Port Burwell ON to Featherstone Point On. 65.9 miles.
By Judd Curran.
After a pleasant stay at the Grey Gables BnB with a restful day off, we were refreshed as we started our ride. Just a few blocks away, our route to new adventure led us down Victoria Street. It seems that every town in Ontario has a Victoria Street somewhere.
As we headed East, a steady wind behind us, we passed some familiar sights, such as the blooming chicory along the side of the road, ever-present along our trip.
Our route, while continuing to parallel the shoreline of Lake Erie, was closer to the water, still with fields of soybean and corn in between.
The day was beautiful, but hot and humid. The temperature was predicted to be in the high 80's today with humidity. It was actually tolerable as long as we kept moving, the breeze generated by our motion keeping us cool enough. It was when we stopped in the sun that we were quite uncomfortable.
So, we made an agreement to each other that we would only stop in shady locations, which came at regular intervals as oaks and maples hung over the road on the South side.
Victoria generally prefers to have me lead, which I am happy to do. But, on a beautiful day like today, traveling down a quite country road, she's feeling confident enough to be the front runner. I'm having fun with it, and like taking pictures to show of her building confidence.
We passed several roadside stands with fresh backyard organic vegetables and fruits. The stands are common here, and mostly unstaffed with a coffee can or other container for patrons to deposit money into in exchange for a stalk of celery, a basket of tomatoes or peaches, or a pint of blueberries or cherries. After passing several of them, it was time to stop at a larger stand at an intersection. Everything looked as if it was picked this morning. Restraint was needed to keep from overloading our bikes with too much.
The aroma from the peaches was powerful, and traveled away from the table towards our noses. We asked if we could buy a couple of peaches, rather than a whole $6 carton. "Sorry, we can only sell the carton", the young girl replied. We weren't about to load up our hot pannier bags with 8 peaches. So, we opted for the smaller pint of blueberries instead.
With tailwinds helping us, it wasn't long before we found ourselves in Port Rowan, a small port town bustling with tourist activity.
While parked in the shade next to a bank, we contemplated eating here or pedaling another 20 miles to Port Dover.
"Let's see if there's anything that looks good in a block or two, and if not, we can move on to the next town", Victoria suggested. We walked by a few shops with local hand made goods.
Then, we found it -- The Olde Tyme Deli and Eatery with a chalkboard sign out front reading, "Fresh Apple Fritters + Cinnamon Buns". Say no more!
The sign didn't say anything about the chocolate eclairs, displayed so proudly between us and the woman taking customer orders behind the counter.
We ordered sandwiches to eat in the cafe and bought bagged fritters to go. The fritters never made it out the door.
Of the many side options that I could add to my turkey wrap, "nachos" were on the menu and I couldn't resist. But, around here, "nachos" apparently simply means "tortilla chips". No cheese. Oh well.
Done with our lunches, the apple fritters in the to-go bags were screaming to be let out. While we were devouring them with grins on our faces, the owner came over to see how we were doing. "Where are you biking from?", she asked. "Wisconsin", Victoria replied. Sandy was her name. She got excited, stating that she used to live in a small town called "Lake Geneva". "Lake Geneva!", I exclaimed. "That's where my family is from." Sandy started spilling out stories of her memories of her time there, when she and her husband lived in an apartment next to the golf course, across from the church atop the hill. "The Catholic Church?", I asked. "Yes, that's where my sister got married.", she explained. "Whoa! That's where my parents got married too!", I told her. We had fun chatting about the coincidence and our travels.
After lunch, the ride was enhanced by the occasional cooling effect of a cloud reducing the intensity of sunshine on the back of my neck. The well-dispersed pattern of clouds added incredible depth to the photos I took for the rest of the day.
It seemed that the further east we rode, the closer we got to the lake as well. The color of the water was surreal, an aqua blue, somewhat translucent, with deeper tones further out.
Besides the corn and soybean, occasional peach, cherry, and apple orchards blessed the landscape with something interesting for us to look at. We began to see rows of grapes, and learned from a local that viticulture is big in Ontario, especially along the Niagara River. Soon, we started to pass the tasting barns of wineries.
A little further down the road, a yellow diamond-shaped warning sign. I'd seen signs warning of deer crossings, or more generically, "wildlife corridors", but turtles?
Whomever was leading would announce the approaching interruption in the otherwise flat landscape with something like, "Oh shit, get ready, here comes another one". In some cases, the span between the descent and corresponding ascent was short enough that with enough momentum going down, we could use that speed to get most of the way up the other side. But, that didn't always work out.
Throw in a lot of these dips and it could turn into a brutal day. Fortunately, they were infrequent enough to just add a little bit more work and made the day more interesting.
Sandy, back at the cafe, told us a few things about our upcoming post-lunch route, including a conspicuous mansion on the bluff overlooking the lake. "It's the biggest freaking house I've ever seen in my entire life". "You can't miss it.", she told us. She was right. It was so big it was grotesque.
Sandy told us the local rumor is that it is owned by Elton John.
As we rolled into the larger port town of Port Dover, we made a right turn onto Main Street and within a few blocks, came upon a French bakery and espresso bar. I asked Victoria, while also answering the question, "Wanna stop.. Ok, we're stopping", I said in one breath while hitting the breaks and moving my bicycle to the sidewalk. Seeing the smile on her face, I knew she was as excited as I was, or more. Sweets and bakeries always put a smile on Victoria's beautiful face.
"I'll take two cappuccinos for here, a baguette to go, a chocolate-dipped cream puff for here, an apple-cinnamon brioche loaf to go, and, um, a slice of lemon-meringued key lime pie for here, and, um, I guess that's it.", I told the young girl who struggled to remember what I was telling her while instantly jumping into action.
It's really hard for us to leave a place like this without grocery bags full of delights amidst a lack of fresh baked goods while traveling through smaller towns, villages, and communities where white bread is often the only "baked good" around.
Fortunately, you can only take what you can pedal. I wasn't about to pass up the brioche.
And, the key-lime pie. Come on.
We sat outside on the porch eating our treats while talking to a local cyclist who was inspired by our trip and wants to do a longer overnight trip himself one day. He offered to take our picture, and we thanked him for his suggestions about making our way out of town.
We secured a Warmshowers.org / Adventure Cycling host for the evening in our destination town of Selkirk, ON. Well, sort of. Apparently, the host, Mark, had already accepted four other cyclists for this evening. He was refusing our request when we spoke with him on the phone simply because he was already overbooked. That was, until we told him that we were teachers. He then told us that he would work something out, possibly putting us up at his fathers place about 10 kilometers from his house, or finding a way to fit us in to his place. Our plan originally was to ride to Selkirk as our destination for the day. But, it turns out that Mark's place, while listed on the Adventure Cycling map as being in Selkirk, was actually about 8 miles beyond. But, we were feeling good and the wind continued to aid us in our momentum. So, we went for it.
Leaving Port Dover, we no longer had agricultural fields between us and the lake. The water was close, and the view breathtaking.
We stopped on numerous occasions to take photos, tempted by the mesmerizing color of Lake Erie to jump in, we resisted with our host and destination in mind.
Near the small village of Nanticoke, we passed massive smoke stacks actively breathing hot gases. We crossed over a conveyor belt that reached out into Lake Erie.
On the other side, the belt ended at huge mountains of coal, delivered by the conveyor from barges regularly arriving along the shore. This coal wasn't powering a coal-fired power plant, as the plant was shut down here several years ago. However, it was providing fuel to the active steel mill operating here, a U.S. steel company, one that is in a cyclical state of bankruptcy. We later learned from our host Mark, whose father worked at the mill all his life, that his Dad was promised a pension for his life-long service, only to be denied those retirement benefits as part of a game U.S. steel companies have been playing here and on U.S. soil as a mechanism to bust union progress and avoid pension payouts.
As we rode beyond the massive plant, downwind, we could smell the coal in the air.
In Selkirk, we made a right turn and headed to Lakeshore road, our final path leading us to our destination for the day. Lakeshore road was just that, on the lake shore, with beautiful shoreline to our right for the rest of the afternoon.
And, to our left (North), freshly harvested hay fields with wind turbines in the background.
We were told to look for the yellow bike when approaching Mark and Linda's home. It was easy to find, right along the edge of the road. Mark is working with the local community to create the "Yellow Bike Road" (#yellowbikeroad), a network of bicycle rest stops at regular intervals along the shore of Lake Erie.
His yellow bike is the first, and he provides an outside water cooler for cyclists to refill their water bottles, as well as hosting them for overnight stays. Mark, Lisa, and family live full-time in Hamilton, ON. But, their Summer home on the shore of Lake Erie is where you can find them this time of year.
On our arrival to Marks house, we were introduced to the other cyclists he was hosting for the night. From left to right, Steve, Carol, Christy, and John.
They would be heading to Ridgeway tomorrow, on their 65th day of their trip, starting in Seattle Washington, and heading to Bar Harbor, Maine. Arriving before us, they had a head-start on setting up their tents in the front yard under the beautiful willow tree.
Immediately across the street, Mark and Linda's property continued for a few tens of feet to the water.
Mark suggested that Victoria and I set up our tent on the small grassy knoll on the beach-side of his property. It was a dream-spot, a secluded patch of grass a few steps from the sandy shore of Lake Erie, complete with a bench and picnic table.
We couldn't believe our eyes. The location was by far the best camping spot of our trip.
I quickly setup the tent while Victoria unpacked. We then went for a swim in the lake to bathe and cool off.
As the sun dropped behind the clouds in the distant horizon, the pink and orange cast of the cloud edges illuminated the rest of the sky and the lake surface.
Flocks of Canadian geese started arriving along the shore, ten to twenty at a time.
We listened to their chatter through sunset, complimented by the periodic swishing of small waves onto the beach.
After sunset, the crescent moon, a rusty orange color, cast a reflecting light across the lake surface towards us. We listened to the geese, the waves, and watched shooting stars traverse across the relatively dark night sky.
Initially, I couldn't sleep. I was too mesmerized by the dreamy-environment I was in. It was too good to be true, and I wanted to soak it up. I kept sitting up in the tent, looking around to see once again the beach, the moonlight, the water glistening in the night. It's moments like this, moments that never would have happened had I been traveling in any other mode, that I am reminded about how life-changing bicycle travel can be.
I don't suppose you got the name of the lady from Lake Geneva
ReplyDeleteMy cousin lived in the apartments she mentioned...Mom