Author: Mark

Niagara Falls is a very touristy place, but you wouldn’t want to miss it. Not if you are in the vicinity, certainly. Which I most definitely was. The falls by day were every bit as magical as the falls by night, with the sun creating rainbows in the mist. You can walk right along the northern edge of the gorge between the American Falls, next to the Rainbow Bridge international crossing point, right up as far as the magnificent Horseshoe Falls, above which you are more or less at water’s level. That means you are level with the sudden and spectacular drop when it occurs with such drama. The volume of water is almost too great to comprehend. Where does it all keep coming from? The Niagara River, just a little further upstream, is a very broad affair, so it is no wonder that it makes such a commotion as it comes crashing down through the somewhat narrower gorge. The drop of horseshoe falls is approximately 185m, and that is enough to create a huge plume of mist rising high into the air above the middle of the horseshoe.

There are various places from which to view this spectacle, including the “Maid of the Mist” boat trip in the foaming gorge below the falls, a zip wire ride high above the river, and the tunnels that were bored into the cliffs behind the falls over one hundred years ago. This last option was included in my ticket to the viewing platforms right at the bottom of the horseshoe falls; literally “beneath the falls”. It was worth the ticket price, more for the platforms than the tunnels, which are just a view down a shaft of a lot of white water and spray, with the accompanying noise you would expect. Standing outside at the foot of the falling water, though, was breath taking. How anyone ever survived going over is hard to imagine.

In the middle of the afternoon, I bumped into some friends. It was meant to happen and it worked out very well. I am riding the last eight days in to New York City in the company of my mate Simon, and he and his wife and daughter had walked across the bridge from the USA to enjoy the better views on the Canadian side. A couple of hours later, I collected my bike and cycled across the bridge to join them at their parked car. The bridge afforded another fabulous view of the whole gorge from high above; but l couldn’t stop to take pictures because I had to cross as a vehicle, away from the sides.

It was not an incident free entrance to the USA. The immigration official couldn’t find the exit stamp she wanted in my passport, which apparently I should have received in Algonac. I’m not sure I have had my passport stamped at all in recent border crossings; but she felt it necessary to send me upstairs and I was placed at the mercy of an empty waiting room with CCTV cameras and no obvious sign what would happen next. They had my passport, so I couldn’t go anywhere. After about ten minutes I was called through into another empty room, where I gave sufficiently good answers and showed a ticket out of the USA, which was enough to receive the missing stamp. I was charged six dollars for the privilege. None of this took very long, and everyone was polite enough, I suppose; but honestly, it wouldn’t hurt to be friendly, would it?

Rainbow Bridge

Simon and I cycled an enjoyable hour along the banks of the impressive Niagara River in the direction of Buffalo, stopping when we reached our motel, and then dining out in greater style than I have enjoyed this trip, in honour of Elinor’s birthday. So it has been a relaxing and enjoyable day before the hard work starts again after breakfast tomorrow. I have arrived in New York, my final US state of this ride, and it will take the next eight days to cross at an average of roughly 75 miles a day.

And so begins another new phase of the trip, during which I will experience the novelty of company! I have ridden mostly alone for more than a month and close to 3,000 miles and this is my eleventh state, plus a province. It will make a nice change!

First, apologies for failing to press the publish button late last night. My bad. So please don’t overlook yesterday’s post. And then read on below…

Day 35: I cycled another 80 fantastic miles today, right along the north eastern Lake Erie shore, and then along the Welland Canal to reach one of the tackiest places I know. Niagara Falls (at least on the Canadian side) is like a poor man’s Las Vegas, or perhaps more like Blackpool. Except it has the falls, which changes everything.

Despite the best efforts of man to ruin the hinterland, there is no denying that the falls themselves are absolutely magnificent and worth all the effort of getting here. Apart from a brief glimpse when I first arrived, I have so far just seen them illuminated in an ever-changing array of colours. Even from quite a distance away, they are magnificent. You hear the roar and feel the spray in the air from afar. You can’t get very close. But you don’t need to. And however long you look, and however many pictures and videos you take, you always feel you have not done it justice. Which, of course, you haven’t.

I’m looking forward to more daylight falls action tomorrow. There won’t be much cycling to do. But I do have an international frontier to cross at some stage, and then a hotel to find and a rendezvous to make. Other than that it is basically a rest day – the last one planned before New York City. It is well earned. I calculate I have cycled 985 miles since my bike was serviced in Minneapolis 12 days ago. And so it is perhaps no surprise that I found myself in a bike shop today. Twice.

I discovered my back tyre was flat this morning in Simcoe. I suspected I might have a very slow puncture yesterday; but after I put a bit more air in it rode just fine, so I wasn’t quite sure. Now I could be. Luckily there was a bike shop two streets away from my accommodation, so before anything else, I popped in and got fully inflated. They had a couple of Nottingham-built Raleigh bikes in for servicing, which took me back in time. As a student I lived for a time quite near the old factory, when it was still working. Now it is all a swish new university campus, bearing the Raleigh name. But no bikes are made there today, sadly.

My first cycling move today was back to the Lake Erie shore at a town called Port Dover. Rain had been forecast for this morning but instead we just got clouds and a helpful breeze blowing off the lake. The waters today were more of a green grey colour with bigger waves; but that didn’t stop a couple of brave souls from having a swim. I watched from the beach cafe where I had a fishy brunch of clam chowder and a couple of pieces of Lake Erie perch.

The warm breeze whisked me along and for many miles the small lakeside road hugged the water’s edge, passing a continuous ribbon of very modest lake homes. There was nothing fancy and you couldn’t have been closer to the lake for uninterrupted views. Yet weirdly, despite the many homes, I saw not a single shop, bar, pub or anything else in 15 miles of lake front communities.

By the end of that I was ready for lunch. I had stopped once to add air to my back tyre, and that was when I noticed how threadbare it had become. Not good. But not altogether surprising after not far off 3,000 miles of cycling with rear panniers. It was time to replace it with a new one. As luck would have it, the very next town, Dunnville, had a rare bike shop right in the centre. Perfect. So while a I ate lunch in a vegan cafe called Minga, a kind man replaced both tyre and inner tube, and I was ready to go again. Seamless. He was fooled by my brakes being set up the British way, with the front brake to the right. Beware if you ever rent a bike in North America. The brakes are the other way around!

The next section of riding was through flat lands away from the lake and it felt like I was back in Lincolnshire, especially when a long road, running alongside a drainage channel filled with water lilies, arrived at a small village called Wainfleet. Beer lovers may know that Wainfleet in Lincolnshire is the home of the very excellent Bateman’s Brewery, about to celebrate its 150th anniversary. I am rather partial to a pint of XXXB and I wondered if there was anything similar in its Canadian namesake. There wasn’t much here. But there was a luxury chocolate shop, obviously. So I went inside and used it as an excuse to spend up the very small amount of Canadian currency I had on my person, before I leave the country tomorrow. Perfect.

The mighty Welland

Then I followed the dyke another five miles until arriving at a broad -some would even say mighty – river that also took a Lincolnshire name. This was the River Welland, and it took me to a large town of the same name, where I came to a very tall lifting bridge over the even bigger Welland Canal, linking together Lakes Ontario and Erie for big ships. I couldn’t cross the bridge because it was one-way only, coming towards me. I couldn’t work that out, but it didn’t matter because I was presented with a very nice cycle path along the canal bank, taking me in the right direction. Lots of people were out sculling on the calm water and I decided this was all meant to be. And then it got even better.

At a point that looked like everywhere else, I saw a sign for a free pedestrian and bicycle ferry, open until dusk. This took me over to Port Robinson. It was great fun and I was clearly giving the ferry lady something to do. I noticed old photographs by the jetty and it became clear that a large bridge stood here until 1974, when it was hit by a passing ship when it failed to raise in time, bringing it catastrophically down into the water. No one was badly injured; but the entire bridge was scrapped. There are some pretty cool old photos on Google images. The ferry people also mentioned 2 large ships colliding here in 2020 (see YouTube). And to complete the set, in 2001 another ship was reduced to scrap when the Allanburg bridge, just a few miles north, was lowered onto a passing bulk container, which then caught fire.

I made it safely across and soon I was staring in wonder both at Niagara Falls and at the competing tall buildings that cluster on the bluff above the gorge, trying to offer rooms or restaurants with a view. It’s pretty ugly.

Today was a beautiful day and I was treated to a beautiful bicycle ride along the northern shores of Lake Erie. The roads were all mine, the views of the lake were lovely and the the small ports along the shores were delightful. A good day indeed.

Unusually in this linear adventure I had the time and opportunity to deviate slightly from my west to east straight line, allowing me to spend most of the day hugging the not straight Lake Erie shoreline, which was much the best place to be on a gorgeous day like this. It also kept me well away from everyone else, pretty much, providing gently undulating, traffic free cycling most of the day.

I began by making a southerly beeline from my overnight stop near the railway town of Saint Thomas, with its viaduct mural and elevated park up on top. The first hour was busy enough, until I reached the lakeshore at the pretty beach and harbour town of Port Stanley. This proved a great place to take brunch looking out across the light blue water.

An hour to the west along low sandstone cliffs, much smaller Port Bruce was a good spot to grab what appeared to be the local delicacy, Lake Erie Yellow Perch in a bun, and that set me up nicely for some invigorating cycling for a couple of hours towards Port Burwell, which had a long pier and a lot of seagulls, despite this not being the sea, or remotely salty. A few fishing boats came and went; but each of these small harbours offered refugee to many modest boats a little inland along narrow, pretty inlets half a mile or more inland. There was nothing terribly ostentatious about any of this; in fact it was mostly quite understated, and all the better for it.

By the time I reached Port Rowan, overlooking the bay formed by the long finger of the Long Point peninsula, today a wildlife area, most things were closed for the day. I bought some chocolate and a drink and enjoyed the view without the need to sit down, and then felt able to make it to one more quiet harbour, Port Ryerse, which was the smallest of the day (and that is saying something), perhaps also with the best sheltered, sandy beach, lined with trees.

It was all very pretty. But it was also getting late, and the sun was close to disappearing bŷ the time I reached the town of Simcoe, 7 miles inland. Here, I found my rather disappointing Airbnb and, more rewardingly, a micro brewery in which to spend a pleasant evening. I was able to conclude that Canada has also joined in with the beer revolution sweeping this continent, and for that we can all be thankful. This may be a metric country; but beer is served in pints: American ones, which at 16 fluid ounces are only 80% of a British pint, and more expensive as well. But beggars can’t be choosers.

It struck me today that over seven official (and one unofficial) visits, I have either entered or left Canada on foot, and by plane, bus, car, taxi, canoe, ferry and now also by bicycle. I have also almost been arrested for failing to “Arret” (stop) at a lonely frontier post entering Canada for the first time in Quebec, many years ago, but that is another story. Anyway, I feel like the USA/Canada international frontier holds a special place for me. Today’s crossing was a most enjoyable affair that involved waiting for the little car ferry to arrive at the pretty waterfront in small, unassuming Algonac, MI, USA. It crosses back and forth to Walpole Island on the Canadian side. This morning, its main companion on the water was a fancy sailing ship with three tall masts.

The trip across took about ten minutes and there were three other vehicles on board, although since two were pulling long caravans we were effectively full. A friendly immigration officer allowed me into Canada with just a couple of questions, and that was that. The first difference I noticed, other than the red and white flags, was that the very first Stop sign was in both English and French. I wasn’t prepared for the second one at all, however, which said “Nookshkaan”, as did the one after. It was a clue that I was in First Nation lands. Walpole Island is unceded territory, also going by the native name Bkejwanong. It is traditionally held to be the final resting place of the legendary Shawnee chief and warrior Tecumseh, who successfully united many native peoples to resist the expansion of the USA into native lands. He was killed in the Battle of the Thames, which took place not very far from here, in the Thames Valley, in 1813, and in the intervening years he has become something of a hero in modern culture.

Modern day Walpole Island is strikingly more impoverished than the lands which neighbour it on either side. But over the bridge into the rest of Ontario, things quickly took on a more familiar feel. In truth there are not so many visual differences between here and Michigan. They use the metric system in Canada, so I had to recalibrate my distance calculations into kilometres, which is not the simplest of mental tasks. They have Esso stations instead of Exxon. And lots of Canadian flags, in case you forget where you are. But you would be hard pressed to point to much else that is a giveaway. I will say that the breakfast I was served in the first big town, Wallaceburg, had a distinctly more British feel about it, and when I requested tea, I was not met with confused looks, but rather brought a teapot, a mug and some milk, just like that! I enjoyed this part of the morning sitting on a wooden deck overlooking the Sydenham River, which was the highlight of an otherwise rather drab and uninspiring town.

You could use the same adjectives for the countryside that followed. It was a bit like cycling across the Lincolnshire fens, only without the pretty churches or drainage ditches. The weather was cloudy and cycle friendly and the large wind generators that dotted the horizon were still. The roads were quiet, long and straight.

There isn’t too much else to add. I stopped a couple more times and had a nice tropical salad for lunch, which made a refreshing change. Later at a small store in a village, the shopkeeper told me how he gets a lot of odd people passing through, including one man recently whore wore a long raccoon tail clipped to the back of his trousers!

After that I crossed the River Thames and turned away from London. For the last couple of hours the roads were almost empty and the land became ever so slightly undulating. I passed through Shedden, the self titled “Rhubarb Capital of Ontario” where I was encouraged to “slow down and listen to the rhubarb grow”. It was good riding; but I am hopeful that I will be treated to much better tomorrow when I take a route along the northern shores of Lake Erie, which lies less than an hour’s cycle to the south of my overnight stop. I’m looking forward to breakfast at the beach.

The state of Michigan now lies behind me. It has taken 3 days and almost 250 miles of cycling to get here; but I’m literally staying within sight of Canada tonight, in the small town of Algonac. I can’t say any of those three days was startlingly different to the other two. In other words, today was scenically more of the same, overall. I also enjoyed another collection of pleasant small towns (Goodrich, Lake Orion, Romeo, Richmond) and even an old railroad turned into a tree-lined, flat, smooth, paved bike path. Again.

There were other highlights, however, most notably my first stop of the day in the pleasant village of Goodrich, where I visited the Cranberries Cafe. I was the only customer when I arrived for brunch and so it was easy to fall into conversation with the delightful Becky, who shared stories with me of her travels, not least a week she spent in Rhyl, of all places! We got on very well and I must compliment their salmon chowder, which was excellent, and also give a very big thank you to Becky for not charging me! How kind.

Today I never seemed to be far away from busy roads and people. It has perhaps crept up on me; but this is a much more populated part of the country now. The roads today were also a tad on the narrow side for the trans-continental adventure cyclist’s liking, with little or no shoulder to play with. It called for a different approach to asserting my right to the road, although I found most people were respectful and drove safely. Even so, I was glad to get away from the traffic when I could. For an hour, I escaped onto a rail trail, which was fairly well used by other cyclists, this being a cool, cloudy Saturday.

It delivered me to the town of Richmond, which was in the middle of its “Good Old Days “ festival. I must have been early for the big parade, because all along the Main Street for a couple of miles people had set out camping chairs to get themselves a good view, some tied together with lengths of rope. It seemed a bit like using towels to get the best places at the pool. There were many of them; but no people.

After Richmond, and not for the first time today, I found myself leaving paved roads. The fact is that many of Michigan’s minor roads are unsurfaced. More than I expected by far. Back in the west this spelt trouble, as you may recall. But here, although equally unpredictable and very much a feature of Google Maps route planning, the roads were very rideable. They were well used, too. They typically had desirable residential properties all along them and regular – but not busy – traffic. One even had a large school on it. After some initial hesitation, I decided to embrace the dirt. The roads were nothing if not direct and had a habit of suddenly reverting to smooth tarmac for no obvious reason.

At the end of the final, long, straight dirt road, I arrived suddenly on the shores of Lake St Clair. Somewhere, about sixty miles to the southwest across the water as the crow flies, was Detroit. I couldn’t see it; but you could see far and the view was good. Lake St Clair sits in between Lake Huron to the north and Lake Erie to the south, and forms parts of the Great Lakes waterway for shipping for about nine months every year when it is ice-free. In fact you can get a ship all the way from the St Lawrence Seaway in Atlantic Canada to the Gulf of Mexico, via the Great Lakes and the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, thanks to human engineering. That’s a long way in a big ship across a continent.

For several miles as I cycled past wetlands and rushes on one side and boatyards on the other, the lakeshore road made a beeline for a tall, slender white tower. I thought perhaps it was a lighthouse; but it was actually an old water tower, the “Colony Tower”, built in 1925 to look – and function- like a lighthouse. The landmark light was retired in 1937 due to high operating costs.

Tomorrow morning I should be making the short ferry crossing to Canada over the St Clair River, one of the narrower sections of this impressive navigation network. I’d better put on a clean set of cycling clothes, I think, so I don’t offend the border officials. I haven’t crossed an international frontier on a bicycle before (although I did once canoe into Canada), so that will be another first!

Today was probably the coolest, cloudiest day of my entire journey so far. It was a bit like being at home. I didn’t mind at all and almost reached for a second layer once or twice. But it stayed comfortable and dry all day after early morning rain that I missed. Under normal circumstances this would not be notable; but in the context of this month of cycling it is very much the exception.

I think I found the source of the pandemic

Other elements were less remarkable today. The landscape was mostly flat and the countryside was pleasant but not especially memorable. The standout features were the series of small towns that I passed through every hour or so, linked together by the same railway bike path that I used yesterday. It saw me through half or more of today’s miles without changing very much. Close to each town it would take on a lovely smooth tarmac surface, then it would change abruptly to crushed limestone for the intervening miles. It was all pretty predictable. But it worked and kept me away from the trucks and cars.

Railway restrooms

In each town was the old train depot, usually a small building with a rounded end that stood apart from everything else where the old tracks would have been. Today, they have mostly been repurposed by their community – often as public “restrooms” (toilets) – and are generally in a very good state of repair. There was a sense of civic pride on display. One town offered a comprehensive bicycle maintenance station, which I used to pump up my tyres. Everywhere had a healthy range of bedding plants and hanging baskets on display and it all felt cared for. The towns were mostly founded in the 1850s so there is a sense of history and nostalgia about them, but on a modest scale. The main streets tend to run at 90 degrees to the busy through traffic, so the business districts are pleasantly free from noise and, in most cases, appear to have a good range of services on offer, including a few very stylish old cinemas that are still in business. These may not be holiday destinations; but there are many worse places in the world to take time out from cycling, even if the cafe menus remain stubbornly familiar and not particularly imaginative. There are only so many ways to put meat in between two pieces of bread!

Tomorrow should take me to within sight of Canada, a short ferry ride away, all being well. And then another adventure will begin. One more day of Michigan first. This is a three-day state and I am still near the middle of it.

Well It turns out I did make it onto the telly, for all of about 2 seconds. And no mention of cycling. It’s a first, though. The link is in the comments section from yesterday if you want to see the defaced “Bronze Fonz” close up.

Today – a much cooler, cloudier day – normal service was resumed, with 80 miles of cycling in an eastward direction, moving away from the shores of Lake Michigan towards the centre of Michigan state. I wasn’t sure what to expect. It turned out to be pretty flat, at least until half way when I reached the very pleasant city of Grand Rapids. I made it most of the way there along another old railway turned into a cycle path. Imagine cycling in a very straight, flat line along a traffic-free country lane, for mile after mile, with both sides lined with trees and bushes, and you have it more or less as it was. But it did the job, and before I knew it I was approaching the surprisingly high-rise downtown area of Grand Rapids. It was much bigger and more important feeling than I expected, although it was also pretty quiet. There was a huge convention centre and a very big, old fashioned hotel. They stood alongside several plate glass office buildings, all near the wide river, which a I crossed on the “blue bridge”- an old traffic free box girder railway bridge.

Blue bridge

One of the main streets in town was mostly given over to eating and drinking, with outside tables on both sides and twinkly lights on all the trees. It was a very pleasant place to take lunch. Grand Rapids is not a city that has featured high in my consciousness, even with my many US connections and visits over the years. I feel it may deserve a little more attention.

Grand Rapids

Despite its impressive downtown, it didn’t take all that long to get either in or out of the city, and I made good progress along now much more undulating roads as far as the pretty town of Ada, which features a historic covered bridge. I didn’t know about covered bridges until I first came to Pennsylvania when I was a student conducting a long distance love affair. They are rather splendid. I think the point of the wooden roof has something to do with keeping the bridge snow-free in winter; but don’t quote me on that. Anyway, not long afterwards they released the film The Bridges of Madison County, making covered bridges more of an international phenomenon. I haven’t seen one in years until today. It was in good working order and I was able to cycle across.

After that I once again found myself on cycle paths. I was so pleased by all this that I failed to notice they weren’t taking me where I needed to go. The necessary adjustments were made and I followed a roller coaster of a road through pretty woodland for several miles. I haven’t really had chance to play “it’s a bit like” on this trip because nothing has been much like anywhere else I know; but this section really reminded me of the Charnwood Forest in Leicestershire. But only until I arrived in the very pleasant town of Lowell, “where two rivers meet”. In front of the obligatory crop silos were many old brick facades lining the Main Street, with shops selling retro clothes and other cool stuff. I wasn’t here to shop. I did, however, stop to take a picture of the old paddle steamer that is now permanently moored in the centre of town. Behind it was a wide expanse of water (the Plat River) with a population of swans gliding about. It was tempting to stay, but I was still more than an hour away from my destination, so I pressed on and once again found myself on an old railway trail: the Grand River trail. I had this almost to myself until just before the end of the day, coming in to Ionia, where a I met three friendly local guys with bikes, resting on the old rail bridge over the Grand River. We chatted while they puffed on their joints. Maybe this made a difference; but they were very impressed by my cycling exploits.

I’m staying in the town of Ionia, which seems very pleasant, too. Across the road from my hotel are the extensive Ionia Free Fairgrounds and over the next three days it will host the Hippy Living Fair, which looks like it will be a pretty big deal. If only I had known. But I have another 80 miles to cover tomorrow in my quest to reach Canada. Maybe next year.

Regular followers of this blog will know that I am partial to riding on ferries. Up until today, I have not been able to incorporate a ferry in my coast to coast journey; but that omission has now been put straight. Just a couple of miles along the waterfront from downtown Milwaukee, a fast catamaran departs twice daily for Muskegon, taking two and a half hours to reach the opposite shore of this truly Great Lake (the largest lake entirely within the borders of one country, apparently). You enter a new time zone when you arrive in Muskegon, so it is as if you took three and a half hours to get there. And since I fell into a deep sleep after an hour or so, I wouldn’t honestly know the difference.

I think it was probably a reaction to the motion of the boat, which was wobbly enough to make walking around a tricky business. I stayed up on the sun deck for maybe fifteen minutes; but it was too too windy to remain outside. The weather was fine; but this is a serious body of water, like the sea but without the salt. Once Milwaukee’s skyline had slipped below the horizon, there was nothing to see in any direction except blue water.

After checking out of my downtown apartment, in the sumptuous old Mackie Building, I had a couple of hours free in Milwaukee before I left, during which I managed to grab breakfast in the public market, which was a very cool establishment just on the edge of downtown, full of tempting produce and funky stalls. It reminded me of Granville Island market in Vancouver, if that helps. It helped me, because I was there only a month ago. Anyway, well worth a look, should you be either in Milwaukee or Vancouver. Or both.

I also found time to record a TV interview with the local CBS affiliate station, although I see no evidence that my interview made it to their website. I was visiting the life-size statue of Henry Winkler, on the attractive Riverside Walk, also known as the “Bronze Fonz” (if you are of a certain age, you may recall that Happy Days was set in these parts). There was a camera crew in attendance because overnight his head had been painted black. I chatted to the cameraman and he and his reporter decided that I was a more interesting story, so we did a two minute interview on the spot. They said it would be in the local news at noon on their channel, and then on the internet. But I can’t find it, so maybe something bigger came up!

So now I am in Michigan, my tenth state of this adventure. I liked downtown Muskegon, which had some interesting old buildings, some cool public art, and some good choices for food and drink. I ate in the Unruly Brewery, enjoying their choice in music and an excellent burger and IPA. But at 7pm, the pub quiz started so I took the chance to slip away to my motel, 25 minutes cycle away, through suburbs that started out nice enough and got increasingly more run down and poor looking. These were the worst road surfaces I had seen in the country and the streets had a real sense of being left behind. My motel is a bit the same, although the room is fine and it was certainly very cheap. It seems you get what you pay for, so no complaints. But the Wi-Fi is poor here, so apologies for the lack of decent photos. I will correct that tomorrow when I return to the more upscale level of establishment to which I have become accustomed.

Today was a tale of two cities and a lot of cycle paths. It began in Madison, the state capital, which I had time to explore a little more. What a great city! There can be no denying that it enjoys a superb location, sandwiched between two big, big lakes, just a few blocks apart. The hugely impressive State Capitol building, with its imperious shiny white dome, sits directly in between on the highest ground. It is cruciform in shape, under the dome, but it is orientated at a jaunty 45 degrees to the grid layout of the streets, which somehow adds to the sense of style and importance it pervades. Madison is not a high rise city and it is better for it, allowing the state Capitol to dominate proceedings as it must have done since it was first built.

I left town along the lakeshore cycle loop which took me through delightful neighbourhoods of pretty old American style homes. I felt I could happily live in any one of them. Eventually, after a last look across the blue waters of the lake, I turned my back and rode off into the country along surprisingly quiet roads. I think I chose well. I was soon on my own, breezing through pleasant fields and not much else until a couple of hours later I reached the lovely small town of Lake Mills. Like Madison, it enjoys a natural lakeside setting; but this was a much more provincial place, with a big green park in the central square and well appointed older buildings all around. I found a nice cafe for brunch, just in time. Hunger was starting to take hold, as often happens about this time of day.

Fully refuelled, I pressed on and made my first foray onto a cycle path that looked like it might run all the way to Milwaukee. It was an old railway line, surfaced with crushed limestone and running east straight as a die, far into the distance. Both sides were lined with trees, so except for the odd wooden bridge crossing of a river or stream, there really wasn’t much variety. But the riding was quiet and efficient and I was happy enough for a time.

Needless to say, in these hot conditions, I began to think of my next cold drink, and I wasn’t going to get it on this endless green lane. So I spent the next hour dipping in and out of the nearby road, which was also very quiet, to keep my thirst at bay. Luckily, as the day wore on, the sky clouded over and the heat became much more bearable.

At the pretty little town of Dousman I stopped for ice cream, as is the custom, and from then on the cycle paths were paved and took me the last twenty miles or so right into the heart of downtown Milwaukee. I might not have worked it all out alone; but I was helped by a kind and friendly local cyclist who got me through the junctions painlessly, giving us time to chat as we rode.

These final few miles were my fastest, partly because it was easy going, but mainly because on a couple of occasions I was passed by young, serious cyclists on very expensive bikes, out on training rides. By my own standards, I am pretty fit at the moment, so heavy panniers or not, I can often keep up with them if I try. At least one of them was most surprised to see me still there after he thought he’d left me behind five minutes earlier. I shouldn’t get pleasure from doing this; but I’m afraid I do!

Milwaukee is new to me and my first impressions are very positive. It is big – much, much bigger than Madison – and feels like quite an old city with a lot of tall, grand old buildings. I am staying right in the middle of downtown, a couple of minutes from the fabulous city hall with its iconic clock tower that stands where two streets divide. It would grace any city. Strangely, though, I found it surprisingly hard to find somewhere inviting for dinner. Milwaukee is known for brewing beer and I didn’t want to miss out on that pleasure. Eventually, I found somewhere that provided both food and a very good local IPA from just up the road by the lakefront, so I ended the evening happy.

I have booked onto the 12.30pm ferry across Lake Michigan, which is something a I have always wanted to do. I will lose another hour on the way and enter Eastern time when I get to Muskegon. I’m not going any further tomorrow. This counts as a rest day before I embark on the next section that will take me across Michigan and through Canada to Niagara Falls. I have no details planned for that yet, so I need a little respite from cycling to get all that in order. Most days, I do little else than cycle, eat and blog. It’s not a bad life; but even trans-continental adventure cyclists need a little downtime.

Cycling long distances is always easier when the wind is behind you. It certainly was today and, despite the continuing extreme heat, I enjoyed a smooth ride across half the state of Wisconsin with little fuss. I left behind the Mississippi River and turned due east along the Wisconsin River valley. This is another substantial waterway; broad but much shallower and a great place to kayak, from what I saw around me on the roofs of passing cars and in the water. The river was full of sandbars and lined with many an attractive looking beach to spend a hot afternoon. But I had more than 100 miles to cover, so there was no time for that today.

The morning took me along another “scenic byway” (state route 60) which was delightfully quiet for the first couple of hours. I paused for breakfast in the first town of substance, Boscobel, and stumbled upon a wonderful piece of Americana. From the outside it looked just like any other A&W fast food restaurant and drive-through on the edge of a small town. But inside, when I approached the serving counter, I was told to choose a table and phone in my order. Every table had a menu and an old telephone which connected you directly to the kitchen. I could see the people I was speaking to; but it was fun to go along with a unique experience that has somehow been preserved despite the passage of time. Sure enough, my order arrived in a few minutes. My young waitress was very shy and she said a couple of the phones had broken and there was talk of removing them. I told her that I really hoped that doesn’t happen. There was also an old jukebox in the restaurant. It was churning out country music, which is very popular and has been the choice of many an establishment. It’s not really my cup of tea; but I prefer it to a lot of the modern rubbish you hear elsewhere. It certainly went with my present surroundings.

Direct line

The roads got longer and straighter and eventually, after the sleepy, small town of Muscoda, my route merged with the larger national route 14, and more traffic began to appear. But it was never unpleasant and I had a wide shoulder to use. I expected more hills than I got today. They never came. Wisconsin gives the impression of being a state that produces a lot of fruit, vegetables and cheese, and it is sold by the roadside in large farm markets that also have a lot of children’s play equipment. But none of them seemed to have a cafe, like you feel sure they would at home, or I would have stopped. You just can’t pass up an opportunity to take on fluid.

My late lunch stop was a trip down memory lane, too. I think it was once a drive-in restaurant but the canopy out front now housed picnic tables. I sat inside where there was AC and entered a world from the era of Elvis. The soundtrack was Blues Brothers meets the Commitments and the whole place was full of character and nostalgia. I had a huge salad and an even bigger root beer float, which set me up perfectly for an afternoon of riding straight towards the state capital, Madison. I cycled right in to the heart of the city, which is dominated by the University of Wisconsin. I really liked what I saw; but there is more to explore in the morning. The state Capitol building stands on a strip of land in the centre of town between two large lakes. I got a view this evening across the water. It is definitely worth a return trip.

Madison

Tomorrow’s slightly shorter ride takes me from Madison across to the larger city of Milwaukee, on the shores of Lake Michigan. I’m looking forward to that. I don’t know any of these places. It will be another hot day; but hopefully the weather will break on Wednesday. Either way, reaching the Great Lakes, when I get there, feels like a big deal in the context of this journey.