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The waitress seated us on an enclosed wooden porch at the back of the building. The porch overlooked an inlet from the lake, and we watched an occasional small watercraft chug in or out of the inlet. I had a "fishburger", made with two pieces of fried pickerel and accompanied by French fries. It was a delicious lunch. A NHL player, who was from the area, owned the restaurant. (The region was very much hockey territory, and I was surprised at the number of small towns with hockey arenas.)
After lunch we cycled down to the waterfront, where preparations were underway for a weekend festival. The town had a lighthouse near the waterfront, and a beautiful mural that depicted the history of the port. Many of our fellow riders stopped at an ice cream shop across from the restaurant for a snack.
Continuing eastward, we had frequent beautiful views of the lake. After an hour or two, we came to the quaint town of Port Rowan. As we turned into the town, we could see a bay created by the mainland and Long Point. A sign explained that Long Point was a biosphere reserve, one of many around the world. We decided to take a break, and quickly found an ice cream shop with dozens of flavors of yogurt and ice cream. By the time that I parked my bike and entered the shop, Corky was sitting at a table with three strangers, eating ice cream and entertaining them with his stories. I had a pineapple yogurt cone and wandered down the street to a nearby pharmacy to pick up a few things. The pharmacy, while modern, had old-time cabinets and a window display of old apothecary items.
As we left the town, Corky was chatting with more tourists, telling them about our journey. I rode up and said, "Be careful, he's an escaped convict!", but they did not seem to believe me. A mile or two outside of town we spotted an old graveyard, in which the headstones had been incorporated into a cement wall so that they would better stand up to the weather. I stopped to take pictures, Corky waited for me, and we rode on together. We soon came to a blueberry farm, where people were picking their own berries. We stopped and bought a quart of blueberries from the owner. We relaxed and munched on the berries for a while, and then rode through more pretty towns, past tobacco farms, and up and down some large rolling hills. At a water break we stopped and chatted with Satoru, a young Japanese gentleman who was in the midst of a 3-month long, self-contained, bicycle ride across America. He carried all of his equipment on his bike, including a guitar.
After visiting with Satoru, we rode into Port Dover, our home for the evening, after cycling 98 miles for the day. At the Dover Cliffs Retirement Home, near the end of the ride, a few of the residents sat outside and cheered us on.
Rather than stop just short of 100 miles, Corky and I decided to ride around a bit more and get a century ride in. We rode down to the waterfront, finding a beautiful sandy beach that was surprisingly crowded considering the cool weather. Corky promptly walked his bike to the water, laid it down, peeled off his shirt, shoes, and socks, and waded in. I followed, and we splashed around in the surprisingly warm water for a few minutes.
We rode back to the school, set up our tents, and joined Fr. Jim for dinner at the Legion hall. We were served a delicious pickerel dinner, and given a ribbon to remember the evening. After dinner we rode back to the waterfront and walked out on the pier, gazing at ships and islands through binoculars. We sat on the pier to watch the sun set over the lake, ending a wonderful day.
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