May 7
LIFT-OFF! I'm sitting on a man-made cliff in Lost Nations State Game Area. For some reason it has been acceptable to turn one of the very tall hills into a gravel pit. For whose benefit, I know not. I am at the summit of the remaining hill with a hundred-foot drop outside one of the doors of my tent. If I have to get up in the night, I hope I remember to go out the west side.
It was very difficult to send my sweet lady home from the Ohio border without me, but one of the reasons for struggling up this hill was in hopes of getting a cell-phone signal. It worked! The tower is blinking solemnly at me from somewhere in the vicinity of Pittsford; not strong, but solid. I am looking down on a flock of crows about half a mile away as they jockey for roosting spots for the night. While cooking my mac and cheese, I watched four deer bound across the road that leads into the gravel pit. they were followed in a very leisurely fashion by a faun.
The road from the border to here rose to meet me almost the entire day. I started in the southern-Michigan version of rich, flat, Ohio farmland. For the first six miles I was surprised to see no work going on in the fields – although there was plenty of work already done to be seen. After about 1:00, however discing and planting was going on everywhere. Everyone who passed had a smile and a wave. Even the numerous dogs I met seemed content to come no further than the edge of their yards. One puppy violated the rules, but it was obvious he thought I wanted to play. He went back very nicely when I insisted.
The land became more rolling with every mile. The trip down to the lake to pump water was precipitous enough, but the final climb to this lofty spot put me in a true sweat after 11 and a half miles of road walking. I took every precaution I could think of to protect my knees, and it seems to have worked. Even with last Thursday's third twelve-mile walk in a week, tomorrow will be the first time I have put in two long walks back to back. If I can do that nine miles without too much trouble, I'll feel like I'm on my way. At least tomorrow the path will be softer!
May 8
I am nine miles further after a HOT day. It was "only" eighty degrees, but the Michigan summer humidity came with it. There was a lovely breeze from time to time, but hiking in Lost Nations State Game Area made the breeze mostly unavailable. The woods were beautiful, especially the quickly-moving little creeks, one of which, being a bit overfull, proved that my left boot is no longer totally waterproof. Lost Nations contains a large number of glacial eskers that dwarf any I've ever tra
versed. The views downward into wetlands and waterways is only a tiny bit short of breathtaking. Early in the day, a startled fox proved that even wild animals don't move quietly on dry leaves. He would have been much better off to sit quietly and watch me pass. There is one particular small treasure of a lake that made me want to portage a tiny boat back in one day for a day of fishing and exploring.
The feet got a real workout. When – about three quarters of the way through – I missed the well marked path, it may have been Freudian. I simply forged ahead to Osseo by road. That helped bring my average traveling speed close to two miles per hour. Mainly, I kept having to stop to 'water up'. I kept my hat on in the sunniest parts of the day, but I still have rosy cheeks!
I am camped in The Poplars, a house trailer and RV resort. Most of the members are not here yet, so the area out behind the pole barn is quite deserted. Some 'personals' are hanging to dry on one of the kiddy swings. The air is still quite warm. Like most lakes, Lake Pleasant is in rather a hole so any breeze in this neighborhood doesn't even tickle the tops of the trees here. Tomorrow, I get a Bed and Breakfast in Jonesville, only another nine miles on.
What worries me is that somehow I overlooked the nearly seventeen-mile trek from Jonesville to Homer. This to be followed by twelve, fifteen and fifteen miles. I had hoped to start a little more slowly – which I have – and build up gradually. I'll just have to wait and see how my day goes tomorrow. I would hate to do a 'cheat', but I think I can stay on schedule if I can get to Homer without doing myself damage. I have promised myself that I will just be realistic, but this goof so early on is frustrating.
May 9
The morning was NOT restful. I awoke at six to a tent totally dry; not even any dew on the rain fly. As soon as I set up on a nearby picnic table to take my blood pressure – a new daily task since March – I heard a rumble of thunder that was clearly too near for comfort. I decided that, if I could strike the tent and pack up, I could get to a roofed-over area near the public restrooms and complete my morning tasks. Good plan! I was lucky I hadn't stuffed the rain fly away as I usually do, because the rain started rather suddenly and revved up quickly. I was sure that anyone watching would have been highly amused to watch me throwing everything into a pile, higgledy-piggledy in the best keystone-cops fashion, into a large pile and then throw myself next to it while trying to cover both the pile and myself with the rain fly.
It worked! My towel ended up with a damp corner, and the pack lid stuck out just long enough to get wet. That's where the water bottles and water pump go, so no real harm. Breakfast, wash-up and re-packing took a little extra long, but it also gave me time to guess that the storm was not really an isolated one, and to decide to cover both myself and my pack for the day. I made only one brief attempt to uncover in the morning, at which point it began to rain again steadily. It rained, and it rained, and it rained. The only difference between hiking with rain gear off and with rain gear on is that the first is drainingly chilly, and the second – while warm – becomes increasingly like wearing a mild-temperatured sauna.
I did follow the rails-to-trails path from Osseo to Hillsdale. In the rainy mists it was a hall of phantoms. A deer crashed out of the underbrush and leaped the path a bare fifty feet ahead of me.
I didn't follow highway 99 from Hillsdale to Jonesville, but walked up a very familiar hill to the Hillsdale-College campus where I was a college freshman (memories of hot October sun). It was nice to notice that venerable old Central Hall has been renovated. It is understandable-but-sigh-provoking that the two side buildings on the central square have been tastefully replaced by modern buildings in the same style. I would have visited those damp old music-building practice rooms one more time; perhaps to meet the ghost of Dr. Brown or Dr. Hymes wandering the halls.
On to Jonesville the 'other' way, via Hillsdale Road. It was a little longer (ten miles total), but led me right to my bed-and-br
eakfast on Maumee Street. It's always a pleasure to discover a gem! The present owner of George Munro's 19th-century dwelling is extremely proud of it, and rightly so. It is the first frame house built in Jonesville, and its first brick house as well. The brick portion's walls are three bricks thick and were insullated with horse-hair. It has been upgraded with all the modern amenities, and is being restored and improved patiently and lovingly.
After a soaking day of hiking and a charming meal at local eatery, my spirits have improved tremendously. Add to that, the mistress of this establishment wishes to meet a visitor from foreign parts – Idaho – at a friend's house in Litchfield, eight miles up the road. She will take me there, and the hike to Homer becomes do-able! I recognize that this is a bit of a cheat, but I think I can handle the rest of my itinerary from there.
One of my cheif sources of worry is a bruise just below the second toe on my right foot. This represents a re-curring and on-going problem that could squelch this trip if it cannot be fixed. I finally decided to try moleskin, and it seemed to help just moving around the neighborhood. If that's the solution, I'm a dope for waiting to try it! The rest of my body is beginning to feel reasonably comfortable with its job. On to the next thing!
LIFT-OFF! I'm sitting on a man-made cliff in Lost Nations State Game Area. For some reason it has been acceptable to turn one of the very tall hills into a gravel pit. For whose benefit, I know not. I am at the summit of the remaining hill with a hundred-foot drop outside one of the doors of my tent. If I have to get up in the night, I hope I remember to go out the west side.
It was very difficult to send my sweet lady home from the Ohio border without me, but one of the reasons for struggling up this hill was in hopes of getting a cell-phone signal. It worked! The tower is blinking solemnly at me from somewhere in the vicinity of Pittsford; not strong, but solid. I am looking down on a flock of crows about half a mile away as they jockey for roosting spots for the night. While cooking my mac and cheese, I watched four deer bound across the road that leads into the gravel pit. they were followed in a very leisurely fashion by a faun.
The road from the border to here rose to meet me almost the entire day. I started in the southern-Michigan version of rich, flat, Ohio farmland. For the first six miles I was surprised to see no work going on in the fields – although there was plenty of work already done to be seen. After about 1:00, however discing and planting was going on everywhere. Everyone who passed had a smile and a wave. Even the numerous dogs I met seemed content to come no further than the edge of their yards. One puppy violated the rules, but it was obvious he thought I wanted to play. He went back very nicely when I insisted.
The land became more rolling with every mile. The trip down to the lake to pump water was precipitous enough, but the final climb to this lofty spot put me in a true sweat after 11 and a half miles of road walking. I took every precaution I could think of to protect my knees, and it seems to have worked. Even with last Thursday's third twelve-mile walk in a week, tomorrow will be the first time I have put in two long walks back to back. If I can do that nine miles without too much trouble, I'll feel like I'm on my way. At least tomorrow the path will be softer!
May 8
I am nine miles further after a HOT day. It was "only" eighty degrees, but the Michigan summer humidity came with it. There was a lovely breeze from time to time, but hiking in Lost Nations State Game Area made the breeze mostly unavailable. The woods were beautiful, especially the quickly-moving little creeks, one of which, being a bit overfull, proved that my left boot is no longer totally waterproof. Lost Nations contains a large number of glacial eskers that dwarf any I've ever tra
versed. The views downward into wetlands and waterways is only a tiny bit short of breathtaking. Early in the day, a startled fox proved that even wild animals don't move quietly on dry leaves. He would have been much better off to sit quietly and watch me pass. There is one particular small treasure of a lake that made me want to portage a tiny boat back in one day for a day of fishing and exploring.The feet got a real workout. When – about three quarters of the way through – I missed the well marked path, it may have been Freudian. I simply forged ahead to Osseo by road. That helped bring my average traveling speed close to two miles per hour. Mainly, I kept having to stop to 'water up'. I kept my hat on in the sunniest parts of the day, but I still have rosy cheeks!
I am camped in The Poplars, a house trailer and RV resort. Most of the members are not here yet, so the area out behind the pole barn is quite deserted. Some 'personals' are hanging to dry on one of the kiddy swings. The air is still quite warm. Like most lakes, Lake Pleasant is in rather a hole so any breeze in this neighborhood doesn't even tickle the tops of the trees here. Tomorrow, I get a Bed and Breakfast in Jonesville, only another nine miles on.
What worries me is that somehow I overlooked the nearly seventeen-mile trek from Jonesville to Homer. This to be followed by twelve, fifteen and fifteen miles. I had hoped to start a little more slowly – which I have – and build up gradually. I'll just have to wait and see how my day goes tomorrow. I would hate to do a 'cheat', but I think I can stay on schedule if I can get to Homer without doing myself damage. I have promised myself that I will just be realistic, but this goof so early on is frustrating.
May 9
The morning was NOT restful. I awoke at six to a tent totally dry; not even any dew on the rain fly. As soon as I set up on a nearby picnic table to take my blood pressure – a new daily task since March – I heard a rumble of thunder that was clearly too near for comfort. I decided that, if I could strike the tent and pack up, I could get to a roofed-over area near the public restrooms and complete my morning tasks. Good plan! I was lucky I hadn't stuffed the rain fly away as I usually do, because the rain started rather suddenly and revved up quickly. I was sure that anyone watching would have been highly amused to watch me throwing everything into a pile, higgledy-piggledy in the best keystone-cops fashion, into a large pile and then throw myself next to it while trying to cover both the pile and myself with the rain fly.
It worked! My towel ended up with a damp corner, and the pack lid stuck out just long enough to get wet. That's where the water bottles and water pump go, so no real harm. Breakfast, wash-up and re-packing took a little extra long, but it also gave me time to guess that the storm was not really an isolated one, and to decide to cover both myself and my pack for the day. I made only one brief attempt to uncover in the morning, at which point it began to rain again steadily. It rained, and it rained, and it rained. The only difference between hiking with rain gear off and with rain gear on is that the first is drainingly chilly, and the second – while warm – becomes increasingly like wearing a mild-temperatured sauna.
I did follow the rails-to-trails path from Osseo to Hillsdale. In the rainy mists it was a hall of phantoms. A deer crashed out of the underbrush and leaped the path a bare fifty feet ahead of me.
I didn't follow highway 99 from Hillsdale to Jonesville, but walked up a very familiar hill to the Hillsdale-College campus where I was a college freshman (memories of hot October sun). It was nice to notice that venerable old Central Hall has been renovated. It is understandable-but-sigh-provoking that the two side buildings on the central square have been tastefully replaced by modern buildings in the same style. I would have visited those damp old music-building practice rooms one more time; perhaps to meet the ghost of Dr. Brown or Dr. Hymes wandering the halls.
On to Jonesville the 'other' way, via Hillsdale Road. It was a little longer (ten miles total), but led me right to my bed-and-br
eakfast on Maumee Street. It's always a pleasure to discover a gem! The present owner of George Munro's 19th-century dwelling is extremely proud of it, and rightly so. It is the first frame house built in Jonesville, and its first brick house as well. The brick portion's walls are three bricks thick and were insullated with horse-hair. It has been upgraded with all the modern amenities, and is being restored and improved patiently and lovingly.After a soaking day of hiking and a charming meal at local eatery, my spirits have improved tremendously. Add to that, the mistress of this establishment wishes to meet a visitor from foreign parts – Idaho – at a friend's house in Litchfield, eight miles up the road. She will take me there, and the hike to Homer becomes do-able! I recognize that this is a bit of a cheat, but I think I can handle the rest of my itinerary from there.
One of my cheif sources of worry is a bruise just below the second toe on my right foot. This represents a re-curring and on-going problem that could squelch this trip if it cannot be fixed. I finally decided to try moleskin, and it seemed to help just moving around the neighborhood. If that's the solution, I'm a dope for waiting to try it! The rest of my body is beginning to feel reasonably comfortable with its job. On to the next thing!
1 comment:
Mike: Jeremy Bonderman keeps getting a blister on his pitching hand. An old baseball cure (Nolan Ryan's favorite) was to soak the blister in pickle brine... I guess you'd need a BIG JAR of pickles....
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