Saturday, May 28th
Someone told me that the Memorial Day weekend marks the beginning of summer. And right now that feels quite accurate – the last few nights have been so warm that a sleeping bag barely seems necessary. In the 11 days since I’ve started it feels like spring has finally made way for warm and long summer days.
In the morning I pack away my tent and things and find Pete and Kerry in their living room at breakfast at around 8. Ron, their friend from last night also arrives. I drink a mug of coffee and enjoy the conversations we have for an hour or so.
Kerry kindly cooks me some breakfast and I eat this outside whilst their two racoon-shaped cats laze in the yard, each marking their own turf. Pete and I continue talking for a couple of hours over more coffee. He speaks about the travelling he did when he was younger and working on boats in Alasaka. We talk about his sons art, my work and what I plan to do when I finish travelling, cats, gambling, the Internet, and Japan. I’m enjoying our conversation and the company but know the longer it continues the harder it will be to start cycling again.
I wander around their yard with Pete and take photos as he shows me the various projects he has started and the objects he’s made or collected. There’s the garage, the Airstream caravan, a shipping container turned workshop, a greenhouse, and a shed. Each space spills open with interesting things and stories.
I leave at around 11 and make my way out of the quiet neighbourhood and on to the road heading west again. The sky looks dark and moody and after about 45 mins the rain hits. It’s heavy but lasts less than 10 minutes and is warm and refreshing and really not sad bad to cycle besides the fact my feet will now be wet for the rest of the day.
I make it to Painesville after 15 miles or so and stop for a lunch – a Reuben’s sandwich and a bowl of chilli on the side and more coffee. I sit outside and manage to finish it just before the rain stars again – this time just briefly though I’m not sure that’s the last of it.
After that I just keep my head down as I try to make it past Cleveland by the end of the day. It’s warm and humid and the roads begin to busy on the slow approach to the city.
On the quieter moments around the lake I’ve had to remind myself that I’m not cycling on an island, but as Cleveland draws closer that illusion is quickly forgotten about. The neighbourhoods I cycle through feel pretty hard up and not somewhere I’d like to stop. When I do, at convenience stores, I pass scrawny guys in washed out denim exiting the stores clutching 24-packs of Bud Light for the weekend ahead, or maybe just that evening.
My route into the city itself is along the waterfront then on a scrappy road running alongside a small lakeside airport. The weather is turning again and feels post-apololyptic in its gloom. Wind blows dust from roadworks in my face and plastic bags up in the air. The sky almost looks purple over the top of a cluster of tall oppressive buildings.
I take a bridge out of the city and find myself amongst derelict buildings Perhaps it’s just the weather making everything worse but it feels like a sad place. It rains again, heavily this time. Just as my shoes are almost dry from the morning. I put my lights on and keep going.
Soon enough it stops and suddenly I cycling through trees and mansion lined streets. Usually I find burnt out places interesting, but with the weather, and the prospect of being stuck in Cleveland for the night, I’m happy to see it go.
The wealth continues as I pass more lakeside properties and parks. A family of deer run out into the road in front of traffic. Two make it across safely, one is nervous and waits behind I fence as the others disappear. I watch it for a while and wait for it to make a move, and finally it finds a way across safely. I can now see how easy it would be to hit one as there doesn’t seem to be too much strategy to where and when they decide to cross.
I make a stop at Huntington Beach, lock my bike, and head down to the shoreline. It’s a popular spot, even in bad weather, the car park is full and the rock breakers which jut into the sea are lined with people watching and photographing the sunset. Bad weather in the day can often result in stunning sunsets, and this one certainly is.
A man at the top of the steps shouts out “I LOVE OHIO!”. It’s loud enough for the whole beach to hear and is the kind of outward expression of glee which would never happen in England.
Camping on the beach would be perfect. But there’s a long set of stairs down to shore level, a police car hovering around, and to many people to do it discreetly. Sometimes you can hide in plain site, but I remind myself that the most scenic spots are necessarily the best camping spots.
I head back up to my bike and cross the road into Huntington Reservation – a large park with walking trails, picnic areas and sports fields. I follow a road and path to the picnic they area, and after a quick circle around head into one of the corners, put up my tent in the dark and hope for the best. I feel like I can hear a lot outside but I tell myself it’s deer. There’s moisture in the air. My clothes are still damp and it’s not going to be a comfortable camp, just a place to shut my eyes until it’s morning.
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