GRAND TOUR 1995 - Door County, WI
It may have been called a week-long donut
ride by some who chose not to go, but for those who did go, it was fantastic! While it may not have been a tour
on which you had to hammer a hundred miles each day, it did offer touring adventures varied enough to satisfy even
the most eclectic. This was also the first Grand Tour on which I would ride a bicycle instead of driving a yellow
"bomb-hauler" filled with luggage.
The 55 people on GRAND TOUR 95 were about evenly split between men and women. They were also equally divided as to those who found their own transportation to Green Bay and those who preferred to leave the driving to Ed (Lindsey, that is). Thirty-one people, complete with boxed bikes and bulging bags, boarded the bus at noon on Saturday to be deposited in the land of Vince Lombardi in time to participate in a Sunday afternoon ride hosted by the Bay City Bicycle Club. When the bomb bay doors swung open and disgorged bikes and bags, the bus took on the appearance of ground zero in a luggage explosion. As if to celebrate our arrival, it was like August in Oklahoma with thermometers perking above the century mark. It was the hottest day in the history of Green Bay. A short ride was followed by an ice cream social and a plunge in the motel pool to cool off. All that Gore-tex we brought along was soon stuffed into the overheads on the bus. Fortunately, the heat backed off about three degrees each day we were there to give us ideal riding weather by the time the tour ended.
Equipped with trip-tic sheets and a Door County map, we were piloted out of town in a rather disorganized mob by a couple members of the local club. Once on the road, we discovered that many of us were among the directionally challenged. Our first task was to find a water and banana stop at a place called Euren. (No matter how it's spelled, it still sounds the same.) If anyone did stumble across the place, they didn't realize it. Anyway, everyone eventually arrived at the proper destination, but most with computers showing far more than the announced 54 miles.
Once away from the meat the packing plants, paper mills and puffing smokestacks of Green Bay, the scenery improved with each mile that we rode. Paved rural roads mark every section line. Our olfactory senses were overwhelmed by the pungent aroma of wild flowers, sweet clover and dairy barns. Traffic was so light that we often grew lonely for a breath of fresh exhaust fumes.
The 50 mile route from Sturgeon Bay to Rowley's Bay took us along the granite cliffs of Lake Michigan, through state parks and past fishing villages nestled in harbors guarded by breakwaters and scenic lighthouses. Kodak moments were endless. Also, thanks to a quick course in remedial map reading, far fewer people found themselves riding through areas of great confusion. Rowley's Bay is also the location of Grandma's Swedish Bakery which makes the World's best Pecan Sticky Rolls. We carbo-loaded on those fat bombs to great excess.
The bicycle route to the tip of the peninsula travels along bucolic lanes where trees join hands above the road to form cool, green tunnels. Each turn in the road offered a new experience, especially the one where a sharp right turn slammed us into a hill which not only called for our lowest granny gear but also ropes and pitons.
It costs six bucks round-trip for bike and rider to cross the five miles of turbulent water to Washington Island where the economy hinges on the tourist dollar. Early fur traders called that strip of water Death's Door, from whence the peninsula got its name.
A line of bike rental places begins as you step off the ferry. Their rental stock consists mostly of cruisers with fat seats and cheap mountain bikes with single piece cranks. Charles Gray towed us along in a tight paceline past a bunch of rental bike riders who were floundering up a slight hill at a walking pace. One guy dressed in jeans and a ball cap was heard to say, "How in Hell do those people do that?"
After stocking up on T-shirts, greasy food and photos of goats on roofs, some of the legal-eagles in the crowd spotted a rather unusual sign in front of a small cafe which advertised, "Lawyers, $4.95". Thinking that this had to be the law firm with the lowest billing rate in history, they stopped and asked. They found that Lawyers, at least those advertised on the sign, are actually an ugly, bottom-feeding fish found only in Lake Michigan. I'm sure that several people thought of, but at least had the class not to mention the analogy.
Even though it's only ten miles from Rowley's Bay, where we spent two nights, to land's end, there's so much to see in that area that most people accumlated well over 60 miles on their clocks each day. This is bicycle touring in its finest form.
I found a small ice cream store in the village of Sister Bay which advertised Root Beer Floats. It had been at least fifty years since I had indulged myself in one of those delicacies, so I leaned my bike against the building and went inside. While savoring the gastronomic masterpiece on a bench in front of the place, I met a couple from Switzerland. It turned out that our only common language was my Tex-Mex and their Castilian Spanish. It was almost like Greek and Gibberish, but I was able to explain the blue ribbons that we wore on the tour. They had never heard about Tim McVeigh or the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building. I suppose what's news in one place isn't somewhere else.
The place we hung our shorts out to dry in Algoma was a rather Spartan motel only a few yards from the docks. Six people who aspired to be like Izaak Walton (or was that John-Boy Walton) chartered a large fishing boat and set out in search of Moby Dick. There was some question about how good fishing would be when Laurie Williams tried to toss a penny into the water for luck, but it landed on the deck. The captain said that in all his years of fishing, he had never seen anyone miss an entire lake. They brought home a huge cooler of dressed fish for the after-tour cookout, but the argument still rages as to who caught the biggest, most or meanest fish.
A dwindling supply of clean underwear proclaimed that we had reached the end of the tour and time for us to return to the real world. There was only one final task to accomplish, the survivor's dinner and party. The dinner of fried chicken, fish and ribs was served family style and if anyone went away hungry, it was their own fault. Then it was time for the roasting and toasting of those who may or may not have deserved it, but got it anyway. The entertainment, if you can call it that, was provided by a group called The Jugs. As the old saw goes, they left no tern unstoned.
For more information about the tour, the fishing trip, the bus ride, the party or The Jugs, you will just have to ask someone who was there. They will bend your ear for hours.
Oklahoma Bicycle Society:
1995 Grand Tour
created by John Wente
last modified:
February 19, 2007
URL: http://www.OklahomaBicycleSociety.com