Bike Commuting to and from the Airport

So far, it's been two months of easy car-free living in a motor city. For us, it's not the lack of a car which is the challenge, it's acclimating to a city designed entirely for cars and lacking a decent public transit system. Everyone else in our house owns/shares a vehicle or has several, making the household motors outnumber the dwellers considerably. Our own surplus of bicycles can't even do that. The number of vehicles spread among our friends makes for an unparalleled temptation to leave the bicycle at home and jump in someone's car. My commitment to bike commuting was put to the test last weekend, when I had to work near the airport, but thankfully I did not buckle to the appeal of convenience. Forty-five miles of bike commuting later, I felt triumphant and not very sore at all.

I should first explain why I was working so very far away. When in Chicago, I sometimes assist at the auditions for a college performing arts conservatory. Now that I've moved, I can work the Detroit auditions as well. When I agreed to do this, I had assumed they would be held downtown, which is only a ten minute bike ride away from me. Likewise, when I'd signed up to crash the music festival and bars in Ferndale the night before with the Detroit Party Marching Band, I had pictured an early but easy morning. As it turned out, the auditions were being held out near the airport, about twenty miles away. Granted, we had opted to accept a ride with my bandmates to the Ferndale show, but this was because so many people were already driving and we could thus avoid a late and sleepy bike ride through Highland Park. However, asking to borrow somebody's car the next morning seemed just wrong, as it would be only out of laziness rather than a safety concern.

Taking the bus was out of the question. According to google maps, a bus to the airport that early on a Sunday morning would take three hours, while biking would only take two. Likewise, the transit option included walking and various transfers, while biking was a sure thing and likely faster than predicted. Sure, there is always the risk of a flat tire or other malfunction, but these are just as likely - but way slower to fix - with a car. My only concern was that the streets would still be dark for the ride West on Warren, but as it neared 6 AM, the skies started to lighten. Much to my delight, Kyle was awake and eager to join me for a dawn bike ride. This made the commute infinitely better. The bike ride was indeed peaceful and gorgeous. He had planned to escort me to the edge of town, but wound up accompanying me all the way to Telegraph, where we found a cozy diner where he could finally finish War and Peace before heading back to wrench bikes at noon. I carried on for the next ten miles alone, enjoying the relative lack of traffic on a Sunday morning.

first sign of bacon after Dearborn

Work was a piece of cake compared to my commute. After a few hours of sitting at a greeter table and then interviewing prospective students, I was free to enjoy the rest of my day. All told, my commute was indeed longer than the actual time spent at my destination. I had taken the most direct route to the airport, making only a few turns, so as not to get lost in my sleep-deprived haze. On the ride back, I decided to be more creative in my routing, loosely following the walking directions on my phone toward the Southwest. I immediately deviated from my directions to check out a road with the name Ruff in it. I was well rewarded on the way, finding a blocked-off dirt road covered in yellow flowers. I continued onto the road which was indeed rough, splitting off before it ended to rejoin my intended path. While I was working, Kyle had sent me pictures of horses at pasture and abandoned buildings from his ride home along Joy, so I returned the favor while he was at work, sending him a variety of samples of my ride.

this is labeled as a street on google maps

I continued along at a good pace until I was distracted by a charming donut shop in Allen Park. I had eaten mostly pastries all day, but still couldn't resist a chance to take a break at a cute little cafe. I sat and chatted with the girls behind the counter for a bit, rehydrating and packing away some of my treats for Kyle, who is way more into donuts than I am. I was still only halfway to my destination at this point, which was still several miles from home.

the bike waiting for me outside an old donut shop

At first, I couldn't figure out why Allen Park sounded so familiar. Once I came upon a familiar looking Coney Dog, though, I remembered that we had stopped there for lunch on our post-move ride home from the airport. Strangely enough, our completely uninformed route into the city had been somewhat clever after all. I'm still sure there are better ways to bike to and from the airport, yet there are so many unknown variables including traffic flow and random jerks, so really there is never a perfect route anywhere without a bike lane. Fortunately, Sunday traffic remained calm enough that I was generally alone in my lane.

whatever used to be next to the bowling alley

I was feeling pretty good about my routing until I saw the signs for the Ford Museum. Somehow, despite my intentions to keep South, I had made a wrong turn and wound up in Dearborn. Not wanting to feel the defeat of backtracking the way I came, I pulled out my smart phone and figured out a different set of direction towards Southwest. On the way, I got to see a massive test-driving course (complete with hills), kayaks floating along the Rouge River, the Dearborn animal shelter, and a beautiful waterfront industrial area. Having somehow never gone on an extensive bike tour, this meandering exploration of outer Detroit was getting me more eager than ever to try.

all sorts of traffic on Cinco de Mayo

Gradually the industry faded away and I came upon a mosque and then a cemetery. As soon as I crossed the border into Detroit, I saw the first bike lane in twenty miles... and of course within blocks I found it blocked by an idling undercover cop car. The ups and downs of Detroit, all so well characterized in just one stretch of road. I had deliberately routed myself through Southwest, hoping to catch a glimpse of this historic Mexican neighborhood on Cinco de Mayo. The parade had already passed, but the aftermath made for good people watching. I also enjoyed breezing past the traffic jam in my wide open bike lane. Everything smelled delicious and the streets were still a huge party. I stopped for a while at a flea market in a corner lot, buying some tools and knickknacks and learning that the sale happens every weekend. On my way out of the neighborhood, I saw six bicycles on the same corner, heading in various directions. I had missed Detroit during my suburban ride. In front of the train station, hip young adults snapped pictures and played bocce. I squirmed slightly. On my ride home, I passed the East Side Riders, who seemed to be out for a ride to on that beautiful afternoon.

While I had an incredible return ride, there were some moments I could have done without, especially on three hours sleep. Some of the roads were both too busy with traffic and full of potholes, which meant that the long ride resulted mostly in sore hands from gripping hard on my bars. I learned an important lesson on this ride - don't toss three bananas into a bag full of bike tools and strap it loosely to your front rack. I was also graced by the Midwest's famous multi-directional wind, which seems to sweep down upon cyclists from overhead. No matter which direction you are biking, the wind is almost never at your back in this part of the country. On the plus side, I was never honked at or menaced during all those hours of riding, and was only subjected to a couple of ambivalent shouts about the sidewalk. In the future, if I'm offered a ride to the airport, I would certainly rather ride my bike there.

xo
Leslie

Kyle says "Viva bici!"