Port Huron, Michigan

 

The light from the sun hasn’t been waking me in the morning, as I’ve had my head buried under the flap on my sleeping bag helping me to stay warm in the thirty degree temperatures. I’m fine in the tent, but I’ve had to shiver a bit at day’s start on the bike.  I wish I had brought along heavier gloves for the first hour or so of riding, as I wasn’t anticipating such cold temperatures.  It is unseasonably cold, and there’s not much promise of it warming significantly with the days growing shorter and my route taking me north.  

Though Michigan is the car state, it’s roads aren’t the best.  All too many have deteriorating edges, which are highly treacherous when there is no shoulder to ride on.  I have a small measure of extra safety thanks to Chris, the cyclist I rode with for eight days in Ohio this past June.  He was riding with an Ortlieb mirror attached to his handlebar just below the brake lever.  I saw how effective it was, so decided to join the very slim ranks of cyclists with mirrors.  I’ve given mirrors a try over the years but have never found one to my satisfaction.  This may at last be it.

Ortlieb is the premier manufacturer of panniers. I had no idea this German company had added mirrors to its product line.  Anything with their name on it had to be superlatively designed.  And that Chris, a PhD in physics who knows a thing or two about quality and utility, had made use of it as a commuter before setting out on his grand touring adventure from San Jose last January and gave it his full endorsement was enough to convince me to give the mirror a try.

I have been very happy that I have.  I have full confidence in this high tech object.  It’s nice to be able to give it a glance rather than twisting my head around to see what’s behind.  It has become a fun toy checking traffic, even when there is no need to.  I’ve generally relied on my ears to detect the sound of traffic coming up.  This helps confirm what they may or may not be picking up.

And it’s nice to have a mirror if I have to look at in accessible spot on my body for ticks.  There have been none so far in this cold.  I did have a slug slip into my tent and nestle in the recessed nozzle on one of my water bottles, attracted by a residue of chocolate milk.  The bottle was empty, so I luckily didn’t squirt it into my mouth.  I only discovered the intruder when I filled the bottle with water and squeezed it to rinse it out in the sink of a library.  It was quite a surprise to all of a sudden have a tiny slug squirming in the sink.

Another surprise that I don’t particularly welcome has been roads suddenly turning into hard-packed dirt or gravel. Such roads may be a fad among some cyclists, but I don’t enjoy them at all. I would have thought this car state would be fully paved.  At least unsurfaced roads mean a minimum of traffic, as cars want to avoid them too.  The out-of-the-way locales such roads take me through generally bring an extra abundance of Trump signs. They are a genuine phenomenon, if not blight on the land.  They don’t just outnumber Biden signs, they totally overwhelm them.  I can go all day without seeing a Biden sign, while the Trump signs are non-stop.  Many are homemade or arranged in a shrine of a sort.  

Many look as if they have been in place for four years and will remain so for another four years regardless of the outcome of the election.  The “No More Bullshit” signs get to the root of Trump support.  These people are sick of mealy-mouthed politicians.  They appreciate Trump’s forthrightness, whether it is valid or not.

Trump signs dominate small towns too, but the larger ones, such as Ann Arbor and Port Huron bring out the Biden supporters.  I was glad a Carnegie Library brought me to Port Huron, as it has long stirred my imagination of what this most eastern city in Michigan at the tip of Lake Huron and entry-point to Canada was like.  As I approached from the south along the St. Clair River, the Canadian side of Sarnia was dominated by large oil tanks and industry.  The Michigan side was residential.  I greatly longed to cross over to Canada and the one hundred Carnegies in Ontario, but Americans continue to be barred entry.

The monumental Carnegie, now a museum, indicated the former wealth of Port Huron.  The city hired noted Chicago architects Patton and Miller to design the library, constructed of Indiana limestone, and brought in New York State Librarian Melvin Dewey, creator of the book classification system that bears his name, to speak at its dedication in 1904. There were other buildings of similar grandeur in Port Huron, but the city was much in decline, and appeared semi-abandoned in these times of people staying at home.  The new library in a complex of municipal buildings with large swaths of open space around them had yet to reopen, only allowing patrons to order and pick-up books as was the policy in Ann Arbor.  

All the small town libraries I had stopped at, including the Carnegie in Armada, thirty miles to the west, were allowing patrons entry.  

I couldn’t take advantage of the “Armada Free Library,” as I arrived in the early evening after it had closed. It was a modest brick building with a sizeable addition to its side.  A sign in front of the addition echoed the engraving across the top of the Carnegie.

After forest-camping my first four nights, I was able to camp alongside a corn field for the first time a little ways out of Armada.

There was just a thin strip of forest separating me from several homes set back aways.  It was my first campsite within range of human habitation, but I was confident no one would be out wandering in the cold.