Brian is a fifth grade elementary teacher and is constantly on the lookout for interesting items to introduce to his class. He was continually formulating questions and exercises for his students from historical markers and geographic landmarks. One of the questions was, “How many times did I cross the 45th Parallel?” (The answer is four.) Each crossing was celebrated with a picture of Brian standing in front of the sign announcing the 45th Parallel.

Shortly after leaving the town of Leland in the Leelanau Peninsula I was not too surprised to see Brian pointing wildly at the shoulder of the road. I looked up to see the familiar green sign announcing our final crossing of the parallel. I rolled to a stop and started to pull the camera from my handlebar bag.

“Did you see it?” Brian asked excitedly.

“Well, yea. It’s right behind you.”

“No, no, no! Not the sign. The body! The body in the wheelbarrow!”

“What!?”

“There’s a body in the wheelbarrow. Right back there.”

I couldn’t understand what he was raving about and I sure didn’t see a wheelbarrow, let alone a body.

“There’s a body back there, really! I saw his face.”

I looked back about 20 yards down the road and saw the wheelbarrow with a pick and shovel and a heap of grey in it. I suggested that we take the picture of him and the sign before we went back to look at a load of dirt.

If only the FBI were as perceptive as Brian. They could have saved a lot of money and embarrassment, let alone not having to rebuild a barn.

There he was, in a grey trench coat and fedora, laying face down in the wheelbarrow. There was even a highly relevant clue to the identity of the occupant posted next to the wheelbarrow.

Brian is ready for a role on CSI.

Our experience at the Platt River Campground (run by the Federal Government) did not have the successful outcome that we had come to expect after our dealings with Michigan State Park system. We walked out of the Ranger’s office with a list of alternate campgrounds and the prospect of 15 additional miles on the road.

I had cell service and called a private campground, the Betsie River Camp Site that was just off of our route. The first response to our inquiry about the availability of a camp site was that they were full. I explained that we were two guys on bicycles with two small tents; the lady said that she had a place where we could set up. I said that we would be there in about two hours.

The ride to the camp was uneventful. We made a stop at a supermarket in Frankfort and picked up dinner on the deli aisle.

The Betsie River Camp Site is on River Road just south of Frankfort. It is right on the Betsie Valley Trail, a 22 mile trail that runs from Frankfort to Thompsonville.

We have often written that meeting nice people is one of the best parts of bicycle touring. The nice person at the center of this story is Barbara Lavely who was willing to listen to our problem and offer up a solution.

Thanks, Barb.

Wes