Dynamite Dreams, Paranoia, Mad Spillage, and Finally, Sundown Northern Ohio Day 12 - Friday - June 14, 2002  Back   |   Next

Dynamite Dreams and Breakfast I awake from a dream that I was walking down a forest path that lead to a coal mine. I found that the forest path was rigged with dynamite. I went back to the mine where I saw my old friend, the head chef of Basin St. in Sterling, VA, Adriano and some blurry others still asleep. I woke them up and told the forest path was booby trapped with dynamite. They said that was impossible. I went back, followed by a girl with a growling, white scrappy feline creature on a leash that ate antelope horns that just so happened to be along the path. I found the dynamite and tried digging it out. Kabloom! And I awake at 6 AM. Diane Teed sees me striking camp and invites me in to have coffee with soy milk and some peanut buttered toast. She works part time as a factory worker that makes parts for windows. We watch the weather channel which predicts grim days in the near future: cool weather, cold rain, and wind. The Lake Erie Wind Chilling out in the Erie wind somewhere along the northern Ohio coast In Ashtabula County, Ohio, the road skirts Lake Erie, so that I have the lake on my right and north, woodlands, orchards, farms, and homes to my left and south. The lake laps at the shore with sun glinting and cloud shaded blue and turquoise waters stretching from here to the northern horizon. I sit on bench overlooking the lake, motor boats, seagulls, grass in the breeze, all I can hear is the shore breaking waves, and the rustle of old trees and long grass in the wind, mixed with chirping birds. A white lake bird barely holding its own against the wind hovers for a moment above a lake before sidewinding through it. The sun has come out, yet the wind keeps everything cool. I eat bananas and granola while checking my map. As I ride my body shivers with an ecstatic jolt and I coast along Lake Erie, flowing past the boundless beauty of northern lake coast woods and stately homes. The Old Tavern I come across the Unionville Tavern as I travel west along Route 84. The Cleveland-Buffalo Road, which once was an Indian trail, and later a post and stage road, had been built in 1798 and was later converted to a two story cabin in 1815-1820. It hosted Civil War-era parties and dances, and locale legend has it that it offered "clandestine hospitality" to runaway slaves. Paranoia in Painesville, Ohio The courthouse in Painesville, Ohio In Painesville's public square a man strides after me and says, "Hey you!" At first I though he was a bum, so I turned around and spoke with him. Then he asked if I was a cop. No, I said. Then he proceeded to interrogate me, first asking me if I wanted to be interviewed on radio, then offering me lunch a buffet ("All you can eat for five dollars! Are you a vegetarian? They have a salad bar."). All the while I felt warning bells going off inside me. I felt like I was being milked for information on all my gear. I told him that I couldn't eat for I would get bloated and then would not be able to ride and since I was just passing through that I wouldn't be able to be interviewed. I told him that he could interview while I had lunch in the public square, however, but he refused. He leaves and I have a roast beef and Swiss sandwich, a granola bar and Mug root beer. An Architectural Treasure Trove I ride along Mentor Avenue's Historical District in Painesville. I pass through a neighborhood with fifty four buildings consisting of Federal, Greek revival, Early Romanesque, Italianate, Second Empire, Queen Anne, and Contemporary Clone architecture. Jonathon Goldsmith (1783-1847) designed at least two of the Federal and Greek revival houses. Mad Spillage at the Magical Dollar The first crash site. The Magic Dollar is off to the right Approaching East Cleveland is no small feat, especially after a rain storm, for one has to reckon with suburban road warriors as well as rain slicked asphalt. Just before I journey through "Millionaire's Row" I decide that I should do everybody a favor and get on the sidewalk. I turn my handlebars accordingly but it wasn't enough. My front wheel didn't quite make it over the road water and oil slick lip of the driveway. I went down, and slid across the driveway, kind of like sand boarding but concrete instead of sand and body instead of board. I looked up and pulled myself from my bike. A lady in her car looked at me. I felt like she was extremely pissed off that I got in the way of her and Magic Dollar. After checking myself for injuries I got up. Luckily, only a couple speckles of skin around my right elbow were shorn off. No major blood lost. I lost more pride than I did skin, blood or breath (I did get the wind knocked out of me). A few moments later a couple stopped by in their car, not caring that they held up traffic, and asked if I was all right. I thanked them for at least asking and told them I was fine. And I rode on. Cleveland, Ohio    Protestors in West Cleveland ask me not to shop at non-union grocery stores Sundown on Lake Erie Lake Erie sunset from my campsite and the Zachary's backyard. It is a half-hour before sundown and I am still stuck in suburbia in the land of Lakewood, west of Cleveland. I finally grow desperate enough to knock on someone's door. Mrs. Wendy Zachary gives me permission to camp in their backyard, saying that I should check out the beautiful Lake Erie sunset. While pitching the tent, her grandchildren play peek-a-boo from a third story window. One thinks that I am making a sail boat. After I make camp, Dr. John Zachary, a retired orthopedic surgeon, brings me a pitcher of ice water, and invites me in for dinner. Wendy makes me a cheeseburger, and calcium enriched OJ. We talk about my journey. They tell me their house used to be a summer home for Old Money from Long Island. The house will be one hundred years old next year. Wendy tells me about her day's road tripping when she was my age. John and Wendy no longer go on road trips but now look forward to spending time at their southern Ohio getaway in a lakeside cabin. After dinner and conversation I walk outside into the Erie twilight. Something makes me halt. At first I can't figure out what, but something is amiss. I begin to perceive a barely audible droning whine. It sounds like distant siren. I look up and after scrutinizing the sky I see buzzing black dots boiling in swarming clusters in the air space around me, the trees, the house, the neighborhood. It reminds me of the bee swarm from the horror flick Candy Man. Mosquitoes! I dart into my tent and zip it shut, and fall asleep to the needlenose drone of the Mosquito Coast.