Author: sbw

I woke up at my usual 5 and bustled to head out by 6:30, knowing I had a decently long day and a mix of tail and cross winds. I’ve learned that a challenge of days I’m seeing folks is that my anticipation makes me impatient, and I can lose enjoying the ride. It’s a good thing! I’m happy to see my people. But it’s also a different track, and my brain has trouble working on major parallel tracks sometimes.

After a quick stop at the Paradise (!) convenience store, I ride the mostly deserted 123 through a beautiful morning.

I’m also saying goodbye to Lake Superior today. I’ll drop down to St. Ignace, where I’ll have a few minutes with Lake Michigan to my west–my only encounter with it this trip!–and Lake Huron, my new best lake friend for the moment, to my east.

Because of the aforementioned impatience and my awareness of my medium-long day, I don’t take many pictures. I’m also noticing a bit of melancholy at the dropping south and even more back into the world: Flint, Toledo, Cleveland. I’ve loved being in the U.P.—I have a real soft spot for Michigan and the U.P. in particular.

It is a weird and confusing contradiction that I have only ever lived in major cities yet yearn for places away from people yet won’t drive and night or in bad weather and thus am consigned always to live in cities until they perfect self-driving cars. And also I like cities, and Chicago has a lot of beautiful lakefront. Anyway. I rode 75 miles and made it to St. Ignace to the outstanding Airbnb Tas found, and Sean made me mac and cheese and chicken and Tas made a salad, and we drank beers and looked at the lake, and life was swell. Is swell.

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. ❤️

I had a tailwind! A real one, and all day. It was the best, and I made hay with it. It was much cooler than yesterday, but the rain hadn’t yet happened and was clearly going to. I was fortunate to be able to pack up under just an overcast sky, but I prepped for the inevitable, keeping my plastic bag collection handy. My rain jacket lives outside the panniers, always at the ready.

My original plans to hug the coast and go up to Pictured Rocks and Au Sable Dunes were foiled when I discovered during my roadside park breakfast planning session that there was not a single campsite available in any of the three National Park campgrounds. On a Wednesday! It’s been increasingly hard to get campsites over the last few trips; Joyce and I started reserving for weekends in advance a few years back, and on our first post-COVID tour last year that was essential. This year I booked all my weekends for the first month in advance and never leave a weekend unplanned, and that has proven insufficient preparation: several times I’ve had to change plans because it turns out my intended accommodations are full on a weekday.

This one was a big bummer, but así es. I reworked my plan to go 70 miles straight through on 28, but then noticed the campground I was aiming for—which was first-come-first-serve only, no reservations—had no showers. Figuring I’d make sure there was back-up, I called the only motel in town, and it was fully booked. (When I passed it late in the day, the lot was packed with pickup trucks belonging to SeaLampreyControl.org‽ The Google machine tells me that this is an international commission that “coordinates fisheries research, controls the invasive sea lamprey, and facilitates cooperative fishery management among the state, provincial, tribal, and federal agencies.”)

There was a campground 22 miles on that looked good and had plenty of spots, but 90+ miles seemed a little ambitious; I figured I’d ride to Seney—the showerless campground—and see how the showers vs miles debate played out, assuming Seney had sites and I had choices.

So I rode! With a tailwind!

Right as I departed Munising—the coast, sniff sniff, and my last real place for a stretch of miles—it began raining. And it rained. For two hours, through 20 miles of roadwork, it rained steadily, the sky a low, endless, rain-fat grey. I get stretches of brand new asphalt and my own closed lane for a while, and that is real nice. Then we get to the active work. As I’m riding through the one-lane portion on a milled shoulder, a bulldozer driver leans slightly out of the cab so I can hear him as I pass: “You can’t tell me this is fun!” No, sir, I cannot.

Then the roadwork is over! I’ve ridden 25 miles straight through what would have been a break, pausing only for a damp peanut roll, and right as I’m getting kinda salty about how much I’ve praised Michigan’s roadside amenities and how it’s not living up to my hype: a rest area! I pull in just as the rain is ending and recombobulate myself with the hand dryer and a bench.

By this time it’s clear to me I’m riding on to Newberry. I’m only 27 miles out in the mid afternoon, and I’m covered in grit from cars and trucks spraying me with their wake; I had to rinse the sand from my socks in the bathroom sink. And a tailwind! I reserve a site and move on.

I arrive at the Newberry Campground at the surprisingly early hour of 5 (tailwind tailwind tailwind!) and set up quickly, since it looks like rain again. I get the essentials together for dinner prep.

After beans and rice for dinner, I shower and hide out from the skeeters at the campground office, taking care of various business items. Right as I hit my tent, the rain starts, but I am cozy inside and manage to kill all three mosquitoes that got in before snuggling down for the night.

What an unexpectedly excellent day of riding! I’d been warned by another cross-country cyclist I’d met in the Settler’s Co-Op in Bruce Crossing the other day that she had intel that getting into Marquette was lousy: bad shoulder, high traffic volume. She was riding with another solo lady she’d met on the road, and they’d decided to drop down to 2 to avoid it. Having done 2 last summer with Joyce and having not loved the experience, I was willing to take my chances on M-28. I started the day about 45 miles out of Marquette—I was riding a bit past it to a campground on its outskirts—so I was keen to know when it would get rough. The longer it took the better, of course, and I had my eye on some trail action that I hoped might mitigate it.

The morning started cool and humid, though the cashier at the Michigamme Market announced as she was ringing me up that it would be “hot and rainy.” Whee! It was overcast, which I appreciated, and the shoulder was wide and clean.

Again with the abundant roadside parks! Every little lake had one, and it made my heart sing.

The shoulder continued to be totally reasonable through the town of Champion, with its extremely cute post office.

And then I was on trail! I’d seen that the Iron Ore Trail, which had been unpaved for many miles previous, was paved for a large section through Ishpeming and Negaunee, leading into Marquette and then through and out of it, so I made my way to it and could not have been more pleased. Other than one unpaved section where I jumped onto a county road for a few miles, it was smooth riding.

At a trailside memorial to nine (or 10? not clear from the narratives) miners who died in a cave-in, I find many of my favorite midwestern ditch weeds: narrow-leafed everlasting sweet pea, purple crown vetch, white sweetclover, and of course Queen Anne’s lace/wild carrot.

I eat some Michigan cherries I bought at a roadside farm stand (!!!). (The peach I got was so perfect I ate it standing over my bike before leaving the place.) Then I keep riding and it’s lovely and perfect.

There is also the joy of coming back to Lake Superior after having gotten away from the coast east of Ashland. That joy looks something like this.

I stop at a Subway where the trail crosses the strip mall misery of Marquette, then jump back on the trail for several more lovely miles. Next to Lake Superior! 💙

I arrive at my slightly wonky and expensive campground (across the road from a roadside park overlooking the lake at which I will certainly eat breakfast) in sweltering heat. It has not yet rained, though I’d maybe like it to just to wring some of the hot water out of the air. A shower and a local beer at the lodge later, I am human again and head off to sleep hoping I can pack up before the rain promised in the morning gets started.

I set off this morning with more wistful backward glances than usual, after a walk to the gas station for coffee we drink by the lake. I headed out around 9; it’s a longish day, but I’ve been promised a tailwind, and I’m headed to a motel, so later arrival is fine.

The shoulder is variable, and there’s occasional roadwork, but overall the riding is good. It’s the familiar, standard-issue, Michigan riding I love: tree-lined, rolling along mostly undramatically (though I end the day having gained 400 feet), punctuated by sweet roadside parks with vault toilets and water and picnic tables.

This warms my heart (and breaks it a little more).

It’s hot as heck, hot like it hasn’t been since North Dakota, and I spend most of my breaks panting and hydrating in the shade. I do have the promised tailwind in the morning, but it turns to a cross and maybe a bit of a head in the late afternoon. I’m surprisingly unfazed, my mood sailing on its own tailwind from seeing Andrew.

That lasts through the bar & grill next door to the motel—the only dinner option—being closed and the motel having only a (very powerful) fan. A shower and a left-behind cold beer gifted by the owners (who also offer to run me to the market five miles down the road for dinner items ❤️) cure the little that ails me, and I get in a call with mom before bed. A good day.

What a perfect rest day. After a dinner at Antonio’s, one of Bergland’s three dining establishments, all in walking distance, we have rum cocktails Andrew brought along while watching the night come on. In the morning we sleep in and then get breakfast at our new favorite spot, Antonio’s, beating the church crowd by just a bit so we even get the same booth as last night.

After breakfast we take a walk down to Lake Gogobic and then spend a relaxing afternoon hanging around, until an indulgent dinner at Trailside BBQ, followed by ice cream at, wait for it, Antonio’s. The walk to dinner has revealed that my shoulder will improve, at least temporarily, on the far side of Bergland; it’s been pretty lousy—narrow, patched, gravel-strewn—and I’m looking forward to the quality of life improvement. Fortunately, traffic has been light enough to make this less painful for everyone than it might be.

A quick stop at the gas station for snacks (a rare find: chocolate chip cookie dough bars!), and we’ve done the town. The day is over too quickly, but it was absolutely wonderful. So wonderful that we neglected to get any photos at all (SORRY!), except this video of Andrew gamely taste testing the salted peanut roll at my request.

Speaking of wonderful, I wanted to to take some space to thank all of you who’ve been cheerleading me along from the comments, in texts and emails and messages, and in all kinds of ways. Tas, Linda, Alison, Joyce, and Jajah, you have been my steadfast comment support squad, and I appreciate you so much: I look forward to posting primarily because I get to hear from y’all ❤️. You too, Delia, Steve, and Carrie! Em and Wendy, our running thread keeps me grounded and sane (like always), from pictures of the boys to home improvement projects to words of encouragement. Joyce, thanks for reliving our previous tours with me by text and sending me love and tailwinds. Aimée and Yael and Josh and mom, you’ve each supported me in your own way, and I appreciate ‘em all so much. Germaine, your bisous and bon courage when I needed them warmed my heart. Same, Sarah, Jennifer, Maria, Jajah. Tom, your post on Facebook made me feel like a gosh darn 40-something super hero.

Those who are trying to meet up with me in the Midwest, I can’t wait to see you, and I hope we can make it happen.

What a great day. Being pretty excited to see Andrew, I had to force myself to slow down the morning routine so I didn’t arrive in Bergland so much earlier than he did that the place wouldn’t let me check in. I was, for the first time on the trip, sort of badly in need of laundry, and it turned out there’s a laundromat in Ironwood, so I made my way there around 7:15, got a load in, and used some of the $10 in quarters I had to purchase for a breakfast of weak coffee and pop tarts.

Laundry accomplished, I gather snacks and drinks for what’s turning into a very hot day and head out toward Bergland on a lovely Rail-to-Trail trail called the Iron Belle; I get 7-8 miles with her before I’m back on my old buddy 2, with which I will finally part ways today so I can take the (hopefully quieter) M-28 as my main road through the U.P.

Oh! And I entered my last time zone of the trip! ET from here on out.

I get on 28, and it is indeed quieter, though this is compensated for by the disappearance/disintegration of my paved shoulder for a stretch. I do not despair, because I have learned how such roads work, and the next town or county may take its road maintenance more seriously. The ATVs that appear and then roar and bounce past in a cloud of road dust on the larger, gravel part of the shoulder may be a clue as to the jagged and broken edges of the asphalt shoulder and the gravel strewn across it. I have to remind myself that I am the interloper here: that wide gravel shoulder is almost certainly for them, much like the trail Googlemaps keeps trying to put me on (Snowmobile Trail 8 on maps, it helpfully adds).

And then who cares because I am here at our home for the next day or so!

The owner left the AC on in our (adorable and spacious) cabin because Andrew told her I’d be arriving by bike, and she lets me check in an hour early. I explore the place, get changed, and park myself on the bench to await Andrew’s arrival. He arrives, rolling up on his motorcycle with his much cooler safety gear, and here our story pauses for the moment while I enjoy some time with my guy whom I haven’t seen for six weeks (!!).