Discovering My Indiana Routes
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June 5-7
After yesterday's fun ride — mostly on bike paths that took me from Chicagoland into Indiana — the next two days would be back on roads to get me across the Hoosier State. Even though I've been steered wrong by Google Maps a few times on this trip, I would be relying on it again to be my guide.
June 5
Riding from Chesterton to Elkhart, I was concerned I would end up on roads that would put me in dicey situations. At least it was a Sunday, when traffic should be lighter. I hoped some of the drivers might be coming from or going to church, too, which might make them more benevolent.
My other concern was that Google Maps might send me down backroads that would turn into gravel, which it's done before.
As it turned out, I had little to worry about.
Google Maps did direct me to take some narrow, state highways with no shoulders. It also had me zig-zagging around on county roads that were quiet and had generally smooth surfaces. But on one of the roads I noticed a bike-route sign. I figured it must be a weird mistake or maybe even a joke or statement somebody was trying to make. Despite the sign, there were no bike lanes or accommodations for bicyclists that one would normally associate with a bike route. After a while I noticed another sign, and then another. All I could think was that the state of Indiana, in an attempt to create more bike routes, decided it would at least do the minimum by putting up the signs on various roads. If they thought taking that minimum action might improve motorists' awareness and cyclists' feelings of safety, they might have been right.
Just having those signs appearing every few miles gave me confidence that drivers would be a bit more alert for somebody like me on two wheels. Obviously, I have no idea whether the motorists behind me, who had to slow down while I rounded a blind turn or climbed a hill with a double-yellow line, were influenced by those signs. I don't know if they took a breath before they got frustrated and angry, but it felt that way to me. They seemed less frantic.
Whatever the reason, my 64-mile ride from Chesterton to Elkhart went very smoothly. The only glitch was that the route, which went through South Bend — home of the University of Notre Dame — took me about five miles south of the campus. I had been looking forward to seeing the Golden Dome and Touchdown Jesus on this trip. But during a break at a convenience store on the city's south side I looked at a map and discovered I was farther away than I originally thought. I briefly debated whether to ride to the campus but decided it wasn't worth the extra couple of hours it would take.
June 6-7
On Monday I had something special planned. I had a cabin reserved at the Potawatomi Inn on Lake James in Pokagon State Park, near Angola. In my initial planning months ago, I noticed the park would be along my route. I thought it might be a fun place to take a day or two. Maybe I'd go swimming in the lake!
Last week I made a reservation for one night in the cheapest cabin, one of the park's accessible units for people in wheelchairs. I then got behind on this journal and some other things. I called the park and extended my stay one more night. I jokingly thought I could have a mini Walden Pond experience, sitting and writing by the lake. And maybe I would still have time for a swim!
In the morning, as soon as my alarm went off, I checked the weather report. The forecast called for rain to move into the Lake James area around 4 p.m. and continue through the night. My ride from Elkhart to the Potawatomi Inn was about 60 miles. If I left by 8 a.m., getting there before the rain started wouldn't be a problem. Well, for reasons I don't remember, I didn't leave my hotel until almost 9 a.m. I told myself that if kept a good pace, stopped for only one convenience-store break (and made it short), I could still get to the lake by 4 p.m.
I almost pulled it off.
But Mother Nature didn't get with the plan.
At about 3:30 p.m. I was 30 minutes from the state park. Earlier than forecast, it started to rain lightly. I kept riding. Very soon the rain drops got fatter and came down harder. I didn't have on any rain gear. It was time to seek shelter. I wondered what kind of experience I might have this time, compared with previous rainy day adventures. Once again, I was passing a subdivision and spotted a house with a covered front porch. I rode up the driveway and sidewalk and got myself and my bike under the covering.
It didn't seem like anybody was home, so I could relax and wait this one out. Or so I thought. Just then the homeowner came home. (Just my luck!) As she drove up the driveway I smiled and indicated that I hoped it was OK for me to be there. I was so relieved when she rolled down her window a bit and, with a big, friendly smile said, "You're fine! You can stay there!"
After she put her car in the garage, she asked if I needed a towel or something to drink. I thanked her and assured her I was fine. She then got on the porch with me and told me her dad used to do long bike rides. "He was caught in the rain any number of times and had lots of stories about hanging out on people's porches," she said. "Stay as long as you need to."
I asked her about the bike-route signs I'd seen on the roads. She wasn't sure but she thought what I suspected might be true— the state was putting up those signs as part of a program to improve conditions for cyclists. "They're doing that around here as well," she said. She then wished me safe travels and went in the house. The rain stopped. I put on my rain jacket to keep me warm and got back on the road.
When I arrived at the Potawatomi Inn and checked in, I found out that things didn't fit with my Walden Pond vision. My cabin was about a quarter-mile from the lodge and didn't have Wi-Fi. The guest laundry was closed (I'd hoped to wash my clothes here too). The cafe that usually was open all day was closed, and the dining room had limited hours for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The general store near the beach, described in the park guides as having all sorts of supplies for campers (such as detergent for washing a few items in my cabin's sink), was also closed.
Even without Wi-Fi, I figured I could still work by using my phone's hotspot to get an internet connection for my laptop. But when I opened the cabin door, there was another problem. There was no chair with a desk or table to work at. The only place to sit was on the bed.
I called the front desk to inquire whether someone might be able to bring me a chair. The answer was no. The front-desk woman said a chair wasn't considered necessary in an accessible cabin because a person in a wheelchair already has a chair. It didn't matter. The cellular signal at the cabin was spotty too, so my phone (and hotspot) kept losing a connection. I definitely would have to work in the lodge.
After I got cleaned up, I went to the lodge's dining room for dinner and ordered the fried chicken, touted on the menu as the inn's signature entree. After a wait of several minutes, the waitress brought out my two side dishes "to start on." She said the chicken would be a while because the pieces were still frozen (the signature entree was frozen?). I got my dinner about 15 minutes later. What else could go wrong at this place?
I finished writing a post that night in the lodge. When I headed back to my cabin, a downpour had just stopped. Several minutes later, as I was getting into bed, the creatures in the woods joined in a very loud, cacophonous chorus. I opened the cabin windows to take it in. It was beautiful. I don't know how long the singing and chirping continued. I drifted off to sleep, listening.
The next day I finished my posts and worked out the schedule for the remaining days of my trip, which was more complicated than you might imagine.
Despite all the things that weren't the way I wanted them to be, it was still a beautiful spot.
I never did get in the lake.
Contact me: Thoughts or comments? Email me at richardridesusa@gmail.com.
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