Choose Your Lane (Day 13-15)

After having a random rude encounter with the young dudes from Girard, I pedaled north-west through Warren, OH, and then west into the Sugar Bush Knolls. This was the last stretch of mild hills and valleys I had to bike through before hitting the flat and straight roads of western Ohio. Since, I knew rain was on its way, I figured it would be as good of a time as any to take a day off at a motel.



I thought about staying a night at the Tallyho Motel that advertised a suspiciously low rate of 36 dollars per night. But after looking at the cracked and crumbling facade, I was fearful that most of the Tallyho bedrooms had seen their fair share of tallies and ho's. So I continued on to the town of Streetsboro, where I was able to book a room at another Microtel Inn. "We're right by the Bob Evans," the eager hotel clerk informed me on the phone, as if that was a great selling point. "And... uh, we got both smoking and non-smoking rooms," he quipped with nervous excitement, as if revealing a new and novel selling feature.

After spending a full day holed up in my Microtel room, I set off again, facing dark, unpredictable skies. The weather channel stated the chance of precipitation was 40%, but the day before when they said the chance was 50%, we only saw a few drops, so I figured I'd take my chances. And even though a few short showers did come through, they were fairly brief and light, and I stayed more or less dry.

However, even though the weather was fine, I still had to deal with ornery assholes... this time, not in the form of obnoxious teens in speeding Hondas, but in the form of a snide, middle-aged jackass in a pick-up truck.

It was early afternoon and I, along with several other vehicles, were stopped at a red light outside the town of Hudson, OH. While waiting for the light to change green, I had three lanes to choose from. Generally speaking, cyclists are supposed to stay as far to the right as possible, but since the far right lane was RIGHT TURN ONLY, I shifted over to the center lane... since I was continuing straight and didn't want to cross paths with any right-turning vehicles. Meanwhile, a nosey, scornful jerk-o in a pick-up truck pulled alongside me in the right lane and cynically shouted, "Hey! You guys can't seem to decide whether you're a car or a bike!" Not sure he was talking to me, I turned to the guy, puzzled. He then stuck his knobly arm out his window and pointed at me. "You're not supposed to be in the middle of the road like that!"

I then shouted back with as much gruff as possible, "That's a RIGHT TURN ONLY lane you're in! See?" I pointed down to the painted arrows on the pavement. "I'm not going right! I'm going straight! I'm in the correct lane!"

Somewhat embarrassed, the guy reluctantly conceded the point... but for some reason felt compelled not to end it there. "Yeah, well... you're right this time, but most of the time, you guys are all over the road--"

I cut him off there. "I'm not those guys." Then, raising my voice even more and pressing my hands against my chest, I bellowed, "I'm MEEEE!!!" I got particularly angered at this point because I hated being lumped in with all those spandex-wearing, douchebaggy, speed-racing cyclists with 300 dollar sunglasses and 3,000 dollar attitudes. I'm just a guy in 12 dollar shorts, biking at my own sweet time, and obeying the rules of the roads as best as possible.

He was taken aback by my angry outburst, and wanting to be one up on me, quickly adopted a condescending, acerbic attitude. Sitting up in his bucket-seat throne of superiority, the pick-up driver sniffed, "Are we having a bad day?"

My only response: "No, not until you came along and started jerking me around." The man just shook his head and acted confused as to why a perfect stranger would be lashing out at him and just smirked at me with mocking pity. With this, the light turned green and we parted ways... but it took several miles before I was able to shake off the annoying exchange.

From there it was to the Town of Brunswick for a quick meal at the Burger King. After chowing down my burgers, I was off again and shortly in the town of Valley City which is the size of small parking lot, but is the "frog jumping capital" of Ohio. I guess they aren't big enough to be the country's capital, just the state. When I went to the local mart to get specifics of the town's claim to fame, the shop keeper just muttered, "Yep. We still do that." When I pressed him some more, he just stared at me, placidly, and just said, "During the August festival," and then excused himself to the beer cooler to re-stock it.

After that, I got back on my bike, went another 8-9 miles and camped out by the east branch of the Black River outside the town of LaGrange. This was my first night in the tent since the Grove City "shotgun incident," but I was fairly calm and managed to get at least 4-5 minutes of sound sleep.