Wow! A Pow Wow

Draft--from a longer piece. Enjoy a few of the many pics taken Sunday...)

I haven’t been to a real pow-wow in probably 20 years! I’ve been riding through Native Reservations and have only had the opportunity to stop in one. That’s been a disappointment until Sunday, a day that was supposed to concentrate on getting back to the USA. Another wonderful weather day—I’m almost taking this great weather for granted as I’ve come to expect it each day.

As usual, the roads were quiet, filled with wonderful lake views, cliffs, odd figures sticking out in uniquely named bays…When I reached Grand Portage, just inside the US, a sign said I was entered the Grand Portage Band of the Chippewa Nation. Hmmm… I stopped at a VC to ask about travel information for Duluth, my next big stop about 200 miles from Thunder Bay. I asked the helpful man what the protocol was for visiting the Reservation in Grand Portage. He said, “No problem…in fact, in about 10 minutes they are having their annual Pow Wow—a really large event because they have all the nations from around here there. If you leave now it’ll take you five minutes to drive there and you’ll be there for the big procession.” I made a beeline out of there and when I arrived, the place was packed. I found parking, did a quick change of gear and walked to the grand arena.

I had the most wonderful time! I stayed for 2.5 hours taking pictures, eating the best fry bread I’ve ever had, hand squeeze lemonade and gifts for friends. I didn’t want to leave as the festivities were going to into the night. I was overwhelmed by the day. When I left, I was still more than 2 hours from Duluth but the ride seemed to fly by as I thought of the colors, the people, and the conversations I had at the Grand Portage Band of Chippewa’s Pow wow.

I'm off the explore Duluth, Minnesota.

Saturday’s Dispatch: Thunder Bay (TB)

(Note: Some major issues posting pics...will try later)

(Draft)

I felt the push from yesterday’s ride in my neck and right shoulder (must have been holding on tighter than I thought as I rode up and down the mountains) , so I decided to stay in TB an extra day to heal. I rode around TB taking in some local sights, such as the Terry S. Fox monument. Coming in on Friday markers all along long stretches of Highway 17 were unavoidable. Fox was a young man whose leg was lost to cancer. To bring awareness to cancer and the need for more research, Fox walked around Canada, a more than 5000 miles journey. By the time he reached the Thunder Bay area his cancer had returned and he died shortly thereafter. The monument is tastefully done and emotional to see and read his story.

The Germans

While in the parking lot of the Fox monument, a couple rode up on a BMW 1200GS and we eyed each other, as motorcyclists seem to do. They were dressed identically. We waved. When they dismounted, I detect that their accent sounded German. The wife made a beeline toward the building while the husband fumbled with the bike's gear. He spoke. He commented that my bike had many Italian things (three Givi luggage cases and a Givi windscreen). I wanted to tell him about the Sidi boots, they’re Italian made also.

He asked where I was heading. I told him and said rather proudly that I would probably do around 3000 miles before I returned home. He said he would do probably over 15,000! He had his bike shipped to St. John’s and from there they were riding to British Columbia up to Victoria Island. They are taking more than 8 weeks to complete their vacation. He emphasized that he had a lot of vacation time “unlike Americans, we get lots of vacation.” He added that although he works in Germany for an American company, the company follows the European vacation style. He added that he also works lots of overtime and is rewarded for that as well. He told me I was the first woman he saw traveling alone. I didn’t know if he meant in Canada or in general. From the little bit we talked, it sounded as if he prefers his women riding as passenger—he said, “I take my wife with me.” Nice man. I enjoyed talking with him about bikes and travel.

As we were talking, a couple in a huge RV drove by and stopped. They began speaking to the man in German. Evidently, they had met his wife in the visitor’s center (the clothes make it clear that they are together). The Germans chatted a little. Afterwards, the man told me that the couple is from Germany too. They spend their summers in Canada where they have bought a house. Laughing heartily he said, “No matter where you go, you’ll meet a German—no matter where, you’ve bound to run into a German!” Clearly an insider joke but also suggests that Germans are indeed robust travelers.

Native Canadians/Marina Park, Thunder Bay

From this park, one is able to see the Sleeping Giant, which is a massive formation of mesas that looks like a reclining giant. I took pictures but wasn’t positive I had distinguished one giant from any other massive mound out in the lake. Later when I actually saw the giant from Hillside Park, there was no mistaking the giant. (Sorry you can see the pics yet!). Marina Park is where I met some Native Americans, or rather, Native Canadians, or maybe just Native people?

A man approached me, asked if the bike were mine, and wanted to know where I came from. I told him and he was surprised that I would even consider riding that far. He told me where he came from, which is near TB. The town he mentions is a reservation that I recall passing, perhaps Pays Plat but I’m not positive if this is indeed his community. He told me that he and the others were out taking a walk as part of their drug and alcohol program. He talked briefly about living around TB. “It’s alright.”

One young man, who appeared to be in twenties was at least a full decade younger than the first man I spoke with. In fact, the girls I saw looked to be in their teens. It was nice talking to these guys but sad too to witness evidence of a commonly held fact about some of the struggles of Native people—(i.e. high alcohol and substance abuse) particularly among young people. So young and already struggling with what will become a lifelong battle. We said our good-byes and as he walked away, he looked so young but a really sweet and gentle guy. I wished I had longer to talk.

The Wal-Mart Couple

I was in the parking lot of Wal-Mart looking at a map and checking it against the GPS. A couple walked toward me and the man spoke. “Where you headed, eh, need some help?” They reminded me of the Saturday Night Live couple long ago, played by Gilda Radner and Bill Murphy as Dough and Wendy Winer. They didn’t whine but they wore 50s-ish period clothes and spoke with heavy Canadian accents. The husband was very interested in my bike. He asked where I had come from. The wife said, “All by yourself?” Before I could answer, the husband said, “Eh, she knows how to handle it.” His wife wondered what would happen if I dropped the bike. I said I could pick up the bike myself. The wife said she would still worry if she rode alone. The husband put way too much faith in my skills, telling his wife, “she knows what she is doing—she knows.” He went on to say that he too is considering riding a motorcycle and plans to take the course. I encouraged that route. The requirements for getting a license in Canada are different and more strict than in the USA. Before leaving, the couple told me how to get to Marina Park. I found the park and had a nice time taking photos of the lakeshore. A cute, friendly couple and dead ringers for Doug and Wendy.

Richard, from North of England

What an amazing character! Richard (I loved his distinguished deep-throated British accent!). Like the German couple, Richard had been riding a long time and had thousand of miles yet to go. Again, my little 3000 miles sounded like a short trek around the block, relatively speaking. I wanted to explain my measly miles but that would have been ego talking. I’m thrilled with my adventure. Also like the Germans, Richard believed that one needed to take long trips via motorcycle, see the world, get off into the hinterlands and had no hesitation saying, motorcycle travel is the best way to go.

Richard is a true rider and at 71 years old, he is a role model for everyone. He spoke happily about not having any time constraints or obligations. It also seemed that Richard had no money worries either. He no longer ships his bikes. This time, he flew to Toronto where he keeps his Honda tourer (an 1100cc). From there, he aimed to go around the lake. Richard had 10 weeks or more to go from one end of Canada to the other, then north to Victoria Island, back through British Columbia, and St. John’s. Unlike the Germans, Richard was planning to go to “the States” too, specifically, Michigan, Wisconsin, Louisiana, West Virginia to mention a few. He had traveled to Chicago before, which led to agreement about the city’s traffic.

Richard owns five motorcycles, including a Suzuki Bergman 650 scooter, which he loves and claims can hold its own against any motorcycle. He stores one bike in Toronto, one in Capetown, South Africa, (an old Goldwing) that has some issues. He complained about the mechanics there. They have all season to do complete the list of “fixes” he leaves but they never seem to start the work until shortly before he arrives at which point most of the stuff can’t be done thoroughly or well. It’s frustrating for a bike with 150,000 miles on it to now be neglected with poor maintenance. He just can’t seem to find decent help. Richard also owns a Yamaha crotch rocket, which he keeps in England with the scooter. I’ve forgotten where he keeps the fifth bike, which is a BMW. Currently, his fav is the Suzuki Bergman, which he loved telling me tales of how he has left fancy sports cars in the dust at signal lights. He said the scooter has a flawless automatic system that makes it nearly impossible to feel the gears when they shift. Oh, I think the fifth bike is housed in Australia.

Richard has ridden the world and feels that the best way to accomplish this is to plant bikes around the world or fly to your starting point and travel from there. Shipping a bike isn’t cheap, so Richard clearly has a few extra pennies. Europeans, far more than Americans are world travelers and it shows in their hands-on knowledge about their travels. He complimented my travels and said “way to go.” We talked bikes, boots and BMWs. He liked my idea of a BMW F800ST and thought the R1200ST was too heavy (I rather agree). We couldn’t help notice that we had similar Givi luggage. His were far better. He had a key made that both opens the luggage and starts the engine! How cool is that?!

We shared a parking space as Richard said, “You don’t mind, do you? This one is right outside my room.” I didn’t mind. Later that evening when I went to buy batteries, I returned and parked in another spot That night I ran into Richard again and he said, “I moved my bike next to yours again because that window is directly in from of my room—no sense in taking up two parking places—so I hope you don’t mind that we are sharing again.” That accent, with me, will work every time! We talked some more. He has amazing stories and knows a lot about how motorcycles are constructed. I could have talked to him all night. What a very very cool person.

Again, apologies for the pics.
The weather remains beautiful!
I'm heading back to the USA today. Happy but a little sad too.

The road to Thunder Bay, Ontario

Last night I called a friend without whom this trip would have been considerably more difficult. I chatted briefly and she mentioned that not since my first entry have I mention my mileage. That made me think about this trip. There is an unavoidable tension between wanting to just ride these luxurious roads or play tourist—not that they are mutually exclusive. The former, to me at least, gives primacy to the roads, mileage, road conditions and challenges. The tourist part, gives emphasis to the sights, sounds, stopping everywhere the heart desires. For the last few days, I think I’ve been stuck in the tourist trap and I have paid little attention to reporting the mileage here, although it’s part of my journals, which I’ve only reported in snippets here.

Yesterday, sometime after leaving Wawa, I watched the trip odometer reach 1000 miles. Since leaving Sunday, one day shy of a week, the GPS reads 1074 miles. I estimate I’ll ride nearly 3000 miles or more by the time I return to Chicago. So, thanks Pat for reminding me to share this little bit of mileage info.

Friday was a day about riding. The weather continues to be a rider’s dream! Cool when riding, a bit hot when stopping but it doesn’t affect you unless your stop-stretch extends beyond 30 minutes, which is all one really needs anyway.

Since it is difficult to stop along the roads, you’ll have to take my word for it: Highway 17 is amazing! One lane in each direction. Mountainous, curvy—magnificently breathe taking. My riding level definitely has been challenged and I’ve learned that you can’t blindly follow the cornering advice you read about. You have to put things together and apply what you’ve learned to the reality at hand. There is standard advice that the proper entry for cornering is outside-in. At times, the outside-in entry is spot on; at other times, a more midline entry is called for—it all depends on the situation, which is why it’s a good idea to read about riding technique from different, credible sources.

Highway 17 is lined with cliffs on each side. At times, massive cliffs with jutting boulders that block vision make the outside entry strategy appropriate. But there are many times when the road banks or angles in odd, unexpected ways or is so tight that it makes no good sense to be near the outside. On coming cars are right there at that outside edge-way too close for comfort—or safety. Still, nothing diluted the pure fun of this road. I rode it over 300 miles Friday and boredom never visited once.

As usual, I met a few characters along the way: two attempted pick-ups, which hasn’t happened to me in a long time. And, one exchange that started well but ended on darn near attempted murder on my part—fortunately I restrained myself for the person did not know that she was treading on dangerous grounds. I’ll recreate two of the conversations as best I remember

Character #1

Somewhere near Marathon, I decided to call to make reservations for a resting spot in Thunder Bay. A man pulled up in a truck.

“Eh, enjoying your vacation?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He makes his call first while I continue to find the magazine with the hotel numbers in it. When he finishes, motioning to the bike, he says, “You come far on that, eh?”
“From Chicago.”
“That right?”
“Yes.”
“Where you heading, eh”
“Thunder Bay, if I can get there before dark.”
‘Eh, you can, I’m going there too, why don’t you just follow me, eh—I’ll lead you right there.”
“That’s nice of you, but I have some stops in between and I wouldn’t want to delay you.”
“Eh, no bother, we can pull over and have coffee and then dinner tonight when we get to Thunder Bay, eh?”

I say “no thank you, but thanks.” He doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Have you ever been to Newfoundland, eh? Beautiful country. I can take you there, show you around, take you to my brother’s place, and introduce you to my father, eh. Take you out on the boat—you like fish? You like to eat lobster?”

I tell him I like fish, lobster the works and that I’ve read about Newfoundland and know that it’s a beautiful place.

“You should let me take you or I can meet you there, if you like, eh?”
“That’s nice of you. Hopefully some day I’ll get there.”
“So, can I lead you to Thunder Bay, eh? There’s a hotel there, Victoria Inn, that’s a nice place, eh. You can stay there and we can have a drink.”

I thank him again and say I’ll check out Victoria as a place to stay but that I need Internet access. He doesn’t know if the Vic has Internet—he actually didn’t seem to even know what it was I was asking about; however, according to him the Victoria Inn is THE place. We talk a bit more and he finally decides to leave without me. Before leaving he says, “I’ll be at the Victoria Inn at 9:30, waiting. I wish I could take you to dinner but because you’re married, we can have a drink (I mention several times I don’t drink but he wasn’t talking about drinking, I guess). When I say I probably won’t be able to show, he say, “I’ll be there, eh and hopefully you’ll show up. I’m from Newfoundland, we’re very friendly people, we are open and outgoing and we like to get together. That’s why I want to get to know you, have dinner with you, eh, so maybe you’ll show up at 9:30, eh?”

Character #2

In a restaurant in Marathon, I sit across the aisle from another lone diner. Before I even sit down she says, “You ride a motorcycle?” In my head I say, “No I just dress like this in the summer and carry a helmet around.” But I’m only a smart aleck in my head.

“Yes, I ride a motorcycle.”
“Wow—that’s amazing.”

When my food came, we ate in silence at our respective tables. As she was leaving, I asked her if she was familiar with Marathon and she took that as an invitation to sit down in my booth! She said she has been living in Marathon since February and she can tell me it’s an “awfully boring place.” She says, “I’m from Thunder Bay.” I can’t believe my luck.

“I’m heading now for Thunder Bay—know any good places to stay?”
“Yes, there’s a brand new Days Inn right near my house—it’s real nice—only been open about four months.”

I ask about other things to do in Thunder Bay and Penny tells me that she didn’t go out much but that I’ll find a lot of things there to do. I ask what brought her to Marathon. She tells me that her husband of almost 31 years works in Marathon and has been doing so most of their marriage. I didn’t ask what he does but she kept referring to it as “works in the bush,” which sounded grueling.

Penny tells me that she ran a day care business until “frozen shoulders” forced her to close. She recently learned that she’s on “My Space,” because of positive memories one of her former “children” posted about her day care experience. Penny’s didn’t look like she had taken in much sun this summer and her strikingly dyed black hair made her already pale face appear anemic and drained of all color. When she talked about her day care business, however, her cheeks became rosy and round and she talked with an animation that was lacking when she talked about Marathon. Since February, she’s not met anyone in Marathon and her two-bedroom apartment is “small and crappy” in contrast to her four-bedroom house in Thunder Bay.

“If I were in Thunder Bay now, you could stay with me—better than staying in a hotel. I live near that new Days Inn, if you stay there go on over and say hi to my house. It’s on Rainbow Street.” She considers “Rainbow” street to be highly symbolic given that her husband is searching for his “pot of gold.”

Penny gives me her address. Even though she is in Marathon to be with her husband, she doesn’t see him much still. His hours sound insane and he comes home tired, but now that she no longer has a business and she’s conquered “frozen shoulders”—a real medical condition—they thought it was time to be together due to her other medical issues. We continue to talk. We’re having a nice conversation. Then things change abruptly, for me at least, and with five words, I am ready to kill Penny.

“You look like Whoopie Goldberg.” Murderous words to my ears. I am forced to behave as if I didn’t hear her. If I did not, I would have grabbed her throat and ended her medical issues forever. Those who know me well know how much I detest this reference given that it is only the hair that people are commenting on. In any case, I didn’t hold the comment against Penny. This was difficult for me. Very. After getting to know Penny for these relatively brief moments, I liked her and felt a little sorry for her. Therefore, I overlooked her mistake. After all, she did give me the name of a new place to stay, which had one availability left when I called.

In route to reaching the Days Inn, I pass Rainbow Street and think of Penny.

I also passed a sign leading to the Victoria Inn and thought of Robert from Thunder Bay, formerly from New Foundland.

Day’s mileage: 335 miles

Drama Galore...

Just a quick, off the cuff, note today.

If I wrote out the details of yesterday, the above title would be most fitting. All is well now but Thursday had more drama/adventure than I really needed, including running out of gas on a remote road that warned of “Night Dangers,” when Moose and bear roam the area. One gas station that was on the “fill” list was abandoned, which threw me and many people off. I wrote lengthy notes about it but have no time to share it all. Instead, here are two amusing communication glitches with Canadians.

Permit me to first say this: the roads are absolutely magnificent! Majestic is the only word to describe the 200 plus miles of Highway 17 I rode yesterday. Rolling hills characterize this long journey. The weather was in the upper 70s, perhaps low 80s. The sky was blue, sprinkled with puffy white clouds. Some of the hills were so high that I imagined Queenie flipping over backwards during the ascents. Lots of deep and angled curves, (blind curves too). The way is lined with amazing vistas, rock formations, and scenic lookouts and not surprisingly, Highway 17 is relatively isolated. For the most part, I’ll take Highway 17 all the way to Thunder Bay, some 675 miles from the International Bridge in Sault Ste. Marie. Signs abound warning travelers of wildlife and night dangers. NO GAS stations for many miles (e.g., 50 plus) If one is closed, perhaps no gas station for more than 100 miles.

Communication glitch #1Two motorcyclists enter a scenic lookout. We do the requisite wave. I never ask people to take pictures of me. Never. However, this time I wanted one of me and the bike in front of the typical rock formation that lines Highway 17. I walk up to the woman and ask as I’m extending my digital camera. She nodded affirmatively, took the camera and snapped the pic of Queenie and me in front of the rocks.

Afterwards, I thanked her and her male companion came over to join us. We chatted and I immediately recognized their accent as French. Their English was definitely better than my nonexistent French was. She told me they were from Montreal and circling Lake Superior. It sounded like she said they either had gone around it ten times or were planning to.

“How any times you go around?”
I respond, “Just once.”
“No, how many times you go around?” She repeats herself only this time she emphasizes each word.
I emphasize my response, “One time. I’m going around one time.” That’s when she tells me they are going around about 10 times. I am confused as she presses me for a different response. She looks to her male companion. He says, using his finger to make the universal sign for circle, “How many..? We go about ten to twelve.”

It then dawns on me that they are asking me how LONG it will take me to go around the lake or how much time was I allowing myself to circle the lake.
“Oh, you mean how many days will I take to circle the lake?”

Their faces brighten, they smile and nod affirmatively.
“I’m taking 7 to 10 days.” We all laugh, chat some more and finally wish each other safe travels and leave.

Communication glitch #2

I call a hotel in Wawa, Ontario. Only two in a magazine state, “Hi Speed Internet Access,” making the choices slim. At the first number, the man tells me he as two rooms left. One room is slightly higher prices because it has been newly renovated. My stay is one night; I go for the undecorated room. I think he says this: “It is nice too but not clean. The renovated room is very nice, clean has one bed…”

I respond, “Isn’t the other room clean?”
“No, but it’s nice too—but no clean.”
“Well I want the room to be clean.”
“It’s okay for you—but it’s real nice.”


The conversation continues like that for what seemed like a long time but was actually only a minute or so. Finally, I asked about the room again and this time I spell the word “clean.”
He quickly states, “Yes, it’s clean, very clean but there is no Queen bed.”
He said Queen and assumed I heard Queen. What I heard was a guy overtly telling me the room wasn’t clean.

The room is extremely clean. The host is an interesting person, who is a Polish immigrant. He gave me a special place to park Queenie.

All is well…until next time...

Curly Rides

Like the waters yesterday, this is rough...

Wednesday was a great riding day! Perfect weather, azure skies and just enough wind to keep things interesting.

Those bug-eyed gaukers who populated the restaurant Tuesday night had to be tourists and not representative of the residents in Paradise. On Wednesday morn, while mailing some items home, I met the friendliest people in Paradise, many of them in the Post Office and some who happen to be walking along the road as I was fiddling with the straps anchoring my gear. I’ll remember the woman who appeared in her late 80s, barely able to walk with her cane, who said—with an unmistakable twinkle in her eyes, “Now that looks like fun…are you going far?” We chatted for a bit. When we finished our conversation, another woman pulled up in her truck along side the road (it’s so clear that I’m from out of town) and said, “How are you?” She wanted to know where I was headed. She went on to say, “What a great way to have an adventure…you’ll remember this for the rest of your life. Good for you.” She sounded as if she too longed for an adventure of her own. Others wanted to know how was my stay in Paradise. I left Paradise feeling refreshed, welcomed and lighter—I mailed the camping gear home—it’s not happening on this trip; I have no regrets about that. Have none for me.

The roads from Paradise to Whitefish Point require a detour to the Upper and Lower Tahquamenon Falls in the State Park by the same name. This is a gorgeous park of 38,500 acres that stretch over 13 miles of unspoiled woodland. The red water from the falls is the result of tannin from the various trees in the park (e.g., hemlock, spruce and cedar). Wonderful stop, breath-taking scenery and lots of hiking, exploring, and enjoying nature’s beauty.

An hour or so away is Whitefish Point, a place I’ve long to go. It is a beautiful ride. One can travel for a few miles without following another vehicle or having one follow you. I’m accustomed to the road isolation now. Admittedly, there were a couple of times I wondered where was the rest of the world. I can’t help thinking about the crotch-rocket bikers in the big city—they would tear up these roads! The twisties are abundant; the challenges to one’s skills are omnipresent.

At Whitefish Point, (please get out a map and find the area—it is directly north of Paradise. Its tip juts out into Whitefish Bay. Although this is a beautiful, scenic area, it is also the sight of many shipwrecks. There, I visited the Shipwreck Museum, which is tasteful—not tacky- tourist and replete with the amazing history of the ships that have wrecked in this area. The 80-mile stretch of road from Picture Rocks to Whitefish Point is called, “Lake Superior’s Shipwreck Coast.” Reading the history of ships lost was emotional as in the background one could hear among the music played, the voice of Gordon Lightfoot singing is heart-wrenching ballad, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” which I’m listening to on my Ipod as I draft this entry. The lives of these men as well as the lives of the lighthouse keepers and their families were moving tributes to the harsh realities of transporting heavy metal along the lake. Lake Superior is unpredictable, able to change disposition on a dime. The gales of November are particularly brutal and the legend goes that the lake does most of its murderous work then.

One of the most moving experiences at this museum was the video of the retrieval of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s bell. I don’t want to give the impression that the museum is all about the Edmund Fitzgerald because it is not. It is a history of this region’s ship history--the ships lost at and near Whitefish Point. It is also a history of living on this Point. My fascination (probably not the best word) with the E. Fitzgerald is a result of remembering this happening in 1975 as well as the Lightfoot song, which led me to do my own research on the ship and watch every public television show I could on the ship and its crew. Back to the moving experience… In a 15 minute video one witnesses the retrieving of the bell, which brought emotional closure to many of the families whose loved one were never found. Now they have the bell to symbolize this tragic voyage and it is at the museum. Another, duplicate bell was then laid submerged where the ship sank to stand as a permanent headstone for the crew. The video brought together the families of the crew and it’s a good thing the video ended when it did because I think the whole place was ready to cry—at least I was.

I spent a lot of time at the Shipwreck Museum and the grounds surrounding it, which are devoted to living on this land, so near the lake and so far from any life outside of surviving the lake effects. I departed with a deep sense of how the families of the lighthouse keepers lived. Yet, I left Whitefish Point way too early. I missed spending any time at the Whitefish Bird Observatory, which I really wanted to do. Before pulling out, I met a 19 month old little girl—possibly a future motorcycle rider—she and her Dad were checking out the bikes. She patiently watched me prepare to leave, did not flinch when the engine started—in fact, she smiled and gave me an enthusiastic motorcycle wave!

I wanted to get to the Bay Mills Indian Reservation near Brimley.

Any road with the name Curly Lewis has to be great. And the Curly Lewis Memorial Highway did not disappoint. Rather than take M123 south back to M28 and head east to Brimley, I wondered about a little gray line on the map. I asked one of the museum workers about the road, which I’ve heard conflicting information. Some said it was paved, others said it used to be paved and now wasn’t, and the map shows it as paved. This woman told me emphatically that it is not only paved, but if I was planning to go to Brimley, it is THE way to go because it is a wonderful, lightly used route. Oh my goodness! It is all that and a slice of sweet potato pie!

As I said, I’m accustomed to the isolation on the roads. This takes being alone out there up several notches. Curly Lewis is serene, twisty-squiggly, tight in spots and sweeping in others. The trees along each side of the road provide a gentle breeze and the rustling keeps you on the alert for wildlife—this vigilance doesn’t detract one from just sitting back and enjoying the ride. I admit to seeing how fast Queenie wanted to go. We tested 85 mph in a few spots but settled in at 60 but when the signs warned of curves ahead and recommended a drop to 45mph or slower, we obeyed—most of the time. I can only imagine what this must feel like with a naked bike.

Finally reached the Bay Mills Indian Reservation. Didn’t have time to check out the place thoroughly but I’m glad I paused. Some new housing structures, a community college, a headstart program and an elder center. One also can’t miss the large Casino not too far from the Reservation. I also saw an Old Indian Burial Ground but didn’t want to go inside or take pictures to avoid potentially disrespecting another’s sacred symbols. Before leaving Bay Mills, I met a teacher at the community college. He “loves” the people and the town. He’s an “outsider” who lives three hours away but says the commute is wonderful because it is not daily and it allows him to camp out and play tourist too.

From Bay Mills I hopped on M221 south to get on M28, which carried me east to I-75. This was an extremely windy ride that even with a fully loaded bike, I felt as if I were riding on the left edges of the tires the whole way! The ride to Sault Ste Marie, Ontario ended at Sault Ste Marie, MI and a visit to the Soo Locks there. I’m talking three miles that separates the two Ste. Maries but the same chain hotel was twice the price in Canada, so guess where I rested my head last night?

I’m off now to our friends to the North. However, I can’t close this entry without thanking all the motorcyclists I met yesterday, especially the couple from Chicago who are touring parts of Lake Superior and told me to expect long lines getting into Canada because of construction. I thank also the “aging” motorcyclist who dug out his reading glasses to show me a rode on his map. He’s a serious Harley rider who may be crossing over. He’s wants to get a Suzuki V-Strom. I was impressed. I also thank the many women riders I encountered today. Not one solo rider in the bunch, however.

Until next time…

Hellfires and then, Paradise

(Disclaimer: No time to make sure these are flawless entries. These dispatches are rough but designed to let you know I'm doing well. So forgive the errors that might make the reading difficult)

I really am in Paradise. Paradise, MI. Yesterday was replete with “misses.” I missed breakfast and I would feel it later. The goal was to reach Canada and I tried, I really tried. But I realized as I was motoring down M123, trying to make up time for having spent time going to off-the beaten path sights, only to learn that nature would change my plans. Fifty miles here and 50 miles there a few times, adds up. I missed sight after getting near only to find that the road was blocked because of a forest fire. Lots of confusing information about which parts of M123 were open, when, and where.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore hugs the lakeshore (hence the name) and I wanted to get as close to it as possible. I think it’s about a 40 miles stretch but less than half of that is paved. So, is it worth it, I thought? The park is northwest of Munising, so it seemed doable. Before leaving the Visitor’s Center (VC) in Munising, I headed across the street to The Dogpatch, which the desk clerk in Marquette said is a nice, casual restaurant. Having missed breakfast again, I decided to try it. Except for feeling like I was the major tourist attraction for children and adults alike, the meal, a whitefish sandwich was excellent (whitefish is big in this area, served with Tartar sauce only—not all the fixings I like to put on it). If folks who look like me can get over the bug-eyed diners and waitstaff, they will enjoy the food at Dogpatch.

The route I had planned, meant I’d just have to turn around, which I knew—I am on vacation, right? But this VC and the next one I stopped at were adamant in their warnings about the forest fire in Luce County, which was spreading and sounded just awful and had some roads closed. People were also being evacuated, at least one area had no electricity, and M 123 was closed in certain parts and open in others. Smoke was blowing west as I was heading east. Understandably, information was contradictory and changing hourly.

For the most part, I continued East on M28 from Munising through Seney, where I had planned to stop at the Seney National Wildlife Refuge, then head north on M77 to Grand Marais. Didn’t happen—at least the Grand Marais trek. It would have been an hour drive just to go to the tip. Not much in terms of paved road east or west of Grand Marais. Fine, more time to spend in Seney. Great decision too. Seney is peaceful, beautiful, and full of natural history. Very helpful visitor’s center, served by a couple who enjoyed telling me their Chicago connections and bragging about their escape from the big city. I wished I had planned to spend an entire day there. If I had a dualsport, the road, a 7 mile wlkderness path would have been great!! One also can walk the many trails (wear long sleeves, the bugs here know this is their territory and they BITE big time!) Based on how much time you have, you can decide on how you want to explore the area. This is a nature lover’s heaven and the birds and insect sounds create an amazing symphony.

While in the parking lot thinking about where to go next, an elderly gent pulled up in an elderly truck. He parked next to me. His name, I learned later is Dr. Richard E. McNeil. He’s a Forrester and UMich graduate. He liked Queenie and was amazed at how she was “outfitted.” We talked about the Refuge, travel and mostly about school. When I told him I’d done some time at UM, he became animated and gave me the history of the place when he attended. He approved of Univ.of Chicago as my alma mater. He described himself as a late bloomer, receiving his BA in 1951 and not receiving his Ph.D. until the 70s. He introduced me to his “associate” a young college student from FL working for the Refuge. He was modest, but he pretty much runs the place. I appreciated his warmth and the memory of him would later prevent me from allowing the next bunch of folks I met to ruin my day.

By the time I left Seney, it was after 4pm. I headed to Newberry. Stopped in a Comfort Inn to make reservations for a Comfort Inn in Sault Ste Marie, Ontario. A very nice woman was telling a man about the road closings. The fire had already devastated a large area, smoke was preventing travel along nearby roads, people were being evacuated and there was no way to take M123 north from Newberry to Tahquamenon Falls State Park, in Paradise MI. However, I could continue east on M28 and go up M123 pass Hulbert. She estimated I needed a couple of hours to do so. From there I called the Ontario Comfort Inn to make reservations. A curt woman told me that she had a line of people all wanting for a room and that I should reserve now or never. Not very customer-friendly...Let me say it was well after 4pm when I made the reservation, which becomes a point of major contention later.

The ride from Newberry to Paradise felt long because there were so few cars on the road once I turned north on the most easterly leg of M123. This is what I thought about: I’m in moose country (they even show them on the map). I scan left and right constantly and at the end of a every long, sweeping curve, particularly those blind curves, I imagine two huge, lumbering moose in the road. I see myself hurling in the air, I go one way, Queenie goes the other and the moose are totally unharmed by it all. Back to reality: I shake off that vision and start singing old Motown hits in my helmet.

By the time I reached Paradise, about an hour’s ride, the sky had turned dark and I smelled rain. The clerk at the Newberry Comfort Inn was skeptical that I could go to the Upper and Lower falls, Whitefish Point, visit the Shipwreck Museum, Bay Mills Indian Reservation AND get to Sault Ste Marie, Ontario by nightfall. But I was on a mission.

When I pulled into Paradise, it was misting. My plans were not going to work out and then it hit me…DUH! This is my vacation! I don’t have to do anything and chasing after sights, trying to meet a self-imposed, artificial deadline—what’s the point?!. A mile or so after getting into Paradise, I saw a Best Western. I pulled in. Inside, a desk clerk was talking to a man whose community had been evacuated. He said he knew his town was next and he wanted to get a jump on the evacuation and needed a room for his family. This was the second hotel I had heard about that was booking up quickly, not only with evacuees but with the many fire fighters who had been called in to assist with the fire.

They had a few rooms left by the time my turn came. I was upgraded from the standard room (two beds) to a lakeside room (one bed) “at no extra charge,” still the price was $150 I asked if there was a particular place to park my bike. The clerk said, “Under the canopy, right out in front. That way your bike won’t get too wet when it rains. In the morning, we have a bucket of towels (she is pointing to the spot) and you can wipe down your bike if it does.” What? Now that’s service that puts love in your heart! The room is spacious and lovely, with a tiny balcony. The beach is less than a stone’s throw and I relaxed by watching a family frolic in the water.

I called the hotel in Sault Ste Marie where I had made reservations. The clerk was furious that I was canceling. By now it was raining in Paradise and I explained that I just couldn’t make it to Ontario before nightfall. Their policy, she told me, is to charge the credit card if the room is canceled after 4pm. I said, “The reservation was made after 4pm so how can I change it before 4pm.” She didn’t care. I reminded her that she told me that the rooms were going quickly and they would have a full house. She didn’t care. Just reiterated their cancellation policy. I suggested she book the room and not charge my credit card. We ended the conversation with her saying, “You’ll have to wait and see.” I will wait. You will read about it in the newspaper, if I’m charged for that room!

I dined in a restaurant near the hotel. It was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable experiences I’ve had. Generally, I don’t care much that people stare. My rule is just don’t touch me or say anything stupid to me. I’m good at ignoring ignorance. But maybe I just wasn’t in the mood. The restaurant was crowded. I asked if I could get a carry out. The cashier said—way too loud for my taste—“No it’s too late and it would just be too much trouble and would take just as much time if you waited to be seated.” Okay…I waited but not before flashing him a look, which I don’t think he understood. About ten minutes later, a woman comes in and sits right next to me at the counter. She asks for a take out and the very same person says, “Well, it’s late, let me go see.” He comes back and takes her carry out order. Now I’m ticked and I wonder where I’ve packed the mace! I want to ask why the kitchen is now able to fulfill a carry out order. Inside I tell myself to let it go. But this guy knew I was ticked because I watched this carry out order transaction with great concern, giving him and the woman an occasional glance when I looked up from my book. When that was over, he said to me, “Can I say you have the most beautiful dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.” I was unmoved. I tried to look friendly but it wasn’t working well. I didn’t wanted to get into the whole debate about my hair, how it is not dread locked (there’s nothing dreadful about them) but decided to let it go—remember I’m on vacation. But he was relentless and clearly wanted to distract me from macing him. He told me that wore “dreads” for many years but eventually had to cut them off. He said his locks were huge, fat, Rasta-style. He then said something that shocked me. He said, “After a few years my hair was molding and it really stank when it was wet because it could never dry and mold was growing all through it.” Ok, now I’ve lost my appetite. I had heard that when white people get “dread locks” they go through some process that helps it to lock, some use glue at the early stage to help it adhere. I heard that some don’t wash it for long periods to facilitate the locking process. I told him and I’m saying it here. No glue or mold is associated with my hair! It is washed regularly. At the end of summer, “when this job is over, I’m getting my locks back” he told me. Only this time, he’s going to have them “more like” mine. I wanted to say, “Good Luck with that,” but just smiled instead.

Dinner was another whitefish sandwich. It was excellent, which I would enjoy later alone in my room. The restaurant eating area was bright. I was, as usual, the only fly in the buttermilk—if you know what I mean. Not an uncommon experience when I travel solo. But tonight I was bothered. Tahhquamenon Falls couldn’t possibly get as much eyeing as I was receiving last evening. In between mouthfuls entire family tables turned to watch me. Because they would all shift at the same time, I knew I was being pointed out. Some people were sly and looked away quickly when I met their eyes. Others just stared, one missed his mouth when he was trying to eat and look at the same time. Staring back didn’t seem to faze some. Others got the message. I’ve written in navel gazing detail about this in my journal so I’ll spare you all the details. However, things got so uncomfortable that I ate a few of the fries and had my server wrap up the meal to go—exactly how I wanted it in the first place! Ordinarily, I would have stayed on general principle but this was one of those days where it was best to pack it in for the night. These are old battles waged on my terms. I will say this, it is sad that parents don’t teach their children better manners…but then again, how can children be expected to learn if their own parents behave like idiots?!

This morning, from the small balcony of my room, I watched the sun rise.
Oh, what beauty.

Marquette--just what the Doctor ordered..

Monday, August 6th.

Stayed in Marquette an extra day—I think I needed to recoup from Sunday. Glad I did. Until now, I'd only passed through Marquette. My hotel, the Econo Lodge on US 41, stands directly across Lake Superior. Never stayed in this chain but I liked that my room is meticulous and on the ground level, which means that Queenie is parked outside my door. I slept well, not once imagining thieves hauling her away. A couple of other bikes were in the lot but neither as cute as my gal-pal leaving me to believe that she’d be the first pilfered.

Marquette is a bustling port city of approximately 20,000 people, making it the largest city in the UP with a proud history that has contributed greatly to the railroad history and rail network across the nation. Called the Queen City of Northern Michigan, Marquette is a center for business, shopping, banking, medical services and recreation activities. It is home to Northern Michigan University, where the US Olympic Education Center stands as a place for promising olympic hopefuls to receive training on several sports. Given its proximity to Lake Superior, its diverse terrain, Marquette is a year-round sporting, outdoors, and recreational hotspot for recreational and serious athletes and families just wanting to get away and have some fun.

Marquette is a picturesque blend of the old and the new. Many of the region and nation’s big names in lumbering, iron ore (mining) and railroad development had residences here. Its historic district is well-preserved and the homes of some of the past developers remain. This place is a walker (and bicyclist’s) delight. If you visit the area, head for Arch & Ridge streets to see the stately homes, churches, and public buildings. According to Margaret Beattie Bogue, most of these structures were built in the “last three decades of the nineteenth century during the heyday of iron mining in the Marquette range.”

One of my favorite spot was the Marquette County Courthouse off Third Street near west Washington Street. This is a great old building still in use and open to the public. I hung around outside it. It is probably most famous as the setting for the Hollywood movie, starring Jimmy Stewart and Lee Remick, Anatomy of a Murder, based on the fictionalized account of a true incident that transpired in Big Bay, a town to the northwest of Marquette. The author of the novel was Robert Traver, who in real life was attorney and county prosecutor, John Voelker (now deceased).

Stopped by Book World Bookstore, formerly the Nordic Theater where the hand and footprints of Stewart and Remick could be seen. They’ve been removed to undergo repair after suffering water damage. Book World is a great bookstore and I managed to leave it with buying only one book, which doesn’t even count since it was on the region. This reminds me…does the GPS include bookstores?? Hmmm….The downtown area is a wonderful space that all the travel books proudly note has managed to resist over “malling” to preserve the unique history and charm of this area. In fact, some of these old structures have been transformed into unique grouping of stores where local artists display and sell their art.

I toured the Marquette Maritime Museum, where a retired volunteer with an IL connection (he used to live in Joliet) gave a passionate, detailed history of lighthouse, ships (and wrecks) and many suggestions on where to tour next. The lighthouse is now federal property, under the jurisdiction of the US Coast Guard and they let are unequivocal in letting you know it. Come on their property without permission and get ready for a serious strip searching and surrendering of your firstborn! They are not playing around. They now license the museum to give the tours and require participats to wear the blue badges handed out after you pay your fee—a new feature that our guide says he has to “remember” to collect at the end of each tour. You’ll be glad to know that if Elvis is out there in the water somewhere, the US Coast Guard is there, ready for the rescue.

Presque Isle Park is highly recommended. The park is perched on the northern edge of Marquette. The scenic drive out there follows the narrow Lakeshore Drive and is worth the slow speeds posted to get there. It is a public park that has everything: fabulous views, cliffs, hiking, biking, driving trails and pebble beaches. Bogue describes it as a “beautiful 323-acre forested peninsula.” In a word, it is breathtaking and highly endorsed by seemingly everyone around here.

I rode the narrow, winding path through the park and the only problem I have about such places is they often lack a decent shoulder for pulling off for a street motorcycle. This one definitely had places to park and many lookout points but these were often sandy and pebbly, making them a little challenging for my gal-pal—and we’ve got proof, which I don’t’ want to talk about! A keen eye on one of the pics might spot the proof, which is why I’ll always remember Presque Park for more than it beauty. I have no pics of the park itself, but when I pick up Marquette again at the end of my circle, I plan to hike or rent a bicycle to explore this area and give it its proper due. The cliffs looked inviting and to lunch near the Marquette Marine Harbor, while looking out on all the blue that is Lake Superior, would be a nice way to close the office start/end of the tour.

Yes, the extra day in Marquette was just the respite Queenie and I needed. We’re off to Canada today---but oh, so many stops before we get there.

Note to self: Beware the sand and wildlife!

Upper Peninsula--Finally!

Didn’t leave IL until Sunday—more than 24 hours later than planned! If I told you all the details that transpired that day, you wouldn’t believe it. At some point, I’ll write about the tale fully but for now, I’ll spare you the Academy Award winning drama and give you the highlights. (Sorry for the funky formatting--I'm experiencing some connection challenges).

Prepared to leave Saturday, August 4, 8:00 a.m.
Bike is packed. Queenie fires up and I make it, oh, about 100 ft.
Queenie sputters as if she has Whooping Cough. Recent check up=100% A-Okay.
She’s probably out of gas—I was on my way to fill up.
I cab it to the station #1. No gas container.
Station #2 has everything I need.
I add gas. Bike still sputters and coughs. Hmmm?
Bike will start but sputters and dies out when I open the throttle.
Shop sends someone to tow the bike.
I wait over 5 hours.

Two city tow trucks circle me. I’m parked in a tow zone. (Hum Steve
Goodman’s classic song, "Lincoln Park Pirates" about the towing
biz in Chicago).
Shop driver, a great guy, had car accident on his way to retrieve me.
Shop seems to come to a stop to attend to Queenie.
Shop owner offers me his BMW R1100R to ride around Lake Superior—he is serious and pulls out the bike to prepare it.

My mechanic uses his hands like a vacuum to suck and/or choke off
something and Queenie sounds like her throat is clear. All things check out.
Queenie is test-driven and passes with flying colors. She sounds great!
Debate ensues on whether I should go in a day or two.
I side with the test rider and plan for a Sunday departure.
Leave the shop after closing time. I love those guys!
Arrive home 6:00 p.m. Exhausted. Realize I’ve missed breakfast, lunch and
too exhausted to eat dinner now. I nap instead.

Sunday, August 5:

Awake at 4a.m. It is raining and Bob Dylan’s "A Hard Rain’s
Gonna Fall" pops into my brain.
I have pasta for breakfast and want to get moving ASAP.
I repack and reduce my load by one whole bag!
The weather has tuned stormy.
Four hours later, I hum Dylan again.
Hook or crook, I’m leaving as soon as possible
Rain predicted in parts of WI and MI.
11:30 a.m. the sky has brightened a little.
12:30, I am on the road.
Choke on, Queenie sputters. Open the throttle, she belches and coughs--a little.
She idles. Her throat seems to gradually clear.
I vow to ride for an hour to check things out.
I figure I need to run through the bad gas before it’s entirely out of her system.
I encounter gray skies and light rain throughout parts of IL and WI.
Queenie performs beautifully.

Green Bay, WI feels 20 degrees colder than in IL.
I stop every 90 minutes to stretch and drink—I even remember to have lunch.
Crossing into MI, it looks like I’ve avoided the rain in Menominee, MI.
I travel territory I covered on the Lake Michigan Circle Tour. I’m excited.
I can reach Marquette, MI, faster if I stay on US 41.
I take the more scenic M-35 and travel along the big waters of Green Bay.
In Escanaba, it’s like visiting an old friend met on the Lake Michigan Circle Tour.
It is getting dark and cold. Marquette is 67 miles away.
Next 17 miles are uneventful..
Pick up US 41 again near Rapid River.
Things get interesting.

The next 50 miles provide more adventure than I want—at a time when my
energy level is beginning to wane.
I motor along US 41 underneath a canopy of trees and dense forest.
It starts to get really cold, dark, and foggy.
The area is surrounded by rivers.
The misting is heavy.
Many cars are heading in the opposite direction but only the faint red light of
a car ahead of me.
A deer, my first sighting, darts into view. My heart leaps into my throat.
Through the mist and fog, I scan for deer and pray I don’t see any.
Prayers not answered.
Many alive and dead deer along the route. I am in full alert.
Every thing now looks like a deer—mailboxes, tree stumps, tree barks…
After a few miles, the mist and fog clears. The cold remains.
More deer sightings have spooked me. My bladder begs for release.
No place to pull off the road.
A sign warns that an upcoming bridge may be slippery when icy or wet.
I cross the bridge hoping it doesn’t collapse.
Signs for Marquette, trigger the adrenaline flow.

My hotel is across the street from Lake Superior.
I pull into the lot and shortly sink into sand! Good thing I was going slowly!
It is 9:50pm. I have been on the road over nine hours.
I settle in but am famished.
Hunger leads me out again to find the “Big Boy” the clerk claims is open.
It is not.

I head back. The hilly, curvy road is near black.
Over a hill, I am met with a deer—what is it doing out this late?
Its eyes look like two huge shiny gold pieces. We spook each other.
It freezes.
I swerve to the extreme left—not a deliberate, planned response—
but sheer panic! I remind myself that this trip will have many wildlife sightings like this!
The next two minutes are—thankfully—calm.

Safely inside my room, I have graham crackers and water for dinner.
I read to calm down.

I awake at 5am.
From my window, I see a magnificent purple-red sky over Lake Superior.

It is the dawning of a new day.

Sunday ride total: 390 miles

Route (sort of...) Mileage differences due to slightly different route and avoiding tolls.

No pictures yet.

Cleaner than the Board of Health!

Took Queenie in for a safety check before the big trip. While there, I saw a red, and I mean RED, 2004 BMW R1150R.

The owner, a collector, accessorized the bike in unique ways and in doing so he used only high quality, expensive parts for the modifications. I could tell by looking at it, that he left no stone unturned--even those ordinarily ugly plastic oil containers have been transformed into art. He's clearly given attention to every detail of the bike. To make his vision for the bike real, he had to import some of the bike's farkles and the result is a bike that looks more European BMW than American BMW. It is meticulous and unblemished. And, this is a bike that has been ridden. I think it had 14,000 miles on it. The lines of the lower fairing are one of a kind. Down to the screws, the bike is extraordinary. It looks brand new. His asking price is, well, pricey, and clearly aimed at recoup some of his investment in this work of sheer beauty. I hear, however, that he's building a new house and unloading some of his garage holdings. Hmmm... I wonder how far south he's willing to go on the price 'cause I'm willing to take this off his hands.

No ST ride, No Sleep, and No skates

Well, I didn’t get to ride the BMW R1200ST. The man who promised to buy it finally showed up and took it off the dealer’s hands. Boo-hoo! I met a woman at the BMW Rally who generously offered me a ride on hers. I just might take her up on that. I hate that BMW discontinued the bike. Wonder what’s in store to replace it?

The insomnia has started. I’ve strange sleeping habits to start with, so it doesn’t take much for sleeplessness to kick in. I’m already walking around zombie-like because I can’t settle down to sleep longer than a few hours at a time. As I’ve said before, I see this as part of the trip process for me. I’m preoccupied with thoughts about all the things I need to complete before I leave, the excitement of leaving, you name it.

No inline skates on the trip. More Boo-hooing. I will miss many scenic opportunities to skate in regions near Lake Superior. Riding a motorcycle isn’t the most aerobic outlet. Thus, skating would have ensured some heart-pumping activity on the trip. But alas,…they take up more space than I can spare. I’ll have to settle for taking a jump rope to launch each day and my hiking boots to explore Canada’s plentiful provincial parks.

I have three hours before heading off to work. I’m going to try again to get some shut-eye…