Day 43. Newberry to Tahquamenon Falls State Park, 32 miles

What to say about today. It was a good day of riding, a short but largely enjoyable jaunt up to the far north U.P., where towns and cell service are scant. I headed out of Newberry past all this barbed wire, which turned out to be the Newberry Correctional Facility. Gateway to Tahquamenon Falls!

My day was spent entirely on M-123, which runs perpendicular north from M-28 to Tahquamenon (rhymes with “phenomenon,” the lady at Newberry Campground helpfully offers when I stammer through it) Falls State Park and then back down again to take me out of the U.P. When I saw the campsite situation at Pictured Rocks yesterday, I immediately checked the state park and snagged literally the last tent site for this evening. It’s my final bit of Lake Superior before we part ways, and I love me a good waterfall. I think maybe it was raining when Joyce and I were here? I don’t remember, but I have no recollection of seeing the falls. Which doesn’t mean it didn’t happen! Joyce?

The landscape was green and lush, dotted with lakes and run through with creeks.

Houses were relatively few and far between.

It was nice riding, and I soaked it up, knowing that after this I’d be dropping back down into the lower peninsula and the more populated and dense Midwest, before moving through cities for a goodly stretch.

The traffic was still not insignificant, and when I arrived at the upper falls—which I’d managed to forget was a Whole Thing, including an enormous lodge/restaurant—it was a zoo. I was able to skip the entrance lines because bikes don’t require recreation passports; I made my way through the parking lot madness, stashed my bike behind the restrooms, and set off down the path for the falls viewing area.

Gosh, should I tell you about the man I berated for benignly looking on as his son carved something into the railing with a bottle cap? About the people who ignored the Stay on Trails signs and clambered down into the river at the foot of the falls? About the guy who hit on me, seamlessly moving from a conversation about how the area had been developed to telling me he was leaving the lower peninsula behind for good after four attempts on his life and three houses built for women who didn’t stay?

The falls themselves were gorgeous. I cannot get enough of waterfalls, y’all.

But people. I just don’t know.

After taking in the view, I rode the remaining four miles of my day to the campground, conveniently located a few-minute walk from the lower falls. I set myself up and went on a palate-cleansing walk along some random snippet of the North Country Trail that runs through the park.

After a shower, I walked from the campground to the lower falls, hoping it’d be quieter at the dinner hour. And it was less hectic than earlier in the day, and I had a few quiet minutes to myself as I walked toward the viewing area and bridge to a beach where folks can go in the river and play in the falls.

It was a nice scene, and the waterfalls were very sweet. I have fond memories of waterfall sliding in my childhood, and it made my heart happy to watch some kids encourage their nervous mom to wade in and try the falls, and she did, and she loved it—just blissed out floating down the current for a moment—and then stood up and high-fived her waiting son. I bet it was a highlight of her day.

I made my way back to the campground to make dinner and then read for a while in my tent (mosquitos are the headwind of bugs, man) before knocking off for an early start and a longish day to meet up with Tas and Sean in St. Ignace. ❤️