Life and Doughnuts in Durand

Chris - Itchi-Bon Bakery - Closeup“Would you like some coffee?” was the first thing Chris said to me as I entered her bakery. Maybe she asked this of everyone, or perhaps she saw a chilled, haggard-looking guy in a bike helmet and made a logical conclusion.

Count on my support for anything that locks up teenagers for the night.

Count on my support for anything that locks up teenagers for the night.

Day two of my weekend trip started pleasantly with a short ride from Fenton to Linden, where a nice lady was collecting donations to support a pre-graduation day lock-in for the high school seniors. The next stop was Durand, about fifteen miles away, on what turned out to be mostly dirt roads (mud, ruts, and loose gravel – what’s not to like?), while the morning grew steadily grayer and colder. By the time Durand’s signature railroad depot came into view, my need for coffee and a warm place to drink it would have been evident to Stevie Wonder.

Durand - Itchi-Bon Bakery

Chris and her husband Barry have owned the Itchi-Bon (“number one”) Bakery for 26 years, purchasing it just before they got married. Of the original five Itchi-Bons, which the original owner sold off separately, theirs was the only one left. I’d say the attention they pay to their customers is part of the reason why they’ve lasted. Several people came in while I was there, and Chris spent time chatting with all of them, without neglecting a certain cyclist visiting for the first time.

The continuity came with tradeoffs. Noticing the U-M sweatshirt Chris wore, naturally I asked her if she went there. “Oh, no,” she said. “I never went to college. I’ve never left Durand.” There was no regret in her voice. It was just the way things worked out.

Durand DepotTrains are what built Durand, and they remain a big deal today. Their big annual event, Railroad Days, was coming up the following weekend. The website that describes the festival says, “Talk at the coffee shops and pubs still center around trains,” and it was certainly true that morning. I met a lady helping organize the first-ever Railroad Days 5K run, and we “talked some shop” for a bit. (I’m still waiting to hear from her how it went.)

The coffee at Itchi-Bon is run-of-the-mill stuff (sorry, Chris) but it was hot, and served in a thick mug like you’d see in the coffee shops of fifty years ago. No fancy scones or croissants either, but a wide variety of doughnuts at 75 cents each, or day-old at 40 cents My guess is this is the way Durand likes it, and it was actually very refreshing. I hope nobody from Starbucks is reading this and discovering that there’s a town in America without one.

Chris - Itchi-Bon Bakery 2As for doughnuts, I don’t normally eat them because these days they are mostly air, and have about as much flavor as the bag. Not these. Chris pointed to one with a deep pink color – a “red velvet” doughnut. “We don’t usually get these,” she said. Well, naturally I had to have it, then. (*) It was both substantial and delicious. So I had another. There were seventy miles left to go, after all.

Then it was time to move on. Chris popped her head outside as I got back on my bike.

“Come back any time,” she said, cheerily. “I’ll be here every day for the rest of my life.”

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(*) Scarcity and exclusivity are time-honored marketing techniques. I knew this, but it still worked.

The Relentless Pursuit of (Coffee) Perfection

ONE OF MY PERENNIAL FANTASIES is to leave the demands of the day job, retire to a small town, and open a coffee shop. I’d carry only premium organic, fair-trade, free-range coffee (hand-harvested to classical music) and ephemeral pastries that would bring in people from several neighboring states. And while my dedicated, well-paid staff served the crowd of regulars, I’d sit at a corner table sipping a cappuccino and working on my next highly anticipated novel.

Remember, I said this was a fantasy. (I get the feeling there’s a bit more involved in running such a place.)

Day 1 - Ann Arbor to Fenton (click to enlarge)

Day 1 – Ann Arbor to Fenton (click to enlarge)

For the moment, let’s say I’m in an “exploratory phase” while I figure out what my ideal coffee shop / bakery would be, and where I’d want to open it. Fortunately, my weekend-long bike trips through small towns provide the perfect opportunity for such research. And last weekend I completed the first such trip of 2013, covering roughly 180 miles over Friday and Saturday.

The good news is that the local coffee shop has apparently survived the onslaught of Starbucks (*) and its hoard of imitators. In just about every town I’ve visited over the past two years, there has been a locally owned and operated coffee shop. (And in my hometown of Ann Arbor, it seems another one opens every week. How am I supposed to keep up?)

Anyhow, here’s a sampling of the places I visited on last weekend’s bike trip.

Plymouth – Espresso Elevado

Espresso Elevado - Lemon Ginger Scone and LatteI’ve been to Plymouth a few times, mainly as a 10K pacer for the Kona series of races, but hadn’t biked there before. The ride there was among the most pleasant segments of the entire trip. Normally I stop at The Coffee Bean, where they have good pastries and handmade sweet or savory crepes – perfect recovery food after a race. Now they have competition for my business.

Espresso Elevado 2 - Theresa and JanessaTheresa (right) is the owner of Espresso Elevado, located on Main Street just south of KelloggPark, which is where the races are held. I met her at a visit to the Mindo Chocolate facility in Dexter (subject of a future post). She insists on using only premium, fair-trade coffee, and my latte was excellent, as was the lemon-ginger scone. I’ll be back.

Clarkston – Village Bake Shop

Clarkston - Good M&M BarsClarkston (official name: City of the Village of Clarkston) bills itself as, “historic charm in the heart of Oakland County” with “an air of timeless elegance” and I enjoyed my brief stop there, walking down the main street and checking out a few of the shops. Naturally, the Village Bake Shop was among them.

Clarkston - Alyssa at Bake Shop 2I asked Alyssa (pictured here) how she liked living there. “Well, I’ve never lived anywhere else,” she said, “so I have nothing to compare it to.” But she just completed her freshman year at U-M and admitted to loving Ann Arbor, which showed her obvious intelligence and good judgment. The coffee was ordinary and weak, I’m sorry to say, but the M&M bar was worth the stop and even a repeat visit.

Howell – Uptown Coffeehouse

Howell’s downtown has the look and feel of smaller towns, but it’s far less “sleepy” being on Grand River Avenue. Uptown Coffeehouse is on the primo corner in the center of the downtown, and is unabashedly upscale in appearance. Fortunately, its coffee and pastries live up to the expectations thus created.

Last October after the Headless Horseman 5K.

Last October after the Headless Horseman 5K.

This place consistently makes one of the best cappuccinos I have ever had, so it’s become a required stop whenever I’m in Howell. Given that I’ve been either wet and muddy from a rainy bike ride, or sweaty from a local race, I wonder if they’re happy about that. They haven’t kicked me out yet, at least.

Next up: Two places with owners that show some pretty incredible dedication to what they do.

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(*) I have very mixed feelings about Starbucks. I don’t go there anymore – they over-roast their beans. But as a shareholder, I appreciate their contribution to my retirement funds.

The Perils of Paradise

LOOKS LIKE RAIN as I head out in the morning for a weekend bike ride, which reminds me of rain forests, which reminds me of my March trip to Costa Rica. It was for an audit, not a pleasure trip (ah, the burdens of work life), but I managed to get a couple of good runs in while I was there.

In Costa Rica, year-round you can roll out of bed at 6:30 a.m., toss on a shirt and shorts, and go running. The sun is already up and many people are already on the road, either heading to work or getting in morning exercise. Based on the number of other runners and cyclists I saw, I could have been back in Ann Arbor. (Except for the tropical plants and volcanoes. And the whole Spanish language thing.)

View from my hotel room.

View from my hotel room. (Not that I had time to enjoy it. No. None at all.)

That said, there are a few caveats. The roads can be narrow and uneven in quality, and traffic laws are often interpreted as well-meaning annoyances. I was riding with a workmate one day and after stopping at a full red light, he proceeded to drive on through. “Why did you do that?” I asked. He replied that such things were okay on Sundays, which I might have accepted had it not been a Monday.

Running in Costa Rica requires you to keep one eye on what’s ahead of you, one eye on where your feet are landing, and one eye on what may be coming at you from any particular direction. As that is one eye more than most of us have, this presents something of a problem.

I think a few photos will illustrate the situation well.

Better keep that head up and eyes ahead!

Better keep that head up and eyes ahead.

Better Look Down

But better watch where you’re stepping!

Heads up!

Heads up!

Or maybe not...

Or maybe not…

Yet even keeping all this in mind, it is possible for “stuff to happen”. The final morning I was there, I got in a quick six-miler before heading to the office. For most of the run, all was well, and I almost managed not to get lost. But when in unfamiliar territory in Costa Rica, there is a rule for finding your way back: if you are heading uphill, go downhill, and vice versa. So I headed downhill and got back on track. I was el hombre! And then a school bus turned onto the street ahead of me.

Oh yeah, better watch the traffic, too.

Oh yeah, better watch the traffic, too.

As the road was narrow with no sidewalk, I jogged to the other side of the road to get out of the way. But as I was watching the bus, I took my eyes off the road. Sensing its opportunity, the curb leaped up and grabbed my foot, and I took a rather nasty spill. I jumped to my feet to show that I was (mostly) okay, but I’m sure the kids on the bus had a pretty good laugh.

But things turned out okay. When I got back to the hotel, scraped up and bleeding a bit, I found out that our ISO auditor is also a trained first responder. And no non-conformances in his report, either. Can’t ask for much better than that.

Staying in Balance

With such terrific spring weather here in southeast Michigan this week, I’ve gotten outside to run or ride every evening after work. It’s felt like forever since I’ve been able to just toss on the gear and go, without worrying about being warm enough or bringing a headlamp.

While I was out on the bike this week, a brief lecture by my Monday Aikido class instructor kept popping into my head. He’d spoken about the need to balance our study of Aikido so that we practice both leading a technique (Shite) and receiving, or following, the technique (Uke). “With our Western attitude,” he’d said, “we can focus too much on being Shite. We like feeling that we’re in control.”

But if the two people performing an Aikido technique both try to be Shite at the same time, the technique cannot succeed. One person must agree to be Uke, and follow Shite’s lead properly, for the technique to be executed safely and harmoniously. “It would probably be useful for us to study Uke even more,” he concluded, “to bring our training into better balance.”

Believe it or not, it's just as much fun to be thrown this way as it is to perform the throw.

Believe it or not, it’s as much fun to be thrown this way as it is to perform the throw.

Carrying the idea into everyday life, he pointed out there are many events in our lives that we cannot control. “We can fight that and try to be Shite,” my instructor had said, “or we can be Uke, and let ourselves be led down the road. Perhaps it will take us somewhere interesting.”

The next evening, after a long day at work, I got on the bike and headed out to nowhere in particular. I’d felt mostly like Uke during the day, working on the priorities of the moment, and I was ready to be in control for a change. I turned onto a couple of roads I’d never taken before, and checked out the progress being made on the Border-to-Border Trail in Dexter. It felt wonderful to cruise along at my own speed, make on-the-spot decisions about which route to take, and choose when I was ready to head home. I was finally being Shite, I remember thinking.

Or was I?

After that moment of satisfaction, I suddenly realized the bigger picture. Yes, I had chosen which roads to ride on – but I had followed those roads instead of plowing through someone’s yard. I was choosing my speed, yet I was fitting with the condition of the roads, the mechanics of the bike, and the strength in my legs that evening. I’d decided when to head home, but I’d wanted to return before dark, and I had no control over the sun. In short, there was a lot of Uke mixed in with that little bit of Shite.

And that wasn’t a bad thing at all.

Dexter DQ

At least I get to decide whether to get ice cream. Shite, right? Except for that line I have to wait in…

United in Running

Running is, at its core, an individual sport. In football eleven players must each execute their assignments to make a play successful. In Aikido, Shite and Uke work together to perform a correct and harmonious technique. Unlike those activities, a runner’s performance is ultimately personal; success depends upon each person’s own goals, training, condition, and state of mind. But runners have, nevertheless, a camaraderie, a spirit of shared community that binds us. We support each other, encourage each other, and we reach out in time of need.

That spirit of community has never been more evident than in the wake of the Boston Marathon bombings. All over the country, “unity runs” have popped up to show solidarity with Boston and to raise money for care of the victims. Last Wednesday our running group joined a unity run at Kensington Metropark. It was put together on short notice, with no food or water, prizes, or other frills, yet over 1,000 people showed up to run or walk the 4.15 mile route.

Kensington unity runners.

Kensington unity runners.

Kensington unity runners.

Most of the time I ran among people I didn’t know, and yet I felt a tangible connection with them, our shared experiences and love of the sport bringing us together. Individually, we were just running. Together, we were sending the unmistakable message that we are a community, and we take care of our own.

The spirit also manifests in less dramatic but equally powerful ways. When I first joined a local running group I felt welcome right away, and the coach assigned someone to run with me in case I had trouble or got lost on the route. Groups are amazing. At the end of a run? Congratulations all round, especially with new people. You get asked what upcoming races you’re training for, or what your next goal is. After a while you don’t have to force yourself to roll out of bed and go downtown on a rainy Saturday morning. You just do, because you know the group will be there.

PR Fitness at the unity run. Center, Coach Rob holds our newest member (soon to turn 1 year old).

PR Fitness at the unity run. Center, Coach Rob holds our newest member (soon to be the terror of the preschool circuit).

It shows in racing, too. Did you complete the race, even if you had to crawl across the finish line? Congratulations, here’s your medal. Hit your goal time? High five, good job. Missed out on the cool age group award? No shame, try again next year. You have enough coffee mugs anyway.

Paradoxically, perhaps it’s because running is so personal that runners form such a tight sense of community. Because we each have our own definition of success, when someone else succeeds, it isn’t at our expense. Rather than one winner and many losers, we all win. Do you run? Congratulations, you’re a runner. One of us.

Randy Step (center, orange gloves) fires up the unity run crowd.

Community in evidence: Randy Step (center, orange gloves) fires up the crowd.

A Martian Hat Trick

The 2013 Martian half marathon was memorable to me for three things: my fastest half marathon to date, the first time I won an age group award for a half marathon, and the first time I left a piece of clothing on the course. (Or maybe not? See below.) The weather was very much like last year’s – cold and overcast, threatening to rain. It didn’t – it snowed instead.

Cold runners 2

This winter thing is getting really old.

Due to heavy rains the week before, some of the usual course was flooded, and we ran an alternate route through subdivisions instead of up and back Hines Drive. Personally I liked it better, although it posed some challenges placing water stations – very important to the full marathon.

(I heard that the day before the race, the head guy was still thinking it could be held on the usual route, and he put a marked stick in the flooded area to see if the waters were receding. When he came back six hours later and found the stick totally submerged, he changed his mind.)

Yeah, baby! Marathoner at the finish line.

Yeah, baby! A marathoner at the finish line.

My plan was to improve last year’s time of 1:37:30 (7:26 average pace) by a couple of minutes. I started with miles of 7:30 and 7:20, then ran the remainder between 7:00 and 7:10, finishing with a 7:09 average and a PR of nearly four minutes. I’d miscalculated my expected time, thinking I’d finish around 1:35:00, so my 1:33:49 was a really nice surprise.

There were other surprises, too. When I got there, I couldn’t locate my name on the bib list, and they had no record of my registration. No problem – they registered me there, and I got a number. Then after I finished, I couldn’t find my results! My age had been entered incorrectly, and my time was posted in the 1-4 age group. The good news was that the corrected results put me second in the 50-54 age group – the first time I’ve broken the top 10 in a half marathon, and good for a spot in the top 100 overall, too.

I wasn't sure which bothered me more - that I'd been put in the diaper group, or that I finished second in it.

I wasn’t sure which bothered me more – that I’d been put in the diaper group, or that I finished second in it.

But the most interesting event for me occurred after the race. Around mile 8 I’d taken off my hat and gloves and put them in my jacket pockets. I had this odd feeling that I’d lose my hat, so every so often I patted my pocket to make sure it was still there. (Yes, my jacket pockets have zippers. Don’t ask.) So as I cooled back off after I finished, I reached into my pockets – and my hat was missing.

Way cool finisher's medal and the incredible disappearing / reappearing hat.

Way cool finisher’s medal and the incredible disappearing / reappearing hat.

I retraced my steps around the finish area but came up empty. Bummer – I’d gotten it as race swag at the Super 5K in February, and it had become my favorite hat. But like when I lost my cell phone at the trail 50K last September, I just had this feeling that things would work out.

I took some photos and then walked back to where my car was parked. I reached the main drag, Michigan Avenue, and started to cross – and there, lying in the road directly in front of me, was a hat. A Super 5K hat. I hadn’t dropped it there, as it wasn’t part of the race course. Had it followed me? Teleported? Had someone picked my hat up, only to drop it there later? Who knows, but the upshot is that I have a hat again.

Leilani post race - 2My friend Betty and her two oldest children also ran that day. She and her son Tony did the 5K and finished in around 37 minutes, a remarkable time considering that Tony is only 6 years old. Betty said he was so excited that he wants to run another race soon. Daughter Leilani, 4 (left), ran the Meteor Mile. They’re learning the love of running early! Or is it rather that they haven’t lost the love of running, like so many do when they “grow up”?

Proud 5Kers - Tony (left) and friend.

Proud 5Kers – Tony (left) and friend.

Next up: back to the trails, with the Road Ends 5 mile race on the Silver Lake trails this Sunday. Can’t wait to find out what I lose (or find) there.

Recovery Time, and a Prayer for Boston

IT WAS RECOVERY DAY at PR Fitness tonight. The 6:30 p.m. run went on as scheduled, and included some marathoners back from Boston, and myself, running for the first time since the Martian half marathon on Saturday. We all ran slowly – a few of the more sore chose to walk – and we got rained on a bit, but it felt good to be out there.

Among those who had their share of adventure on Monday were Coach Marie and her husband Rob, celebrating their one-year anniversary (they were married on the Boston Common last year before the race). Their hotel was miles away, public transportation was shut down, Rob had just run the marathon (3:05), and Marie is seven months pregnant. But they were helped by a resident, as so many runners were that day, and they made it safety back to their hotel that evening.

More: AnnArbor.com article about Rob and Marie’s experience in Boston

Everyone was in good spirits; a bit subdued perhaps, but upbeat and ready to resume life’s routine. For the marathoners, that means at least a couple of weeks of rest and very easy running, if at all. I will be taking it easy this week, but should be back in top form for the Road Ends 5 Mile trail race on April 28. Tune-up trail run is this Sunday. Looking forward to it.

Finally, I heard an amazing poem on NPR today by Scott Poole: “To Run: A Prayer for Boston.” In just a few compact, powerful lines, Scott conveys how runners face the pain of a race, and then transcend and overcome it. Read it. Better yet, click on the audio link there and listen to Scott read it.

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P.S. My half marathon at Martian went very well. My results, and a trivial but curious side story from that race, next time.