Never before have my mother or I had to deal with water that smelled worse. The strong odor of sulfur hits your nose, and then the iron in the water splashing on your lips tastes of blood. Our showers were taken quickly and felt mostly ineffectual. Bottled water was necessary for brushing our teeth.
Stepping outside, though, was a dream with blue skies and not a hint of wind, making for a picture-perfect reflection in the lake in front of our lodging. We are later than usual getting onto the road, seeing we slept in, so it’s already after 9:00 as we continue our march eastward.
Out in the middle of nowhere, all we can do is drive, admiring the trees, flowers, and the winding road taking us over the Michigan landscape here in summer.
In Marquette, Michigan, we reach Lake Superior again. No wonder this lake feels like an ocean; it’s 350 miles long by 160 miles wide, making it impossible to see the other side no matter the direction you look. A little turned around, we quickly righted our path and ended up at a small corner of the bay. We’re near an old platform once used for filling ore into barges headed to steel mills that dotted the Great Lakes in former times.
A local fish shop looks like it has the potential to offer breakfast. It turns out they sell fresh raw fish and nothing else. The proprietor suggests a place around the corner and up the hill called the Nordic Inn, which turns out to work fine, satisfying our morning hunger attack.
Passing the Bahrman Potato Warehouse in Skandia, Michigan I needed to stop for this photo due to the heavy sag of the roofs. It wasn’t just the state approaching collapse that I wanted to note but the fact that it was a potato barn, and in my limited thoughts about growing spuds, I’d not thought of them outside of Idaho. Such is the effectiveness of marketing and branding as Michigan is known for cars and Motown, or can you think of anything else?
It may as well be summertime in California and Florida all year round, as the constant buzz of activity and throngs of people suggest that the crowds are on vacation there every day. Here we are moving over some incredibly beautiful landscapes in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan in the middle of summer, and there is nobody out here. This northern part of the Midwest doesn’t seem to draw in that many visitors, which is perplexing. Maybe lakes and forests only hold deep appeal to those who dwell in deserts.
With the crazy pace of driving now slowing, we’ll hopefully take more opportunities to step out of the car together to experience the places we are passing through. Here we are on day four already, and this is the first selfie of my mother and me standing in front of Lake Michigan. Over the coming 12 days, there will be very few photos of my mother, which is a bit tragic as this was supposed to be something more than a simple sightseeing trip to New York. At 57 years old, my mom does not have much stamina for physical activity, which includes simply walking. Even 11 years ago, when Caroline and I were in America from Germany to get married, she ended up not being at our midnight ceremony on the Las Vegas strip due to being too tired when she was only 46 years old.
I wish I was here with Caroline as there would be no doubt that we’d walk out to the Manistique East Breakwater Lighthouse there in the distance. Instead, I have to put it in the catalog of places to return to.
I did have the opportunity to visit the Seul Choix Point Lighthouse in Mueller Township, and while I got a panorama from up the tower, it didn’t turn out as nicely as I’d hoped, so there’s this view.
It took us until late afternoon to pass from the north of the Upper Peninsula to the south and over to St. Ignace, Michigan, where we are now. It’s too late in the day for the ferry to Mackinac Island, which we feel won’t give us enough time to visit, with the last ferry returning to the mainland at 9:00 p.m.
Putting off Mackinac until tomorrow we decide to head down the eastern shore of Lake Michigan. Over the 5-mile-long bridge to the mainland, let’s see what we can find.
A tip earlier in the day suggested we stop to eat at the Legs Inn Restaurant in Cross Village if we were in the area. Things didn’t work out timing-wise to do so, but it certainly becomes a place to bring Caroline. Another recommendation just beyond Cross Village suggested we drive the M-119 scenic road. It was about to deliver a week’s worth of oohs and aahs.
The road is a single lane with barely enough room for two cars to pass. Even a separating line wouldn’t fit on this narrow path as nobody could stay on their side of the road. This is the Tunnel of Trees road. It twists and turns, shaded by the canopy of leaves that blot out the sky. As we enter clearings, we have the feeling of having left a movie theatre with our eyes needing to adjust to the bright light.
Off to our right and occasionally visible through the thicket is Lake Michigan. On our left are some incredibly gorgeous homes buried in the woods. The sun is getting low in the sky, with an amber glow developing over the lake. Neither Mom nor I can believe we almost changed the itinerary to skip this part of the trip with the idea we could instead make it all the way to Maine. We are both mesmerized by the incredible place in which we have found ourselves.
And then it gets even better. The town of Harbor Springs sits on Little Traverse Bay and must be one of the most beautiful towns my mother, and I have ever seen in America. We agree that Telluride, Colorado; Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Pt Reyes or Big Sur, California; Ketchum, Idaho, and Bar Harbor, Maine, can’t hold a candle to the extraordinary combination of elements that make this a top location for both of us.
We drive right through Petoskey on the hunt for a motel, though we take a quick pause at a scenic overlook to grab a shot of the sunset. I should point out that this far north, the sun doesn’t actually set until after 9:30 p.m., so we know if we putz around looking at sunsets, it will be 11:30 before we check into a motel.
Drats, turned around, a wrong turn, and finally, we are in Charlevoix but not able to find a quaint waterside room. It is 10:30 when we open our door. Charlevoix in the dark, looks to hold a lot of promise for the morning, so it’s time for me to close this chapter and get to sleep. It’s midnight.
