20 hours in Yale...

Jul 7 - Sombra ON Canada to Yale MI:   47 miles

Weather: drizzle turning to torrential downpour 

The grand Yale hotel in the next morning's sunshine

This  blog post has taken me a very long time to write. It was an amazing and unusual day, even in this series of new experiences. One that sticks with you. This post is long, I gave up on splitting it up. Bear with me.

Today, July 7th, is my mother's birthday. She died of glioblastoma malforme 4 years ago two days shy of her birthday.

Today we also crossed our 3rd border! Now into Michigan- The first time I have ever set foot in the state. 

And today we entered A Magical Place: the Yale Hotel. This is a place with real people, crossing ages and social strata, held together by the gifted Yale Hotel bartender Tim and the owner, Shelley, and behind the scenes talents of the chef Angel.

The day started at Benton Cundick park campground in Sombra.

Our failure with the weak rubbing alcohol, means we gave no fuel. But we do have instant coffee, so I drink that cold with oatmeal that I soaked overnight. Both are OK but hot would have been better. We're out by 9-ish to go catch a ferry!

We had been struggling with the target destination for today because the campgrounds on our route were either too close  or too far. Here, our fellow touring cyclist at Benton Cundick gave us some advice. He stayed in York MI the prior night by just setting up tent in one of the local parks and advised us that no one bothered him. York was the perfect distance - just over 50 miles ride from Marine city. We decided to take our chances and head there. The forecast is kind of sketchy: rain starting mid-day going into the early afternoon. Our tentative plan is to stop and sit out the rain if it got bad. Maybe around Marysville or Wadhams on the outskirts of Port Huron. Beyond that there isn't much for 18 miles, and then another 10 to Yale.

There is no schedule for the ferry, just 'maximum wait 18 minutes', $3 foot.

Understated ferry port in Sombra  

Boarding is extremely efficient, we follow fellow foot traffickers who have definitely done this all before many times. We're the last ones on and pay on board.  Fare is CHEAP - $2cdn. We were expecting (and had saved) $3, but didn't argue. Before I can even get my camera out, the ferry was wheeling out of port.

Ferry en route  

Clearing customs on the other side was also pretty easy and here again it was good to have someone else to follow because who knew where you were supposed to go!! Our fellow peds told us what to do: "make sure you stand here until he calls you forward." 

It was obviously important to follow directions.

Once in marine city the first priority is hot coffee. 

Once that's sorted out we set off into Michigan, and the rain begins.

Michigan has participated in efforts to create a network of interstate biking routes, and we are following bike route 20 for all of today and some days to come. 

We start out following the turn by turn directions that I wrote out on spare napkins earlier, and discover that they match the bike route 20 signs exactly. This leads us through the neighborhoods of Marine City then the most welcome "bridge to bay" bike trail alongside busy roads. They don't quite have it right on this trail - every crossroad has a steep concrete curb (and a stop sign for cycle path users) which requires braking to reduce the punishment on our bikes and our crotches. In super busy areas with lots of parking lot entrances and intersections we're basically riding on the sidewalk, we often need to maneuver our bikes to reach a walk signal button AND we still have these curbs to deal with - really making it much more sensible to join in with car traffic instead. 

Bridge to bay trail

The rain is pretty steady after 10 miles when we hit Range Road. This is long straight flat road with good surface, lots of traffic, a moderately sized and relatively debris-free shoulder, and not many intersections. There is absolutely no reason to dawdle, and I pour it on. Finally not too hot, no headwind, and I feel great. I'm tucked over my handlebars doing 20+ mph through most of this. There's one quick roadside stop at a family diner for pancakes eggs and more coffee along this road and I'm back out into the rain again. 

I motor straight through all the potential rain escape towns, and onto the Wadhams to another trail - a rail trail completely away from roads, long and straight and with water & toilets provided at a couple spots along the way. 

At some point here our route leaves the trail and heads down long straight rural roads. These don't get much traffic but the traffic is often big trucks.  

Wet but still comfortable. I don't mind cycling in the rain, it can be exhilerating  

The rain is steadily getting worse. And now I've got a headwind too. And the shoulder on the side of the road is not nearly big enough to provide room to avoid the spray from passing trucks even though most try to give me plenty of room.

My turn by turns are disintegrating... I took this photo in case they disappeared completely. We won't be writing turn by turn on napkins anymore

There comes a point when the rain is heavy enough that I really can't see any more and I am scanning everywhere for some shelter. A small dirt crossroad with a couple houses and some trees is the best I could find. I tuck under the leeward side of a hardwood tree, and try to bury my electronics and papers under more waterproof layers. 

Good timing. The sky completely opens up, and there really is no escape. Much better here than on the road, but water is pouring down the side of the tree and I just huddle here over my bike trying to protect as much stuff as possible and hope that this ends soon.

View from under my tree

When it seems like it's slowed somewhat, and I'm getting cold, I pull myself together and get back on the road and say a quick thank you tree and unknowing homeowners for the bit of shelter.

My first Yale sign indicating 10 miles to go!

And, just a light steady rain.

My first target in Yale is the Red Dog Cafe in Main Street. Must get food. Soup would be perfect.

I pull up at 3.15 p.m. to the door with the closed sign on it indicating hours until 3 pm. Ouch.

Cycle on, there must be something else. I do two full passes of the three block stretch of downtown Yale without anything enticing. The Yale Hotel looks far too swank for me and it doesn't look like it would have food, a diner looks super sketchy and empty, and DQ does not have ANY draw for me,

But I do pass a sign to the post office so I head there. At least I can get something done: Mail off this darn stuff from Canada that I've been carrying. 

I ask the post office staff member for a recommendation. She polls the entire line behind me, apparently no one eats out in town, but eventually "try the Yale Hotel" and "avoid the diner" is the consensus.

Beeline for the beautiful wood porch of the hotel. I haul my bike up the stairs and carefully prop it against the railing and poke my head in the door.

Entering the Yale hotel  

"Come on in!"

Me? Seriously, you can't be talking to me, helmet on, dripping wet, bright yellow rain jacket. Yuck.

But inside I can clearly see someone behind a bar in a room on the left and the hallway looks much less intimidating than the outside. 

"Can I bring my bike in? Do you serve food?"

Enthusiastic affirmative.

Cool. WAY cool.

In comes wet me and wet loaded bike. I find a semi unobtrusive spot against the far wall where it's unlikely to do damage or be in the way. 

My stuff 'stashed' 

I seat my very wet self in all my wet cycling gear at the bar near where the action is: a single other patron. We are all introduced to each other immediately by the bartender Tim.

Drinks? Draft selection is four, but nicely crosses the spectrum. Lager, red ale, IPA (a definite rarity in these parts), cider. Fresh coffee is offered.

I deserve a beer. I ask about the IPA - local? 

The other patron is highly skeptical that this beer option would be to my liking. Better give her a taste first. Tim assures me its a solid IPA. 

I commit. I don't need a taste. Couldn't be that bad.

I sneak off to get out of my wet cycling shorts into something dry. Wow this place is terrific. Character. Dark woods. Victorian flavor. Enormous winding staircase goes up 3-4 floors. Posters in hallway indicating upcoming events. 

Dry clothes - YES.

The IPA is pretty good. Not too bitter. Solid.

Food. Everything sounds good. Tim assures me that it is.

I chat with Tim and my bar mate. A couple more people come in. 

Tim greets everyone.

My French onion soup and grilled chicken sandwich AND the free popcorn are some of the best food I've ever eaten. 

(BTW: ALL bars should serve free popcorn, that this bar does immediately moves it to a special tier, and is part of the magic here for me)

My first Yale bar mate friend has already stayed longer than planned and must go.

The bar fills up with other patrons, at tables, on the cushy bar chairs. Old, young, a quartet of women, a pair of older couples, some men. Food, beer, popcorn.

"Someone get some music going." The jukebox is started up.

Heather finally arrives and we get her sorted quickly with a beer, food order and dry clothes.

We engage with anyone nearby. Apparently we'll be missing the upcoming bologna festival, which has a parade and crowns a king and queen every year. (See here for more info... http://www.yalechamber.com/page-bologna.html )

Without any real request on our part, we've already got four options of places to stay, in addition to our original plan. A woman's yard (offered on Heathers way into town by a woman in a minivan). Under a pine tree. In a bus, provided today's bid for it doesn't pan out. In a room in the Yale Hotel.

The price for the hotel option is a bargain. "It's got a shared bath." No problem.

A woman who I'm think I'm told owns the hotel pops in and out. We speak mostly in passing as she gets opinions about pictures for the walls and routine interaction about the hotel.

Complementary mixed drinks arrive for us. Really? Wow.

A pile of $1's is thrust in my hand - "put on whatever you want in the box but start with..." (wild cowboys? I can't remember). 

H and I pair up with new friends to play pool. I can't play pool at all well, but that doesn't seem to matter.

Pool shark Heather  

Things get a little rowdy, and Tim intervenes quickly and skillfully to make sure everyone feels welcome and comfortable. 

I have a long chat with a kind face at the other end of the bar, and we tentatively agree to meet for breakfast at the Red Dog Cafe the next morning. 7am ish.

bar maestro Tim, who should hold bar tending classes to teach bartenders that it's way more than mixology  

Eventually things slow, people have to go, H and I have a couple pool rounds just between us, and then finally it's just us and Tim and eventually the cook Angel appears as well.

We ply them for advice on our route. Where should we plan to spend more time?

Tim assures us that we're not keeping him, he needs to stay open until the wee hours. I don't quite believe him, but it's clear that we can stay as long as we want.

Tim also entertains when needed :-)  ... A little juggling 

Finally we are really fading, and pretty well inebriated, which makes carrying our bikes and gear up 3 flights of stairs an effort in concentration. 

Down the stairs from our room

The room is terrific: two lace covered twin beds, European style with a sink and mirror en-suite and large bath across the hall. 

My 7am wake up is not enthusiastic. It feels like the middle of the night. I definitely drank too much. 

Coffee and big breakfast will cure that. Right?

I can hear birds chirping in the hallway from behind closed doors. Ahhh renovations indeed!

The Red Dog Cafe across the street is obviously a local favorite. People are greeted by name. 

Coffee, omelette hash browns and biscuit do the trick. And my friend from the bar arrives to help with more route advice. Then his friends arrive as well, a map comes out, and I've got a long list of places that must be seen, both on our route and for a future visit.

Leftover popcorn packed up for me at the end of the evening... Great in the bike food IMO

Sadly this all must end eventually. I am just passing through. These people have their own commitments and knowledge that we will likely not pass cross paths again.

We pack up in the hotel and reconvene on the front porch to prep for the day. Where to stay tonight, Turn by turns written out, snacks acquired from the market next door. A chat with the quiet guy working the bar sometimes from the night before.

The foursome of women from last night reappear for lunch.

"You still here? Stay the night?"

"Yup. We couldn't leave."

But sadly we must now.

Go to the Yale hotel. Don't expect anything. Have your own experience. It won't be mine. Engage. Make some magic for yourself here, it is open to it, like open mic night at your local cafe/bar. Just have a good time. Open your heart. But don't be surprised if you end up leaving a little bit of it behind here. Mine is. On the 2nd bar-stool from the far end.

Thanks Shelley, Tim and all the folks at Yale hotel. Keep up the good work. You've opened up a community space? I hope it gets well used!