East. Day 63.
- patti brehler
- Jun 7, 2021
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 8, 2021
August 10, 2016
Brillion, Wisconsin to Manitowoc ferry to Ludington, Michigan
No fun finding the bathroom locked at 5:00 a.m., and me with a full bladder. When did it get locked? I slogged back to my sleeping bag, hoping when it got light someone would unlock that most important facility.
I thought about what I was about to accomplish. I'd be home in three days, a there-and-back-again adventure, a passage from past to future, a riding out of grief, an affirmation of self and bunny nature.
I found the story I needed to tell.
"Remember how things smell," I whispered. The Midwest was sweet and loamy. I closed my eyes and imagined clover fields in Montana and sweetgrass in North Dakota. I wished I wrote more descriptions of places. Maybe more photographs of each campsite? Ah, well.
An hour later the bathrooms were open. Steve said, "I saw a guy on a balloon-tired bike ride by and unlock the doors."
Whew.
We were eager to get to the ferry. Again, Steve deferred to me for the route. I led us off US 10 northwest of town and turned onto County Road P. When traffic increased, I stopped for the others to catch up. Matt was first to arrive, smiling from ear to ear.
"I stayed right with you!" he said.
"Good job! You're doing great."
Traffic got crazier and we regrouped on the sidewalk. A van turned left and stopped at the curb. It was the guy I met in North Dakota, who cycled with his wife and another couple, taking turns driving.
"Are you taking the ferry?" he asked.
"Yes, this afternoon."
"We're thinking of spending the night here in Manitowoc and taking the ferry tomorrow.." He showed me the ACA Great Lakes map with the route through town, but I couldn't figure out where we were in relation to my state map. That was one thing I didn't like about the ACA maps--they don't label roads adjacent to their route, so if you get off track you can't figure out where you are.
"Well, thanks, we'll figure it out, I've been here before. Good luck with the rest of your ride!"
We pushed on amidst the traffic. Steve saw signs pointing the way to the ferry dock and said, "Let's just follow them."
We were sullen snaking south around the main drag to the ferry dock. Maybe it was the heat.
We arrived in plenty of time to buy tickets (all I had to do was pick mine up, thank you, Debbie). It was at least an hour before we sailed. Not enough time for the guys to find a Laundromat, Steve had another idea.
"I need to get some Packer souvenirs," he said. "Who wants to come?"
"I do," I said. "We should check out that candy store I told you about." Everett was game, but Matt was already settled outside the ticket building with ear pods screwed into his ears.
Enjoy the peace, my young friend, I thought as we rode away.
At Beernsten Confectionary, two short blocks from the dock, I bought a bag of sugar-crusted fruit slices for Matt (a treat my Aunt Mary seemed to always have on hand), a chocolate sampler as a gift for my hostess in Ludington tonight, and some dark-chocolate covered coffee beans. Everett splurged on a double scoop of ice cream in a waffle cone. During the unsuccessful search for Paker gear, talented Everett managed to eat the whole thing before it completely melted.
Once we crossed the lake we would part ways. My friend and fellow puppy-raiser, Kathie, had invited me to her home. Steve said they would find somewhere else to camp. It felt weird to think of leaving them. The three were staying in town the next day to do laundry. I didn't want to hang around. I wanted to pedal to Clare. And home the following day.
During the more than four-hour ferry ride across Lake Michigan, a long chat with Everett drew memories of my Aunt Mary.
She worked at the old General Motors Headquarters on West Grand Boulevard in Detroit. Now and then I'd ride my bike down Woodward Ave., lock it in sight of the parking lot attendant, and take the gilded elevator to her floor. From there we'd walk through the tunnel under the boulevard to the Fisher building for lunch.
Mary did not make it to my age. She died of a heart attack at age 56 in the bathroom at work, not long before she was hoping to retire.
I wish I knew more about her private life. Mary was our unmarried aunt who lived with Grandma her entire life. She traveled with a couple of lady friends. Where they lovers? Some of the family thought so. I didn't think it mattered. But what did she think about her life? Was she happy? Content?
When we were together it was all about me. Mary was expert at asking questions about my life, what I was doing, what my dreams were. Being young, perhaps, my perspective was only from my center. But I didn't share intimate details of my life with her, either. Was that a family trait?
One time she came camping with me and my younger sister and brother at Silver Lake State Park. Anne and Joe slept in my bike-camping tent; Mary and I shared a mattress in the covered bed of my Chevy Luv pickup. In the hot sun on the beach of Lake Michigan, the kids playing in the surf, my mind was on my boyfriend. I had not slept with him. Yet. Could I have talked to Mary about him? What would she have advised? Why didn't I talk to her?
Mary died on a Monday, the day after Father's Day in 1986. A phone call woke me up. I worked afternoons and was tired from my ride-of-a-lifetime race at the Michigan National 24-Hour Championship in Grand Rapids that weekend. With my dad.
Uncle Tony called to give me the news. Mary was their only sister, the youngest child of three. For some reason, Tony couldn't get through to my folks or didn't want to be the one to break the news. He asked me to call Dad.
Why did I feel like laughing when I said the words over the phone lines? "Mary died." I have since learned inappropriate laughter can sometimes be an attempt to control a breakdown. I felt horror for my dad, who was so thrilled to witness his daughter win a big race against a nationally known rider (and set a course record), as well as ride 115 miles himself. The unexpected death of his sister would certainly throw him down from the heights.
And yet, a message here too. Mom's words echoed. "If you want to do something in life, you'd better do it." That ride with Dad was a peak experience, despite being followed by the depths brought by death.
Dad did training rides from Mary's condos in Farmington Hills. She was excited about our race venture together. During the long hours at the funeral home, our ride was an easy topic to take minds off our mental pain, even as Dad and I embraced the residual physical pain from our efforts.
My original Facebook post:
Postcard from the road. August 10, 2016 Ludington, MI.
You know it's going to be a blister of a day when it is already over 80 degrees at 7:30 in the morning. An easy 22 mile ride into Manitowoc to catch the Badger turned into a sweat-fest demanding air-conditioned relief with less than 10 miles to go. My traveling companions' plans to do laundry before boarding fizzled like a dropped ice cube on hot asphalt.
We couldn't wait to get lake bound.
"Attention passengers! Due to technical difficulties, our departure will be delayed." Seems that when the Badger crew ran through a safety check and deployed the lifeboats they couldn't get them lifted back into position.
We sat like sweaty sardines in a coal-fired can.
"Why didn't we sit out here earlier?" I wondered when we went up top to watch the Badger finally spin into the Ludington dock. The difference between the furnace-like airflow from the below-deck hatch and the cool breeze across the bow was hell and heaven.
Thank you Kathie Bachman for offering your air-conditioned guest room to this hot-to-be-home traveler on her next to last night on the road.
Pure Michigan.
From my B’76 journal
8/10/76
What a trip – wrecked last Wednesday (the 4th) on a downhill – spent the night in a hospital and didn’t ride my bike for four days. (From Hazard, KY to Damascus, VA). Rode for the first time yesterday and though it was hard it felt good to ride again. Len and Loree dedicated dinner to me last night and gave me the Heroic biker award. They’re great.
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