May 10
I am absolutely amazed! I decided to deviate from the prescribed trail because the park at which I was permitted – by special arrangement – to set up camp was described as 'down by the river'. To get there, I took 25-mile Road into town and worked to the right in a sort-of-straight line. I did this because the Kalamazoo River
was, according to the map, on that side of town. I walked right into it!
Not only that, but – at the top of the hill, overlooking Millpond Municipal Park – was an obviously historical structure – the mill – which was clearly being renovated. It has become "THE MILL, haunted house themed restaurant" and banquet facility. It has been open since LAST FRIDAY! The people here have been most kind. I have been given a manager's cell phone and the use of the house phone. I called the local constabulary to tell them who I am, the Presbyterian manse to thank the vicar once more for helping me find the spot and my wife to tell her I'm still alive.
The joint is not exactly jumping, but the bar tender is busy "counselling" the two of us at the bar, and the three members of the staff who are busy sporadically. It's obvious I didn't arrive on the most rollicking night of the week. One of the amenities of which I am taking advantage is the electrical outlet behind the bar. The chicken quesadilla and the second beer are sitting comfortably, but I am swilling down ice water at a rate I have come to recognize as post-hike re-hydration.
The hike from Litchfield – cheat taken – was absolutely lovely. It was a day after rain, filled with green winter wheat nearing a foot high, smooth brown fields just being planted, softly-green-misted fields of corn only two or three inches high, and weather good enough to eat; lots of good-sized clouds and a magnificent breeze. I covered just about exactly nine miles today. Tomorrow is a bit of a test with about thirteen-plus to be covered. I don't really think it's a problem. Stay tuned for whining that night.
May 11
What a day! I awoke – the final time – at 5:45. Although I had been in the tent and prone for nine hours or more, the trucks rolling over the bridge on M-60 did so all night long about a hundred fifty feet from me. Even I had some difficulties with that. Add to the trucks the fact that the air down by the river reached 100 per cent humidity by about 10:00 PM. When I got up, the inside of the rain fly was wetter than the outside.
Despite all this, I felt quite spry. Even though THE BLISTER howls loudly and frequently, it also is recovering faster and seems to get no worse, so I can just go ahead and walk on it. I ate my powdered bacon and eggs, drank my excellent coffee, and was packed and off by a bit past eight.
Because I had been told that if I didn't get to Marshall's Calhoun County Fairgrounds by 4:00 PM, they would lock the bathrooms, I spent a half-hour trying to find a working pay phone in Homer to say I would DEFINITELY be there. I was reduced to dialing Operator because of repeated glitches. What most people – including myself – have forgotten is that the Operator will only assist you if the call is charged to your home phone number. I, of course, in desperation, said, "Yes," only to be informed that there were already campers there, so not to worry. What I did NOT realize at the time was that my poor wife had been contacted by the Operator (from somewhere in Bangladesh) and asked if she would accept charges. With the expectation that SHE was the recipient, she said, "Yes," and promptly heard NOTHING. She then tried calling the pay phone (fax-machine noises), the local police (Yes, they knew who I was and had found my adventure quite fascinating). The lady at the police desk said she had waved to me earlier that morning, and that I was nicely dressed (Pam thinks I was being compared to Homer's one-and-only homeless person). The final decision was that Pam had probably suffered a dropped call (which happens all the time and not to worry). The constabulary promised to keep an eye out for me regardless. Of course, I was blithely unaware of any of this, until I arrived in the fairgrounds and was delighted to find a signal for my cell phone, and appalled to hear the message Pam had left on it. I think it was Charlie Chaplain who said, "Comedy is what happens to somebody else."
Today was HOT (low eighties). Morning was pleasant enough even with the midwest mugg in force and no breeze. The estimated distance from Homer to Marshall on the old NCT official map (no other one available as yet) was 12.7 miles. I clicked off seven of those miles with hardly a pause except to check my map. Then I got to Homer road (which of course leads AWAY FROM Homer and TO Marshall (for some reason it doesn't actually make it all the way TO Homer; go figure). Homer Road went on, and on, and on. I spent what seemed forever walking over the tall, lumpy, often very tilted grasses and gravels at the edge of a road busy to the point of dangerous. My GPS says I logged 14.5 miles to get here. Well, I'd been wondering if I would be up to a fifteen-mile day... !
The cool front just came through. It consisted of a lot of wind and a just-miss thunderstorm that went north of us. It's already nicer. When I get up it should be about forty-five degrees, and then only sixty-six or sixty-seven tomorrow (and I get a bath!).
I'm pretty tired. I think I'll try for another nine-hour night. This one promises to be a LOT quieter! The only negative about this or any other evening so far was the response of the Good Sam Directors who were already at the fairgrounds to prepare for next weekend's RV spectacular. I dropped my pack, grinned at the four people stationed across the "street" from me and said, "Howdy"! They very quietly and – perhaps disapprovingly – said, "Hello." They have not spoken a single word to me since. I feel quite invisible. I guess the fact that I'm not getting three miles to the gallon – and have no golf cart – has put me in a poor social position.
May 12
I'm in a motel just east of Battle Creek. I hiked more than fourteen miles again today. Ten of those miles took me four and a half hours, so my strength is growing. THE BLISTER has progressed, too, so that it now includes the space between my first and second toe. The big toe itself is a little puffy. I am not sleepy in the least, even though it is after midnight. Part of that is simply that my conditioning is catching up with the distances I have been making – except for tmy right foot. It may have something to do with the diet coke I had with supper.
The motel, however, is the story. It's back-story alone is quite extensive. During an on-line search, I discovered that the Kimball Pines Motel was right on the NCT as it jogs slightly east on the business loop of I-94. When I called the place, to set up a reservation, I was taken aback to discover that a night here would cost me only thirty-five dollars. I also found it strange that the fellow to whom I spoke, said I should write him a letter specifying the day of my arrival. No reservation, as such, was taken. I then called the county (it runs a large park just across the street) to see if the neighborhood was at all questionable. The woman I talked with said that she drives the road to work, and assured me she saw no problem. I dutifully wrote the requested letter, and was surprised and gratified to receive a phone call from the apparent owner assuring me that I would have a place.
When I got here this afternoon, I found a nineteen-forties house in the center of an ell of sixties-vintage motel units that have obviously been upgraded in somewhat odd, but fair-quality workmanship. The original windows, on the other hand, are still in place. The sign out front matches the sixties period as well. The "no-vacancy" sign has neither the "no" nor the "vacancy" lit. I finally found the office which was really the enclosed back porch. I was greeted by a gentleman who looked completely blank when I announced that I was the backpacker he was expecting.
It seems that the owner of the place – and, I hope, the brains of the outfit – is the brother who: 1) is a high-muckety-muck mason, 2) is spending the weekend in Indiana at some important function, 3) had left this gent with several bags of oreos in charge of the establishment. The 'boss' had left no information on "the board" regarding my existence so my new 'host' was in somewhat of a quandry. Eventually, he decided that my story sounded good, and was then horrified to think that one of his contemporaries had walked seventy miles in the past six days. He concluded that he could not actually turn me out in the street, so gave me a room that may have been already rented and paid for, but would not be used this particular night. You see, I gather that most of the rooms here are rented for long periods to be used by people like emplyees of the railroad (yes there is one not too far away) who are benighted away from home due to work requirements. My host even suggested that the police rent rooms by the month or year. That leaves me with really nervous visions of late-night, quasi-legal meetings and/or interrogations.
At any rate, I am sitting on a very clean bed in an immaculate room The shower is oddly finished and tiny, the sink tilts if I lean on it. The only source of light is in the center of the ceiling. Cable for the TV comes right down through the ceiling in the corner. The furnace kept putting out heat even after I disconnected the electric plug until I turned the gas line completely off. But I am content. Interesting how cozy such a place can seem under the right circumstances.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Now for somewhat sad news. After working for two months to set up this extremely extended hike, I'm going home tomorrow. I'm concerned about my foot, but that really relates to two more important issues. I'm carrying too much weight, and my current itinerary is too ambitious. As I finished out my training in April, I had begun to fear that this might be the case. Unfortunately, the southern part of the trail in Michigan appears to require large distances of almost entirely road miles until it enters the national forests and state forests. One of my objectives will be to establish lists of places to stay that are both satisfactory and consistent rather than one-off deals made for the odd individual camper/hiker.
The real capper came when I realized that I had not only planned poorly from Jonesville to Homer, but that I had repeated the error in setting up an eighteen-mile hike across Battle Creek for tomorrow. I think I could have worked my foot into acceptable shape very easily if I had laid out several more nine-or-ten-mile days, and even have sustained a few twelve-to-fourteen-milers in fairly close succession. Tomorrow's hike with no way to break it up is completely out of the question, especially given the foot problem I have developed.
I have had a delightful six days following a path that took me through Midwest farming country at a lovely time of year. I've learned a great deal about what must be done if that path is to be followed by us "ordinary" hikers rather than a few overly-energized, thin young twenty-something's. I am trying, too, to remember that my plan was to have the enthusiasm at the end of my trip to go back to it in the future. If so, this is a good time to leave before I do myself harm with an un-realistic goal. Lastly, I've learned that soloing is not for me. I need company – one person's in particular – so I need to find a way to do shorter days using shorter time periods. I'm not done. I just need a break! Huge thanks to all the NCT people who encouraged and helped me along the way.
May 13
While I wait for my ride, I end up spending the day in the company of a group of renaissance re-enactors who call themselves the KNIGHTS of IRON. They are rehearsing for their July gig in the local renaissance fair. Today is a photo shoot. They are a delightful co
mbination of college people and life-time Arthurian fascinates. The guys, especially, offer a running combination of Dungeons and Dragons references and Star Wars IV, V, and VI dialogue. I find it interesting that those three original films still have the most impact on young people.
The rehearsal is being done in Kimball Pines County Park because the formerly-Kalamazoo-County renaissance fair has taken a thirty-year lease on this location. It looks like a beautiful place for it. The festival starts Saturday, July 7.
The odor of wild honeysuckle is everywhere!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Things backpackers must eventually learn for themselves:
1. The right amount of water is about one liter for every five miles. You don't have to carry it all, but you'll be a lot happier – and safer - if you figure out how to get it!
2. Hiking blacktop is fast, but hard on the feet.
3. Hiking off trail is slower, but easier on the feet; can be hard on the knees and ankles.
4. Hiking on the edges of busy highways is killing; tall, lumpy grass, lumpy gravel, ankle-busting stones, and sharp tilts from left to right. Biggest hazard: a stumble too close to oncoming traffic. Given a choice, take a slightly longer, less busy route even if your dogs are howling.
5. Too far, too fast, too soon is just as deadly to success in hiking as in jogging.
6. If the trip is longer than a week, leave frequent whole days for:
a. rinsing and drying one set of clothes.
b. resting, fishing, meeting the locals, exploring the area weightless.
I am absolutely amazed! I decided to deviate from the prescribed trail because the park at which I was permitted – by special arrangement – to set up camp was described as 'down by the river'. To get there, I took 25-mile Road into town and worked to the right in a sort-of-straight line. I did this because the Kalamazoo River
was, according to the map, on that side of town. I walked right into it!Not only that, but – at the top of the hill, overlooking Millpond Municipal Park – was an obviously historical structure – the mill – which was clearly being renovated. It has become "THE MILL, haunted house themed restaurant" and banquet facility. It has been open since LAST FRIDAY! The people here have been most kind. I have been given a manager's cell phone and the use of the house phone. I called the local constabulary to tell them who I am, the Presbyterian manse to thank the vicar once more for helping me find the spot and my wife to tell her I'm still alive.
The joint is not exactly jumping, but the bar tender is busy "counselling" the two of us at the bar, and the three members of the staff who are busy sporadically. It's obvious I didn't arrive on the most rollicking night of the week. One of the amenities of which I am taking advantage is the electrical outlet behind the bar. The chicken quesadilla and the second beer are sitting comfortably, but I am swilling down ice water at a rate I have come to recognize as post-hike re-hydration.
The hike from Litchfield – cheat taken – was absolutely lovely. It was a day after rain, filled with green winter wheat nearing a foot high, smooth brown fields just being planted, softly-green-misted fields of corn only two or three inches high, and weather good enough to eat; lots of good-sized clouds and a magnificent breeze. I covered just about exactly nine miles today. Tomorrow is a bit of a test with about thirteen-plus to be covered. I don't really think it's a problem. Stay tuned for whining that night.
May 11
What a day! I awoke – the final time – at 5:45. Although I had been in the tent and prone for nine hours or more, the trucks rolling over the bridge on M-60 did so all night long about a hundred fifty feet from me. Even I had some difficulties with that. Add to the trucks the fact that the air down by the river reached 100 per cent humidity by about 10:00 PM. When I got up, the inside of the rain fly was wetter than the outside.
Despite all this, I felt quite spry. Even though THE BLISTER howls loudly and frequently, it also is recovering faster and seems to get no worse, so I can just go ahead and walk on it. I ate my powdered bacon and eggs, drank my excellent coffee, and was packed and off by a bit past eight.
Because I had been told that if I didn't get to Marshall's Calhoun County Fairgrounds by 4:00 PM, they would lock the bathrooms, I spent a half-hour trying to find a working pay phone in Homer to say I would DEFINITELY be there. I was reduced to dialing Operator because of repeated glitches. What most people – including myself – have forgotten is that the Operator will only assist you if the call is charged to your home phone number. I, of course, in desperation, said, "Yes," only to be informed that there were already campers there, so not to worry. What I did NOT realize at the time was that my poor wife had been contacted by the Operator (from somewhere in Bangladesh) and asked if she would accept charges. With the expectation that SHE was the recipient, she said, "Yes," and promptly heard NOTHING. She then tried calling the pay phone (fax-machine noises), the local police (Yes, they knew who I was and had found my adventure quite fascinating). The lady at the police desk said she had waved to me earlier that morning, and that I was nicely dressed (Pam thinks I was being compared to Homer's one-and-only homeless person). The final decision was that Pam had probably suffered a dropped call (which happens all the time and not to worry). The constabulary promised to keep an eye out for me regardless. Of course, I was blithely unaware of any of this, until I arrived in the fairgrounds and was delighted to find a signal for my cell phone, and appalled to hear the message Pam had left on it. I think it was Charlie Chaplain who said, "Comedy is what happens to somebody else."
Today was HOT (low eighties). Morning was pleasant enough even with the midwest mugg in force and no breeze. The estimated distance from Homer to Marshall on the old NCT official map (no other one available as yet) was 12.7 miles. I clicked off seven of those miles with hardly a pause except to check my map. Then I got to Homer road (which of course leads AWAY FROM Homer and TO Marshall (for some reason it doesn't actually make it all the way TO Homer; go figure). Homer Road went on, and on, and on. I spent what seemed forever walking over the tall, lumpy, often very tilted grasses and gravels at the edge of a road busy to the point of dangerous. My GPS says I logged 14.5 miles to get here. Well, I'd been wondering if I would be up to a fifteen-mile day... !
The cool front just came through. It consisted of a lot of wind and a just-miss thunderstorm that went north of us. It's already nicer. When I get up it should be about forty-five degrees, and then only sixty-six or sixty-seven tomorrow (and I get a bath!).
I'm pretty tired. I think I'll try for another nine-hour night. This one promises to be a LOT quieter! The only negative about this or any other evening so far was the response of the Good Sam Directors who were already at the fairgrounds to prepare for next weekend's RV spectacular. I dropped my pack, grinned at the four people stationed across the "street" from me and said, "Howdy"! They very quietly and – perhaps disapprovingly – said, "Hello." They have not spoken a single word to me since. I feel quite invisible. I guess the fact that I'm not getting three miles to the gallon – and have no golf cart – has put me in a poor social position.
May 12
I'm in a motel just east of Battle Creek. I hiked more than fourteen miles again today. Ten of those miles took me four and a half hours, so my strength is growing. THE BLISTER has progressed, too, so that it now includes the space between my first and second toe. The big toe itself is a little puffy. I am not sleepy in the least, even though it is after midnight. Part of that is simply that my conditioning is catching up with the distances I have been making – except for tmy right foot. It may have something to do with the diet coke I had with supper.
The motel, however, is the story. It's back-story alone is quite extensive. During an on-line search, I discovered that the Kimball Pines Motel was right on the NCT as it jogs slightly east on the business loop of I-94. When I called the place, to set up a reservation, I was taken aback to discover that a night here would cost me only thirty-five dollars. I also found it strange that the fellow to whom I spoke, said I should write him a letter specifying the day of my arrival. No reservation, as such, was taken. I then called the county (it runs a large park just across the street) to see if the neighborhood was at all questionable. The woman I talked with said that she drives the road to work, and assured me she saw no problem. I dutifully wrote the requested letter, and was surprised and gratified to receive a phone call from the apparent owner assuring me that I would have a place.
When I got here this afternoon, I found a nineteen-forties house in the center of an ell of sixties-vintage motel units that have obviously been upgraded in somewhat odd, but fair-quality workmanship. The original windows, on the other hand, are still in place. The sign out front matches the sixties period as well. The "no-vacancy" sign has neither the "no" nor the "vacancy" lit. I finally found the office which was really the enclosed back porch. I was greeted by a gentleman who looked completely blank when I announced that I was the backpacker he was expecting.
It seems that the owner of the place – and, I hope, the brains of the outfit – is the brother who: 1) is a high-muckety-muck mason, 2) is spending the weekend in Indiana at some important function, 3) had left this gent with several bags of oreos in charge of the establishment. The 'boss' had left no information on "the board" regarding my existence so my new 'host' was in somewhat of a quandry. Eventually, he decided that my story sounded good, and was then horrified to think that one of his contemporaries had walked seventy miles in the past six days. He concluded that he could not actually turn me out in the street, so gave me a room that may have been already rented and paid for, but would not be used this particular night. You see, I gather that most of the rooms here are rented for long periods to be used by people like emplyees of the railroad (yes there is one not too far away) who are benighted away from home due to work requirements. My host even suggested that the police rent rooms by the month or year. That leaves me with really nervous visions of late-night, quasi-legal meetings and/or interrogations.
At any rate, I am sitting on a very clean bed in an immaculate room The shower is oddly finished and tiny, the sink tilts if I lean on it. The only source of light is in the center of the ceiling. Cable for the TV comes right down through the ceiling in the corner. The furnace kept putting out heat even after I disconnected the electric plug until I turned the gas line completely off. But I am content. Interesting how cozy such a place can seem under the right circumstances.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Now for somewhat sad news. After working for two months to set up this extremely extended hike, I'm going home tomorrow. I'm concerned about my foot, but that really relates to two more important issues. I'm carrying too much weight, and my current itinerary is too ambitious. As I finished out my training in April, I had begun to fear that this might be the case. Unfortunately, the southern part of the trail in Michigan appears to require large distances of almost entirely road miles until it enters the national forests and state forests. One of my objectives will be to establish lists of places to stay that are both satisfactory and consistent rather than one-off deals made for the odd individual camper/hiker.
The real capper came when I realized that I had not only planned poorly from Jonesville to Homer, but that I had repeated the error in setting up an eighteen-mile hike across Battle Creek for tomorrow. I think I could have worked my foot into acceptable shape very easily if I had laid out several more nine-or-ten-mile days, and even have sustained a few twelve-to-fourteen-milers in fairly close succession. Tomorrow's hike with no way to break it up is completely out of the question, especially given the foot problem I have developed.
I have had a delightful six days following a path that took me through Midwest farming country at a lovely time of year. I've learned a great deal about what must be done if that path is to be followed by us "ordinary" hikers rather than a few overly-energized, thin young twenty-something's. I am trying, too, to remember that my plan was to have the enthusiasm at the end of my trip to go back to it in the future. If so, this is a good time to leave before I do myself harm with an un-realistic goal. Lastly, I've learned that soloing is not for me. I need company – one person's in particular – so I need to find a way to do shorter days using shorter time periods. I'm not done. I just need a break! Huge thanks to all the NCT people who encouraged and helped me along the way.
May 13
While I wait for my ride, I end up spending the day in the company of a group of renaissance re-enactors who call themselves the KNIGHTS of IRON. They are rehearsing for their July gig in the local renaissance fair. Today is a photo shoot. They are a delightful co
mbination of college people and life-time Arthurian fascinates. The guys, especially, offer a running combination of Dungeons and Dragons references and Star Wars IV, V, and VI dialogue. I find it interesting that those three original films still have the most impact on young people.The rehearsal is being done in Kimball Pines County Park because the formerly-Kalamazoo-County renaissance fair has taken a thirty-year lease on this location. It looks like a beautiful place for it. The festival starts Saturday, July 7.
The odor of wild honeysuckle is everywhere!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Things backpackers must eventually learn for themselves:
1. The right amount of water is about one liter for every five miles. You don't have to carry it all, but you'll be a lot happier – and safer - if you figure out how to get it!
2. Hiking blacktop is fast, but hard on the feet.
3. Hiking off trail is slower, but easier on the feet; can be hard on the knees and ankles.
4. Hiking on the edges of busy highways is killing; tall, lumpy grass, lumpy gravel, ankle-busting stones, and sharp tilts from left to right. Biggest hazard: a stumble too close to oncoming traffic. Given a choice, take a slightly longer, less busy route even if your dogs are howling.
5. Too far, too fast, too soon is just as deadly to success in hiking as in jogging.
6. If the trip is longer than a week, leave frequent whole days for:
a. rinsing and drying one set of clothes.
b. resting, fishing, meeting the locals, exploring the area weightless.
c. rain delays.
