When we set out for GOBA 2025, the promise of adventure and spectacular sights and vistas hummed in the early summer air. On Saturday, June 14, we left our in-laws farm in Dayton, Ohio behind, and the miles slipping past as we drove north toward Bowling Green, Ohio. Fields flanked the highway, shimmering with recent rainfall—some so deeply flooded that they mirrored the sky.
Upon arriving at the Wood County Fairgrounds, we learned that the land had soaked up 3.5 inches of rain just the night before. Many campsites were submerged, but fortune favored us: the tent assigned to us from the Knights Kingdom was dry, though the ground itself felt more like a sponge than soil. Not wanting to take chances, we headed to Home Depot and returned equipped with a tarp to line the inside of the floor, ready to make our tent a haven for the next two days.
That evening, our registration included GOBA Dollars, a currency meant for downtown Bowling Green. We hopped on a shuttle and soon found ourselves savoring incredible hamburgers at Becketts Bar & Restaurant. It felt good to escape the soggy fairgrounds for a bit. With our bellies full, we returned to camp, organized our gear for the next day’s ride, and let the gentle dusk coax us into an early sleep.
Sunday greeted us with a soft glow. We rose at six, slipping into our cycling gear and grabbed a coffee before prepping our bikes. By 6:45, we were pedaling into the countryside, the road flat and familiar, though fields on either side remained flooded and silent beneath the morning sun. Near a wooded stretch, a deer darted into view—a fleeting but magical moment, but not one uncommon for this part of the country. A coffee break in Weston was a welcome pause, though we accidentally veered off course for two miles before finding our proper way again. After ten more miles, we rolled into Grand Rapids, admiring the historic Ludwig mill. The lunch stop had not opened yet, so we pressed on, bouncing over nine bumpy miles along the old Erie Canal towpath – not an optimum surface for narrow-tired road bikes. By mile 39, we had reached Tontogany Centennial Park and enjoyed slices of pecan pie under the shade trees. Eight more miles and we were back at camp, having clocked 47 miles for the day. The afternoon brought showers and a trip back to downtown Bowling Green. We visited a charming quilt store and lunched at the Juniper Brewery, sampling a Tall Boy, a Sugar Magnolia, and pulled pork nachos. Later, at the Aryln Brewery, with Raspberry Wheat beers in hand, we chatted with locals, retired University Professionals, before heading back for ice cream near the fairgrounds. After the long day, the evening faded into a peaceful sleep.
Monday, dawned early, as today would be a relocation day. After coffee, we packed our belongings, deflated our mattresses, and left everything in the tent vestibule. The day’s ride took us out of Bowling Green toward Port Clinton. Seventeen miles in, we stopped for breakfast—hot coffee, bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches, and the camaraderie of fellow cyclists. After another 11 miles, we discovered the beauty of Schedel Arboretum and Gardens—a idyllic tapestry of bonsai, pools, and swans gliding across the water. Lunch was a quiet affair among the rows of blooming flowers. Still ahead were miles to go and a popsicle stop for a sugary pick-me-up. By day’s end, we had covered 55 miles, the last stretch of which was straight into a brisk headwind. Arriving at Port Clinton High School, our camp’s host location for the next three days, we learned an on-site water main break had delayed showers and created drinking water woes. While our tents were being erected, we shuttled to the Brickhouse downtown for a much-needed cold beer. Later, we explored The Art Garage, where 20 artists displayed their work and free dessert, wine, and beer flowed in celebration while a local band played. We finally returned to camp for BBQ chicken sandwiches and a night of well-earned rest.
Tuesday was the day of the Marblehead loop—a somewhat “customized” and shortened 37-mile ride. Fueling up at the high school media room with coffee, we pedaled to Hotel Lakeside and Bettinger Park. Lunch was by the marina, bust with sailboats drifting and fishermen casting their lines. At a local farmers market, we bought smoked coffee, before arriving for lunch, the air being thick with the scent of grilling hot dogs and brats slathered in sauerkraut. After lunch, we continued to the famous Marblehead Lighthouse, then looped along Lake Erie, stopping for water breaks and returning to camp just ahead of a rainstorm. Clean and content, we enjoyed puzzles in the media center as the thunder rolled outside. When the skies cleared, we returned to the Port Clinton downtown, and the Brickhouse bustling with GOBA riders. Over meatball subs, we chatted with a high school football coach, and then wandered to Madison Ave, where a local band played for crowds in the closed-off pedestrian-only street. Back at camp, the night was peaceful.
Wednesday we decided to skip the designated route and go off on our own for sightseeing. After a delightful breakfast sandwich from the OTR food truck, we pedaled to the Jet Express ferry and boarded with our bikes in tow for the half-hour journey. By 9 a.m., we had landed on South Bass Island, a lively summer retreat. We circled the island, visited preserves, parks, and the Ohio State University operated lighthouse—open for tours that day. With gifts and postcards acquired, we meandered to a local distillery for a tasting of salted caramel vodka and admired their liquor-holding ship-shaped bottle. Lunch was BBQ chicken in town on the patio, but, as storm warnings sounded, we raced on our bikes to the ferry. The boat launched among lightening and the onset of rain, but had to pause mid-lake until the worst of the weather passed and visibility was restored. However, by the time we reached the mainland shore, the sun was shining again and we and our bikes were dry. That night was the Golden GOBA dinner, honoring riders of five, ten, and up to thirty-six years. Fish, shrimp, clams, and hush puppies graced our plates. There were speeches, photographs, and a return to camp to prepare for the threatening weather. At the school’s grounds when the sirens blared at 8:02 p.m.—there was a sudden rush to the high school gym as a funnel cloud threatened. Miraculously, our tent survived the storm, though five nearby tents collapsed and had to be replaced.
Thursday dawned brightly and we prepared for another relocation day. We packed our things and set off on our bicycles for Fremont with the sky overcast. Fourteen miles in, the Rising Sun coffee truck greeted us with warmth and caffeine. Lunch came seven miles later in Lindsay, courtesy of three food trucks—pizza bites for the win. We rode through a light drizzle to the town of Gibsonburg, where hot shredded chicken sandwiches revived us, and we pressed on. A stop at Chateau Winery—mile 49—brought a cheese plate and a flight of red wines. The skies had appeared to have cleared, but the last miles saw us caught in a sudden downpour causing us to temporarily shelter under a massive oak tree in an unsuspecting farmer’s front yard, before making a mad dash, utterly soaked, the last few miles to camp. After hot showers, we visited the Rutherford B. Hayes presidential home and library, GOBA’s BBQ dinner awaiting us on the estate’s grand lawn. The museum, home, and burial site told stories of the bygone president, while a band played us into a gentle evening.
Friday allowed for a slower start to the day, and we decided that the Winery that we had visited deserved our return for lunch. After riding to breakfast in Fremont then back to camp, we pedaled 10 miles to the winery for lunch and conversation, then another 10 back—24 miles in all that day. Camp showers and a BBQ chicken dinner at GOBA Camp capped the day, the band’s music filling the air as we organized for our final ride the next day.
Saturday morning came at last. Up early, we packed quickly, sipped coffee, and hit the road. The route was wet but manageable, the breakfast stop at Rising Sun fire station offering both food and local hospitality. Most of the way, a headwind pushed against us, but we pressed on, stopping for water and to shed layers of clothes as the day’s temperature rose. At mile 49, we rolled into Bowling Green, our journey full circle. We packed our bags, loaded our bikes, changed from our cycling gear into street clothes, and set out on the two-hour drive back to our in-laws home in Dayton, our hearts full of memories and the spirit of GOBA 2025.
