By the Shores of Gitche Gumee (Part 1)

by Doug Gordon

Other than that, this was not a major touring achievement. No peg dragging, no 1000-mile days, just an unencumbered ride along some uncrowded highways, and a great way to clear my head of day-to-day concerns. Highly recommended...

Thursday, July 19, 2001

As I pull out of my driveway heading north from Detroit, for some reason I'm less enthusiastic about this trip than I expected to be. I can tell this because, for once, there's no Born to be Wild melody rattling around my head as I ride out of town. There's also no major destination ahead, just a complete circuit around Lake Superior and back home again in 5 days. I guess part of it is being too familiar with the first part of the route. There's little new in store and the roads are relatively crowded from here until I I get to the Upper Peninsula (U.P.). To make it at least a bit more interesting, I stay off the freeway and take a combination of state and county roads that I know very well. As I go along this familiar route, my mind flashes back to the many times that I've gone this way over the years...

It was almost exactly 30 years ago that I took my very first motorcycle "road trip" with a group of buddies around this same Lake Superior loop. I had been riding dirt bikes for a few years, but that spring I had bought a used Honda CB500, mounted a Windjammer fairing, strapped on my tent and luggage, and decided to try touring for a change. I was converted. Just a few years later, in 1976, I rode this way on my trusty R75/5 (with the same fairing) for the first leg of my "long ride" out west for several weeks. It's interesting that that trip remains as the longest continuous trip that I ever took on a bike. Then there were the many times in later years that my son and I drove up (by car) to various YMCA camps in northern Michigan for our annual Indian Guides campouts. It wasn't motorcycling, but overall those were some of the best times of my life.

Things have changed a lot over the years. Of the group that I took that first trip with, I think that I'm the only one left who goes touring any more. Most of the others still ride, but our styles have drifted apart. My camping days are also pretty much over, as a soft bed and good shower at the end of the day just has too much appeal. But the roads haven't changed all that much, and I mark off the various familiar towns and landmarks as I make my way up to the first major waypoint: The Bridge.

Question: Why is it that whenever I cross the Mackinac Bridge, there's always a lane closed? And why is it always the outside, paved lane, so that I have to ride over a mile on an open steel grating with the stiff crosswind that's always blowing? The only cool thing about being on a motorcycle at this point is that you can glance straight down to the side and see the waters of the straits sparkling about 150' below your boots. However, the way the bike jiggles and wanders along the grating, it's hard to do this for more than a second or two at a time. Always an interesting experience...

Things change as soon as you cross the bridge to the U.P. Distances suddenly seem to stretch out. Whereas towns were previously encountered at 10-15 mile intervals, they now all seem to be 20-30 miles apart. The terrain is flat and sandy, with lots (lots!) of pine trees, broken occasionally by hardscrabble farms and the occasional settlement. My plan is to ride around the lake clockwise this time. This should make everything look different from the two other times that I've done this route, when I rode around in the other direction. I've also decided to maximize my views of the lake by taking the side routes along the major peninsulas, so my first destination is Whitefish Point and the town of Paradise.

The straits often act as a weather separator, and sure enough as soon as I'm a few miles north the skies are clouded over and a light drizzle has started. I'm a bit bummed by running into rain so soon, as I had some concern from the weather reports about getting a lot of rain. Little do I know that this will be the worst rain that I'll see on the entire trip. Being my first long ride with my Concept helmet, I also fail to reseat the faceshield from its forward "city" position that has been letting in some cool air. So, when I lower my windscreen to help blow the rain off my faceshield, some of it goes through the gap at the top and runs down the inside of the visor. Well, this trip is starting off just dandy!

Rainy Day in Paradise

When I finally arrive at my motel in Paradise, it is still raining lightly. Is there anything more dreary than a summer resort area on a rainy day? Anyway, the room is dry and the rain eventually lets up for a while. It's cooled off enough that I take an evening cruise on out to the end of the pavement at Whitefish Point for my first look at the lake. This is the world's largest freshwater lake -- a true "inland sea." It was just off this position that the Edmund Fitzgerald went down many years ago (cue the Gordon Lightfoot music), and there is a Shipwreck Museum there that houses the ship's bell that was later recovered. My spirits are lifting a bit now, although the rain returns later that evening. I'm hoping for an early start and clear weather for tomorrow.

Friday, July 20, 2001

I wake early, as usual, with the sounds of waves lapping on the shores of Whitefish Bay just outside my motel room door. As soon as I get the bike loaded and am underway, I start to feel like this is really the first day of my trip. Yesterday's gloom has risen from both the skies and my mood. The 40 miles of M-123 from Paradise to Newberry are mostly a series of gentle curves through a heavily forested state park area. With the cool of the morning and the fragrance of the pine trees, it finally feels like an "Up North" vacation. What's more, on this entire leg I don't see another vehicle going in either direction (one of my favorite things about being a chronic early riser!). I keep an eye out for deer, but the only sign postings that I see say "Moose Crossing." Moose? I didn't realize that moose had increased their range this far east in the U.P. in recent years.

After breakfast in Newberry, I head due west along the infamous Seney Stretch. This section of M-28 is about 40 miles of nothingness, 20 or more of which are absolutely straight and level. The scenery is neither good nor bad; in fact, there's no scenery at all. On both sides there is just sandy soil with scrubby bushes and stunted pine trees, and you'd swear that it's the same trees that keep passing by as you make little progress towards the horizon -- like being on some sort of giant treadmill. Yesterday's showers are still hanging around, and I'm riding through a thin drizzle. This time, the rain doesn't bother me, and feels just like a normal part of touring by motorcycle. Obviously, my attitude has been adjusted in the light of a new day.

On the Waterfront in Munising

Somewhere along the stretch (impossible to pin down exactly where you are in this area), I'm passed by a pair of airheads with full touring and camping gear aboard. A couple of miles further on everyone has to stop for a construction holdup, and I catch up with the two riders. One of the bikes has Maine plates, and the other is from Washington (state). We converse a bit, but with helmet and earplugs I can't quite catch their ultimate destination. We're both wearing Aerostich outfits, and it turns out that we're both planning on stopping by the RiderWearhouse shop in Duluth when we pass through. I forget to ask if they're on the IBMWR list before we start up again. They'll be there long before I am since I'm taking a side trip up the Keeweenaw Peninsula.

The rain stops for good before I get to Munising, and by the time I reach Marquette it's quite sunny and hot. Beyond Marquette, the road goes straight west and leaves the vicinity of the lake for a while. Looking on a map, there is a large bulge of land to the north of M-28 that appears to be an inaccessible wilderness. A habitat for elk, moose, bear, and wolves: there are few if any roads, and no pavement at all. It would be an interesting area to explore, but you'd really have to be into hiking and camping to do it.

Houghton and the Shipping Canal

Eventually I turn onto US-41, which is the main road up into the peninsula. This takes me along the eastern shore and a good view again of Superior. I'm very early arriving at my motel in Houghton, but the room is ready so I can toss my gear in and change clothing, dressing a bit lighter for the trip out to Copper Harbor. The motel is in the downtown area, right next to the lift-bridge that crosses the canal separating Houghton from Hancock and all points north. Within a few minutes, I'm over the bridge and on my way to rediscover the roads of the Keeweenaw.

The U.P. was the source of most of the nation's copper during the late 1800's and early 1900's, and Calumet was the mining boom town that was the center of this industry. It is now part of a National Historic Park, which should contribute to its preservation in future years. The old buildings are fascinating, being built out of the dark reddish-orange-brown brick and stone that is ubiquitous in the northern regions of Michigan and Wisconsin. Some of the facades have quite elaborate stonework carvings, and with the brick streets it really takes you back to an earlier era. It also looks somewhat out of place with the general rundown look of many of the other towns in the U.P. It's easy to imagine what a population center it was a hundred years ago, with all its churches, meeting halls, and even an opera house in operation.