Highway Robbery

Ingersoll, Ontario – Wolverine Conservation Area, Michigan, via Sarnia, Ontario, Canada

There’s something about the Michigan-Ontario border that just doesn’t seem to work for us. Even 34 years later . . .

We arrived in the outskirts of Sarnia – the Ontario border town – yesterday, after a big day on the bikes. 

So we had plenty of time to devise our strategy. 

We figured we would have one last Tim Horton’s breakfast, and then make our way to the Blue Water Bridge – the one that spans the St. Clair River. In this area, the St. Clair defines the border between Michigan and Ontario. 

Seemed like a good plan.

The first part went well. Sausage, egg and cheese sandwich on an everything bagel. Tea with cream and sugar. Honey cruller to finish things off. Doesn’t get any better than that . . .

We even learned that Tim Horton is a real person. He was a defenseman who helped the Toronto Maple Leafs win four NHL titles, and he was voted one of the top 100 players of all time. More important, he started Canada’s most beloved donut and coffee chain. 

From there it was only a mile or two to the toll booths. We didn’t really have a super-specific plan, except to show up and hope for the best . . .

Turns out the road is an interstate, and apparently bikes are not allowed on the road or the bridge. But the “no bikes” sign is about a million years old – pretty easy to ignore – which we did . . .

We pedal up. Traffic is light, and no one is driving fast. We head to the far right toll line – for people with automatic payment. It’s an unstaffed booth because, I guess, it’s for people who can just wave their cards. We’re on bikes so we don’t have to pay at all …

No one bothers us – and we just pedal right through. Now it’s just the bridge in front of us. Big, long span with a lot of 18-wheelers making their way to the U.S. But no one’s moving real fast – should not be a problem for us . . .

Before we head onto the bridge itself I call a stop; I’m hot and want to take my jacket and headband off. We pull over and start on our wardrobe adjustments. Almost before I can take my jacket off a pickup truck pulls up beside us. 

“How did you get here?” the driver demands.

”Umm, we just biked in.”

”No one stopped you at the toll booths?”

”Nope.”

”Well, you can’t be here. You’ll need to follow me out.” And he points back where we came from . . .

”Could you just give us a ride across the bridge?” I ask, pointing at the empty bed of his truck.

He looks incredulous. 

His eyes say: “How could you ask such a dumb question! Stupid Americans!”

His mouth says: “No, I’m afraid not.”

”Could we just hitch a ride with someone?”

”Not on bridge property you can’t.”

I’m sure he’s a nice guy. But he is now in his government-agent-exerting-power mode. There is something about this state of being that I just detest. 

We follow him back through some big gates. What else can we do?

When we finally go back through the last gate, he says: “Just get a cab!”

And now I’m angry. I don’t love the government guy having his dumb rules – like: “We’ve arbitrarily decided that you can’t bike over the bridge and we won’t let you hitch a ride on our property” – but there’s nothing I can do about them. But when the government guy starts telling me what to do outside his jurisdiction . . . That’s when I get really irritated.

”It’s none of your business what we do!” I tell him.

I’m dangerously close to a repeat of our experience in this same border area 34 years ago . . . (See our last post).

Fortunately, government guy recognizes that he has overstepped his bounds. He drives off . . .

We approach a few guys in pickups – but none of them are driving to the U.S. Apparently Canadians aren’t going to the U.S. these days. I have no idea why . . .

After a few minutes, Diana does, indeed, call some taxi companies. The first two are no-goes. The third call is a charm. They will drive us over the border, they take bikes, and their driver has a passport. 

The only problem – the price. It’s $130!

Granted, it’s Canadian so it’s not quite as bad – but it’s still probably $95. For a three-mile trip. 

Literally highway robbery.

Where does that term come from, anyway? Maybe it originated in Sarnia . . .

By the time the taxi drops us off in a strip mall parking lot just over the border it’s almost noon – and we’ve gone exactly six miles. Only 62 more to go . . .

The good news is that we’re not cycling in the U.K. – with it’s twisting, turning, up-and-down roads, and ill-timed rain squalls.  No, we’re in Michigan now – straight and flat. The only impediments are the plentiful road kill and the many pot holes. (By the way, we decided today that Michigan has the worst roads of anyplace we’ve biked on the whole trip. Kind of ironic for a state that is supposed to be all about its cars . . .)

So we’re cruising along pretty good . . .

But, sadly, no day – no afternoon, even – can just be easy . . .

With eight miles left to the campground we hear a snap. Two days ago it was my derailleur cable. Now it’s Diana’s . . .

By the time we reach the Wolverine Conservation Area it’s about 6 p.m. We’re hungry. We’re anxious about the impending darkness – because the days are getting shorter. And we’re tired – because we’ve biked 83, 80 and 71 miles over the past three days . . .

But that’s enough play-by-play. Suffice to say that we managed to erect the tent, cook the rice, start our campfire, prepare the green beans, and barbecue our smoked pork chops before darkness fell. 

All-in-all a very good day, really. 

I should take a moment on Ontario. Haven’t really said much on our Canadian neighbors beyond an occasional Tim Horton’s comment. I guess that’s because this part of Canada is maybe not the most exciting. Not many people. Lots of nondescript farms. Pretty flat. Not ugly or anything. But not super inspiring landscapes either . . .

Probably the most interesting thing? The town names. Scotland. Oxford. London. This part of the world was definitely colonized by the British . . .

Oh, and London, Ontario . . . There’s no queen around here. No Westminster Abby. No Windsor Castle. Or Big Ben. But it’s a big city – over 400,000 people. Who knew?

Big enough that we were able to find a decent bike shop yesterday – for our eleventh, and final, chain change on the trip. Outspokin’. If you’re in London and you have bike troubles it’s the place to go . . .

Next phase . . . On to Ludington and the ferry to Wisconsin – but before we get there we’re stopping south of Cadillac at the home of Mark and Sue L. Old friends from Diana’s residency days. 

No sign of salted nut rolls yet – but I think they’re coming . . .

The Blue Water Bridge wasn’t just for nothing, you know . . .