Lessons from Boomertopia: Lakeside, Ohio

Some months ago, it was decided the annual family reunion would take place in a town called Lakeside - where my aunt and uncle have a vacation house. 

This meant Family Weekend would not be in my hometown-with-an-asterisk Mystic, Connecticut. I liked the idea of trying the Ohio town and I liked the idea of the whole family getting together even more. 

Since I was (and still am) busy through the year, I didn't have the time I wanted to have to research the town. In rumor I had heard it was like the camp in Dirty Dancing - only with more shuffleboard and fewer illegal abortions. My mother - who would occasionally ask my opinion of family meal plans months in advance even though I usually don't know what I'm having for the meal ahead of me and have difficulty recalling the meal behind - kept me apprised of the goings on and what I needed to know about Lakeside - one of which was a "visitors pass" that I'd need to enter and leave the area.

Unsure if I was visiting a quarantine zone like in 'Outbreak' or the Acadia planned community from the X-Files episode of the same name, we set down at the airport in Cleveland, Ohio to begin our journey by rental car to Lakeside. I unfortunately didn't have a chance to ride a bike in the Alfa Romeo of cycling cities* but I did get have just enough time to stop by the new location of Joy Machines - a shop I visited several times. Now I have so many cycling T-shirts I long ago put a moratorium on getting new ones...until I visited Joy Machines in Cleveland the day before Independence Day.

With a new T-shirt in my vacation wear clothing rotation, we made it to Lakeside, and we showed our passes at the gate. On narrow streets we drove to the rental home my parents were staying at. When we parked the car in a designated spot, we didn't move it again until we drove back to the airport three days later. We then watched the Fourth of July Parade - I was most impressed with the bike part - and if I had gotten there a little sooner I would have unpacked my bike Friday and joined them. 

When the parade was over I began to notice the traffic in Lakeside: it was mostly golf carts. 

There were also plenty of bicycles to be found - and I didn't see a single lock among them. The morning of July 5, I walked past bikes that were parked, on kickstands, overnight and nobody stole them. 

A couple of blocks from this location I found a three bedroom house for sale for $191,000. In the Bay Area it would easily be five to fifteen times that amount.

There was also a coffee shop that opened early - like, almost-when-I-get-up early. I wasn't sure if I had found utopia or was living the first fifteen minutes of the movie "Get Out."

The most uncomfortable I ever felt was when I'd have to enter or leave the premises. I did it twice on the Bike Friday - they scanned my pass on the way out and scanned it again in on the way back in. 

Outside of the gate, I could open the throttle and take quick rides before breakfast - and before it got too hot. I had derisively referred to Lake Erie as "Hasbro Water" since it just wasn't the East Coast, but it still had its moments where it looked like a real body of water and everything - look at the lighthouse:

When you bike or walk around Lakeside you'll see a lot of gray haired men and women driving around their grandkids in golf carts. That was when I realized I was in Boomertopia. A generation who worshipped cars actually built a place they would have hated to have lived in if they had jobs to commute to ever day. 

The golf cart thing is the nicotine gum equivalent of cars: yeah, I'm trying to wean off the hard stuff - I just need a little hint of speed.

And I do mean little. I Stravaed** the golf cart I drove my family with - all six of us - and kept the phone attached to the center of the steering wheel with the little clippy-thing used to hold golf scores. It topped out at 15 miles an hour. What's more, since these are slow, quiet and open - If you see your Phoenix cousin and your Los Angeles cousin as they approach and accompany them on a trip to get some ice.

There are other Lakeside quirks that aren't travel related - for instance several homes have an assortment of tiny miniature fairy lands set up somewhere on their property. 

That is just incredibly weird - but I suppose my sister and I taking Yoda action figures and adding them to the scene at the AirBnB may fall into the same category.

But to get back to the design lessons of Lakeside: It is accepted that a motorized vehicle should be governed to 15 miles an hour. Since the golf carts are small and not Hummer H2 sized, the streets are safer for walking and biking. Since they have tiny motors they are quiet, and that makes it easy to carry on a conversation with your dad on the front porch of an AirBnB during rush hour. Since it is widely known bikes and slow carts are on the streets at all times, the few cars that are in town drive slower. 

Since parking lots aren't needed the buildings can be closer together - which makes things more walkable/bikeable. It also means more buildings - which means less land wasted on temporary motor vehicle storage.

It isn't lost on me the retirees who inhabit Lakeside now probably would hated to have lived there when they were younger and had to drive everyday to get to work. It wouldn't fit in with the narrative of automotive contradictions we all hear (or make) every day. Wanting a house you can drive to quickly...but on a quiet and safe street. Wanting your grandkids to have a safe place to bike...but you show up at town hall meetings railing against adding bike lanes. Wanting less traffic...but you don't support affordable housing built near train stations and getting people ways other than a car to get around. 

The point is, when we talk about how we want cities to look, let's remind the naysayers again and again that some places have already gone or our going that route - and those places are safer for their kids and grandkids to play in. Sure, you get around slower but there are more important things than speed - like trying to try every ice cream place before your vacation ends. 

Let's not stop advocating, working, and making arguments for the kind of world we want. If we do that, we'll eventually, given enough time, be in charge. The history of the automobile may have mostly been written by our elders, but the future of our towns and cities will be written by cyclists. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding. 

*This turn-of-phrase is mine, but it was inspired by Jeremy Clarkson of Top Gear who complained about different aspects of Alfa Romeo's but said they still had an 'Alfa magic' that made the cars like no other. I'm always going to have a strange, can't-put-my-finger-on-why affection for Cleveland even though other cities have better bike infrastructure, better bike acceptance, better weather...but it still has an indescribable something that makes it better. Visit Cleveland.  

** Strava is an app for jock people to help themselves reach new peaks of excellence and then brag to their friends about it. I just used it as a verb - past-tense. I need a shower. 

Nine Mornings to California: Morning 9 - Truckee, California

Note: this is the final post of the Nine Mornings series, but I posted it Saturday night because this morning, Sunday morning, I am riding in the American Diabetes Association Tour de Cure in Palo Alto. Please help me by making a donation to my ADA page...and then enjoy reading Morning 9. 

Morning 9:(Sunday, May 10) Truckee, California

I woke up in Truckee, California - at the site of the Donner Pass. People once ate people here. I ate pancakes. 

Let me back up a second. 

We were originally going to spend the night in Reno but in our effort to make the last day of driving as short as possible, we decided to drive over the California border and stay at the Truckee Donner Lodge - which gave us a view of the Endor-like trees outside the window. 

I went out biking in the chilly morning air and savored the ride. I had no specific destination. It was quiet. I didn’t have to pick up any groceries or run any errands. I just rode out into the woods.

I also thought about the Donner Party, stranded so long ago and forced to resort to cannibalism for the simple reason because they didn’t have the right transportation option available. Had they fat tire bikes and Bob trailers, their story would have had a different ending. 

I ended up logging about nine aimless miles. Nothing particularly exciting happened on that ride. But it was a fine ride nonetheless. And the pancakes at the Truckee Donner Lodge were good. 

Soon after breakfast, we hit the road and began the long descent toward Silicon Valley. Even though it was the shortest leg, it felt like it was the longest. The closer we got to the coast, the worse the traffic became. 

I saw more cars than I had ever seen before as we entered Redwood City. It immediately felt strange to be sitting in a car I’m familiar with and driving it in an unfamiliar place that was to be my home. 

We arrived at our temporary apartment in Redwood City and I shut off the engine and snapped one final photograph. I had driven more than 3,400 miles in the course of ten days with a Yoda action figure on the dashboard.

In the days that followed this trip, I removed the Yoda. I got a California driver’s license.  I learned what a ‘smog test’ is and ultimately used that knowledge to get California plates put on my Element. And every morning since these nine mornings, when I ride in Silicon Valley, I look around and think: 

Why aren’t more people cycling and what can I do to get them to #choosethebike? 

Hope you can help me ask and answer that question. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding. 

Just found Nine Mornings? Click here for Morning 1.

Nine Mornings to California: Morning 8 - Ely, Nevada

Note: if you're reading this blog right now I could really use your help: I am riding in the American Diabetes Association's Tour de Cure in Palo Alto tomorrow. I normally don't do organized rides at all but I want to mingle with my new neighbors and, more importantly, raise money to fight diabetes. Please donate here and help sponsor my ride!  

Morning 8: (Saturday, May 9) Ely, Nevada

Another morning, another motel bed.

Another city waiting up ahead.

And another small memory to leave behind.

- Dave Alvin, ‘Harlan County Line’ 

It was raining in the morning, but unlike Wyoming a few days earlier, I knew I’d have another shot of riding in Nevada so I decided to forgo the morning bike ride. The hotel served breakfast early and we agreed that we could make it to Carson City for a late lunch if we were on the road before seven - and I’d still be able to ride a bike in the state of Nevada.

Getting to Carson City meant driving on Highway 50 (sometimes known as the I-50). Dubbed ’The Loneliest Road in America’ I had trouble deciding if it was so boring it was interesting or so interesting it was boring. 

“We warn motorists not to drive there unless they’re confident of their survival skills,” said an unnamed AAA rep in the July 1986 edition of Life magazine. I was ready: I had oatmeal cookies my mother had given us, a case of bottled water crammed between the Element’s seats, and had watched several episodes of Discovery’s Dual Survival before beginning the trip. 

Life magazine’s story checks out. It’s a lot of nothingness I wouldn’t attempt with a less reliable car. Anyone who bikes it is a brave soul - I saw only two cyclists on the entire length of the 50. Luckily there are a couple of places to stop to stretch ones legs and pause whatever Michael Connelly audiobook we had playing (Good storytelling, Mr. Connelly: the short Harry Bosch mysteries did make the miles go faster).

In the sleepy, aging mining town of Eureka an effortlessly charming bartender named Susan poured me a cup of hot coffee in a plastic Budweiser cup at the Owl Club Bar and Steakhouse and, after I told her I was a drifter passing through town (though I didn’t phrase it quite that way) she insisted I stay to look at ‘all the ladies’ along the main thoroughfare. As my wife sketched Eureka, I wandered around to look at the classic cars Susan was referring to - and hoped the rain would clear up for the Eureka Car Show, which was taking place that very morning.

Soon after we left Eureka the rain cleared up and gave us a clear view of the nearly hypnotic road. I kept expecting to see Lord Humungus’s truck in the rearview mirror but we saw only one or two normal cars an hour (sorry I don't have a more up-to-date Mad Max reference but I haven't seen Fury Road yet).

After a few thousand years of this, we made it to Carson City for our late lunch. Since my wife didn’t feel like sketching the city and I didn’t feel like biking it, we continued on to Lake Tahoe so we could indulge in the passions that chose us. 

I unpacked the bike at Lake Tahoe State Park and rode on Rt. 28 - nearly unable to believe that California was just on the other side of the lake. Near the Tunnel Creek Cafe I found a bike shop called Flume Trail Bikes that was just visible from the road.

I diverted up the nearby trail to see if I could find a better place to see the lake. I succeeded and could actually see California - the place I would eventually be permanently living in - across the water.

I’d have to wait for another visit to ride on the Flume Trail (which looks irresistible looking at the pictures on Flume Trail Bikes' website), so I turned around and headed back to the beach to meet my wife and check out the sketch she had made of Lake Tahoe while I was riding. 

We continued driving on Rt. 28 and crossed the Nevada border into California. We were officially in the home stretch of our trip and there was only one morning to go - Truckee, California - a town the infamous Donner Party put on the map. 

Nine Mornings to California: Morning 7: Moab, Utah II

Morning 7: (Friday, May 8) Moab, UT

Our second and final morning in Moab had my wife and I in agreement that we had to return someday. We had a long drive to get to Nevada but I wanted one last ride before we’d have to hit the road. 

For the first time in the whole trip she joined me - and it was her first bike ride of the season (I had crammed her Trek in the car by outfitting it with folding pedals borrowed from the Mystery of South Norwalk and bungeeing it to the inside wall of the Element). We started at the Moab Canyon Pathway and pedaled on the trail along the Colorado River.

The trail only runs about two and a half miles from Lion’s Park (but will hopefully be expanded further than that soon) and was just a great way to experience the area and not feel like you need to bring survival gear.

We wrapped up the ride and I packed the bikes back into the Element with skills usually seen doing level seven of Tetris. 

After changing into my driving shoes (I found my junky pair of loose fitting watershoes is the most comfortable thing to wear when behind the wheel for hours) and checking out of the hotel, we picked up some good sandwiches at a grocery store in Moab - where my parting shot of the area captured the essence of the place: not one vehicle in the parking lot did not have a bike rack of some kind.

After driving a little over an hour, we stopped at Green River Park for lunch and found a picnic table near a boat launch ramp where a group of women with stand-up paddleboards were gathered. As they were getting on their boards to head downstream, one of them fell in and I went over to see if she needed help - she was fine and I ended up holding her board and paddle as she climbed back on. She told me they were on a four day trip down the river and thanked me as my wife snapped a picture with my camera. Hope they all had as much fun in Utah as we did. 

We drove on, and the elevation changed to the point where at Connors Pass I stopped so I could throw snowballs at my own car while my wife laughed. It made for as good a diversion on the drive as any. 

Around dinnertime, we pulled in to the sleepy town of Ely, Nevada. It made me think of what Moab would look like if you took away all the biking and replaced it with casinos with aging facades. My wife sketched the main thoroughfare in the parked car while while I sat in the driver’s seat looking for cyclists. 

I saw none. I missed Moab.

Click here for Morning 8.

Nine Mornings to California: Morning 6 - Moab, Utah

Morning 6: (Thursday, May 7) Moab, UT

I didn’t sleep much the night before. I was too excited because the only driving that I was to do today was to trailheads. We couldn’t have picked a better place to interrupt our seven-day streak of filling the gas tank at least once daily. 

Moab. Where the mountain bikes roam free. Where the dune buggies parallel park in front of the ice cream shop. Where muddy clothes are socially acceptable yet infrequently spotted. Where I got a haircut - at Legends Barber Shop.

It’s also a place where I was reminded of the differences between road bike culture and mountain bike culture. While I can't, for the life of me, understand the whippet-looking, metric system-using, Strava-worshipping road bike culture I do identify with them more for the following reason: when I turn into a parking lot and successfully stop, I don’t do it again to show my friends or break out the GoPro to tape them doing the same maneuver. 

Likewise, when I look at a map and realize that my hotel is only three and a half miles to the legendary SlickRock Trail my first impulse is to #choosethebike.

This was one of those times it’s wrong to #choosethebike, and I blame my road bike mentality for my error. 3.5 miles is a warmup on a road bike. In Moab, 3.5 miles - almost completely straight up - requires a full stomach, first-aid kit, spare tube, patch kit, wire ties, tire levers, minitool, pump, paper towels, crescent wrench, Otter case for the iPhone, signal flares, a half a gallon of water and snacks. 

I’ve found the key to climbs like this - especially if you didn’t drink any coffee or eat anything before leaving the hotel - is to slow your pace as soon as you feel like you are going to die. 

Really. It helps.

Also it’s good to occasionally look down to see how far you’ve come.

Every time I thought I neared the top it seemed like more road stretched ahead. 

Eventually, I arrived at signs indicating that I was very close…and I realized that whoever named these trails was equally inventive as the Kingdom Trails people in Vermont.

Shortly after passing this sign I passed a campground with about a dozen RV’s on the left and came to the SlickRock bike trail parking lot that had only two cars. It was, after all, pretty early in the morning on a weekday. Even though I was pretty tired from my climb and wanted coffee, I pedaled eagerly inside.

No matter where you’ve mountain biked in the past nothing really prepares you for the SlickRock trail. I felt as though I was riding along the contours of an asteroid or a three-dimensional Salvador Dali painting of sand dunes. The sandstone isn’t ‘slick’ and my tires had plenty of grip as I bounced toward the sunlight.

And when I got there, the landscape took my breath away.

All I needed was C-3PO standing next to me saying: “What a desolate place this is.”

The SlickRock bike trail has to be seen to be believed. It is the most otherworldly place I have ever ridden and just an extraordinary place to ride.

After taking this one selfie, I blasted back down the hill to the hotel and finally had coffee. I rejoined my wife and after breakfast we drove into Arches National Park - which is among the many national parks in the U.S. that is endangered by the massive numbers of cars that lumber through each day - especially in the summer. We learned that a new parking lot had been built in the park to accommodate more guests, but even today it was quite full - and I hope it will eventually go the route of Denali National Park in Alaska and only allow buses through. 

So for now, we drove through and even though parking was a hassle it didn’t stop us from enjoying a hike through a stunning place - that is also featured in the opening sequence of ‘Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.’

We did a nice hike up to the arch that is featured in Utah’s license plates (and, hilariously enough, on the back of a Cruise America RV we followed into the park).

When we stopped to rest, my wife sketched Delicate Arch while I just marveled, took pictures of tourists taking pictures of themselves in front of the arch, and marveled some more. 

Later that afternoon, when we were done with our hike, we returned to downtown Moab and enjoyed some pretty extraordinary quesadillas from the Quesadillas Mobilla food truck. If you go to Moab, it won’t be hard to find. 

Thus fueled, I returned to SlickRock trail. Only this time, I brought my car and my wife - who said she’d sketch the bikers while I rode on the trail and send a search party if I didn't come back before nightfall.

I rode on the big loop first until I realized I’d never be able to ride the full 13 miles  before we’d have to go to dinner. I slowly let go of the road bike mindset, turned back, and hit the practice loop - which didn't seem less difficult, terrain-wise, as the main trail.

It was during this period I realized I was putting an incredible amount of faith in the mountain bike I had built. However, it had served me well up to this point and the Avid brakes I had installed after my disaster in Vermont with the ‘RC Cola’ brand equivalent, I could go very slowly on downhills, which on a lot of stretches is necessary. However, it put a lot of strain on my back tire and my valve was unexpectedly severed by the rim of the bike on one of the downhills. The sudden sound of air rushing out threw me off my game just a little.

I wasn’t hurt when this happened. In fact I bailed onto my feet - graceful and cat-like I’m sure - when I reached to the bottom of the hill.

However the tire was irreparable. Lucky for me - and a must for anyone attempting to do this on this trail - I know how to fix a flat tire (and, accidentally separated from most of my mountain bike kit when I moved out of my house in Connecticut, I had a spare tube bought the day before at University Bikes in Boulder).

I may take this photo and put big, old fashioned cursive letters on it that read: Greetings from Moab!

Sitting next to a cactus, in almost complete silence, I fixed the tire in less than ten minutes and continued on. I wished my cousin, the Mountain Bike Jedi Master himself, was there with me. Mostly for the company but also so I’d have someone to ride ahead of me so I could see how he’d handle the terrain.  

While we’re on the subject of my cousin: he was also helpful in putting me in touch with a couple of area friends of his who knew the trails well and wanted to give me advice where to go. Both, who didn’t know me from Adam, sent me detailed emails - which I thanked them for profusely and shall keep for future reference. 

I rejoined my wife, made her swear not to sell her beautiful sketch of the mountain bikers to anyone but me, and we put the SlickRock trail in the rearview mirror. 

But I'll see it through the windshield again someday. 

Click here for Morning 7.