Beautiful weather? Check. Bike? Check. Helmet? Check. Wallet, phone, water, and TP? Check. Destination? Unknown!
I unlocked the bike from the rack, then re-attached the lock to the rack since I knew I wouldn’t be leaving the bike alone during the day. With a quick glance at my watch to check the time – 11:30 – I was on my way. On my way up the silly hill that doesn’t look steep at all, but somehow becomes a slow 24 minute climb to the overlook of Kachemak Bay. As I inched my way up the hill on my borrowed mountain bike, I wondered why I do these things to myself.
Simple. When I get on a bike after a long period away from cycling, I turn into a 5-year-old. A visceral happiness radiates throughout my body as my hands grip the handlebars and I swing my leg over the frame. As I begin pedaling, my face automatically breaks into a glowing smile that goes along with my words of “Bike!!! I love biking. Biking, biking, biking!”
It’s the most natural reaction in the world to me, and I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. The same thing happened the 2 nights in August when I claimed the tent at Spike Camp. Having not stayed in a tent since April, just unzipping the tent fly triggered the same soul-deep joy. “Tent!!!” was all I said as I climbed inside and stretched out on the sleeping bag.
Little things that draw out such basic, yet deep, happiness shouldn’t be ignored; they need to be embraced whenever possible, whether anyone else “gets it” or not. They’re what form a world of intriguing individuals.
Being on the go with no set route or destination – another of my favorite pastimes – was another reason for today’s ride. I’d headed north up the Sterling Highway, but I didn’t know where I was heading or where I’d turn around. To some people, that equates to a recipe for getting lost; to me, that’s a recipe for a fun adventure.
As I approached one curve I saw a sign indicating that a left turn would put me on the Old Sterling Highway. I bet the Old will hit the main road again at some point, and I’ve never been on the old highway before! Decision made.
Making that turn paid off, as I traded the 55mph speed limit and “traffic” for a winding road through woods and marsh that took my mind to the roads near Wilderness State Park in the northwest corner of Michigan’s mitten. It was perfect. Yellow and orange leaves covered the trees alongside the road. Colors in the marshes ranged from green to yellow, red, rust, and burgundy. Houses were few and far between.
Eventually a downhill led me to a bridge over the Anchor River, where I realized I was on the outskirts of Anchor River State Recreation Area. With beach access just 1.3 miles down a road to my left, I knew it was time to go admire the mountains. Along the way I passed a campground that mentioned North America’s Most Westerly Highway Point. Being a bit of a sucker for finding geographical extremes, I knew that the bike had carried me where I needed to go.
The beach offered me everything I was looking for and more: relaxation, a beautiful view, a gorgeous collie-english setter puppy, and friendly conversation with a group of real cyclists who showed up not long after me. The only thing I could have asked for would have been an ice cream stand.
Once it was time to leave, I headed up to the town of Anchor Point to find snacks. Having participated in PALM and DALMAC, organized bike rides across and up Michigan, many times, I felt right at home stopping in the local grocery store for Gatorade, a banana, and a granola bar. As odd as it sounds, I epitomized myself; I was a happy ginger on a bike checking out a little town that most people blaze right on through.
The ride home on the (new) Sterling Highway was fairly uneventful but was a continuation of the picturesque journey. The final 2-3 miles were the icing on the cake: racing down the hill I’d crawled up at the start of my ride. Tucked as close to the handlebars as I could get, I coasted most of the way home in probably the 35 mph range.
“There’s the cyclist? How was your ride?” Emily asked as I walked down the bunkhouse hall.
High on biking endorphins from my 34 mile ride, I responded, “That was the best thing I’ve done in my life!” While I’d walked out the door that morning unsure of what I’d see on my ride, I returned very pleased. It was a good reminder that if I just keep pedaling through life, I’ll get to where I’m supposed to be going.