West. Day 5.

June 13, 2016

Crystal Falls, Michigan to Star Lake, Wisconsin

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Some twenty-miles out from Crystal Falls, a long, low restroom at Pentoga County Park drew me in. And it was not just the need I felt. The striking building, constructed of large stones and framed with heavy wood beams, overlooked Chicagon Lake. Turned out the location was home to ancient Ojibwa tribes. At one end of the park, wood structures covered burial sites.

The place had a certain serenity about it.

At the edge of the lake, a couple tossed a tennis ball into the water. A joyous golden-doodle launched after it, leapt to shore, shook its owners wet, and dropped the ball at their feet.

I miss Gus.

Our Gus, about to get fenced in, just before I left.

Copper was six-years old. "He has this morning ritual," the man said, and chucked the ball back into the water. The couple hailed from Appleton, Wisconsin.

"We have family here and spend three months at this campground every summer," the woman said. She showed interest in my bike leaning against the stone wall of the restroom. "I had a Bachetta recumbent." Bachettas are short-wheel-based, built for speed. "But I'm a roadie at heart."

Me too, really, but for an extended tour nothing beats a long-wheel-based recumbent for comfort.

"You can pick up a new paved path just outside the park," she advised. "It goes into Gastra and Iron River."

The path cut a peaceful trail through a thick hardwood forest. I followed it to Gastra and Caspian, but my route stayed south of Iron River.

Thanks for the tip!

Me with Copper and his people.

Original Facebook post:

POSTCARD FROM THE ROAD 6/13/16 Word of the day: HILLS.

What you don't want to hear from a friendly motorist just as you settle back into the saddle after pushing your bike up the fifth hill-too-steep-to-pedal-up in less than eight miles. "I just saw a bear back there [where I am heading]. You might want to be careful."

So funny. I remember back in 1976, when our group entered Yellowstone National Park, a sign warned, "Roll up windows. Bears." Eeek. No windows on a bike!

We passed without seeing one. And, whew, none this day forty years later.

Near the entrance to the Star Lake State Park, my refuge for the night, I met Debbie, owner of the Star Lake Store.

Debbie, commanding the counter at the Star Lake Store.

My helmet still on my head cued her to unleash a boat-load of stories about other bicycling customers. "One guy spent a whole day in here with his laptop," she said. "He was writing a book about riding his bike across the country."

Imagine that.