It only takes three hours to reach Milford, Ohio from Owensboro. The drive is everything I love (cue sarcasm) lots of bridges over water, big hills that keep you from seeing beyond them and plenty of ravines on either side of the highway. Seriously, I cannot for the life of me understand why the transportation authority thought having inclines guaranteed to make a car flip over if it goes off the highway was smart.
Once again, it’s raining. It has been stalking our trip from the moment we entered Mobile. Every day, I look at the weather map and see a green glob hovering over wherever I’m driving. Slick highways and roads are just what you look forward to when driving over bridges with other drivers still motoring at eighty miles per hour.
More than once, I think to myself, I’m a total flatlander. I like my roads with nothing more than the occasional retention pond. I keep my grip at ten and two o’clock and slow down anytime a bridge appears. I am sure I’m the favorite guest to the highway party for the cars behind me.
An hour into the drive, my worst nightmare comes true. There is a problem with the car. My air conditioning is blowing lukewarm air. A car repair four states from your home is not what the doctor ordered. It is not something I can just ignore. We’re 150 miles from a hotel on a cross-country trip in 90-degree weather. Rolling down the window does nothing as David points out more than once. I must get it fixed and I have no way to locate a shop that won’t ream my wallet over.
Hoping its just low coolant, I pull off and stop at the first shop I see, Center Street Service. The shop is bustling, and the service manager gives me a dubious look when I ask if he can look at the car asap. There are several cars ahead of me. I explain my situation and describe the purpose and nature of my trip. I’m blatantly trying to appeal to either his patriotic side or pity for a cross country traveler.
The ploy works. He squeezes me in and I’m back on the road in two hours. The issue was only low coolant. I’m topped off with a cost below two hundred dollars.
We make it to Milford later than expected, but with enough time to explore the area. The first thing I do is visit the local bike shop, Bishop’s Bicycles, to find out the location for the Ohio to Erie trailhead. The trail is part of the Great American Rail Trail and the Underground Railroad route.
The state of Ohio plays an important part in the journey of escaped slaves. Ohio marked the beginning point where escapees could, if not relax, certainly breathe easier. Posse’s chasing or looking for them did not continue into Ohio in mass numbers, and the number of safe houses and abolitionists increased. They were not safe yet, but they were safer. This is one aspect of American history I do not think gets enough attention or credit.
The underground railroad could not exist, but for the help of white Americans that did not agree with slavery. A safe house was not just a home or location hidden from view. It included places; slavers would not think to look for a slave. In the movie biopic, Harriet, there is a scene where she hides in the wagon of a Mennonite. In the scene it is quite obvious the white owner of the wagon knows Harriet Tubman is there, but he lets her hide. It’s a subtle scene, designed for the film to show there were white Americans who had no use for slavery.
The Ohio to Erie trail in total is 272 miles. Fifty miles of it is on the Underground route from Milford to Xenia. My goal is to ride the fifty miles, but I’m dubious about my brother. Nothing has gone well on that front thus far. Still, it is the first time we have reached a proper trail. A small wrinkle is thrown into my plan immediately when a local resident on the trail alerts me to a blocked off section. Construction is being done about 11 miles down the trail. Rolling with the punch, I decide I will ride the 11 miles on my own in the morning, then skip ahead and ride with David later in the day.
Trail head located, David and I spend the rest of the day exploring Milford.
Whatever picture you have in your mind for Main Street, small town Americana; Milford fits the picture. I freaking love this town. Walking down Main Street, the shops are eclectic and charming. There is not a single chain store in sight.
The homes in the surrounding neighborhood are what I like to call normal houses. Homes that are two stories and have actual yards around them. I love my resident state of Florida, but two feet between houses and pools in back are not yards. If you do not have a riding lawn mower in Milford, you’re in for a long day in the summer heat cutting grass.
Store fronts and homes display the American flag. There is even a kid’s bike decorated to hilt in red, white, and blue in front of a bank. It is what I hoped to see on my trip. Little did I know that the news was raging at that moment with comments from a quite successful recipient of all America offers, calling the flag “problematic.” I have an entry here about that.
David and I take pictures of everything we can. We do not have any idea what might be considered great photo material, I’m just trying to get snapshots that show the feel of the town. David is taking pictures of anything he finds interesting. Sometimes that’s a picture on a wall. Other times it is a cute girl.
Unfortunately, I take too long to download the photo’s he took on his phone and David deletes them. I must move quick with this boy, and I wonder why I bothered getting him a phone with 128 gigs of memory. He doesn’t save a damn thing on his phone.
We wander for an hour or two before getting dinner at a restaurant named Padrino’s. The food is great and staff friendly. No one is overtly shocked by my trip. They are used to bikers and tourers.
Despite the emergency and unanticipated repair expense it is a good day. It is what I imagined the trip could be. It is good to receive this ray of sunshine, because day six would see David rain on my parade.
