U.P., U.P. and away

In the words of the Fifth Dimension, I am up in the U.P. as they call it in these parts. The Upper Peninsula is about as developed as Maine, a little bit here, a little bit there (mostly along the coast) with very few roads running east/west between the sites.

After calling "no mas" early yesterday I was anxious to get started today. So early to bed, early to rise makes a man tired all morning but puts miles on the odometer before lunch. My chore was to finish navigating the coast of upper lower Michigan, cross the Mackinaw Bridge, then pursue the lower Upper Michigan coast. Doesn't make sense? You may need some remedial geography.

It was just about a hundred miles from Alpena to Mackinaw City at the south end of the bridge. By starting out at 7a.m. I was able to knock out that section before breakfast. Then, after refueling I crossed the iconic Mackinaw Bridge (it must be iconic, they charge a toll to cross it). 

After stopping to take a couple of pictures I was ready to head to Sault St. Marie (for any fans of phonics, that's Sue Saint Maree). But I was to take the scenic route, so the 50 miles claimed by the street sign turned into 130 miles by the time I arrived at the locks. That may give you a feel for how this trip lays out. Direct and Scenic are seldom one and the same.

I forgot to start my Strava program this morning (so it's missing the first 20 miles) but my route did a pretty good approximation of the outline of the U.P. I rode along the north shore of Lake Huron until I reached DeTour Village, Michigan. It is the eastern most point on the mainland of Michigan. In DeTour Village I went to the local museum and asked if there was a story behind the choice of name for the village. There is.

Next I headed about 10 miles back from whence I came and headed north on Michigan 48. What's that? You want to know the story of DeTour Village? You should have spoken up (or U.P.).

The Indians named the area before they became Native Americans, based on the fact that the shoreline turns and heads up the river. The Native American word is  Gothiswaythenmakeabigsweepingrighthanderovertherebyrunningbear, meaning The Turn. When early inhabitants (many of whom were French Canadian) could not print post cards large enough to allow the name to be printed, they renamed the town Detour, the French term for The Turn. Because the U.S.Postal service did not speak French (and had yet to learn that the Indians had, almost overnight, turned into Native Americans) they routinely failed to deliver the mail, thinking instead that the mail was being forwarded, or detoured. So the town once again changed it's name from Detour to DeTour. This worked better but, in an attempt to sell the populace more pre-labeled envelopes, they changed it yet again to DeTour Village. There is movement afoot to change it again to DeTour De Village, I believe. Kinda rolls off the tongue doesn't it?

So rather than take the ferry to Drummond Island (where Mr. D and Willis still live) across a channel narrow enough that Scott Pressman could walk across it, I called it good enough and headed west as described above. M-48 led to another road which eventually put me in Sault St. Marie, where I visited the locks and bagels. 

After lunch I went the indirect route again, south to M-28, then north 25 miles or so to Paradise and beyond! With blue skies, perfect temperatures, little traffic and good roads I was in Paradise. 

According to the map, I was in Paradise also. But I continued north another 11 miles to Whitefish Point at the western tip of Whitefish Bay, as in Gordon Lightfoot's Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. 

There I visited the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, which I found to be most interesting. They, of course, featured artifacts recovered from the wreck, an 18,000 piece Lego version of the infamous vessel 

why they had this onboard will remain a mystery

and played the song repeatedly (approximately every 10 minutes). They had the story of other wrecks too, most of which occurred in Lake Superior and many of those in the vacinity of Whitefish Bay, the Graveyard of the Great Lakes.

I thought of spending the night in Paradise but I was being told I'd make Whitefish Bay if I put 15 more miles behind me. So I rode south another 25 miles, them west about the same to Seney, but there were no rooms at the inn. So I rode another 25 miles north to Grand Marais. By this time I had decided on my priorities:

1) get gas

2) get a room at a motel

3) get a meal

4) get gas (I need to take something for that!)

So after I checked into the motel, I thought to ask them if they had Wi-Fi. Usually the answer is yes, but this time there was a qualifying statement, "if you come outside and walk down toward the office there's a possibility you will get connected." So right now I'm waiting (as usual) for pictures to upload to The Cloud so I can download them to the I-Pad so they can be included herein. Only difference is tonight I'm swatting mosquitos. This ought to be interesting!

I didn't make it to Marquette but I think I can still make it to Jim and Judy's by tomorrow, weather and everything else willing.