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Richville, MI to Dresden, ON

2 days

150 miles

My sense of home has shifted. I miss the dog like crazy and know I've got to move out of this lifestyle in about 11 days (not including 4 nights at the ace ny -- a vagabond's decadent transition house back into the urbane), but I now feel totally at ease if, for the night, I've got just a small patch of grass to call my own. I can fill that space and beyond with my ready-to-go kitchen, bedroom, living room. After three nights in the tent, though, I start to seek out a roof. Last night was shaping up to the be the fourth night in a row at a Michigan city park/cemetery.

Camping the past few nights had been a breeze. It was easy to pick up a decent routine with Ethan: he starts early (his tent's usually packed down before I'm awake); he would arrive at the destination about an hour before me, scout out the scene and then text me the best camping spot. We met yesterday at the Yale city park. Before unloading the bike I made a last-ditch effort and called the yale hotel. It was about 6:30 pm.

The manager said she had a special rate for cyclists, come on down, $35 for a room with two twin beds. We were there within minutes. Free laundry, a bar and restaurant on the first floor, a balcony for guests overlooking yale's main drag. And there ended up being rooms enough for me to have #315 all to myself. Sink, outlet, straight across from the bathroom. A really spectacular affair. The hotel wore its 160 years like a champ and seems now home mostly to ghostly boarders. I sensed a thriving, if invisible, community in that building: their razors all shared one cup in the shower.

On the first day of this trip, some 37 or so days ago, I had to carry the bike down two flights of concrete stairs on a break in the old Columbia highway. It took me about an hour and all the curse words I knew to make it down. Yesterday I carried the bike, fully loaded, up three flights of stairs. To be fair, the bike's about 20% lighter after streamlining. But we're really growing into each other.

Slept like a babe, had a relaxed morning, took off for Canada around noon. I needed to restock on fuel for the stove and some ramen so I stopped into a superstore along the highway. As I was walking through the aisles with my bike and attendant regalia, two women, JoAnn and Alisha, stopped me to chat and encourage me along. I feed off situations like that: a salute from a passing driver can power me for minutes thereafter. Just the thought of kindness -- from strangers, family, friends -- brings my legs back to life when they're waning.

I crossed the border ($2 ferry across the st. clair river) without issue. I've had spotty cell service in Canada and lost touch with Ethan. We've since exchanged a few texts but for now are just on parallel journeys. I set up camp at a park in Dresden.

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July 17

Dresden, ON to Port Burwell, ON

93 miles

Any expectations I've projected onto Canada no longer apply. Friendliness must know hostility and I've been surprisingly on edge my entire time here. At least I've got an Adventure Cycling map, which covers this stretch until Buffalo; navigation (not to mention the myriad logistical considerations for a day) is so much easier on their routes. This one is sending me on a scenic pass through farmlands, kitschy lakeside harbor towns, and a sketchy underbelly to it all. Colossal windmills greeted me at the lake and invited me into quixotic battle with the wind. I ate food, drank water, and rode my bike like it was never gonna end.

I was pretty beat when I made it to Port Burwell. It was about 6 pm. I was on the town's main street corner looking at my map, trying to figure out where I'd be sleeping for the night. Some people yelled out a hello, said they'd seen me in Port Bruce not too long ago. We talked for a bit and I asked the best place to eat around here. "Right there, the Erie Cove. We drove down from London just for the perch."

After I'd been eating for a bit, the owner came out to chat with me. "We get bikers through here all the time. I let them camp out right here on the pavilion." My face lit up. Before he could even offer the pavilion though, he'd come up with a better idea. "Want to sleep in that RV there? Just don't touch the steering wheel."

"Deal!"

I had a moment of doubt when I stepped inside: mice had eaten half a bar of soap next to the sink, then shat it out next to the drain; a movie-set stain covered the couch where I'd be sleeping. "What the fuck am I getting myself into?" Just as that question surfaced, so too did the response: "Darling, the time for concern was about 6 weeks ago. You're in far too deep now."

"It's perfect, boss" I said. And it really was. Once alone, I punctiliously covered the couch with my tarp and placed my tightly sealed panniers on the most innocuous-looking ledge. I had time enough to swim in the lake and shower at the outhouse.

Today, I ate an industrial-strength granola bar, five grocery-store brand granola bars, a heaping bowl of oatmeal, a packet of tuna, a packet of peanut butter, a burger and fries, a mini pecan pie, a tuna sandwich and chips, a snickers bar, an ice cream cone, fish and chips, two cookies, at least 8 liters of water (much of it dosed with red sports drink), a couple beers, and another ice cream cone. I was hungry again at about 9:30 and left the RV in pursuit of food. Instead I found a small group of residents, self-proclaimed hippie libertarians, sitting on a bench overlooking lake erie, drinking some local moonshine. They invited me to join and I hung out with them for a while watching the moonlight through mottled clouds dance across the lake.

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July 18

Port Burwell, ON to Dunville, ON

67 miles

I don't know where I'm gonna sleep most nights but the concern doesn't burn too many calories anymore. I now know that whatever I find once on the ground will be superior to anything the phone can offer. So today I didn't pay attention to distance or time. I stopped when I knew my shadow was long enough and when I was hungry enough for dinner.

I ended up in Dunnville, and in researching the resources available, found a public pool. I went straight over, showered off, and then dove right in. The accumulation of a day disappeared. I spotted a motel across the street, rode over and asked the owner if he'd rent a riverside camping spot to me for the night. He started at $40 (typical rate for a campsite here), I talked him down to $20 ("It'll be the easiest 20 bucks you ever made"), and, after shaking on it, he plied me with bottled water and beer. With a 24-hour gas station around the corner, I'm home for the night.