74 Miles - Top Speed 32.1MPH -Avg Speed 14.5MPH
Total 1,215 Miles
I really am in nowheresville now. This is The Heartland.
I awoke on the beach this morning to the sight you see pictured below. I planned on enjoying the morning before setting off at about 12pm and it eventually ran smoothly. I waited until 2 hours into the journey until I ate as Mark had recommended I eat at the White Turkey in between Conneaut and Ashtabula. I didn’t want to be the guy who discarded the opinion of a man who knew his way around Lake Erie so I held my instincts back and waited until I arrived. It was like something from a movie, albeit an irritating one with squawking teens. The sun was shining, there were a lot of Bald Eagle and US Flag emblazoned attire and the best fast food I had had in a long time. Chilli Cheese Fries and A diced Turkey Burger all finished off with a root beer float and a smile from the All-American waitress. She probably hated my rusty face deep down, but I’m a sucker for small-town superficiality.
My hunger satisfied, I ploughed on to the next town of Ashtabula. Things started well, I stopped for an ice cream and had a chinwag with the delightful employee who worked there and chatted to a few patrons, I even turned out a few Lycra Cowboy business cards, too. You know, in case they want to read these very words. Do let me know if you do girls. But that was the last of the Ashtabulan fun, as when I went deeper into the city I began to notice – you guessed it – more desolation, but this time on a much larger urban scale. I was truly in the rust belt. Surrounding this area were plenty of industrial businesses, but many had closed as manufacturing moved abroad and as a result the depression had hit this area hard. Main Street looked like the set of a zombie apocalypse film. Weeds sprouting from crevasses in the pavement, storefront signs hanging from the hinges and a road in urgent need of some maintenance, believe me, you notice these things on a bicycle, the bumpy terrain has not helped my new saddle sores. (Here's a snap of the Main street I found online. It's accurate)
There was one sign of hope though, and that hope came in the form of Terry Coy. Just as I was leaving the city to move onto the bicycle greenway, I noticed a beautiful flower bed next to the train tracks and a sign that said “Ashtabulaful”. Terry was there mowing the lawn and we had a brief chat.
“Ashtabula’s dead, man” said Terry as he went onto explain how all the defunct businesses had left the city on its knees. He seemed resigned to his hometown’s decline, but at least he could work on this small corner of his city to improve it, at least aesthetically. He had also built a little fountain that some kids had damaged, but I couldn’t help feeling, as one does in these situations, that if everyone tried a little harder in their community then perhaps things wouldn’t seem so bad. It wouldn’t fix the economic problems, but pride and perspective are amazingly powerful things. I really wish Terry good luck for the future.
I pedalled on another 30 miles or so to tonight’s campground in Windsor, OH. I am basically nowhere, I travelled through farmland after farmland and I have that knowing feeling that this could be my environment for quite some time. Oh well, I’m glad I downloaded those French lessons to the phone now. That should give me something additional to get frustrated with when looking out into the ether.
Total 1,215 Miles
I really am in nowheresville now. This is The Heartland.
I awoke on the beach this morning to the sight you see pictured below. I planned on enjoying the morning before setting off at about 12pm and it eventually ran smoothly. I waited until 2 hours into the journey until I ate as Mark had recommended I eat at the White Turkey in between Conneaut and Ashtabula. I didn’t want to be the guy who discarded the opinion of a man who knew his way around Lake Erie so I held my instincts back and waited until I arrived. It was like something from a movie, albeit an irritating one with squawking teens. The sun was shining, there were a lot of Bald Eagle and US Flag emblazoned attire and the best fast food I had had in a long time. Chilli Cheese Fries and A diced Turkey Burger all finished off with a root beer float and a smile from the All-American waitress. She probably hated my rusty face deep down, but I’m a sucker for small-town superficiality.
My hunger satisfied, I ploughed on to the next town of Ashtabula. Things started well, I stopped for an ice cream and had a chinwag with the delightful employee who worked there and chatted to a few patrons, I even turned out a few Lycra Cowboy business cards, too. You know, in case they want to read these very words. Do let me know if you do girls. But that was the last of the Ashtabulan fun, as when I went deeper into the city I began to notice – you guessed it – more desolation, but this time on a much larger urban scale. I was truly in the rust belt. Surrounding this area were plenty of industrial businesses, but many had closed as manufacturing moved abroad and as a result the depression had hit this area hard. Main Street looked like the set of a zombie apocalypse film. Weeds sprouting from crevasses in the pavement, storefront signs hanging from the hinges and a road in urgent need of some maintenance, believe me, you notice these things on a bicycle, the bumpy terrain has not helped my new saddle sores. (Here's a snap of the Main street I found online. It's accurate)
There was one sign of hope though, and that hope came in the form of Terry Coy. Just as I was leaving the city to move onto the bicycle greenway, I noticed a beautiful flower bed next to the train tracks and a sign that said “Ashtabulaful”. Terry was there mowing the lawn and we had a brief chat.
“Ashtabula’s dead, man” said Terry as he went onto explain how all the defunct businesses had left the city on its knees. He seemed resigned to his hometown’s decline, but at least he could work on this small corner of his city to improve it, at least aesthetically. He had also built a little fountain that some kids had damaged, but I couldn’t help feeling, as one does in these situations, that if everyone tried a little harder in their community then perhaps things wouldn’t seem so bad. It wouldn’t fix the economic problems, but pride and perspective are amazingly powerful things. I really wish Terry good luck for the future.
I pedalled on another 30 miles or so to tonight’s campground in Windsor, OH. I am basically nowhere, I travelled through farmland after farmland and I have that knowing feeling that this could be my environment for quite some time. Oh well, I’m glad I downloaded those French lessons to the phone now. That should give me something additional to get frustrated with when looking out into the ether.
Morning view.
Ashtabula port
Addicted to that cow cream.
What the fuck is the point of that.
Bulaful.
Terry Coy: Urban hero.
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