Mennonite Rush Hour, Giant Pumpkins & Ghost Clouds

Serpent River, ON, CA – Manitoulin Island, ON, CA

I won’t bore you with the first half of our day. It was pretty and all, but there were basically no services and we were hungry so we biked on the TCH (the Trans Canadian Highway, for the newly initiated) until we found a town – Massey – with a few services.

There we had a great late breakfast and chatted with four older women who told us what we had in store for ourselves for the rest of the day: lots of hills and a twisty turny road down toward Manitoulin Island. Did I mention that Canadians are super friendly? They are.

We had no sooner walked out of the breakfast joint – we’re oiling our chains as we stand on the side of the road along the TCH – when what, to our wandering eyes did appear – Mennonite Rush Hour! It was crazy! Just down the street about a dozen horse and buggies charged onto the TCH, raced down the highway, over a bridge, and turned off in different directions – gone in an instant.

We agreed that we should have been quicker and taken a picture or video. But they were just too fast . . .

We went back to our chain oiling.

But then, within a minute or two another wave started (were they caught at a stop light maybe?)

I raced off down the highway after them – but missed all but a straggler buggie, which was, itself, going at Mach 7, apparently to catch it’s big buggy brothers and and sisters. Did I mention that it was crazy? The clank, clank, clank of the hooves. And the speed. They must have been going 20 miles per hour (these Mennonites don’t use the slower kilometers per hour . . .). And the Bonnets (Diana’s term for the Mennonite women) were none too happy with me taking their picture. But what do they expect when they’re practically breaking the speed limit on the TCH with their steroid-ridden steeds of death . . .?

We keep thinking that we’ve seen the last of the Mennonites – but later in the day we passed confusing signs with a buggy on top of a bike. Not sure what it means exactly – but seemed to be a pretty good indication that there were still Mennonites in the area . . .

The real drama of the day didn’t develop until the end. Like I said, we had a pretty big day planned – with only two real towns the whole time. When we arrived in the second town – Española – we had to decide what the rest of the day would look like.

Our planned endpoint turned out to be in the middle of a First Nations Reserve (not sure on the proper language here? Would be a reservation in the U.S. – except that the First Nations reserves seem to be on much better land than what we left to the Native Americans in the U.S.). There was a little tent marked on the map – which made us think maybe there was camping – but it was difficult to find any additional information. And while the day had been beautiful at times, by the time we reached Española it was kind of cold and blustery – with ominous clouds blowing around. Not the kind of weather that makes you excited about camping – or preparing dinner over a fire after a big day of biking. Worse, our camping gear was wet from last night. It didn’t rain, but it must have been super humid because it was the heaviest dew we had ever seen, and our tent itself formed a little terrarium overnight – so our tarp was soaked on the inside as well as the outside, and we awoke to the pitter patter of “raindrops” inside the tent . . . falling from the tarp itself.

But our choice was to find a campsite, or push on another 20 miles past the theoretical campsites on what was already a big day. And if we camped then we needed to buy dinner stuff in Española – because we knew there wouldn’t be any grocery stores or restaurants in Whitefish Falls, where we were slated to camp.

We went to the grocery store in Española without our normal culinary enthusiasm – and ended up with a rotisserie chicken, some seven-minute rice, and a bag salad. Not a terrible meal, but kind of sad . . .

We headed out of Española – cheered on by a little Asian couple sitting by the side of the road. “Go, go” they clapped.

The next twenty miles were beautiful. Rolling and hilly hills, and little, unblemished lakes all over the place. But, as we cruised along the ominous clouds grew more ominous and we felt a raindrop or two. We checked our weather app (about as accurate as Google Maps for bikes) but it said nothing about rain . . .

When we arrived at Whitefish Falls we saw no campground, no falls, and a number of now-defunct restaurants and businesses . . .

We pushed on to option 2 – the “town” of Birch Island – another eight or so miles down the road. Even more beautiful scenery as we get closer and closer to Lake Huron and Manitoulin Island. The views are amazing! Big rock outcroppings like the North Shore, and lakes like the Boundary Waters everywhere. But, like Whitefish Falls, the town is non-existent, and Diana tries to call the theoretical campground, but with no success.

Well, next option is Little Current, which is on Manitoulin Island – but is also another twelve miles away. May not sound like that much, but it’s 5:30 at this point – definitely past our normal expiration date. I’m expecting to turn into a pumpkin at any moment . . .

Pumpkins. I forgot to tell you about pumpkins. As we headed out of our lunch spot today – after Mennonite Rush Hour – we came across a neat little Canadian yard – with two GIANT pumpkins. I mean State Fair blue ribbon giant. We stopped to admire the pumpkins, and just then a woman came out the door of the house.

“Would it be alright if we photographed your pumpkins?” we asked.

Within 30 seconds we had met her husband, presumably Peter, the proud pumpkin papa, their daughter and son-in-law, and their six month old granddaughter, who live across town.

Peter explained that he had grown the pumpkins from giant pumpkin seeds. He was very proud of his pumpkins, but told us, sadly, that they were not big enough to enter any of the local contests, because someone in southern Ontario had grown a 2,000 pound pumpkin. His were only about 450 pounds – and only growing 5-10 pounds per day these days – what with the cold nights and all . . .

5-10 pounds per day! That’s crazy! And he thinks that’s disappointing! (At their peak he told us they were growing 30 pounds per day!)

Oh, yes, sorry. I was about to turn into a pumpkin myself because it was after 5:30 and we weren’t done biking. Or maybe my bike turns into a pumpkin? Wasn’t it the chariot that was really a pumpkin and would turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?

Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Whether me or my bike turned into a pumpkin our riding for the day would be done. But maybe it doesn’t work that way in Canada. So confusing . . .

In any event, our choices are now to pitch a tent anywhere – as the old ladies at lunch urged us to do (after all, they said, “there isn’t much around . . .”) – or push on to the town of Little Current.

We don’t make this decision – because I’m not ready to commit to biking the whole way – but we do push on. It’s just too depressing to stay in Birch Island, on the reserve, where the only operating business is a small shack selling tobacco products . . .

But as we go the ominous clouds that our weather app told us didn’t exist – ghost clouds, I guess – begin to spit rain at us. Big cold drops. We increase our speed. More cold drops fall. We try to go a little faster – we can still see sunshine up ahead.

Diana then makes our biggest mistake of the day. Without even being near a tree or a table to knock on, she says “I think it’s letting up.”

And, I kid you not, within two seconds after she says this – the words are still hanging in the air – and the ominous ghost clouds answer with a large rumble of thunder. The ghost clouds are not playing!

The next minute the large cold raindrops turn into pelting hale. Fortunately we are now in a section of land with no cover whatsoever.

“Should we stop to put our raincoats on?” I ask.

Diana, being Diana, says that the better plan is to outrace the clouds.

So we pour it on. And soon we are, indeed, outracing the ominous ghost clouds.

We reach dry road. But we can still see the clouds behind us. Frustrated and angry that their prey has escaped.

Fortunately this last bit is flat and the wind is at our backs now – so we cruise along until we finally reach the quaint single-lane bridge to Manitoulin Island.

We ended up eating at a food truck in town. We supplemented fish fry and burgers with rotisserie chicken and bag salad from our packs. Pretty darn good, all things considered. We found a nice new hotel to stay at, and there was even an ice cream stand next door.

And, the best part – there is a little less pressure on us to make the ferry on time tomorrow – because every mile we made today is one less we have to make to get to the ferry tomorrow. Still, it is 46 miles to the ferry and Diana found out today that we need to be there a full hour before the ferry heads out. One flat tire and we could have some more ferry drama tomorrow.

Hopefully, though, our “Ferry Godmother” will make sure my bike doesn’t turn into a pumpkin along the way . . . especially a 450 pound pumpkin – although it’s easy to see how a 450 pound pumpkin could become a buggy, and maybe we could borrow one of the demon horses from the Mennonites, who always seem to pop up when least expected. Then we would make the ferry for sure . . .