73 miles

Staying at Milan Wildlife Area last night was a poor choice. It was posted as a hunting area, but there weren’t any other campable areas within range. I woke up frequently on high alert, thinking about hunters. I searched online for details about Ohio’s hunting season and learned that squirrels, fox, coyote, crow, possum, and woodchuck are in season all year round. 

I also learned that hunters usually hunt coyotes at night, and that green lasers are more useful because deer can’t see them or something. So at one point, I found myself staring in horror at the netting of my tent, because I thought I saw a firefly, but it was long past dusk, and it was green, and I was paranoid. Could it have been a scope? I don’t know, but I lay awake listening hard and wondering if it would be safer to get up noisily or stay still on the ground. Then, with additional paranoia, I thought I heard someone walk nearby and say something like “good way to get shot”… but I still can’t honestly be sure that really happened. It could have been a fever dream induced by poor judgment.

I slept fitfully until about 4:30am when, nursing the last few drops of my phone’s battery, I decided to get packed up and get the hell out of the woods. I must have hit every single spider web on my way out. 

As soon as I hit the road, I felt better, and I was rewarded with a gorgeous cloudy sunrise over a perfectly smooth empty road. The cool morning air was restorative. My backup battery pack has been low, so I stopped at the first gas station to charge. I bought a coffee and sipped it outside at a picnic table, where a guy stopped to chat and gave me a ton of local traffic advice. He said he used to live in Washington state. He told me he mountain-biked something called July 4th Pass near Missoula.

After that, the morning passed quickly and blissfully. I stopped for another coffee in Huron at a place called Gathering Grounds. From there, I spent the rest of the day dodging thunderstorms along the coast of Lake Erie, on Route 6. Huge mansions lined the waterfront. I stopped at a gazebo in Lorain, and watched as a few water spouts formed in the distance and hit the lake—I’ve never seen anything like that in person before.

At the suggestion of my Cleveland warmshowers host, I stopped a little later to rest at Lakewood Park. I had intended to just plug in my phone and do some stretching to kill time, but the outlets were all inside the pavilion, which was occupied by about 50 people eating a catered picnic. I eyed the pavilion for a few minutes, considering what to do, not wanting to intrude. A woman spotted me looking and immediately ushered me over, introduced herself, and insisted I make a plate. She warmly introduced me to everyone at her table and with that, I was picnicking with the Chinese Women of Cleveland. They had matching shirts declaring their affiliation. I sat and ate with them, feeling somewhat awkward, mostly because everyone around me was speaking Chinese, and without knowing what was being said, there was little way for me to break the ice. Despite my invitation, I did feel a bit like an intruder. It gave me a valuable moment to reflect on what I take for granted, socially and culturally. 

The woman who had invited me to join told me about how she traveled the world backpacking once upon a time. In her words: she escaped from Romania in 1988 and moved to the US. She bought real estate, retired at 50, backpacked from Patagonia to Alaska, and all through Asia, and is “addicted to durian”. After my phone had charged enough to continue, I thanked her and departed feeling sincerely grateful for her welcoming spirit.

I ducked into a bar on the way to my host’s house, hoping to skip the last storm I saw on the radar. The guy next to me ordered chicken tenders but hardly ate any of them, so I ate them after he cashed out and left, without any shame whatsoever. I guess I am completely feral now. The bartender told me she’s on her way to Glacier next week, so we had a nice chat.