In light drizzle, I shut up everything on the bike, and finished my coffee, jamming the empty cup on the pillion seat. It was only 9.45, and I would have sat up a bit longer, watching the fireflies around the trees and the lawned camping spots, but the cloud was settled in, there was an electric storm playing on the horizon, and there seemed no reason not to go to bed.
I was just getting of to sleep when an enormous flash of lightening illuminated the twin skin of the tent like daylight. It started to rain, the patter, on the leaves of the tree above me, first rustling and then soon dripping on to the tent. There was no thunder, just flashes for about 20 minutes and then it started to pour with rain, and I really mean pour. It was as though a firehose was being played on the tent walls and the fabric moved with the impact as though being hit by a wind. I put on the torch to check for leaks, all perfectly dry. The air turned cooler and a gentle breeze ran through the mosquito flaps of the tent lifting the humid atmosphere. Then the storm really started. At first the flashes and the bangs were about 15 seconds apart, but they got gradually shorter until they became simultaneous. The deluge persisted, and the crashes of thunder literally shook the ground under me. I am not usually worried in a thunder storm, but then I have not been through anything like this in a tent before. It was like been
under mortar attack. I was concerned about flooding, concerned in case the big lump of metal, six feet away, may be struck, and concerned about the tree above me. It was so wet that, although I really wanted to witness this storm, I would have been drenched if had opened the flaps to watch. There was no sleeping in this. I laid awake, and times of childhood thunder storms returned to me, when Mother had taken the three of us children into the cupboard under the stairs. We sat on small stools and a folding chair that were kept in there for the purpose. She had experienced the Blitz in Birmingham during World War II and ever since had hated the loud thunder claps and the lightening. I suspect that she had howvere always been frightened of thunder storms, but this was her excuse for us hiding in our shelter. She would read to us or we would sing. It was not until I was about 12 that I actually stood at the kitchen window and watched a thunder storm, while Mother remonstrated with me to come back to the safety of the cupboard. Ever since, I have thought they were magnificent, but not to be out in you understand, and definitely not in a tent , under a tree with a big lightening attractor sat next to me. At about 12.15, there was one explosion which, had I been in bed, would almost certainly have thrown me out. I was sure the bike must have been hit, but I could see no flames or smell any smoke, so I still resisted the temptation to look out. The storm went on for 4 hours, and it was not until about 1.45, that the gap between the flashes and the bangs started to lengthen again. Finally, the slight rumble in the distance and the gentle patter on the roof of the tent, were overcome by my long awaited sleep, and I slept solidly until almost 9.00 in the morning. When I crawled out, the sun was out, the picnic table was dry and my bike and the tree were still in one piece. There was an area of flooded grassland about 50 yards away, but none closer, and the air was cooler and fresh. I went to the bike to get my wash bag. On the saddle, the polystyrene cup was full to within half and inch of the rim. We had had about 4inches of rain during the storm.It was not long before friendly neighbouring campers came over to see how I had fared . Rod, came round first on his campground electric cart., and said that he was pleased that I seemed to have brought the rain. He felt sure the corn would recover after such a downpour. Then Dan, walking his dog, and Wes from the big RV over the way, and Earl from the next door pitch. All of them were immensely welcoming, friendly and kind. Wes asked me if I would like to go over for a beer that evening, and see his new van. So did Rob, a guy who had come with his family, but brought his motorcycle. Dan asked me over for a coffee. I started to get an engagement crisis! Rob asked if I would like to ride out with him over to Middlebury, where he had some business. He suggested that it was close to the Amish(pronounced "ar-mish") communities and I might like to go across. So after breakfast, we rode the 25 miles or so, north west to Middlebury, which was actually a nice ride but a very boring small town. It was neat and tidy and small, and like all the towns, had no real centre, and after a coffee and some breakfast at a pleasant enough restaurant on the main street, I headed off for Shipshewana, a town I had read of in The Rough Guide. Shipshewana was much more interesting, still the same boring centre, but a wide open
main street running through the plains and on the left hand side was the great local agricultural auction house, where they were holding a horse sale. Wife and her friends at home would have loved this, and Happy, if you read this, you would have died for one of the fifth wheel animal trailers and rigs! “ Fifth Wheels” are like our HGV trailers, in that they mount on a large disk plate, but unlike HGVs, these plates are attached to the back of giant four wheel drive pick up trucks. They now make mobile homes, R.V.s in the same manner, so you have a full 6 seater, three and half ton, double rear axled pick up truck, with a six to eight litre engine, hauling a 15 ton camper or a ten ton animal trailer. Fantastic stuff, but with petrol at only £1.50 a gallon ( yes really….equivalent to just about 20 pence a litre!) you can easily run one of these, at 12 miles to the gallon. In amongst all the massive vehicles around Shipshewana, were numerous Amish “buggies” variably either fully closed in with fold up doors at the sides and shutters or open riding carriages. All fairly simple in design and construction and absolutely typical of what one imagines. The Amish men, all have beards, but not moustaches, and fairly long hair. They wear straw or felt round hats with square tops and trousers with built in material braces. The boys all wear the same, all with built in braces, and all presumably made by mother. The women all wear long dresses, some simple light long cotton, and some more elaborate heavy folded . All wear bonnets or small hats. Some ride bikes, but they don’t drive motorised vehicles and don’t like to have their photographs taken, so actual pictures of them are difficult, although it is allowed to picture them at a distance so that they are not identifiable, as in a portrait type of picture. You can see some Amish on the photographs I have taken at the horse.auction. The auction was a fascinating place. Not here a 
few mangy old nags looking for a paddock of half an acre, a shed and a 12 year old to ride them. These were serious horses, some of them absolutely stunning, riding horse, carriage horses,
working horses and some that apparently were capable of all three activities. Most looked the expected Western type horse, the quarter horse, for the most part, about 15 hands in height. Their owners either lead them or rode them into the small selling ring at the front while the auctioneer almost sang his bids in a language that was so fast and so strange that it was very difficult to understand until you had listened to a dozen or so sales. The most amazing thing was that these horses were all selling for between about four and eight hundred dollars, two to four hundred pounds. In England, you would probably get the former for a meat price. But these, were not rubbish, many were superb horses in their prime, well broken and very useable. I left the auction room wanting a horse, and wandered round the stall outside that was selling saddles and harnesses, very different from our own. I talked with one of the sellers. He was a 
Mennonite, a much more liberal breakaway group from the strict Anabaptist Amish. He set a 
saddle on a stand for me to sit on. It was so strange, and totally enclosing. The high rear closed on your bottom and the “horn”, the pommel was attached to a sort of solid cross bridge which you could hold with your knees. It was almost like sitting on the Harley, but with a full bucket seat. I could feel how it would be easy to “squeeze and lean” ones way, and neck rein on a quarter horse, and holding firm on in a tight turn would not require much “sitting in”.Close by, there was a supermarket with Amish buggies outside, almost all the stores have sheds or hitching posts and areas in their car parks reserved just for horses, buggies or bicycles. Next door was a carriage ride facility and I took a half hour ride around the farms and the countryside in an Amish buggy driven by an Amish man whose name was Harley
, quite appropriate for a bike rider to use! We went about 3 or 4 miles, in 
surprising comfort and cool. The hot day kept out of the black carriage both by the colour, the windows at the front being open and the ability to draw to sides down if needed to shield from sun or bad weather. Fitted in the roof above the driver was a panel with a switch
which operated a battery driven indicator signal on the back. The Amish will not use engines, but will generate electricity from windmills or water and will use batteries. Their houses are mostly lit by oil lamps or candles or battery lights, but they are clever enough usually, when building them, to fully fit them with electrical or gas connections, so that if they are ever sold to non Amish peoples in the future they can be connected up easily.
We went past several houses 
where long rows of their strange looking clothes, the long dresses, braces trousers and bonnets were all drying outside on the washing lines. Many of the houses had buggies and horse drawn vehicles outside and horses in nearby corrals.After my trip to Shipshewana, I returned back to the camp and after supper went for a beer with Wes and Hilda. Their new RV was here to go for a service. Many RVs are made locally, quite a lot by Amish workers, who work quality is prized. Later, I went on to join Rod and his brother in law Tom with their wives and families for a couple more. I had a good evening and for the first time experienced “lemon beer”, which is a blonde lager wheat beer, into the bottle neck of which is screwed a twist of fresh lemon. It was very refreshing and pleasant. I shall certainly drink those again. The following day, during the course of many more “drop by visits”, I wrote some blog, socialised and just chilled out in the sunshine. I was leaving the day after because, the owners, the Beamish family, had given me a free night,;it seems that I was a bit of an attraction on the site, and they kindly gave me this small perk!. I went for a barbeque supper with Dan and Nicky and their son Ty. This was a lovely evening. Nicky prepared a sort of special bean
mixture, which was delicious and with a salad of giant tomatoes, and barbequed sausages, it was a good meal and we talked late into the evening.In the early morning, Rod brought over a couple of small items which he had “whittled” to remember Pla-Mor by, and I wnet to say goodbye to Dan and Nicky and Ty and then to Rob and Tom. Unfortunately, it seems that Rob's wife had been taken seriously ill during the night and she was in hospital and he was there too of course. I was so sorry, and hope so much Rob, if
you are reading this at all, that everything turned out O.K. Thanks for the advice on places to ride and the suggestion to ride Michigan State, about which, more in the next blog.Thank you to all of you I met at Pla-Mor, I had a super 4 days with you all, you made me feel so welcome, and were all so generous with your hospitality and friendship. It was much appreciated. And I hope to keep in touch with some of you.
I rode out early on Sunday morning, 22nd July, headed north to Michigan State. The sun was out, I was rested, and the country, as I travelled slowly north towards Holland, was different and beautiful. Michigan looked like a good choice.
Best wishes,
Doc
P.S. I have no incentives or inducements to recommend any of you to consider Pla-Mor as a vacation destination, but want to record, that it is one of the best sites I have seen in a long time, with excellent spacious and fully equipped sites, Wi-Fi access, natural entertainment and open leisure areas, golf range, putting, fishing swimming, walking, and a very attentive, and caring personal, family, input. Definitely a great place for families. Definitely a great place for a lone Brit biker!
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