Day 42

JULY 20 Sanford to Just Outside of Caro, MI

I woke up before dad and tried to work quietly as I packed up my gear. Just as I got all of my bags out of my tent and took my rain fly off, it started to rain. Not a 'high', 'clean' rain, as is common in Oregon, this felt much more as if the humidity had simply risen too high, and the air had to drop some water; the sky didn't seem so much to weep as it seemed to sweat. Still, the rain felt good, mildly cleansing, and my only fear was that my bags and gear would get wet. The rain stopped early on, but the clouds remained, low and threatening off to our right.

Twenty miles into the day, we came to Bay City, Jerry's home town. Unfortunately, before we had even entered the town itself, a sign reading "Detour, road work ahead!" sent us off course. Within minutes, we were lost. "Do you know what road we're looking for?" dad asked.
"Yeah, Jeanette."
"I thought we were paralleling Jeanette; shouldn't we be looking for Walnut?"
"No, we're paralleling Walnut... well, sort of... We need to turn onto Jeanette to get to Walnut."

We pulled off to the side of the road and had our maps unfolded when a gray pick up truck pulled up, "You lost?" The driver, an unkempt old man, asked. Next to him sat a thin woman with a long face, drab hair, and glasses.
"We're looking for Walnut." I told the man.
"Ask about a bike shop!" dad whispered. My bottom water bottle rack had broken that morning, so we were in search of a replacement.
"Walnut, huh?" the driver said, "Well, ya drive ahead and the road bends to lef', then ya take a righ'-"
"Onta Marquette." the woman in the passenger seat supplied.
"Onta Marquette, an' that'll take ya to Walnut."
"Do you know if there's a bike shop in around?" dad interjected.
"Hmmmm... there's one was outta town-"
"It probably wouldn' be open ona Sunday." The woman put in.
"Yeah, probably not open ona Sunday... Le'see, is there another...."
"It's just a small thing. Not that important." dad told him, "So, right on Marquette to get to Walnut?"
"Yeah," the woman said, the driver still staring out the window, lost in thought, "right on Marquette at the Silver Swan-"
"Ya take a lef' at the chapel, an' a righ' at the convenience store, then bend off to the lef'... ya stay straight on tha' all the way down, then take two more righ's, an' another lef' at the bank..." the old man interrupted with a set of directions that left my head spinning, "Tha's how ya get to the bike shop."
"Well, it's okay, we don't really need a bike shop." dad said.
"Or ya could just cut onta the road under construction an' take that all the way down, an that'll get ya to the bike shop." The man gestured with his hand, oblivious what my dad had said.
The woman, who had broken into hysterics as the man spoke, repeated her directions, "Take a righ' on Marquette at the Silver Swan Inn, that's how ya know it's Marquette-"
"Silver Swan Inn tells you it's Marquette." The man echoed, "Or take the road under construction all the way down an' tha's your bike shop." The woman started laughing once more, and we thanked them, then watched as the drove away. Their directions were good, though, and soon we found ourselves riding along Walnut, right where we needed to be. Road Angels come in all shapes and sizes, I suppose.

Before we left Bay City, the rain set in, driving us inside. We ate lunch at Jimmy John's Sub Shop. The shop was plastered with signs such as "Sub's so fast, you'll Freak!" or "Bread so French, it needs to be liberated!" The rain lasted only about 15 minutes once we were back on the bikes, and by the time we were out of town, the sky was clear and dry.

Ten miles out of Bay City, as we rode along Akeron Road into the thumb of Michigan, dad spotted a house with a magnificent swimming hole. A high dive had been set up, and kids in inter tubes played in the water. As dad stopped for a picture, a crowd of adults beyond the swimming hole waved, then one elderly man detached himself from the crowd and walked over. "Hey there!" he shouted to us, "Where you headin'?"
"Maine." dad told him.
"And where you from?" he asked.
"Oregon."
"Oh, we had some other folks through here from Missouri. They started in Washington State and are headin' to Maine too. You know 'em?" We both shook our heads, "Ahh, that's too bad. Well, I'm Lerry Malroy. This is our family reunion. Over 100 people here. Feelin' hot?"
"Not really." dad said; after the rain shower, both of us were feeling a little cold.
"Well, we got a swimmin' hole if you are. We also got chicken and ice cream if you wanta come on down."
"You got my attention with ice cream!" dad said, and Larry led us over to his barn. We met his wife, Verness, and told her about our trip as she led us around the potluck spread out in the middle of the barn. As we headed to a pair of open seats, balancing plates full of food, some one whistled, calling the family reunion meeting to order.
"Doesn't matter to you guys." Larry whispered as we settled into our chairs. The reunion president began to call role, and each member of the Prine family would stand, introduce themselves and their family, and tell who their parents were (we later found out that the 'original' Prine family had 10 kids, 9 boys and 1 girl, which caused such a large family.) Part way through, Larry tapped me on the shoulder, "What's your dad's name?" he whispered.
"Chip." I whispered back.
"I just wanted to introduce my new friends from Oregon," Larry interrupted, "This is Chippie." He pointed at my dad.
"Or just Chip!" my dad muttered.
"And this is this is his son, Seth. They're ridin' their bikes across the country."
After a round of applause, the role continued, interrupted a second time as some one told a story about Aunt Midge's Beans. "Did you have any of those?" Larry asked us. Dad and I shook our heads, "They're really good. Navy beans... we grow 'em around here. Let me go get you some." Larry wandered off, and returned moments later carrying the pot of beans. "She uses extra sugar... that's what makes 'em so good." Larry confided. The beans were delicious. After an hour spent sitting, talking, and eating with the Prine family, we left the reunion, with an invitation to attend next year. "Third week in July!" Larry told us as we road away, "Every year, same time, same place."
"We might come back just for this!" dad said, "Thanks for everything." I added my thanks, and then we rode off, still more miles to cover that evening.

We road a little off course that afternoon, planning to stay in Caro, because it was a big enough town to have a grocery store (other wise, we would be buying our dinner at a party store, essentially a liquor store that also carries some food.) Pat, Bill, and Dave had stayed in the fair grounds at Caro a week or so before us, and we hoped to do the same. We picked up supplies for our meal for the night, and then started off through town, searching for the fair grounds. Almost immediately, I spotted a banner hanging across main street, proclaiming, "Tuscola County Fair, July 20-26." Checking my watch, I realized we were in town just in time for opening night; we wouldn't be camping in the fairgrounds that evening.

We stopped into Taco Bell for a pre-dinner snack (fast food isn't my favorite, but you have to use the cards dealt you.) As we started eating, an older man and his son at the table next to us began asking about our ride. By the end of the meal, they had offered to let us stay in their back yard for the evening. However, their house was an additional five miles from the nearest campground (already about ten miles away). We hated to do it, but after riding or half an hour, dad called to let them know we wouldn't make it to their house for the evening. We made it the campground, cooked up a quick meal, and then crashed in our tents after a long day of riding.