Michigan, Kal-Haven Bike Trail

The best rides are the ones where I can talk some friends into coming along. Jay and Jan joined Mona and me for an apple picking weekend in South Haven, MI. South Haven has a number of nice biking opportunities including the Kal-Haven Trail.


Jan, Mona and a covered bridge




Noooo!





The weather was unusually nice for late October.






Turn-around point: Bloomingdale, MI

Jay was so wiped out by the ride he declined to come out for dinner. We were a reluctant to leave him alone as he was barely responding to our questions. Uneasy, we decided to go out for dinner and bring Jay back a carry-out pizza. As we left the rental house, Jay called to us, "Get it with pepperoni!"

"He's going to be OK," we laughed. In the end, I think he was just dehydrated. After dinner we celebrated with a fire at the beach.

[DRAFT -- under construction]

It was a surprising nice evening Michigan for late October, but Michigan is a great place to visit anytime of year. It's blessed with luminous beaches in the summer, apple picking in the fall and skiing in the winter. Admittedly, Michigan skiing pales in comparison to ski destinations out west, but if you don't mind repeatedly skiing the same few runs, Michigan has a lot to offer.

When I started dating Mona, I learned she was a member of the Hustlers Ski Club. I had only skied a couple of time in my life, but I figured I better sign up rather stay home while my new girlfriend was spending weekends away with a group of "hustlers."

A typical club trip included a long coach bus ride to a Midwestern ski area, two days of skiing, and a long bus ride back. The party started as soon as we boarded the coach buses in the Triton Community College parking lot and continued throughout the weekend. On the bus, it was a rolling bash. Folks in the aisles, talking over the seat backs, singing "Hang on Sloopy" on the PA. We'd arrive at the hotel after midnight, tumble into bed and then wake to an early alarm because the one redeeming quality of the Hustlers, was they never let anything get in the way of skiing. Hangovers, icy slopes, negative wind chills, the Hustlers skied.

On my first trip, I found myself on rental skis, blue jeans, cotton hat and snow covered as I fell at every possible opportunity. I distinctly remember a tumble below the chairlift at Nubs Nob that elicited peals of laughter from the riders above. I did not give up. After a few seasons of skiing with the Hustlers, I had my own skis, a complete set of brightly colored outerwear, and could ski Midwestern slopes without crashing.

By this time, Mona and I were married, with a house in the suburbs, and we were considering getting pregnant. We recognized our days as Hustlers would soon be over. 

Each year the Hustlers organized one week-long trip out West or to Europe. This year, the big trip was to Austria. Mona and I signed up for the trip to Austria, with the romantic notion that we would conceive in Europe. But as many parents learn, such plans can go astray, and by the time the trip rolled around, Mona was three months pregnant.

We were joined by fellow Hustlers, Anna and Mark. Anna was Mona's BFF from first grade and Mark was Anna's boyfriend. Mark and Anna met on a Hustlers trip after some confusion about hotel room keys. Despite Mona's condition, we were determined to have a good time.

At the airport, the club issued us neon pink hats, each embroidered with "Hustlers" so club members could easily find each other while on the slopes. The hats were quite distinctive as we stood to board our flight at O'Hare airport. As soon as the seatbelt signs went off, we acted as we also did on the coach bus, leaning over seats, milling in the aisles, having a party. The Sabena flight crew didn't mind as the Hustlers had booked every seat. By the time we arrived in Europe, we had consumed every drop of alcohol on the plane.

Sabena ground crew talked about it for weeks.

At our next stop, in Munich, we were led to the Marienplatz to witness the Glockenspiel at 5pm on a bitterly cold evening. So there we stood, fifty Americans wearing neon pink hats staring up at the clock tower waiting for the show to start. The Germans walked home from work must have been amused looking at the Americans with their necks craned back on a bitterly cold evening because the Germans knew the Glockenspiel only runs in the summer. The worst part about it was, we waited at least 20 minutes. I mean come on, if the clock doesn't go off at 5, it's not suddenly going to spring to life at 10 after.

A bus ride later, we welcomed to our resort in Kitzbühel, Austria by the proprietor, Hermann. We promptly took over the place. Kitzbühel is renown for miles of skiable terrain, but depends on natural snowfall which was sorely lacking that year. The lower slopes were ice sheets and almost unskiable. To reach higher elevations and better snow, bused to Pass Thurn, a ski area above the tree line. After five days of skiing, the Hustlers must have made an impression as on the last evening there a bar tender made an impassioned plea for my pink hat. I deeply regret not giving to him as I never wore it again.

After Kitzbühel, the four of us continued on to Vienna. 

Pass Thurn

 

 one positive thing   and .   and that she and her best friend Anna would  .  The typical club trip, started with a coach bus ride to "the area," 

-- falling off path

-- drinking on the bus

-- always skiied no matter what

-- the guy who got drunk on the way home

-- smokers bus

-- pink hats waiting glogenspiel

-- pink hats in Kitzbuel

-- international trip

-- drank every drop of liquor

-- flight from Africa

 

  

Mona's enthusiasm to have a good time got the better of her and she over-imbibed. Normally quite button-downed, but if she drinks a bit much, she's like a drunken sailor.

These days, you'll never witness this behavior, but in her younger years it was part of her charm.        and we all learned why Mona shouldn't drink too much. Hint: totally out of control.




Waiting for sunset




Jan helping with the firewood!




Pat helping with firewood (not)




Amazing Michigan sunsets!




Smile Jan!




Smile Jay!





Route



-- Frizbo



State: Michigan
Date: 2011-10-22
Route: Kal-Haven Trail
Distance: 36 miles

Wisconsin, Badger State Trail

Southern Wisconsin is blessed with a network of rails-to-trails bike trails, but some allow ATVs which I consider a fatal flaw.  The Badger Trail, thankfully, does not allow ATVs and conveniently starts where the Illinois' Jane Addams trail ends at the state line.  

Today's ride starts in Freeport, IL with a turnaround at the tunnel near Monticello, WI.

Northern Illinois farmland

Illinois-Wisconsin Border

Southern Wisconsin farmland

Careful observers will readily notice the difference between southern Wisconsin and northern Illinois farmland (just kidding).  

But as I approach Monticello, the landscape becomes hilly and for the trains necessitated a tunnel.  The Stewart Tunnel is a 1/4 mile long and because of a slight bend is completely dark.

Stewart Tunnel

A pigeon in the tunnel that will be seeing camera flash for a week.

A cutie!

Duck face for a cow!

Same trail, different day

Gary and Mona taking a break

Don't stop there. The Badger Trail continues north and the Pecatonica Trail is just a
few miles from the south terminus of the Jane Addams trail.

-- Frizbo

States:	Wisconsin, Illinois
Date:	2011-06-12
Route:	Badger Trail (47 miles) and Jane Addams (25 miles)
Distance:	72 miles

Illinois, Jo Daviess Fox Hunt and Wine Tasting

While not an epic ride in terms of distance and difficulty, this ride in Jo Daviess county was a gem.  After driving to my sister's "farmette" for the Memorial Day weekend, we rode the local gravel roads to a wine tasting at the Massbach Ridge Winery.

Rolling countryside of Jo Daviess County.

Quiet country roads.

If I were a horse I would want to live here!

Teresa and Jenna (Jenna's the horse)

Wine tasting at Massbach Ridge Winery

Fox Hunt Hounds

"Pet me!"

Dinner at the farmette.

Bike route followed the path of the annual fox hunt.

Sadly, this was the last time we visited my sister's farmette before she sold it.

-- Frizbo

State:	Illinois
Date:	2011-05-28
Trail:	Jo Daviess County fox hunt route
Distance:	12 miles

Pennsylvania, Allegheny National Forest, Singing to Bears

After a day biking in Ohio, I arrive in Pennsylvania's Allegheny National Forest (Why a Frizbo Fifty?). My first stop is the Marienville Ranger Station.

"I'm interested in some mountain biking!" I respond when queried by the ranger. The forest district, while not known for mountain biking, does have extensive trails for All Terrain Vehicles (ATV). These trails are closed to ATVs before Memorial Day, so it seems like a good opportunity to do some mountain biking without the threat of being roadkill.

Based on the ranger's cold stare, I get the feeling this ranger doesn't like me or mountain bikers in general. Reluctantly he points out the nearby ATV trails and parking lots. I try to warm him up. I gesture to the stuffed bear on display. "So, are there a lot bears around here?"

"Oh, yea, lots of bears. Worried?"

"No, black bears don't scare me," I answer. I have encountered enough black bears to know that they will quickly run away with just a little encouragement. "Grizzly bears scare me, but not black bears." I offer, trying not to sound like an urban dweeb worried about bears, snakes and poison ivy.

"Well, let me tell you about black bears," he retorts. "If a grizzly bear attacks you, you can play dead. But if a black bear attacks you, you'd better fight back, cause he plans on eating you."

"Really! And exactly how many people have been killed by man-eating black bears in the Allegheny National Forest?" I am tempted to reply, but I instead I simply thank him and head to the trail head.

From the "Pigs Ear Trailhead" there are 28 miles of ATV trails.

To the west is the Marienville Trail, rated "more difficult" and to the east, the Timberline Trail rated "easiest." I start west to find out the meaning of "more difficult." After a mile of smooth packed gravel trail, I come to a steep climb paved in concrete blocks and covered with pea gravel. It's like riding on loose marbles -- a mountain biker's nightmare. I guess I have to stick to the easier trails (I later noticed this was a downhill only segment of the trail and there was an uphill bypass).

Marienville ATV Trail, "More Difficult"

Backtracking and heading east, I find myself riding primarily forest service roads. Soon I discover the forest is a maze of access roads for oil and gas wells. Poor signage combined with poor maps and I quickly have lost my way. But with all the service roads, I simply pick a road and head north and west until I pick up the trail again.

Oil/gas field access roads

Oil and gas wells every 200 yards!

National forests, unlike national parks, are a resource to be harvested, but this place is disgusting with the sound and smell of wells permeating the forest. I feel like I'm riding in an industrial park. By the time I return to the car, I am pretty disappointed. There has to be some better trails than this.

Kinzua Dam

I drive north to the Allegheny Reservoir and with the sun setting I take a quick hike out to the tops of the bluffs overlooking the reservoir. The northern part of the forest district is much prettier with far fewer roads and wells. On the way back to Warren, the nearest town, a small black bear bolts across the road right in front of my car.

"So, they do have bears here. I wonder if it's a man-eater!"

As I mentioned, I have had some run-ins with black bears. Once in the Porcupine Mountains, I greeted a bear on a pitch-black night by saying "Hey Ron, is that you?", but the most interesting encounter occurred in the Shenandoah National Park. It was a family vacation with my wife, two kids and the dog and we had just finished a canoe trip on the Shenandoah River. We were now headed to the next phase of the trip, a rustic cabin in the national park. Driving through this part of Virginia, we noticed just about everything is named Shenandoah: Shenandoah National Park, Shenandoah River, Shenandoah Drive, Shenandoah View Apartments, Shenandoah Cleaners. Feeling a little punchy after day five of the family vacation, my wife began singing John Denver's "Country Roads" every time one of us said the word "Shenandoah."

Almost heaven, West Virginia

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River

Life is old there, older than the trees

Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze 

While it was funny the first six times, we were circumspect by the time we got to the trailhead in the S-word National Park (our working euphemism to prevent further outbursts of Country Roads).

The rustic cabins, managed by the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club, were built by the CCC when the park was developed. These primitive cabins are equipped with mattresses, blankets, and cookware. A pit toilet and spring water are nearby. The cabins can only be reached by hiking well into the park and offer an excellent base camp to explore the surrounding trails and forest.

By this time it is late in the day and we are hustling to get to the cabin before dusk. On the spur trail to the cabin, as we are arm-carrying sleeping bags, camping gear and food, we come upon a black bear munching on blue berries.

"Oh, My God! It's a bear!"

"Don't run. Stand together. Look big, he'll run away."

By this time the bear notices us, gives us a long look, and then goes back to eating blue berries.

"He's not leaving!"

"Make some noise. That will scare him."

We make some rather half-hearted yells and shouts which the bear totally ignores.

"He's still not leaving! What should we do?"

"Hmmm, I know, let's sing the song."

"Almost heaven, West Virginia..."

I don't know if it was our singing or maybe bears just don't care for John Denver, but before we finished the first verse, that bear had skedaddled into the woods. Like I said, they just need some encouragement.

Allegheny Mountains

That evening back at the hotel in Warren, PA, I search the web looking for non-ATV bike trails. I find a recommendation from the local bike club website, text my wife that I survived today's adventures and hit the hay.

At last, some single track!

Today, I ride the Tanbark Trail -- a hiking trail that runs from the plateau down to the Allegheny River. This is still early spring in the Allegheny Forest. Only two weeks ago they had eight inches of snow here. Despite a trail covered in autumn's leaves and winter's branches, the ride is exhilarating as I glide through the trees benefiting from a gentile downhill slope.

Spring arrives late in the Allegheny Mountains

Soon the Tanbark Trail becomes steep and rocky. I dismount and walk the remaining mile or so to the river.

"The only extreme thing about my mountain biking is I am extremely careful" -- Frizbo

At the river, I know there is no way I can ride back up the Tanbark Trail. Instead I follow the river road looking for a gravel road going up and east. After some wandering around and a hellacious climb, I discover a fantastic forest road, FS-119, that winds along the Hickory Creek Wilderness Area and right back to the car. Here the Allegheny Forest is preserved for outdoor recreation and is undeniably beautiful.

300+ year old White Pine, Hearts Content National Scenic Area

-- Frizbo

Lost among the oil wells and ATV Trails

Tanbark Trail Single Track

• State: Pennsylvania
• Date: 2011-05-09 & 2011-05-10
• Route: Allegheny National Forest (Timberline and Tanbark Trails)
• Distance: 56 miles

Ohio, Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Snake Lovers

Waiting for Spring. Waiting for the lake ice to break. Waiting for the tulips to bloom. Waiting for the bike trails to dry. 

Monitoring the national forecast maps for weeks, I hope for a few days of dry weather somewhere in the Midwest so I can continue the Frizbo Fifty. My original plan, a loop through Missouri, Arkansas, and Oklahoma, goes from unlikely to hopeless as first tornadoes, then floods, pummel the southern states. Finally, in early May, there is a break in the relentless rainfall, with clear skies and warm weather in Ohio and Pennsylvania. After my wife generously agrees to my last-minute expedition, I pack the van for a four-day cycling trip to Pennsylvania's Allegheny National Forest.

After an early start and seven hours in the car, I’m ready to stretch my legs. The first stop, just outside Cleveland, is Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Easily accessed from I-80, I park at the Lock 29 Trailhead. As it is Mother's Day, the parking lot is full of parents trailed by their offspring, much like imprinted goslings. I unload my bike, swing onto the Ohio & Erie Towpath Trail, and head north

Ohio & Erie Towpath Trail

A flat limestone trail, interspersed with boardwalks and bridges, the Towpath Trail travels 20 miles along the Cuyahoga River. Other bike trails connect leading north to Cleveland and south as far as Akron. There is even a scenic railroad that will shuttle bikers one way. 

Years ago, the Cuyahoga River was a toxic mess. Serving as an open sewer and dump site for Cleveland's manufacturing sector, the oil-slicked river bubbled like a deadly stew and occasionally burst into flames. A local resident recounted, “The river was a scary little thing, Rats would float by their corpses so bloated they were practically the size of dogs. There was a general rule that if you fell in -- God forbid -- you would go immediately to the hospital."

After the river caught fire in 1969, it galvanized the environmental movement and helped lead to the establishment of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and passage of the Clean Water Act. In 1974, President Ford designated the surrounding area as a national recreation area, and through decades of restoration efforts, the river has been transformed into a vibrant waterway—now popular for fishing, paddling, and serving as the scenic heart of a national park.

Today, I don't see evidence of the former toxicity. All I see are scenic bluffs framing a valley filled with budding spring foliage. As I'm riding, I notice a couple of other bikers approaching in the distance. Suddenly, one of the riders appears to have some sort of fit, wildly swerving his bike and nearly crashing. As they near, I eye him cautiously in case he has another fit. As they pass, I overhear the word "snake." A few moments later, a large snake appears directly in front of my wheel, stretched across the bike path. I violently jerk my handlebars to avoid the snake and nearly crash into the undergrowth.

"Oh, well, that would explain it," I think to myself.

I-80 Bridge

Snakes are a common bike path hazard. On cooler days, and especially in the spring, bike paths are a favorite spot for snakes to warm themselves. Unfortunately, they like to stretch themselves perpendicular to the bike path and pretend to be a stick. Which means I have run over more than a few snakes. I really don't like running over snakes. Not only do I feel terrible for the innocent snake, I've found it's unlucky. Using a reptile as a speed bump often leads to wrong turns, flat tires, and sudden downpours.

When I turn around to see if a snake's OK. I usually find the snake as it was, happily sunning itself, and apparently unharmed. I’ve discussed this with snake experts, whose assessment is that riding over a snake almost certainly causes injury. But, my firsthand experience suggests otherwise. The snakes seem more troubled by my checking on their welfare than by being squashed. After a few moments of me hovering, they quickly slither off the path, seemingly none the worse for wear, and always before I can get a decent photograph.

Bridal Veil Falls

After a few more miles on the flat Towpath Trail, I get distracted and follow a bridle path up Tinkers Creek Gorge, and then to a blacktop trail maintained by the Bedford Park District. Having climbed to the top of the bluffs, I enjoy an exhilarating flight back down to the towpath and the car. 

Spring in Cuyahoga Valley National Park -- a great addition to the Frizbo Fifty and a perfect start to my road trip. 

Next stop, Pennsylvania's Allegheny National Forest.

-- Frizbo

Nice ride, easily accessible from the interstate

• State: Ohio
• Date: 2011-05-08
• Route: Cuyahoga Valley National Park, OH
• Distance: 32 miles