The destination was Harrisville and the plan was straightforward. On Wednesday night the wife and I would go "up-north" to do a little exploring on our bikes during the days and do our best to keep the local watering holes in the black by night.
I loaded up the bikes and the dog and headed up to my folk's place in Oxford where I rendezvoused with Cheryl after she got off work. We ditched a car and the dog and we were north-bound.
My grandparents' house had been left to the family a few years ago and since then it's become the default destination for quick get-aways like this one. It's situated on the edge of the village, walking distance from the harbor, a state park, a grocery store, and perhaps most importantly, three decent bars. You'll see some crowds during holiday weekends but it's much sleepier than anything on the "sunset side," and this time of year it's a virtual ghost town.
We arrived late, but I was excited so I set my alarm to wake me at six. The forecast said that it would be sunny all day, but a little chilly, with temperatures in the mid 30s in the morning. I planned on riding out and snapping some pictures of the sunrise at Sturgeon Point light house and putting in a few faster miles before Cheryl woke up.
In the morning I discovered that the forecast was a fraud. There was no sun and the wind was making it feel like it was in the low 20s. Mornings are often a struggle for me, so I have to adopt an "I'm going to do this no matter what" attitude even when it's nice. Somehow that switch stayed on and I managed to suit-up and roll out just as the sun would have come out, were it not overcast.
I don't know if the word "nice" applies, but the ride was certainly an experience. The cold made my hip and knee hurt really bad and the wind was brutal. After that stuff faded into the background, it became sort of interesting riding around on paved farm roads where there was no traffic. While Harrisville is hardly the ends of the earth, the feeling that there were not many people around became pronounced as I rode along.
When I got back I was cold and worn out, but I managed to pull myself together to go out again with Cheryl (actually, he was in the fetal position under the covers of the bed and I had to pry him out~Cheryl). By then the sun had come out, but the wind was worse. We put in another 20 miles and it was amazing what the sun and some company could do for a ride.
When we returned it was just in time to get cleaned up and walk down the street to catch opening day at Ki Cuyler's Dugout, a bar named for this guy. I learned to like Shocktop IPA and we had a good pizza.
It would be easy to get bored hanging out in a small town like Harrisville. I think the trick is to exhaust yourself so that when you are done with the day's activities you just sleep and are ready for the next day, which is how things went. The next day we got a hearty breakfast at the Flour Garden, where we got to listen to some small town banter and eat some wholesome food before driving on to Hanson Hills.
Hanson Hills was a blast. Cheryl was still getting comfortable clipping in and out and the main loop was just the right amount of challenge for her. After completing the first ten miles we stopped by the car and deliberated whether or not to do the ten mile "Outer Loop." We decided that it would take too long at the rate we were going and we settled on the four mile "easy rider" loop, which is where things went bad for a spell.
When we returned to the car after the first loop, I opened my saddle bag to get my keys in order to grab something from the car, and even mentioned something out loud to Cheryl about how crappy it would be if I forgot to zip it up again... Well, around three miles in, after riding over some of the lumpiest, bumpiest trail in Michigan, Cheryl pulled up behind me and asked if I knew that the car keys were dangling out of my saddle bag. "Um, no."
Mid-Loop Inventory
Keys: Accounted for
Wallet: Missing
Shiny Metal Multi Tool: Missing
Packet of Banana Strawberry Energy Goo: Missing
So we walked back with our eyes scanning the trail and brush to find the missing items. A fellow riding the opposite way we were riding asked what was up and said he'd keep his eyes open. A mile goes by... nothing. Then Cheryl spotted my multi-tool in the brush a few feet off the trail (I had missed it as I walked by). The fellow we saw before passed by again, "sorry, didn't see anything." Things weren't looking good. Another half mile and I spot the goo in the middle of the trail. I started to feel like a crash scene investigator examining a debris field, trying to piece together which items would fall out first and under what conditions. I held out hope for the wallet for a bit, but as we neared the car I was mentally preparing to go back out, not find it, have to cancel some cards, and then live with the knowledge that my crap was out there.
The awesome day was shot, until... I rolled back up the car and the only other guy left at the trailhead parking lot asked me about my ride as he loaded up his bike. I tried not to sound too pissed when I said it was good. Then he asked, "What's your name?"
He left this note on my car in case we didn't catch him on the way back. He found the wallet out on the two-track connector, not a mile from the parking lot. At this point, it is important that all the world knows that John A, of Traverse City is the man.
After the fiasco, we needed a beer, which we got along with some decent burgers at The Ole Barn in Grayling. It looked a little bit like a place you might find Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott working, but no fights broke out, and the service was quite civilized. It hit the spot after a long day of riding and and the stress of the last hour at Hanson Hills.
Not a bad trip...
