Day 13

Didn't sleep so well last night. I over-salted my rice and beans which didn't help, but I gobbled them up just the same. Heard some voices throughout the night, some dogs howling too, turns out some fellows had camped nearby so they could go fishing in the morning. A packed up and waved to them on my way out.

Took some photos on my way out. The last one is where my tent was. You know you've done it right when all you leave is some flat grass.
I pulled back onto the road and rode down to the ferry terminal where cars were pulling onto the ferry at just that moment. I didn't even have to stop. Ferry was $2 to go across the st. Clair River into Marine City. A lady give me a bit of a hard time at customs, but I got through. Hello Michigan.

On the other side I took US bicycle highway number 20, which I didn't know was a thing.  Turns out it isn't really a thing,  just a series of green signs that say US 20 on a collection of roads that are only marginally bike friendly.
Somewhere near St. Clair I passed a big group of cyclists in their spandex suits and covered in blinming lights. I waved and as they passed, I heard some guy say, "Well, that guy's serious." Hell yeah I am. I laughed to myself for about a mile...
Never the less, I ended up inWadhams (Just West of Port Huron, which is the American side to the city of Sarnia), and then took the Wadhams to Avoca Trail. This one was a great trail,  a shining example of why rails to trails is such a good idea.  They're, flat, strait, scenic, uninterrupted, and frequently very direct.
I was spit out in Avoca, perhaps the quietest town I have ever been in. Not a soul did I near, nor was there even a gust. The fair squeak from my back when suddenly became piercing there.

Thru did just get thier pavement re-done, which was probably the most exciting thing to happen since the railroad came (and then left...)
So far, Michigan seems to have a lot more trees, which I am really loving. Less wind,  more shade, more scenery in general. It also seems to be a little more varied in terrain, not so flat like Ontario. It also has some comical road signs.

In a short time, I was welcomed to Yale, and was overcome with emotion.

After stopping in the park here, I made some good time to Brown City, the birthplace of the motorhome (it's true, I looked it up). I could see why they'd want to get out though, ut's in the midst of quite a l9t of nothing.

There wasn't much to see there, and I was making good time on the road (amazing what one can do without headwinds), so I pushed to North Branch. As I rode through yet another one-strip town, a mother walked across the street holding the hand of her young daughter, and asked,  "So, do you want to go to dance class again?" I didn't hear her response.

Another fifteen miles,  which felt like a breeze, I rolled into Sutter's recreation area; perhaps the most idilic RV park I've ever seen. The rate was cheap, the showers were clean,  and it was tranquil. After more than 700 miles of cursing myself for bringing my hammock, which I hadn't used yet, I finally set it up. Worth every ounce. Even ate dinner in it.