I hadn't had a really long ride since the summer before. I wasn't entirely confident that my legs would carry me as far as my destination in Gibsonburg, but I glided along just fine, and everything stayed situated on my bike, including my new solar pad that was draped over the curvature of my sleeping bad that was strapped with bungee cords to my back rack. It was a first for me. I was a little nervous as I set off to leave Cleveland, Ohio.
In Vermillion, I stopped for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in part of a busy part of town on Route 6. I hadn't reached the cute downtown area, not knowing if they even had such a strip like that in tiny Vermillion. My server who was originally from Mexico chatted with me and told me his life story on how he decided the the United States were for him, despite gaining employ with a public power company in Mexico that gave him great benefits, pay, and work life balance. He told me that his motivation for leaving his job was simple: American women. When he was visiting relatives in Chicago, he ended up going on dates with 4 different women, each of which he was able to "make love" to at the end of the date. It never happened for him that way in Mexico where the women were more conservative. J. hung around me maybe a little too long, sitting down at my table, and then walking me out to my bike outside the restaurant. I was another American woman, I guess. He invited me to stop back sometime.
I continued to ride along Lake Erie until I reached Huron, Ohio, where I dipped south onto some rural roads for the first time. Things were going well, but I still had to check my cell to see if I was going the right way. Sometimes, I think I did this just to get off my bike for a spell. I pulled under a tree and checked my coordinates in Clyde, Ohio, where I met Ben, a 35 year-old retiree who tended a small garden outside of his small house. He didn't own a computer or a car or a cell phone. He didn't buy into the college-promise that so many people my age subscribed to and have debt as a result. He was surprised when I showed him my map in the palm of my hand. He checked out my bike and pinched my tire, measuring a pressure of 85 PSI with his fingertips. He was kind and offered me a place to camp on his property, which I declined, and he insisted that I take two bowling pin sized zucchinis with me along with spearmint. He said he would just toss them into the adjacent field if I didn't take them. I managed to fit them into my back pannier, knowing that he just passed the ceremonious zucchini toss onto me for that evening's entertainment. I finally made it to downtown Clyde, the first sign of civilization, when I saw a historical marker telling me that I was biking through
Winesburg, Ohio.
I felt like I had been riding through the chapters of Sherwood Anderson's book in a way.
At the end of the day, I did make it to Gibsonburg, though I didn't have much cell power. After that, I decided not to use Endomondo on my trip to conserve energy. In my haste in getting on the road that morning, I also forgot my USB-AC adapter to plug my phone into the outlet located next to my tent. No stores were open until 8:00 am the next morning--the store being a Dollar General about 3 miles away. M., a diver who was going to dive the next day in White Star Quarry, talked to me a little but I pulled away to get some sleep. He had had bariatric surgery in the last year and was happy to be diving again. The last 10 miles of the trip really drained me. I may not have been eating enough at the end of day. I slept hard and was woken up by a large truck that decided to take the campsite next to mine. There was no shower at the campsite, though I felt like I owned the dirt encasement.
In Vermillion, I stopped for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in part of a busy part of town on Route 6. I hadn't reached the cute downtown area, not knowing if they even had such a strip like that in tiny Vermillion. My server who was originally from Mexico chatted with me and told me his life story on how he decided the the United States were for him, despite gaining employ with a public power company in Mexico that gave him great benefits, pay, and work life balance. He told me that his motivation for leaving his job was simple: American women. When he was visiting relatives in Chicago, he ended up going on dates with 4 different women, each of which he was able to "make love" to at the end of the date. It never happened for him that way in Mexico where the women were more conservative. J. hung around me maybe a little too long, sitting down at my table, and then walking me out to my bike outside the restaurant. I was another American woman, I guess. He invited me to stop back sometime.
I continued to ride along Lake Erie until I reached Huron, Ohio, where I dipped south onto some rural roads for the first time. Things were going well, but I still had to check my cell to see if I was going the right way. Sometimes, I think I did this just to get off my bike for a spell. I pulled under a tree and checked my coordinates in Clyde, Ohio, where I met Ben, a 35 year-old retiree who tended a small garden outside of his small house. He didn't own a computer or a car or a cell phone. He didn't buy into the college-promise that so many people my age subscribed to and have debt as a result. He was surprised when I showed him my map in the palm of my hand. He checked out my bike and pinched my tire, measuring a pressure of 85 PSI with his fingertips. He was kind and offered me a place to camp on his property, which I declined, and he insisted that I take two bowling pin sized zucchinis with me along with spearmint. He said he would just toss them into the adjacent field if I didn't take them. I managed to fit them into my back pannier, knowing that he just passed the ceremonious zucchini toss onto me for that evening's entertainment. I finally made it to downtown Clyde, the first sign of civilization, when I saw a historical marker telling me that I was biking through Winesburg, Ohio.
I felt like I had been riding through the chapters of Sherwood Anderson's book in a way.
At the end of the day, I did make it to Gibsonburg, though I didn't have much cell power. After that, I decided not to use Endomondo on my trip to conserve energy. In my haste in getting on the road that morning, I also forgot my USB-AC adapter to plug my phone into the outlet located next to my tent. No stores were open until 8:00 am the next morning--the store being a Dollar General about 3 miles away. M., a diver who was going to dive the next day in White Star Quarry, talked to me a little but I pulled away to get some sleep. He had had bariatric surgery in the last year and was happy to be diving again. The last 10 miles of the trip really drained me. I may not have been eating enough at the end of day. I slept hard and was woken up by a large truck that decided to take the campsite next to mine. There was no shower at the campsite, though I felt like I owned the dirt encasement.
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