Two sore asses and 3,900 miles later

Coming into Anacortes we could see in full perspective the Cascade Mountains, which we had come to know so well the past week, while just to the northwest were the spectacular San Juan Islands, about as far west as we wanted to venture. Since our stomachs always take priority, we stuffed our faces with fried fish tacos before jumping an evening ferry to Lopez Island, were we spent our first night on the Pacific Ocean. Following through on a recommendation from Rosie’s cousin, Timbah Bell, to visit his friends on the Bullocks Permaculture Homestead, we ferried to Orcas Island the following morning and biked a short ten miles on narrow, rolling island roads. And what a fantastic end to our cross-country jaunt! On arriving we were greeted by Timbah’s friend James and the other farm interns, as well as an abundance of fruit and berry bushes, vegetables galore, a nursery of plants from around the world and an invitation to join them in their evening festivities. Bullocks Homestead was started in the 1980’s by three talented brothers, and is now renowned for its use and development of permaculature. Each summer the farm hosts an enthusiastic group of interns as well as offering several educational courses for the greater public. James, who is a returning intern from last summer, treated us to an extensive tour of the farm, which included a taste test of the sweetest peach we’ve had all summer, fresh poppy seeds, crunchy green beans, and stained fingers from picking two varieties of mulberries, blackberries, and strawberries (to name only a few of the edible delicacies found around the farm). Refreshed and clean from a outdoor shower powered by the sun, we strolled down to the harbor and piled into two rowboats for a sail on a recently restored 1930s wooden boat, followed by a midnight full moon hike. Fed up with having to make any decisions for ourselves we sat back and enjoyed the unexpected paradise of the farm and Orcas Island.

    

In Briefs- The Last Chapter

August 9

We overslept, then rode a blissful 70 miles downhill to Lolo where Nicola and Lincoln, wranglers and friends from the E/L Ranch, picked us up for some R & R. We arrived just in time to have a home-cooked ranch dinner and reunite with Rosie’s friends from summers past.

August 10

We spent most of the day resting, visiting and exploring the ranch. Our visit happened to coincide with “turf wars”—a big obstacle course-olympics sort of thing between the various staff crews. We joined the general maintenance crew and managed to hold our own—surreptitiously spitting out most of the alcohol in our efforts to stay hydrated and upright. 

August 11

In the morning we borrowed Nicola’s car to drive into Missoula. Rosie had to be coaxed into driving a little more quickly than our customary bicycle speed. We spent the afternoon walking around (not too far though—our legs get fatigued if we try to walk a lot), then in the evening visited Peter the Pie Guy who, inspired by his dog, has taught himself to make what he claims are the best pies in town.

August 12

We left the ranch and headed into Missoula. We were ambivalent about visiting the AdventureCycling headquarters but decided to give it a go; boy are we glad we did. There was free ice cream and pop, a free AdventureCycling membership, we met one of the original founders, and we had our picture taken to join the wall of pictures of cyclists who’ve passed through. Arriving in the small mountain hamlet of Alberton in the evening we enquired with the ladies at the farmers market if there was a campground nearby. Someone said “Let’s take them to Dick Darne, he likes to bike.” Dick’s first words when he saw us were “You’d better come in and stay in our spare bedroom, girls, it’s going to rain tonight.” Dick & Pat warmly welcomed us in—we even got to see Dick’s bike shop and think-tank out back.

August 13

It was hard to leave our new friends; after a cafe breakfast it was clear to us that they and their friends are the life of the party. We pushed on, however, through some of the most beautiful terrain we’ve seen, along the Clark Fork River. On the way to Paradise, MT  we soothed our aching muscles in the Quinns hotsprings before finding a grassy spot to camp behind the Methodist Church.

 

August 14

We ate lunch on the river with our feet dangling in the water, and with the company of a brave deer. At the Trout Creek Huckleberry Festival we drank huckleberry lemonade, witnessed a harrowing watermelon-eating contest, and got free ice cream from the county Republicans who were impressed with our biking endeavor. We ended the day shore-side at the Bull River Campground, eagerly anticipating an early crossing the next morning into the Idaho Panhandle.

    

August 15

MONTANA – IDAHO In the morning we crossed from Montana into the Idaho Panhandle. We stopped in the first town to get breakfast, and to our delight, that cook took his pan by the handle and served us up the biggest pair of omelets we’ve ever seen. This was our only breakfast in Idaho, but we’d like to believe this kind of serving size is typical.

August 16

IDAHO – WASHINGTON Today we continued along our river route, saw a bear and two cubs, and passed through the Kalispel Indian Reservation. At one point a young couple cycled by us in the opposite direction at a high speed. In the evening they passed on their way back, and on closer observation we realized they were a good three decades older than we’d thought. Kathy & Vince invited us home to Metaline Falls, 12 miles north of our route, for lasagna and a movie, so we put all our gear in their car and rode the rest of the way unweighted—a brief taste of what it feels like to ride with support. 

 

August 17

Just another long, hot day of riding. There was one brief climb—not a mountain, per se, but remarkable for its unapologetic steepness nonetheless. We ended in Colville and treated ourselves to dinner at the Acorn Saloon.

 

August 18

Early in the morning we refilled our water supply in Kettle Falls, The welcome sign reads “Welcome to Kettle Falls, population 1,6__ and one grouch.” That was geographical low point and emotional high point of our day, because the higher we climbed towards Sherman Pass, the meaner and madder we got, due to a gross underestimation on how much water we would need to comfortably get up the mountain. The descent, at least, provided breathtaking views of forest fire regrowth.

August 19

We’ve been surprised to find dry, almost desert-like landscape typical of what we saw back in Wyoming—not the rainy, green pine forests we had envisioned in Washington. We made it over the second in our series of passes, Wauconda pass, and continued into Omak for a movie (our luck walking into random movies seems to be declining; we don’t recommend “The Other Guys”).

August 20

After climbing the deceptively long Loup Loup Pass, we passed through the town of Twisp. Twisp is pretty much exactly as you would hope a town with such a name to be, and is home to the Cinnamon Twisp Bakery. We camped at a spot outside Mazama meant exclusively for bicycle tourists, behind the barn in a lovely garden belonging to two cyclists. As it was Rosie’s birthday, we celebrated with a bottle of wine, cheese and crackers, and dinner made on our trusty little stove.

 

August 21

We woke up knowing that two massive mountain passes were the last vertical barriers between us and the Pacific. In Rosie’s words it was “one hell of a climb” to Washington Pass, and Rainy Pass followed. Coasting down, braced against high winds, we were treated to views of the turquoise glacial waters of Ross and Diablo lakes.

 

August 22

It was a long long way from the campground to the first town, so we started off the morning foraging for blackberries. After weeks of dry, desert-like terrain it was wonderful riding through the lush, misty, moss-hung forest on the west side of the mountains. We ended the day in Sedrow-Woolly, enjoying a live blues band across the street and cooking supper in the town square like the transients we are.

August 23

WEST COAST!!! Approaching Anacortes at last along a beautiful shoreline we passed a trading post and fireworks distribution center, and then a little further along an oil refinery with signs posted that read “Absolutely no fireworks.”

  

After more than 10 weeks of sweat and tears, the excitement and suspense as we rounded the last few curves to Bay View was palpable. Lo and behold, over the last hill the bay opened before us—a vast expanse of salty low-tide mud. Unperturbed, we rolled right down a boat ramp and into the mud for a toast.

With stellar timing, Leonora’s back tire, which has held out swimmingly all summer, chose today to quit and disintegrate. We’re on a ferry at the moment, headed out to spend the night camping in the San Juan Islands.

For the remainder of our time on the West Coast we’re looking forward to two nights on the San Juan Islands, a few days in Seattle and in Portland, and then an overnight train-ride down the coast to San Francisco.

      

In Brief Updates

July 28

Today we hit the mountains. After buying lunch and some extra warm layers in Buffalo we headed out into Bighorn National Forest. The climb started as soon as we left town and didn’t stop until we got to our campground, a beautiful, quiet creek-side affair.

 

July 29

The climb continued, a solid 5 hours of uphill to varying degrees on the Cloud Peak Skyway. After much perseverance we cleared the Powder River Pass and in the late afternoon began the descent into Crazy Woman Canyon. That trip down was spectacular as we zoomed around dizzying curves and in and out of the shadows of the towering rock faces. The road wound down through the canyon until it arrived finally at the little creek that must have carved the whole thing out. We made camp there, bathed in said creek, and settled down for the night.

July 30

The early-morning ride into Ten Sleep was also downhill, this time a gentle coasting grade, and took us through more red rock and past creek-side shacks and small ranches. The rest of the day took us through central Wyoming through scenery that was gorgeous through the morning and then progressively less so in the afternoon. We happily pitched our tent in Burlington’s town park, with the blessing of the townspeople, only to be awakened at 3 am by the sprinklers dousing us.

July 31

We made it to Cody, home of Buffalo Bill, considered the gateway to Yellowstone, and also apparently the place for unsolicited advice and information. Outside a grocery store a woman gave us a comprehensive, long-winded breakdown of what neighborhoods to visit in Los Angeles, what to see in Las Vegas and instructions not to miss the Grand Canyon before we could manage to tell her we were headed for Seattle. We stuck around for the famed Cody rodeo, then stayed up drinking red wine with our new German-American friends Suzi and Arnd (we learned that red wine makes your legs “fast” and is considered doping in Germany). 

August 1

We left Cody and were happily escorted through a set of tunnels by Suzi and Arnd in their car. A long day through landscape that changed from desert to chimney stone to pine-clothed mountains took us almost to the Yellowstone entrance. Here we ran into a little trouble. A few days earlier a grizzly bear and her three cubs had rampaged a campground further north in Cooke City, killing a man, so locals, tourists and officials alike are in red-alert about bears. None of the campgrounds would allow us to camp in our flimsy nylon tent, and the lodges were full, so we backtracked until by good fortune we were allowed to stay in the staff bunkhouse at a lodge.

   

August 2

YELLOWSTONE. We saw so much wildlife hanging out at strategic points along the road that it started to feel as though we were on a safari that had been rigged. The highlight was the bison herds. Visitor information warns of the dangers of approaching bison—they weigh up to a ton and can run at 30 mph, “3 times as fast as you can!” and several park visitors have been gored. Next to this cautionary information there appears a little illustration of a tourist lifted up on the horns of a bison, arms flailing and camera flung into the air. Most of the bison we saw were at a reassuring distance, but one particularly close one, after throwing itself repeatedly on the ground for a dust bath, stood up and gave Leonora a long, hard look and then turned its head to stare at Rosie. We pedaled faster and counted ourselves fortunate.

 

August 3

WYOMING – MONTANA. In the morning we tried to visit as many interesting Yellowstone sights as we could, so by the time we headed out of the park we were craving a slice of pizza. As we rounded the bend into West Yellowstone, the first thing we saw was a pizza parlor/internet cafe which, as it turns out, offers all menu items half-off for cyclists. The day ended with a grueling 5 mile ride down an unpaved road in the thickening dusk to our campground.

 

August 4

First thing in the morning we find out that a grizzly was through our campground during the night. We rode by Hebgen Lake and saw what we think was a juvenile bald eagle. The towering pine-covered mountains were a good welcome to the Montana Rockies.

August 5

Leonora insisted on putting henna in her hair (done at a rest stop in Ennis), then accidentally left it in all day, so her head is orange. We also had our biggest unannounced climb (2000 feet over 14 miles) in the hot sun, which caused the henna to run down in rivulets leaving her striped like a tiger. We checked into a KOA campground where Rosie unintentionally introduced herself as “Leo”, so we had to keep up the name-switch farce for the remainder of the evening..

August 6

Once again we had the luck of arriving in town with a thunderstorm in hot pursuit. We waited it out under an awning on a street corner in the center of Dillon, then got groceries and made general preparations to strike out again. We started to leave town but were chased back in by the most violently ominous-looking storm we’ve ever seen, and ended up under the same darn awning. That wouldn’t do, so we went to a pub where we met Doc Meredith, a muleskinner from Mississippi who bought us dinner, and Mona, a fifth-generation Montanan from a ranching family and owner of a cow camp. Mona took us home to her mother’s house where we had the privilege of spending the night in a cozy old sheepherders’ wagon.

 

August 7

Straightaway after leaving Dillon we climbed the first of the day’s two mountain passes. Halfway to the second climb Leonora developed a case of sun sickness, but nonetheless we made it to Jackson where we checked into the lodge and soaked in the historic hot springs swimming pool. We also for a third time ran into Kit, a Californian fellow who has been biking alone since February making a loop around the U.S. Our hats off to him.

 

August 8

We made it a whopping 18 miles up the road to Wisdom where Leonora was again overcome by dizziness and general aversion to the sun. She spent the afternoon asleep in the tent while Rosie loitered in the cafe. We couldn’t bear the thought of remaining stranded there so we thumbed a ride north. Larry and Joyce, longtime Bitterroot residents, picked us up, took us home and entertained us with stories of camping trips, mountain lions and Larry’s work as a surveyor.

South Dakota

 

South Dakota intimidated us from the beginning. Simply to get across we knew that we would have to cover about 500 miles, a state much larger than anything we had tackled before. We expected heat and dry prairie, lots of it. As soon as we crossed over from Minnesota we could sense the change. There was more open land, cattle ranches, pheasant hunting and miles between tiny towns. The clouds would roll in unexpectedly and the thunderstorms pounded our tent at night.

It wasn’t until west river (west of the Missouri that is, and also into Mountain Time), that we really began to delve into the local foods network. Having biked through several stretches of farmland–mostly conventional wheat, corn and soybeans–and done our thirty mile (and never to be repeated) stint on Interstate 90 past the Badlands, we finally began to understand the scope of what South Dakota has to offer.

We had the opportunity to stay with Shirley, the founder of the Dakota Local Food Network, who was generous enough to put us up for two nights without the slightest prior knowledge of who we were. Not only did she make arrangements to show us the Rapid City food scene, but also prepared an assortment of locally sourced meals which we devoured with a bit too much haste.

On Thursday morning Shirley and I headed into town and pulled into a roadside parking lot to visit with Dee Holmberg, a woman who sells her own beef as well as an assortment on local veggies, jams, honey, canned beef, mint pears,and duck eggs, and distributes a variety of other conventionally raised meats. Dee’s truck was loaded up with ice chests, and being a one-woman operation she was still trying to prepare her stand. Several people stopped by the stand in the few minutes we were there, and I’m told she has a loyal customer base. She raises her beef the way her father (who farmed for 70 years) did, which is to give them a mixture of milk replacer and pellets (bottle feeding them as calves), alfalfa, hay and grass, as well as finishing them the conventional way– on corn. The idea of raising grass-fed beef is still rather contentious in this part of the country, and in a state where most cattle go to feed lots it’s relatively difficult to find people who prefer grass-fed beef. Dee has stuck with the method of finishing with corn, but puts an enormous amount of energy and devotion into raising her cattle. When I asked her why she does ranching, she jokes that it appeals to her because she’s never really “gotten along with the human race.” I thought that to be a fine answer.

After leaving Dee, with a jar of her homemade Strawberry Rubarb jam in hand, Shirley and I stopped by the office of Wild Idea Buffalo, owned and run by Dan O’Brian and Jill Maguire. Jill happened to be around to give us a thorough run-through of their operation. We even got a glimpse into the truck/harvesting unit, owned by the non-profit organization they helped to start, Sustainable Harvest Alliance, which allows them to drive into the prairie and humanely slaughter the bison and age the meat until is goes to a USDA factory to be packaged. Jill, Dan and their daughter Jilian are raising the Buffalo on native grasses and involved in restoring and preserving the northern Great Plains of South Dakota. Each animal unit (cow and calf) requires at least 30-40 acres of land, and if properly rotated in the praire they do not do any damage. After talking with us, Jill handed me a copy of one of Dan O’Brien’s books, Buffalo for the Broken Heart, a relevant and fun read while we were in South Dakota. Shirley even happened to serve us Wild Idea Buffalo burgers on our first night there, and I was impressed by the quality and flavor of the lean red meat.

Passing by the community gardens in Rapid City, we saw an abundance of plots– onions, peas, peppers, tomatoes, lettuces, greens and much more packed in beside an old railroad line. Shirley informed me that there is a wait to get a plot in the gardens, and people seem to be taking an interest in the prospect of growing some of their own food. The Black Hills Farmer’s Market was our final stop, and there was a small crowd milling about on a Thursday morning. It is the city’s main farmers’ market and takes place three days a week, with plans to expand. There was an assortment of vendors selling fresh produce, raw milk, baked goods, sausages, a huge variety of preserves (some of which are from wild berries and fruits picked locally), flowers and more.

Leaving South Dakota we took a minor detour out of Rapid City down to Hot Springs (60 miles south) and stayed with Terry and Bob, who fixed us up with a dinner of local pheasant, garden vegetables and a creamy wild rice dish. The following morning we got a lift to Custer, and after taking glimpse at the Crazy Horse Monument, we stopped for hearty meal of pie a la mode at The Purple Pie Place. With out bothering to ask whether the pies were made with local berries, we simply sat back and relished our last treat in South Dakota.

In Brief Updates

July 12

First thing in the morning we were interviewed for the local paper (check out the July 20th issue of the stewartville paper at www.thinkstewartville.com—we haven’t seen it yet). 100 miles later we arrived in Mankato, strip mile central, where we failed to find a motel but nonetheless made it to the movies.

July 13

The late night at the movies had done us in, as had the subsequent bleary-eyed search for a place to tent afterwards, so when we woke up late we were greeted by a passel of kids arriving for soccer camp, and we realized we were in the middle of a soccer field. A lovely tailwind propelled us out of town to New Ulm where we finally did find a motel, and where we got to visit the local brewery, Schell’s. Alas, the brewery was closed, but after encountering one of 12 resident peacocks, we met the night-shift boiler man, Tim, who had us sample that day’s brew of Premium Grain Belt.

July 14

We left New Ulm in the morning, stopping in a small town called Morgan to take shelter from a storm that was supposedly brewing. A few drops may have fell, but when we left a while later, it was in sunshine and under decidedly blue skies. The day ended at the shores of a lake wildlife preserve.

July 15

Another windy day. In the evening we had the great luck to land in the yard of a family with four daughters between 13 and 18 years old. They asked us questions with wide eyes, then showed us their barn cats, kittens, chickens, and rabbits they raise for 4H. The girls decided a good breakfast was in order, so with instructions to go up to the house early the next morning, we retired happily.

July 16

MINNESOTA – SOUTH DAKOTA. Early on in the day we crossed into South Dakota, and with an ipod and a portable speaker mounted with electrical tape to Rosie’s handlebars, things took a turn for the better. The landscape changed right away to prairie, and we suddenly felt gloriously far from home. 

July 17

The wind today was a constant companion, but unpredictable. Slamming us first from one side, then the other, and then head-on (but never from behind, oddly), it reminded us of a strong ocean current, and we had to work hard and lean dramatically into it to stay upright. We visited the Laura Ingalls Wilder prairie homestead, then after a welcome swim at a community pool with a huge waterslide we spent the night in Huron, home of the world’s largest pheasant.

July 18

Tail wind! Cooler temperatures! Lunch was sandwiches—cheddar-bell pepper-mustard-jalapeno chip sandwiches, followed by peanut butter-honey-banana-prune sandwiches. We camped in Highmore, the “high point between Chicago and the Missouri River.” Sleeping proved to be a challenge, first due to some tipsy teenage girls who around 1 am found our tent and wanted to come in and talk, and then because we were almost washed away by a tremendous thunder-rain-lightening storm which lasted for much of the night.

   

July 19

We have taken refuge in the Hayes Lutheran Church. The wind at the moment is howling with gale force and the rain is coming down in sheets, and we’re huddled inside surrounded by our bicycles and belongings, nervously consuming kettle corn in great quantities. On leaving Pierre, South Dakota this afternoon we climbed into some beautiful rolling prairie, and soon realized we were headed directly into a sizeable thunderstorm. As it broke overhead, we tried our hand at hitchhiking and landed a ride with a charming young construction worker in a pickup who obligingly drove us here to Hayes.

 

July 20

This was one of our prettiest days of riding yet. We started early and rode to Midland, South Dakota, known for its “hot mineral baths.” We figured that was not something to be missed, so we paid a visit to the family-run hotel which has offered this unique therapeutic experience for several generations. On the next leg we enjoyed having route 14 almost all to ourselves, and we couldn’t ignore the billboards for Wall Drug which got progressively more enticing as we approached the town of Wall.

July 21

Knowing that the ONLY option for our first 30 miles was the interstate, we woke much earlier than is pleasant in order to beat the traffic. It was a long, tiring day, our only respite at a gas station/restaurant where we met David and Andrew, two fellows from London who are cycling from Portland to New York. We were all content to spend a solid couple of hours lounging on the curb, eating junk food and swapping stories from the road. In Rapid City, Shirley welcomed us with our first buffalo burgers, locally raised.

July 22

Our day off in Rapid City consisted of a trip to the farmer’s market, as well as a visit to Stav Kirk, or the “Chapel in the Hills,” a replica of a Norwegian chapel made entirely of wood. Through conversations with Shirley, who had moved from New Hampshire some years ago, we got a thoughtful and introspective view on South Dakota and the greater region. We also had a delectable dinner with Tonya, Shirley’s cohort in developing Rapid City’s local food network.

July 23

With Shirley we drove (automobile style) through exquisite Black Hills country to visit Mount Rushmore. After lunch we set out to go the 60 miles South to Hot Springs, making astonishing time thanks to a tail wind that literally pushed us up hills. Our hosts, Bob & Terry, greeted us with open arms and a pheasant dinner, then took us on a moonlit tour of their “backyard,” Wind Cave, part of the Black Hills National Forest. 

July 24

SOUTH DAKOTA – WYOMING. After a lovely morning with Terry & Bob which included a daylight viewing of Wind Cave, a visit to a prairie dog town, and trip to get pie in town, we got back on the road in Custer. Good things seem to happen on state lines—entering Wyoming we met a woman named Wesley who was traveling with her mother and two little girls and snapped pictures together at the welcome sigh. We kept a good pace to Newcastle, in time to get pizza before catching a movie (Eclipse, from the Twilight Saga; we’re not sure how we feel about it).

July 25

Somehow, we’re not sure how, we seem to end up sleeping between some sort of industrial plant and train tracks. Last night we shared a field with a herd of deer who seemed much less disturbed than we were at the heavy nighttime traffic of coal trains. Throughout the day, between Newcastle and Gillette, we passed dizzyingly long trains carting coal between mines and plants. It all made sense once we got to Gillette—the “Energy capital of the nation.”

July 26

After some much-needed bicycle repairs in Gillette we rode up to Recluse. There we were met by Pippa and ferried in the pickup 20 miles further north on unpaved roads over the border into Montana. Amory and Pippa are most likely distantly related to Rosie, and reside on a cattle ranch roughly five times the size of Leonora’s hometown. With hills and sagebrush as far as we could see—and no cell phone service whatsoever—we felt worlds away.

July 27

In the morning we met Frank Wallis at E Z Rocking Ranch expecting to speak to him about his grass-fed beef business, and in addition discovered his myriad of other enterprises. In the afternoon Matthew, Amory & Pippa’s son, took us out horseback riding to see more of the ranch and to carve our initials in the sandstone “guestbook.” Our ranch training ended with a roping workshop (ie wielding a lasso), and now we feel well-prepared to be hired out as extra ranch hands. (Pictures taken by Matthew and Pippa).

 

Detroit

Detroit was our next big stop after traveling from Buffalo, NY into southern Ontario, and ferrying across the Detroit River into Marine City, Michigan. The following morning we caught the local bus through the strip malls into the heart of Detroit, to avoid the traffic and the potentially dangerous neighborhoods of this “rough” city. Just as we were getting to downtown we passed a wonderful mural on our right for Detroit’s Eastern Market, which fills up with all sorts of tasty products during market days.

Our friend Radhika, who had moved into the city for the summer to get involved in the local art scene, met us at the station via bicycle. Unlike the macho motorcyclists who seemed to think Detroit was inhospitable for two women bicyclists, Radhika was thrilled by the prospect of us coming for a visit. To start the day she enthusiastically escorted us to Avalon International Breads, in the Cass Corridor.

Avalon is in its 13th year, and a renowned bakery and coffee bar for anyone in the area. When we arrived I was relieved to see real food lining the counters, with fresh baked loaves of bread stacked along shelves and the sound of milk being steamed. On an off chance someone would be available, I asked if I could talk to a manager about the business, and to my surprise co-owner Jackie Victor was able to come chat with us for a bit about Avalon’s history and practices.

Jackie founded Avalon with Ann Perrault on the foundation of a triple bottom line—earth, community and employees (but soon realized they had to consider the money factor as well). Today Avalon has grown to be a center piece of the Cass Corridor, while numerous other small busniesses have flourished around them. They offer an array of breads (a delicious brioche), a full selection of baked goods (with some vegan options), focaccia, salads, sandwiches, and an excellent coffee bar. The flour is 100% organic (milled but not grown in Michigan), and they use local items when the opportunity arises. Half of their business is wholesale, and they have stands at farmers markets and distribute to restaurants around the area. Although Avalon is by no means completely locally supplied, they do make an effort to support local agriculture and seem to be immersed in everything that’s going on with food in Detroit.

Jackie explains the challenges of sourcing from smaller, seasonal vendors when Avalon is striving for a consistency in both price and quality for their clientele. They are large enough to employ 44 people, and gross a couple million dollars a year, so it is important for them to have steady suppliers. Avalon makes an effort to educate their customers about the Detroit and larger Michigan food scene, in part through highlighting which ingredients are local or in season on their menu, as well as selling a variety of locally produced products in their storefront, such as Detroit Honey, American Spoon Preserves, and Michigan Apple Butter, to name a few.

Just down the street from the bakery are a few of the 1200 plus Detroit community gardens. Programs like Greening of Detroit and the 70 gardens that make up the Grown in Detroit Cooperative, are just a few of the organizations and projects that deal with local food systems and urban agriculture.

Since we decided to hang around Detroit for another night, enjoying the luxuries of a real kitchen, unloaded bikes, and flip flops, I follow up on a lead from Jackie to see the “honey guy,” Rich Wieske, co-founder of the apiary, Green Toe Gardens.

I found Rich at the Wayne State Farmers’ Market and in between dealing with customers, we discussed how he got into honey from a previous job in media productions. Rich is an all around bee guy–from queen rearing, teaching a variety of workshops, helping to run a bee museum and keeping about 100 hives in the Detroit area. He started taking classes at SEMBA (Southeastern Michigan Beekeepers Association) but almost quit when he became frustrated with the program’s lack of a holistic approach, and their desire to “maximize production.”

Rich sells a delicious concoction called Bee Bread, which is a combination of pollen and honey, as well as other honeys and his own wax candles. Recently the number of hives in Detroit has grown as more people have become involved with beekeeping. Rich says he’ll retire when Detroit has 2000 beekeepers, but until then he’ll continue create beautiful honey and educate others to do the same.

In Brief updates

We’ve been remiss about posting our whereabouts, but here they are! Yesterday we did our first century ride, 100 miles from Stewartville to Mankato, MN. We saw a quality action film with Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise–exactly what we needed after the trials of the long road–and at 1:30 am pitched our tent in a soccer field between a gargantuan industrial factory and a railroad. Now we’re off, ever toward South Dakota and the promise of intense heat in the Badlands.

June 30

We drag ourselves out of bed for eggs and bacon, the farmers market, snacking at the Mulberry tree and a garden party followed by a home-cooked meal with greens from the community garden. A house full of wonderful people keeps us well-fed and entertained for another night.

July 1

A morning ride along the newly refurbished Detroit waterfront, we set out into the hot sun and ride along plenty of strip malls to make our way to Ann Arbor. Zingerman’s Delicatessen for an amazing, $16 sandwich. We get to Chelsea in time for an outdoor showing of the Star Trek remake, which makes it one of the most exciting evenings we’ve had yet.

July 2

Just another day of riding. We may or may not have bathed in a lake clearly marked private property…

At the Mooville dairy farm and creamery we learned from some Christian promotional material that sex has a price tag, so we decided it’s best to stick with ice cream.

July 3

After a long, hot, giddy, delirious day of riding we arrived in the green outskirts of Grand Rapids, with the sun sinking and nowhere to sleep. Despondent, we sat on the side of the road joking about trying our luck looking imploringly at passing vehicles, when lo and behold a young couple stops and asks if we’d like to camp in their yard. Geoff and Sarah are our age and biked to Oregon last summer, and knew exactly what we were going through. Over pizza we traded stories on our adventures before stumbling to bed.

 

July 4

After breakfast with Geoff and Sarah we took a detour to see one of Frank Lloyd Wright’s houses, then headed West toward Muskegan. When we were almost there, and well aware that all the state parks had been booked since winter for the Fourth of July, we stopped to help a couple with a flat on their tandem bicycle. We ended up staying in their guest room, and celebrating the Fourth with a swim in Lake Michigan.

 

July 5

MICHIGAN – WISCONSIN. We took the early-morning ferry to Milwaukee, unexpectedly running into one of Leonora’s friends from New York in the check-in line. After a spin through a cargo and shipping yard we wended our way into the city, ending by climbing a steep fire-escape to a top-floor apartment overlooking Marquette University. Our host Sam was a friend of a friend, and had neglected to tell his roommates of our arrival which led to some comic confusion but well-appreciated hospitality nonetheless. We explored the city and ended the day in our hosts’ favorite Milwaukee dive bar. 

 

July 6

Leaving Milwaukee we had to navigate through glaring sun, traffic and highways, but slowly strip malls gave way to countryside. After an impromptu swim at Golden Lake, a woman named Kelly at the local pub treated us to a beer and said we could sleep on her lakefront land. It was a friendly scene, and motorcycle-riding regulars gave us tips on towns to visit on the rest of our trek across the state. Later, we managed to pitch the tent while dancing around, swarmed by mosquitoes—the worst they’ve seen in years.

July 7

We woke at dawn for a swim, jumped onto our bikes before the mosquitoes caught on to us, then headed to Sullivan for breakfast. Ed, who seems to run a one-man operation as sole waiter and cook at Janie’s Bar & Grill, gave us a complimentary breakfast. In Madison, after some repairs we took the bike path out, ending exhausted, past nightfall, at Mt. Horeb’s Village Inn motel, where the owner (also named Ed) gave us a room at half price.

 

July 8

A phone call woke us—it was Ed inviting us to breakfast with his daughter and him. Over french toast and fancy green tea he entertained us with stories of his parrot and his wilderness kayak escapades on Lake Superior. Most of the morning we rode on crushed-limestone rail trail winding through marshland, then left the path and proceeded through some of the prettiest farmland we’ve seen so far. We arrived that evening at a campground we’d looked up earlier only to find that it was obsolete (this seems to be a pattern with us). However, Gordy across the street, who apparently used to run it, told us to go ahead and camp there anyway.

July 9

A few minutes after we awoke, a pickup approached our tent and a man with a heavy and unidentifiable accent told us we had no business being on that land, contrary to anything Gordy might have told us. We apologized and then, unperturbed, cooked up a pot of oatmeal before hitting the road. We were on the rail trail for most of the day except for a detour through Amish country. At one point the trail took us through a mountain by way of an 1873 stone railway tunnel. It was surreal to descend into darkness, tentatively feeling our way through the dripping, resonating tunnel before emerging, a long time after, into the sunlit forest on the other side.

  

July 10

WISCONSIN – MINNESOTA. Our one month anniversary of being on the road! We made it to La Crosse for the farmers’ market, then in the afternoon crossed the Mississippi into Minnesota. We ended the day in a sweet little town called Houston, on the lawn at the nature center listening to a quality old-time country band perform.

July 11

Today we got caught in not one but two rainstorms. We started off on the Root River Trail which wound along the river through what appeared to be lush Minnesota rainforest. Later, halfway through an abominable series of hills we realized we were MISSING the World Cup Finals. We gave it all we got to get to Chatfield, where we received blank looks at the sports bar when we asked about the game. Crushed, we installed ourselves in the town park for the afternoon. During our second rainstorm, with sweat and water running into ours eyes, we had to stop—just in time to see a complete rainbow arching across the sky behind us.