This has become the summer of the bike.  I try to ride every day for at least an hour and if possible more.  The knowledge gained can be simply summarized in the idea, that at the half way mark of most rides, I can get a shell of beer for a buck twenty in both directions.  Going north, the American Legion by the park in Wyandotte, going south at both the VFW and the American Legion in Trenton.   I’m a very lucky guy to have three such wonderful operations readily accessible and in the directions I like to ride.What I have also learned recently is that bike riding while fun, can be a hazardous business if you’re a smart ass old guy who doesn’t need to ask directions.

Most recently I ask my best partner, Dorothy if she would like to go for a bike ride with me.   She has been refusing, sore with a pulled muscle but when I said just a little ride in the park, she said fine.  If your not familiar with the area, the Detroit metropolitan area is ringed with parks about twenty or more miles distant from the central city.  They are in three different counties and called the  Huron/Clinton Metropolitan Authority, or as we call them the metro parks.   They mostly border on the Huron River and the Clinton River hence the name.  Many of the pictures in this blog were made in one or another of those parks.  They are a delight to ride on with a hundred miles or more of interconnected paved pathways, like the one below.

So this is what the trusting soul of Dorothy agreed to ride with me, a few miles, maybe six or so at the most and look out for good fishing spots for grandson and I to come back to later.   It started off as a superb day, just a little on the cool side so expending energy didn’t really feel like you were working, just cruising and getting fresh air.  This was after all what I had said we would do.   The most exciting part was being attacked by the wild creatures encountered along the way.  I am in my mid seventies and my hair is all white and cropped close.  That white hair, cropped close was a great attraction for butterflies.  I still don’t understand why, but they had an orgy in my hair, stopped, riding full tilt, it didn’t matter.  The butterflies loved me, or rather the top of my skull anyway.    Being ringed by flies or mosquitoes is one thing, but to have your head surrounded by hoards of large butterflies landing, circling and generally distracting you is something I hope everyone can experience once in their lifetimes.

So while I’m being fascinated by butterflies I apparently missed the sign saying I was leaving the Willow Metropark and only 3.2 miles down the road I would be in the Lower Huron Metropark.   Both fine parks and great bike riding, but not what Dorothy had agreed to do.   The Lower  Huron park was a bit more challenging with plenty of hill climbs, speedy downhill’s with sharp turns at the bottom.  A few spots where you had to get off and push up what is a ski trail during the snowy winter.  Just a bit more challenging than she had planned on.  We decided maybe it was time to go back to the truck and end the exercise for that day.

Now being the infallible guy that I am, one with a great sense of direction, not a problem if we just go this way, the truck is only a couple miles further down the road.  The speedometer on my bike at this point said we had traveled twelve miles with our going back and forth through the park pathways.  Dorothy had resorted to walking her bike of and on.  Her rear end was just done.  So as it was only a couple miles further I told Dorothy she should go over by the rest station with toilets and a drinking fountain to wait.  She had a shady spot, a nice cool breeze and a couple real hunks with their shirts off  fishing in the river for scenery.  Now what more could a girl want out of life?  I know at that point all she wanted to do was to not peddle that damned bike any further.

So I took off to get the truck and come back for her.  My infallible sense of direction led me right up to an entrance point.  But what the hell, it was an entrance to a park other than the Willow park where we parked the truck.  There was some mistake here, so I turned and rode backwards.   Riding up to where Dorothy stopped she had noticed a sign that said “East Bend Picnic Area” and wasn’t that near or where we had parked the truck.   Thinking maybe she was right I rode down into check it out.  Nope and a big hill climb to get back up out of there.  My legs were starting to get a bit weak on the climbs.   Pressing down hard on the peddles was becoming a bit more difficult.  Even when riding in almost the lowest gear range, I was happy to get to the top of that grade. And I had gotten on a bike trail where I didn’t recognize the surroundings.  Riding past the water park with the tubes for splashing down and such, I came to another exit.   I swallowed my pride and bravely rode up to the girl at the booth selling entrance permits and blurted out..  I’mm  mmm I’mm, it seems I have lost my direction, could you help me.

On the map below I show our ride, yellow for both of us and blue for when I took off by myself.  She gave me a map and said your right here. Marked below as Lost.

Click on the map to enlarge it.

That was when I saw what I had done.  We had ridden completely out of one park and gone into another.  I knew the truck was parked someplace where the river was on the right side of the trail.  Here though I was on the wrong side of the river, so I headed south.  It was now around four in the afternoon, the weather had warmed up, the top of my poor butterfly assaulted head was getting sun burnt.  I was running down, but I had to save Dorothy.  I rode down to find a bridge, and followed it over the river, only to end up in the town of New Boston.  I knew we hadn’t come through there, but I did remember the rail crossing from the annual fall apple festival they have there.  I found that crossing only a couple miles out of my way, and got back on the inter-connector between parks.  Now I was seeing things I remembered, so my mind was happy, but my poor legs were a little worn out.  ( No tour de France riding for me)

At least at this point I could look and say, only seven miles to go.  They turned out to be ten, but at least I knew someplace in here was the truck.  Giving it my best shot, I stopped to get my bearings, and when I tried to get back on the bike I fell over.  That was when I decided teenagers are still pretty darn good people.  As I was picking up my bike a kid with a mouthful of braces stopped and offered water.  Until he was sure I was OK, hung around me acting nonchalant.  Finally as I was pushing my bike up a slight grade that I wouldn’t even have down shifted for earlier when a fellow on roller blades came by with the encouraging remark.   There’s a nice long downhill grade at the top.  And there was and down at the end of it was the most lovely sight in the world at that time, my truck.   When I was putting the bike in the back I noticed I had ridden 35 miles that day.  Not what I planned when we left, but I did drive past the “Big Bend Picnic Area. 

I drove over and picked up Dorothy, where she remarked, aren’t you cold with that air conditioner going full blast.

I wasn’t.