Month: July 2022

What a great day. I had never been to Ann Arbor, and since giving up my prejudice against small cities I have really grown to love some. University towns, with their bookstores and bike lanes, definitely rank near the top, and Ann Arbor has a whole dang river running through it to boot.

I woke up fairly early and drank coffee on our deck, read some Nora Ephron (our room had a great book collection), and watched the bold and well-fed red squirrels dart around the various decks adorning the house, each with umbrellas for shade and decorated with whimsical art and plants.

When Andrew woke up, we had breakfast in the equally charmingly-appointed kitchen/dining area. The owner was apparently an antiques dealer at some point (among other careers—she also wrote a book on time management for women and one on inn-keeping), and there was so much to look at. Emily once described my style as tending toward something like “artsy eclectic maximalism,” and I think this house exemplified the aesthetic, with an emphasis on rainbows and vintage toys.

After breakfast, we spent a couple of hours on the less fun aspect of the trip: logistics. Andrew has been graciously carrying the weight of our house and pets and plants (which are apparently flourishing under his care!), and while I have been free-birding it, he has patiently waited for me to get to a point where I can pick a firm end date. Today was that day: there were plane tickets to be bought and accommodations and car rental reservations to be made.

As thing were turning out, my end date was looking to be a Monday, not ideal for Andrew’s work schedule. So we spent some time splitting up longer—and mountainous—days in the east and adjusting the spreadsheet until we had a Bar Harbor arrival date of Friday, August 19. That in place, we dealt with the other items with dispatch and liberated ourselves into the beautiful afternoon.

Our first stop, foolishly, was a used bookstore. Dawn Treader (“Is that some kind of religious or sci fi bookstore? Let’s just pop in and see.”) turned out to be an excellent bookstore, and we left sometime later sufficiently burdened to necessitate an immediate return trip to our place to drop off our bounty.

We wandered around the Main Street neighborhood, checking out murals and shops and stocking up on snacks (some of us).

Worn out by our touristing, we stopped into brewery for drinks and some truffle fries.

That revived us enough to get us back to the b&b, where we lounged for a bit before heading back out for dinner.

Does it look like all we did was eat and drink delicious things? That is not inaccurate, and it was GREAT.

Sated and beyond, we made our way back to the place for the night. Because Andrew will be my sag wagon for the next couple of days, I’ll be riding without panniers, which feels a little weird. But as I said to him, the only reason to ride with them would be sheer cussedness, so I’m taking advantage. This means tomorrow, already on the short end, will hopefully be a bit faster, and I can get a later start in the morning. Lap of luxury.

Remember that thing I said yesterday about being able to get around/out of Flint without much fuss? That was dumb, I was dumb.

It was absolutely awful for 40+ miles, some of the most unpleasant riding of the trip so far. Unsurprisingly, the pleasant 15-20 miles were my approach to Ann Arbor, with its ample bike lanes and paved trails.

Googlemaps had me on Linden Road out of Flint, the same road I’d come in on. It parallels 23 south from Flint and appeared to be the only thing that went through for a long stretch. It was icky. Four lanes, no shoulder, high curb to grassy berm with no sidewalk. Honestly, that’s fairly rare. Usually it’s an established pattern: you hit a town and the shoulder disappears and the road becomes two lanes. A sidewalk or trail appears, and it may be cracked and poorly maintained and run through dozens of bumpy entrances to strip mall businesses or fast food places, but it keeps you off the road. Not in southern Michigan, it turns out. There was zero acknowledgement of the existence of pedestrians or bikes; even in the residential parts there was no sidewalk communicating between the houses—just grass and then driveway then grass then driveway.

It was not cool, and I didn’t like it. At some point, in desperation, I sat by the road and googled “ride bike Flint to Ann Arbor.” I found a post on a bike forum by a guy who was looking to commute between the two cities and wanted to know about good routes. The advice he got was that if he could make it Brighton there was a nice road from there to Ann Arbor. I looked at the map; Brighton was about 20 miles short of Ann Arbor.

I was also eager to meet up with Andrew, which made me impatient. So I trucked through the miles, realizing not for the first time that some places were not meant to be biked through.

At some point a thing resembling a shoulder appeared, and I was so excited I took a photo.

Then I neared Ann Arbor, and bike lanes and trails appeared, and the Huron River, and also a hill at the top of which was the B&B Andrew had booked for us. It was totally adorable, a loft room with a treehouse feel, and we had a rest day in Ann Arbor ahead of us tomorrow. We walked down to the river path and watched folks tubing down on the lazy current and ogled a great blue heron. Later we went out for tapas and cocktails followed by frozen treats. Totally worth the ride ❤️

I left the coast of Lake Huron today, and I was so busy navigating my way out of Bay City that I neglected to get a final photo. It has been great, Lake Huron 💙💙💙

The day started on the later end; I didn’t get out of the place until 10, and leaving friends is hard! It was a short day to a crappy motel in a destination I wasn’t excited to explore—the seedy outskirts of Flint—so I figured I’d take it slow and enjoy the journey.

Also, the wind had mysteriously turned northward, directly into my face for the only sustained southward portion of my trip 😒 Road don’t care, weather don’t care. And, as I remind myself regularly, none of it compares to the plains winds.

Bay City, like many lakeside tiny cities with some money, had created a nice trail network along its waterfront. This one had art!

I was to be on US Bike Route 20—part of a growing national bike route network—for the first half of the day, which was nice for several reasons. It doesn’t say much about the quality of the road, honestly, but if it’s signed well, as this one was, it tells drivers you belong there and it keeps you from having to stop to verify turns.

I’m still free-mapping it until early Ohio, so this means a mix of state bike maps, Googlemaps routing, and real-time assessments and decisions.

Joyce and I figured out some years back that it’s easier to memorize turn-by-turn directions if you separate the direction of the turn from the street name, effectively memorizing two sets of simple data instead of one complicated one. For example: LRRL; Smith, Healy, E Shore, Hawthorn. Repeat each set a few times, and you’ve got it.

So that’s what I use when the route gets more nuanced, which keeps me from having to stop as often for map checks. The Wahoo device, which I keep on for data even when I’m not running routes on it, also provides a very rough map—when it has one, which it sometimes doesn’t—that I can use for visual cues: “oh, that major-looking road is probably my turn.” And I try to keep a good idea of how long it’ll be between turns; it’s silly to spend nine miles looking for your next turn, and then I can just keep an eye on my mileage and know when to start looking for my road. It’ll be nice to be back in the supportive embrace of the ACA routes with maps, elevation profiles, and cues I’m guessing; it takes that element out of the planning, and I know the route has been vetted. (I’m looking at you, Googlemaps bike routing.)

Though dogged by a persistent headwind that increased in strength throughout the day, as they do, I enjoyed a short stint eastward on trail, a double bonus that I took advantage of by enjoying a break on one of its several thoughtfully placed, shaded benches.

Then the trail ended, as they inevitably do, and I parted ways with USBR 20, because it does not want to go to Flint, while I, apparently, do.

The roads got noticeably worse as I continued south, both the condition of the road and its friendliness to cycling. (I am after all, in the orbit of Flint, a once-big, industrial city with no money anymore. And the outskirts of cities are always dismal.)

I arrived at my motel, and I believe these two photos speak all my words.

I had dinner at the closest place, the Cracker Barrel; Andrew agreed with me that Subway was probably not worth a mile walk. After dinner, I browsed the shop and bought some snacks. This place is so weird.

A 40-second walk back to the motel, and I was in for the night.

Part of my shoddy foundational work in this section of the spreadsheet was that I listed Bay City as my destination following Oscoda (the latter of which I’d undercounted mileage-wise and identified a campground with no showers at [ugh, terrible grammatical construction—sorry, mom]). But the campground I’d planned to stay in and the estimated mileage was to a town 20+ miles short of Bay City. Luis and Adrienne had gotten an Airbnb for us in Bay City based on the info I gave them, and now in order to be able to spend the evening with them—which, of course—I had to ride 80+ miles by a decent hour so we could hang out or beg a lift from them for the last 15-20. It was nice to at least have the option, especially following such a long day yesterday.

They had kept me up past my bedtime though ☺️, so I put my head back down after the 4:30 train went through and didn’t get up until the alarm at 5:30. I pulled myself together in the gently brightening morning, and was on my way at 7.

The stretch of road out of Oscoda is on the lake, and motels, resorts, and charming lakefront cabins abound. Some chose rustic themes, some cottage, and one eye-catching place chose “tiki.”

And again with the sweet lakefront roadside parks.

As I was loving on Lake Huron, a bunch of its local residents decided to go for a paddle.

I was leaving the park when a guy came running over from one of those Mercedes Sprinter (or similar) vans I’ve seen so many of on the road; I’d seen the van pull up, but no one had gotten out. He wanted to know about the trip, and though I’d lingered too long at the park already, he was endearingly excited and flatteringly impressed (he said I had swagger! I’m pretty sure no one has ever said that about me before in my life!), and we chatted for a few minutes. He was very into the undertaking; he’d done Ironmans (Ironmen?) and the like and understood what Andrew tells me The Atlantic refers grandly to as The Pointless Quest.

In any case, the encounter gave me a boost of confidence, even facing another long day, this one with a headwind out of the south much of the day as I head down the pointer finger to the crook of the thumb for my last day on Lake Huron. I’m not riding the thumb this time around; Joyce and I did the whole shebang when we did Mitten Tour, and I didn’t feel like going into Detroit this time around. (Not because I don’t like Detroit! I just have enough cities to navigate over the next several days without adding another one. I can get around Flint without much doing.) Despite the headwind, I was helped along by the flatness of the day’s riding—a negligible 400+ feet of climbing when all was said and done, which is not really climbing at all.

Passing through Tawas I had some pretty trail, though maintenance was spotty.

Then I was back on Lake Huron Circle Tour/M-23, my companion of the last couple of days when there isn’t trail.

Near the end of the day Googlemaps kicked me onto a gravel trail that I had mixed feelings about riding on—it was slower going, and I was eager to meet up with my friends—but which I had to admit was more picturesque than the alternative.

I landed at the Airbnb at 5, and we set up shop on the front porch with beers. Content to hang there (or at least they were kind enough to defer to my inertia), we ordered dinner for delivery and sat out talking and listening to tunes and watching night fall. Knowing I didn’t have a long day tomorrow (phew!) and digging being with my people, I stayed up late and set the alarm for 7:30 (!!!).

I got to see Luis and Adrienne today!! But first I had to ride 96 miles.

When I was planning this trip, I did an enormous amount of the legwork up front: I used the ACA maps, state maps, Googlemaps, and Google and made a spreadsheet with the starting point and destination for each day, including mileage and the place I intended to sleep. This has stood me in good stead over the course of the trip—it takes a lot of the logistical hoopla out of the mix on a day-to-day basis. Even if I decide to switch things up, I have some benchmarks to start with, and Andrew works with me to keep the spreadsheet updated as things move around. It’s been terrific. Where’s the but? Oh, right here: it turns out sometimes I hit a snag in the plotting—too many miles and not enough accommodations, e.g.—and got lazy and didn’t resolve it. I find that out when I get to that day in the spreadsheet and something is not as it should be. This stretch—Rogers City through Ann Arbor or so—appears to be one such spot. Old me, the me yet not yet riding a bike all day every day, decided to fudge a stretch that left me with at least one and possibly two very long days. And now it is turning out those are days my friends are coming to see me, and I want to hang with them.

I spend some time trying to find alternate accommodations to break things up differently and staring at the map (maybe if I stare hard enough the mileage will change?), but ultimately there is not much I can do but keep open the possibility of hitching a ride with them for some miles if I can’t make it.

I haul my butt out of the tent at 5, earlier than I’ve been getting going since the plains, to discover that the passage of summer and my passage into ET mean it no longer gets light at 5:15. But the sun is up by 6 and I’m on the road by 6:30, and the morning starts with beachside trail. BEACHSIDE TRAIL.

When Joyce and I decided to do the Lake Michigan Circle Tour so many years ago, this is kind of what I imagined riding our bikes around the lake would be like: you just ride your bike next to the lake! That is not, in point of fact, how most of it turns out to be. Private property occupies much of the lakefront or the roads don’t go along the lake or the road is between you and the lake or any number of other circumstances. But this was magical: just me and a trail and a sunrise and the lake for a bit.

It was over too soon, but it was glorious.

And then I rode miles. I had a mix of winds, but nothing truly terrible and even some affirmative help. By noon or so it was clear to me that I would be able to make it; I was clocking 12+ mph and doing a good job keeping breaks shorter, despite the plethora of tantalizing roadside parks and other sit-‘n-snack opportunities.

Intermittent stretches of trail continued throughout the day, pleasant little surprises that sometimes popped up even though they weren’t on the map.

Another thing that has been popping up more since I got to the Lower Penninsula: rudely violent pro-Trump signage. I’ve seen Trump signs on and off throughout the trip, though with lower density than in the past few years, perhaps because we’re between election cycles. It mostly doesn’t bear mention because it’s unsurprising and part of the landscape; one exception was the pickup truck flag in Idaho, whose slogan jarred me. But since I got to lower Michigan it’s been more frequent and aggressive. One house today featured a full-size driveway flagpole with two flags, one reading “TRUMP 2024: FUCK YOUR FEELINGS” and one “Let’s Go Brandon.” Later, in the parking lot of a transport company next to where I waited for a freight train to pass, a pickup sported four flags, only three of which I could read: another of the ridiculously childish “Let’s Go Brandon” flags, a Trump 2024 flag, and one that featured a nuclear warhead and the words “Go ahead and try it.”

I pound through the miles, enjoying some of the prettiest lakeside riding I’ve done all trip: Lake Huron is a lovely circle tour, with a lot more lake-adjacent riding than I’ve gotten accustomed to 💙

I make camp by just after 5 and quickly shower and set up, after which Luis and Adrienne come get me bearing hugs and a birthday bottle of my favorite rum, a find of my dad’s that has become a favorite of everyone I introduce to it. We head out to dinner at the only place open in Oscoda on a Monday night, a bar & grill called The Office, and trip over our words catching up with each other. After dinner, we go back to their utterly charming cabin for a quick nightcap, and then they drop me off at my campground. As I’m crawling into my tent, a freight train roars past maybe 15 feet behind me. I’d noticed the railroad tracks I bumped over as I entered the campground, but my slow and tired brain hadn’t done the math. As it turned out, the math involved 10:30 and 4:30 trains with awfully loud whistles. KOA Holiday! It turns out 96 is a lot of miles, though, and within seconds of the train noise fading I am dead asleep.

Leaving my people (and a luxurious rest day!) behind is hard, and I set out a little later than intended, around 9:30. It wasn’t a long day, but I had to get across the Mackinac Bridge via Bridge Authority transport—bikes and pedestrians aren’t allowed on the bridge.

I fumbled my way to the toll plaza, but was on the wrong side of the road; the website said to go to the Admin building, across the way. After scratching my head a bit, I realized there were stairs up and over the toll booth, forming a pedway of sorts. Reluctantly, I took all my bags off and piece by piece portaged my stuff and bike over the toll booths. I was so hot and cranky I didn’t even stop to take a picture of the bridge from the top. Oy.

When I had everything in one place, I went into the building to let them know I needed a ride and pay. The guy was like “I saw you across the way, and I was hoping you weren’t bringing your stuff over! You know we’d come and pick you up on the other side?” I did not know. I thought I had to come to this building, you see, like the website says. It turns out most people ask the state police across the road to call over for them? In any case, now I know.

The truck came around, and I got my bike loaded up and jumped in. I only have a little snippet of video of my ride across the bridge and brief stint near Lake Michigan because we were mostly chatting. Well, mostly him, about his work in national parks and how he managed to get promoted from park to park “even though this was all through the affirmative action years,” though he ultimately left the feds to come work for the state Bridge Authority in what he described as a stress-free job.

And then I was on trails! Miles of lovely trails that took me from Mackinac City down past Cheboygan.

It was threatening to rain on and off all day, and when I stopped at a market in Benton Township for snacks the cashier let me know there was a pavilion in the park with bathrooms and picnic tables if I needed to hide out from the rain. I decided to take a break there and eat some leftover mac and cheese Tas had packed up for me, and right as I settled down it started to rain in earnest.

As soon as the rain let up a bit, I took off again; I’d futzed around enough that it was 3 pm and I had nearly 30 miles to go, so it was time to put some real miles in.

That didn’t mean I could resist yet another charming Michigan roadside park with a view of Lake Huron.

And then for real some miles for real. I had another stretch of lovely trail (thank you, Michigan!) leading up to my home for the night, P.H. Hoeft State Park. After getting myself set up, I walked out to the beach and enjoyed the heck out of dusk falling over Lake Huron. I love the Great Lakes.

After a late bedtime, I woke up around 7, and Tas lent me her car to go do laundry.

The Captain’s Quarters was pretty empty at that hour, and I was back by 8:30 to lounge and drink coffee and catch up. Around 10, we figured we should do something and pulled ourselves together for a ferry ride to Mackinac Island. We lounged a bit more at the beach until ferry time, and then: FERRY! I love ferries.

We wandered the fudge-shop-lined streets, and I declared St. Ignace the family-friendly version of New Orleans, where all the bars are instead fudge shops. We sampled the wares—duh—and then got a decadent lunch before moving on to a carriage ride of the island.

We visited a butterfly house!

Island-sated, we headed back to the mainland where we rested our tired feet and hung out in our swank apartment, which happened to be right next door to what we were told was the best food in town. When the rush seemed to be subsiding, we headed over for dinner, where I had the best fried cheese curds I’ve had the pleasure of sampling, and I’ve had a fair amount of fried cheese in my day. We also had drinks.

Tas and Sean watched fireworks over the lake while I showered, then we savored our last bit of time together before heading to bed. Rest days with friends are fun.

I woke up at my usual 5 and bustled to head out by 6:30, knowing I had a decently long day and a mix of tail and cross winds. I’ve learned that a challenge of days I’m seeing folks is that my anticipation makes me impatient, and I can lose enjoying the ride. It’s a good thing! I’m happy to see my people. But it’s also a different track, and my brain has trouble working on major parallel tracks sometimes.

After a quick stop at the Paradise (!) convenience store, I ride the mostly deserted 123 through a beautiful morning.

I’m also saying goodbye to Lake Superior today. I’ll drop down to St. Ignace, where I’ll have a few minutes with Lake Michigan to my west–my only encounter with it this trip!–and Lake Huron, my new best lake friend for the moment, to my east.

Because of the aforementioned impatience and my awareness of my medium-long day, I don’t take many pictures. I’m also noticing a bit of melancholy at the dropping south and even more back into the world: Flint, Toledo, Cleveland. I’ve loved being in the U.P.—I have a real soft spot for Michigan and the U.P. in particular.

It is a weird and confusing contradiction that I have only ever lived in major cities yet yearn for places away from people yet won’t drive and night or in bad weather and thus am consigned always to live in cities until they perfect self-driving cars. And also I like cities, and Chicago has a lot of beautiful lakefront. Anyway. I rode 75 miles and made it to St. Ignace to the outstanding Airbnb Tas found, and Sean made me mac and cheese and chicken and Tas made a salad, and we drank beers and looked at the lake, and life was swell. Is swell.

What to say about today. It was a good day of riding, a short but largely enjoyable jaunt up to the far north U.P., where towns and cell service are scant. I headed out of Newberry past all this barbed wire, which turned out to be the Newberry Correctional Facility. Gateway to Tahquamenon Falls!

My day was spent entirely on M-123, which runs perpendicular north from M-28 to Tahquamenon (rhymes with “phenomenon,” the lady at Newberry Campground helpfully offers when I stammer through it) Falls State Park and then back down again to take me out of the U.P. When I saw the campsite situation at Pictured Rocks yesterday, I immediately checked the state park and snagged literally the last tent site for this evening. It’s my final bit of Lake Superior before we part ways, and I love me a good waterfall. I think maybe it was raining when Joyce and I were here? I don’t remember, but I have no recollection of seeing the falls. Which doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! Joyce?

The landscape was green and lush, dotted with lakes and run through with creeks.

Houses were relatively few and far between.

It was nice riding, and I soaked it up, knowing that after this I’d be dropping back down into the lower peninsula and the more populated and dense Midwest, before moving through cities for a goodly stretch.

The traffic was still not insignificant, and when I arrived at the upper falls—which I’d managed to forget was a Whole Thing, including an enormous lodge/restaurant—it was a zoo. I was able to skip the entrance lines because bikes don’t require recreation passports; I made my way through the parking lot madness, stashed my bike behind the restrooms, and set off down the path for the falls viewing area.

Gosh, should I tell you about the man I berated for benignly looking on as his son carved something into the railing with a bottle cap? About the people who ignored the Stay on Trails signs and clambered down into the river at the foot of the falls? About the guy who hit on me, seamlessly moving from a conversation about how the area had been developed to telling me he was leaving the lower peninsula behind for good after four attempts on his life and three houses built for women who didn’t stay?

The falls themselves were gorgeous. I cannot get enough of waterfalls, y’all.

But people. I just don’t know.

After taking in the view, I rode the remaining four miles of my day to the campground, conveniently located a few-minute walk from the lower falls. I set myself up and went on a palate-cleansing walk along some random snippet of the North Country Trail that runs through the park.

After a shower, I walked from the campground to the lower falls, hoping it’d be quieter at the dinner hour. And it was less hectic than earlier in the day, and I had a few quiet minutes to myself as I walked toward the viewing area and bridge to a beach where folks can go in the river and play in the falls.

It was a nice scene, and the waterfalls were very sweet. I have fond memories of waterfall sliding in my childhood, and it made my heart happy to watch some kids encourage their nervous mom to wade in and try the falls, and she did, and she loved it—just blissed out floating down the current for a moment—and then stood up and high-fived her waiting son. I bet it was a highlight of her day.

I made my way back to the campground to make dinner and then read for a while in my tent (mosquitos are the headwind of bugs, man) before knocking off for an early start and a longish day to meet up with Tas and Sean in St. Ignace. ❤️

I had a tailwind! A real one, and all day. It was the best, and I made hay with it. It was much cooler than yesterday, but the rain hadn’t yet happened and was clearly going to. I was fortunate to be able to pack up under just an overcast sky, but I prepped for the inevitable, keeping my plastic bag collection handy. My rain jacket lives outside the panniers, always at the ready.

My original plans to hug the coast and go up to Pictured Rocks and Au Sable Dunes were foiled when I discovered during my roadside park breakfast planning session that there was not a single campsite available in any of the three National Park campgrounds. On a Wednesday! It’s been increasingly hard to get campsites over the last few trips; Joyce and I started reserving for weekends in advance a few years back, and on our first post-COVID tour last year that was essential. This year I booked all my weekends for the first month in advance and never leave a weekend unplanned, and that has proven insufficient preparation: several times I’ve had to change plans because it turns out my intended accommodations are full on a weekday.

This one was a big bummer, but así es. I reworked my plan to go 70 miles straight through on 28, but then noticed the campground I was aiming for—which was first-come-first-serve only, no reservations—had no showers. Figuring I’d make sure there was back-up, I called the only motel in town, and it was fully booked. (When I passed it late in the day, the lot was packed with pickup trucks belonging to SeaLampreyControl.org‽ The Google machine tells me that this is an international commission that “coordinates fisheries research, controls the invasive sea lamprey, and facilitates cooperative fishery management among the state, provincial, tribal, and federal agencies.”)

There was a campground 22 miles on that looked good and had plenty of spots, but 90+ miles seemed a little ambitious; I figured I’d ride to Seney—the showerless campground—and see how the showers vs miles debate played out, assuming Seney had sites and I had choices.

So I rode! With a tailwind!

Right as I departed Munising—the coast, sniff sniff, and my last real place for a stretch of miles—it began raining. And it rained. For two hours, through 20 miles of roadwork, it rained steadily, the sky a low, endless, rain-fat grey. I get stretches of brand new asphalt and my own closed lane for a while, and that is real nice. Then we get to the active work. As I’m riding through the one-lane portion on a milled shoulder, a bulldozer driver leans slightly out of the cab so I can hear him as I pass: “You can’t tell me this is fun!” No, sir, I cannot.

Then the roadwork is over! I’ve ridden 25 miles straight through what would have been a break, pausing only for a damp peanut roll, and right as I’m getting kinda salty about how much I’ve praised Michigan’s roadside amenities and how it’s not living up to my hype: a rest area! I pull in just as the rain is ending and recombobulate myself with the hand dryer and a bench.

By this time it’s clear to me I’m riding on to Newberry. I’m only 27 miles out in the mid afternoon, and I’m covered in grit from cars and trucks spraying me with their wake; I had to rinse the sand from my socks in the bathroom sink. And a tailwind! I reserve a site and move on.

I arrive at the Newberry Campground at the surprisingly early hour of 5 (tailwind tailwind tailwind!) and set up quickly, since it looks like rain again. I get the essentials together for dinner prep.

After beans and rice for dinner, I shower and hide out from the skeeters at the campground office, taking care of various business items. Right as I hit my tent, the rain starts, but I am cozy inside and manage to kill all three mosquitoes that got in before snuggling down for the night.