In 1997 three friends of mine, Eric, Dave, and Dave’s friend, Jim (not to be confused with Eric’s friend, Jim) rode 570 miles along Lake Michigan through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. As that was some time ago I reached out to Dave and Eric for some help with my somewhat faulty memory. Eric filled in a couple of the blanks but Dave, who had kept detailed accounts of our rides, sent me photos and long recaps of three of them and they are so well written and detailed I decided to just enter them into my blog in their entirety, letting him tell the stories.
Thanks, Dave, you should write for Hallmark!
September 1997
Dave’s Story
It’s a long drive from Battle Creek to Mackinac. It’s an even longer ride back, especially when the route followed parallels the shore of Lake Michigan, and you do it on a bicycle.
Ranges of dark clouds passed overhead as we drove north that September Saturday but the rain they seemed to hold never fell. By the end of the day they had passed over and brought a week of good bicycling weather, mostly clear, sometimes a bit windy, but staying dry during the day at least.
My wife Kathy and I were accompanied in the van by Jamie and Jenny, our kids, and Jim Dam, my boyhood friend from Indianapolis. We planned to meet two other riders, Eric and Bruce, friends of mine from Minneapolis, Minnesota, who had started their bike ride a few days earlier at Manitowoc, Wisconsin and were riding across the Upper Peninsula. Our rendezvous point was Mackinaw City that evening.
We got into town before them and Jim Dam, Jamie and I went for a walk at Mill Creek State Park, just down the road from our motel on US23 east of Mackinaw City. That was a really interesting park, with a reconstructed water mill dating from the 1790s, making it one of the oldest industrial sites in the Midwest. When we got back to the motel Eric and Bruce had arrived so we went out for supper with them. As we ate, Bruce told us there was only one rule that they followed in their bicycle rides, “Never turn back.” It didn’t sound like too difficult a rule to follow.
Next morning dawned clear but chilly as we headed west on the bikes to Mackinaw City and the Lake Michigan shore while Kathy headed south for Battle Creek with the van and the kids. We enjoyed a number of nice views of Lake Michigan, which were quite frequent since we were paralleling the coastline about as close as roads permitted. Even more noteworthy was the ride on a stretch of state highway north of Harbor Springs in the Good Hart area, known as ‘the tunnel of trees’. It’s a narrow stretch of road, probably 10 or 15 miles long, which barely allows vehicles to meet each other and stay on the road. It’s too twisty for any passing but no one is in a hurry anyway because the scenery is too nice. The road is lined with a forest that nearly intrudes on the roadway and makes the ride seem almost like a walk in the woods. Occasional breaks in the trees offered long views over the lake from the hilltop we were riding on. I’m sure the area gets really spectacular as the trees change color but it was nice even with green trees. We finished the day with a ride into Charlevoix where we spent the night at a motel right next to a Chinese restaurant. You can guess where we ate supper. For once I was able to do justice to a Chinese meal.
The trip out of town the next morning was both interesting and confusing. After stopping at a minute mart to get a cup of coffee into Eric, we headed south and then turned west toward the lakeshore as our map indicated. We found the road that paralleled the lakeshore easily enough but it appeared to be the access road to a state park. However, our maps seemed to indicate that the road went through and joined roads on the other end of the park. So when we encountered a dirt road we continued, confident that the road would too. Until we saw the sign saying “Road Ends”.
By this time we had invested three or four miles of riding on this road that we were unwilling to surrender easily. Besides, we had a rule to never turn back. So we pushed our bikes across a footbridge spanning a stream, through a sandy path paralleling the lakeshore, and then finally inland on a trail through the woods for another half mile or more until we heard the welcome sound of traffic and exited onto a dirt road. But we didn’t turn back anyway.
We all carried gear for camping but on this trip we seemed to find motels more readily than campgrounds. However, staying in motels gave us more riding time and allowed an earlier start and the rates were pretty reasonable. We could have traveled a lot lighter without all the camping gear, and that would have made the hills easier to climb. But that may be how you measure the success of a bicycling vacation — by the pain. Or maybe the pain is just a sign of inadequate training, but there’s not a lot of pleasure in riding around town with 40 pounds of gear on your bike for training.
We really felt the extra weight the second day too as we continued south toward Traverse City. A combination of headwinds and steep hills made the day difficult. We had to follow a stair step pattern of roads (south, west, south, west) to avoid US31, which was too busy and too narrow to accommodate us on bikes. We were, however, able to stoke up for the difficulties ahead by stopping at a restaurant/general store in Torch Lake (the village that is, which consists primarily of the restaurant). They had a breakfast special (it was only about 10:30) of two scrambled eggs and a grilled cinnamon bun. I had to find out what a grilled cinnamon bun was so I ordered it. When I bit into it I wondered why I had had to wait fifty years to find such pleasure, only to realize that it probably had so much fat in it that I shouldn’t even think of eating it unless I were on a long bike ride. The bun was sliced in half horizontally with both halves fried on the grill, in probably plenty of butter. The cinnamon was as tasty as it smelled and the frosting had melted down into the bun, making a delightfully soft, gooey mess that had to be eaten with a fork.
The headwinds and series of hills which followed (there seemed to be more up than down) finally ended with a turn onto the TART trail that took us into Traverse City. I kept my eyes open for loose women but I think the trail name was an acronym for Traverse Area Riding Trail. We stoked up at Burger King with a Big King, a new sandwich that’s a Big Mac knockoff at an introductory 99 cent special, and then rode into Traverse City. I think that was the least enjoyable part of the whole ride. It was extremely busy and the bike path that we followed along the bay petered out and dumped us onto the main road through town, a combination of US31 and M72 that was carrying a terrible amount of traffic.
We had stopped at a bike shop in town and the guy had told us an alternate route out of town that would avoid part of M72 near town as well as a big hill. We got the first turn right, which was a big improvement over the heavily traveled road we had been on, but we missed the second turn. We didn’t realize that until four miles or so later. Then, instead of turning around (never turn back), we found a southbound road that we figured would eventually intersect M72. It did, but after climbing a 300 or 400-foot high hill that we thought we’d never get over. Every bend in the road brought a new uphill into sight. When we finally intersected M72 we found a road that was busy and narrow and still 15 miles or so from Empire, our destination for the night. And the light was starting to fade in a combination of sundown and gathering clouds. We began to look for alternate campsites but that would leave us unable to see the Sleeping Bear Dunes area. Bruce went into the store we had stopped by and found someone with an extended cab pickup willing to take us to Empire. That was really welcome after 77 difficult miles, and even more so when we saw some of the hills we’d have had to ride over to get there. We pulled into Empire at dusk, tired but glad to find a motel (we had missed the turn off for the campground a mile up the road but decided the motel would be an acceptable substitute).
It’s interesting the way certain things about a day stand out later, although the whole day might have been full of new experiences. The third day of our ride was like that, with a tough start, some long hills, great views, and a wonderful fruit stand forming the highlights. It was a long day, covering 94 miles from Empire in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore to Ludington where Eric and Bruce had to catch the ferry to Manitowoc on Wednesday morning. So it was kind of a must do day but the weather was so nice that it didn’t seem that hard a day, even with some of the biggest hills of the trip.
The ground was damp from a nighttime shower as we headed to the beach at Empire that morning. After enjoying the view up the coast to the Sleeping Bear and the Manitou islands we headed south down the lakeshore again. The riding was really nice, with narrow roads made pleasant by a virtual absence of automobile traffic. If I could just get going! I was even having trouble coasting down hills. So I stopped to check out the bike and noticed that the sidewall of my rear tire was rubbing on the chain stay. Some fiddling with that got it into a better position but when I started out again things still seemed slow. After about ten miles we stopped at the Platte River store near the south end of the park for a break. I studied the wheel some more and finally noticed that the rim was also dragging pretty heavily on the brake pad. I think I was experiencing the aftereffects from the pickup ride of the evening before that must have moved my wheel. A little more repositioning and I was once more able to ride with much less effort and to even coast down hills. Amazing the difference small things can make!
We passed by Crystal Lake, a magnificent blue jewel sparkling in the morning sun, and turned off to Point Betsie. We were riding with a tailwind that was also raising up some impressive waves. We watched them break against the seawall surrounding the lighthouse, throwing spray high into the air. It was a really nice setting and we could probably have spent many hours there but we had miles to go before we could sleep. So we rode into Frankfort where we stopped at a deli for a really good lunch. I had a Philly steak and cheese sandwich (I think that was what it was called anyway—regardless of the name it was tasty). Then we headed down the lakeshore again.
The stretch of road south of Frankfort and north of Manistee had three of the biggest hills on the trip, though we had ridden a couple others on day 2 that would have easily rivaled them. These hills, though, were accompanied with some really impressive views that helped make the climb worth the effort. One hill had a long set of steps leading up to a viewing platform at the top of a bluff that yielded magnificent vistas of the lakeshore. As if we hadn’t punished ourselves enough already, we climbed another hundred feet up the steps. The bad part about steps is you don’t get to coast down them — unless you make a mistake, anyway. But the view was worth the climb and we did get to coast down the hill after leaving the parking lot. I think I hit the highest speed for the trip there, just over 37 miles an hour, and I was using the brakes a bit. It’s strange how a sedate speed in an automobile can be rather scary on a bike, especially with a lot of gear affecting both control and braking.
We were coming into fruit country now, with orchards of various kinds appearing by the roadsides. Along a stretch of road like we were riding that day one wouldn’t expect a non-descript driveway fruit stand to be a highlight. But it was time for a break and time to sample some fresh produce. And it was delicious. Little plums that were so tasty and juicy that you never wanted to eat another one from a store, nectarines that made your mouth water and helped quench your thirst simultaneously, apples that embodied the essence of the bittersweetness of autumn with a hint of the crisper weather to come. And a nice lady who tolerated four crazy, fruit-starved cyclists and was pleased by the pleasure that a simple thing like real fruit could bring us.
The route headed inland over back roads for the remaining stretch into Ludington. It was nice riding but not especially noteworthy except for finally reaching Ludington about 7pm. We found a motel near the ferry, then joined Eric and Bruce for a real nice dinner celebrating the completion of their portion of the ride (seven days from Manitowoc to Ludington). The next day they would close the circle with a ferry ride across a smooth lake back to Manitowoc as Jim and I headed south once again on our bikes.
By day four I think I was beginning to adjust to riding. My legs were sore, which I expected, as was my butt, which I also expected. But the pains weren’t getting worse. Perhaps the pain receptors were approaching information overload. At any rate, we did manage to rouse ourselves early enough Wednesday morning to say goodbye to Eric and Bruce before they caught the ferry, then Jim and I rode off through Ludington in the crisp morning sunshine, crisp not only because it was so clear but also because it was freezing out. As we left town we encountered a man and his grown son who had started their bike ride in northern Indiana and gone to Manitowoc, then crossed to Ludington and were riding back down the lakeshore. It was the bottom half of the trip that Eric and Bruce had done.
ADDENDUM
Dave states in one of the first paragraphs of his story that I am from Minneapolis. I am not, I am from St. Paul. I worked in St. Paul for 32 years and lived there for a good share of the time. I have a real affinity for the smaller of the Twin Cities, which often plays second fiddle to the larger Minneapolis. While Minneapolis is a beautiful city with many great points, it irks me that St. Paul is often overlooked.
St. Paul is Minnesota’s capitol city with a beautiful capitol building and the beautiful St. Paul Cathedral. It also has the Ordway Theater, which brings in first class entertainment, the Xcel Energy Center (home of Minnesota Wild hockey), Allianz Field (home of the Minnesota United FC soccer), and CHS Field (home of the St. Paul Saints minor league baseball team). St. Paul also has Fort Snelling State Park, the Science Museum of Minnesota, and the Minnesota History Center. And let’s not forget Como Park and the Como Park Conservatory, and the caves on St. Paul’s “West Side” area, which were frequented in the 1920s by gangsters fleeing Chicago and who were allowed to stay in the city as long as they didn’t cause any trouble in the area (fortunately, that is no longer the case).
Add to all that the great restaurants in town—Pazzaluna downtown, Joseph’s across the river on Wabasha Street, Mancini’s on West 7th Street, and many others—and you get the makings of a great city.
When I saw that Dave had said I was from Minneapolis I thought, in true MinnesOta dialect: “Uf da, that just ain’t right, don’t ya know, eh?”
