Cycling the Buckeye Trail from Waterville to Findley State Park

Meeting kind strangers, exploring historic towns, and discovering Buckeye Trail hospitality from Waterville to Findley State Park

Section Hike (Bike): Friday, November 22 to Monday, November 25, 2019

The hike from Waterville, Ohio to Findley State Park was one of my more enjoyable outings, despite the Buckeye Trail there being completely either on-road or rail-trail. Because of this, I opted to ride my bike instead of walk this section, expecting it to be a rather dull stretch. What was so remarkable, however, were the numerous wonderful people whom I met. Friday, November 22nd I drove to Findley State Park on Friday morning to park my van, as this would be the end of my journey. John Nemcik, section supervisor of the Defiance Section, met me there. We put my big recumbent bike on his trailer, and he took me back to Waterville. The drive was most enjoyable. John is a retired military and commercial pilot, and an entertaining conversationalist. I listened to his many stories, all suffused with a keen sense of humor. I had contacted him a few weeks prior, and he kindly offered to shuttle me wherever I needed to go and do what he could to assist me on my hike. It took him all morning to drive me. Such is the BTA family.

At Waterville, I crossed the bridge over the Maumee River without a problem, despite all the construction of a new structure. Shortly, I arrived in the little village of Haskins, and had a meal at Mailpouch Tavern. Riding rural roads, I arrived at the next town, Pemberville. There I took a coffee break and visited Beeker’s Country Store, an interesting shop with old-fashioned trinkets, candy, and memorabilia. Continuing on again, I stopped in Woodville to give my legs a break, as they were getting sore. Lazy as I am, I do no training prior to any outings, so I suffer the consequences. I found the local history museum my excuse to stop. I talked to the guide on duty. I suspect I was a rare visitor, and he took pleasure taking me around the exhibits and telling me of the area’s notable people and events. He was dressed like Johnny Cash, all in black. He said he was a graduate of the Methodist Seminary in Delaware. Pastoring a church was not his calling, but he was going to Toledo that night to give a sermon at a homeless shelter. He kindly ushered me out, as it was closing time and he had to leave for his ministerial duties. My legs felt better as I saddled up again.

My stop for the day was the little town of Elmore. I arrived in the late afternoon, and took a few minutes to scope out the “downtown”. I then found the local American Legion Post. I had received permission to camp on their property. There was no one at the building to check in with, so I just set up my tent in the grassy area behind.

Saturday, November 23

I got up at 7:30. I think the thing I detest most about camping is breaking camp and repacking. It was quite cold, with frost covering everything that was not in the tent, and my fingers went numb. I had a little alcohol stove I brought for such situations, but I could not get it to light with the piddly little cigarette lighter I had. The local policeman drove up about then. I greeted him with a smile and told him I was following the Buckeye Trail and had received permission by the American Legion to stay there for the night. Perhaps he had seen me there on his rounds during the night? The conversation was pleasant and he said he knew I wasn’t bothering anyone, and wished me well. It was a nice start to the day. I asked where to get a cup of coffee and he suggested the Village Inn. I followed his advice and warmed myself with some bean brew and a good breakfast. More importantly, I thawed out my aching fingers.

The North Coast Inland Trail (NCIT) begins in Elmore. It is a nice paved rail-trail that the Buckeye Trail now follows. It was an easy ride through the little burg of Lindsey, and then on to Fremont. I stopped to visit the Hayes Presidential Museum and Library. The kind people at the museum allowed me to bring my bike into the building. I enjoyed the exhibits highlighting the life of our 19th President and his wife, Lucy.

Afterwards, I bought a box of matches, since my cigarette lighter wasn’t worth a damn and continued along the trail, parallel to a railroad track. Several long trains chugged by me as I pedaled. I noticed several cats along the way. As soon as the cats would see me approaching, they would scamper off into the nearest brush, hanker down, and stare at me until I passed.

My next destination was Bellevue—a fairly good sized town. The trail follows the main drag into the downtown. On the far east end, I found the local VFW Post 1238. Bob, the quartermaster, had given me permission to stay on the property. When I checked in with the bartender, the lady informed me that a local church was having a free Thanksgiving dinner. I said thanks, but I planned to go downtown for my dinner. While setting up my tent in the shelter house behind the building, a man and woman walked out and invited me to their feast. They made it hard to say no! The two escorted me to their church. It was a small church of about 50 members, and they have been putting on this community event for the past 15 years. Free to anyone and no donations accepted. I went through the line of food and was offered more fare than I could possibly eat. Sitting down at a table, Cheryl, the lady who came out to my tent, joined me. It was heartening to see how much her church community meant to her. It was nice to be a small part of such a Christian gathering. I’m not particularly religious, but I admire people putting their faith into such happy endeavors.

One of the things about being out in November are the long nights. It’s dark at 6 PM. The VFW is private, but they welcomed this wayward stranger. My spirits were warmed with cheap spirits from the bar as I reviewed my maps and checked in with family on the phone. Sixties and seventies music from the jukebox filled the room. The head man, Bill, came over and introduced himself, and made me most welcome. He expressed his concern with my being out in the elements during a snowstorm with freezing rain and hoped I’d sleep in the carport. I did not, save for moving my bike there. I went to bed, snug in my tent despite the elements outside. I slept well, other than all the racket of the incessant trains that went by on the nearby double tracks, blowing their whistles all night.

Sunday, November 24

Despite the night’s inclement weather, the morning was clear and pleasant. I packed up my gear on the bike. The trail beyond this point was unpaved, the surface being a crushed gravel surface, smooth, but a bit wet and soft from the previous night’s precipitation. While the day began as sunny and clear, clouds soon filled the sky. As usual, I had the trail all to myself, except for a couple of young runners. Two separate pairs of Bald Eagles flew over the path. Just prior to Norwalk, I stopped to admire the old masonry RR bridge over the Huron River the trail crossed on, built in the 1800’s. I am struck by the engineering and artistry of those who created these stone masterpieces in the days prior to power equipment. I just cannot fathom how these beautiful structures were built back then. In downtown Norwalk, I stopped at the Main Street Café for a meal, but the main reason was to warm my cold feet. The last leg of my ride was to the village of Wakeman, much of it with woods on either side of the trail. About three miles prior to Wakeman, the gravel path ended, and one had to ride roads to get to the village.

I was later told that with the railroad bed gone, the land was now agricultural fields in the possession of farmers who have no intent of forfeiting their land. I called Steve Matus, the Village Administrator. He told me to pitch my tent on the grounds of the police station. I did so, a bit tricky in the wind, everything blowing this way and that. It’s been my experience whenever in northern Ohio, it’s windier than a preacher at a revival.

I was wandering the village when Steve called me back. He suggested that we meet at The Elevator, named for the purpose it once served by the RR tracks. It had since been converted into a restaurant bar. Steve and his girlfriend, Sherri, soon pulled up in a pickup truck. We exchanged greetings and introductions, and went in to the Elevator for a couple of festive beers—Great Lakes Christmas Ale with cinnamon crusted around the edge of the glass. Steve was long-time friends with the lady behind the bar, Mary Beth. Everyone in town knows Steve. He told me he is a retired high school teacher and coach, and now fills his time as the Village Administrator, custodian and “go to man” at his local Catholic Church. He was one of those very friendly people who is very easy to get to know and most interesting to talk to. Afterwards, he and Sherri drove me around the village and then dropped me off at the local pizza place for me to eat before resting for the night.

Monday, November 25

When I just about done loading up my bike, Steve rolled in on his truck, and invited me to breakfast. Before we headed over to Sterk’s Restaurant, he introduced me to the police chief, Tim, who said I owed them $39.95 for the night, with a grin. We took seats at the counter in the restaurant. I suspect we were there an hour and a half, talking with a rotating influx of local characters—all very ornery old men. With the stories, jokes, comments, and teasing the waitress, all I did was laugh the whole time. Steve knew everyone. It’s amazing what a small world it is. One of the old gents said his father grew up in Shawnee. The fellow I was sitting next to, Dave, said he had land and a cabin near Londonderry on the Buckeye Trail. I showed him a photo I took of a sign on my hike there, and he exclaimed, “That’s MY sign!” What are the odds? The humor of Dave’s sign made me laugh at the time I took the photo. Listening to Dave, it did not surprise me that it was his. Steve later told me that Dave Buscher was internationally known in the racing world (when I got back home, I checked….he’s all over the internet). Dave built performance engines and had a very successful business he started from nothing. He’s now retired.

Steve and I said our goodbyes. I felt like I had been treated like a celebrity in Wakemen. Steve’s kindness and generosity, and that of the village, was almost unbelievable. Of all the places I’ve visited on the Buckeye Trail, little Wakeman holds first place for hospitality. Before leaving town, I stopped at the local park, photographed the historic sign and RR bridge that was sister to the one I admired west of Norwalk. The trail going east was once again paved with asphalt. About a mile or two out of town, the BT left the NCIT and turned south on country roads. It was a quiet ride through the rural farm country of this part of the state. I saw a buck cross the road ahead of me on a full run. It was amazing to see how these animals can move. He darted across a very large field in almost no time. The boy was definitely in a hurry to get somewhere or avoid something behind him! I thought it must’ve been hunting season. Eighteen miles later I arrived at Findley State Park. My van was still there, with all four wheels and unmarked. I packed up and returned home. Another great outing!