Days 38 & 39

JULY 16 Wrighstown to Manitowoc WI

The ride to Manitowoc was one of the shorter rides of our trip, at about 55 miles. We started early in the morning, because we wanted to get in early to spend time with our friends, the Crousers, who were meeting us in Manitowoc (they were vacationing in Chicago and decided to drive up to meet us for a couple of days). And it was a good thing we began our ride early, because by 8:30, my arms and face were slick with sweat. The temperature and humidity kept rising all morning, so that by 11:00, dad and I had each drained three full water bottles, and still found ourselves parched. We stopped at a house by the side of the road and asked the elderly man out front if he could refill our water bottles; when he returned the water bottles, they had ice cubes floating in them, "Have a good ride, now!" He called as we pedaled away, the only thing he said throughout the entire exchange.

The temperature dropped drastically once we got into Manitowoc, situated on the shore of Lake Michigan. Dad and I stopped for lunch at Fatzo's Sub Shop, and then rode across town to the Best Western. We laid down our bikes in front of the hotel, and dad went inside to register; within seconds, the Crouser twins, Jonny and Eddy, had raced outside to say hello. Their older brother, Steve, and their parents, Jim and Brenda followed shortly, along with my dad. The 7 of us spent the next ten minutes standing in front of the hotel and exchanging stories about our trips. "Why don't we let these guys go shower, and then we'll find something to do with them around Manitowoc." Brenda finally suggested.

Dad and I jumped at the suggestion, wheeling our bikes into the elevator to take them up stairs. After each of us had spent a long time, luxuriating in a shower that didn't need to be fed quarters every 3 minutes, we went down to the hotel lobby to meet back up with the Crousers. That afternoon, we talked, played cards, braved a brutal thunderstorm to go to the movies (Jim was drenched after 15 seconds in the rain), and splashed around in the pool until it was time to go to bed. It was a glimpse at what our 'normal' vacations are usually like, one that I knew would make me homesick as soon as it was over.

JULY 17 Manitowoc WI to Ludington MI (mostly by Ferry)

The Crousers took the ferry, the S.S. Badger, with us across Lake Michigan. We spent most of the ride talking and playing cards, downing an entire box of Oreos and two bags of chips during the four hour ride. All too soon, the Ferry came into port in Ludington, and we were scrambling to get our bags and our bikes and get off the ship, "Goodbye!" we called to the Crousers.
"Goodbye!" they shouted back.
Then, 5 steps later we ran into them again, "Goodbye!"
"Goodbye!"
Another five steps. And another. Finally, Eddy asked, "How many times do you think we'll say good bye before we really leave?" Our last goodbye came in the parking lot, just off of the ferry. We all hugged, and wished each other a safe journeys, then turned and went our separate ways. As we rode away, I was more homesick than I've been all trip.

We stayed in a campground near Ludington. We chose a site, but then we noticed the young couple next to us unloading Tiki Torches, "They might just want to stay up talking..." dad suggested doubtfully.
"Right." I said sarcastically, "couple, young 20's, Tiki Torches-"
"And ears!" dad interrupted. We still decided to find another site.

As soon as we rolled into our next site, a 20-something girl walked over, "The rangers just told us a storm's coming in! We've been trying to tell everyone around us." We thanked her, and rushed to set up our camp; as I put up my tent, one of the poles cracked along the joint. We braced it with duct tape, our panacea, and thought nothing more of it. Later that evening, as I ducked into my tent, I heard an ominous cracking sound. Looking up, I saw that my pole was giving out through the tape! It had already bent itself into an odd, elbow shape, and was bowing even more as I watched. I scrambled back out of my tent and tore off my rain fly, ignoring the huge clouds billowing in overhead. Dad was off walking around the campground, so I frantically tried to repair the pole myself, but by the time dad returned, my tent had collapsed entirely, now no more than a lump on the ground. As the two of us worked to fix the pole, trying to splint it with sticks, and then with a spare spoke, a woman walked by, "Need any help?" she called.
"Not really... unless you got any spare poles!" dad replied.
"Sorry... looks like you two might be sharing a tent tonight. If you need anything, I'm in that tent just over there."
When nothing seemed to hold my tent up, dad set off around the campground, asking for spare tent poles. He finally found some, and a hack saw to cut them down to the proper size, and by about 10:00, we had my tent at least functional again. I went to sleep praying the whole thing wouldn't collapse on me in the middle of the night.