my own unpleasant attempts at sleeping in a tent while bike touring.

That's why I've been known to ride 120+ miles in a day while touring to avoid camping 😉
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4 months ago

Mark BinghamTo Jeff LeeIn this area, it would be 120+ miles plus $250-$300.... IF you can find a place (and on a Saturday night like this, you couldn't).

Plus, you'd miss out on great experiences like this. :-)
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4 months ago

Jeff LeeTo Mark BinghamHaha. It does make a good story. I usually have one or two experiences like yours on every tour, but that's enough to satisfy me :)
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4 months ago