EUPBT 2009 ~ Day 1
Michigan's Eastern Upper Peninsula Bike Tour
Author: John Correll  ~  Photographer: Bill Bacheler

LUNCH STOP: Pickford

ROUTE: Hwy 129 south to Gogomain Rd (in Pickford) — Gogomain Rd east to Raber Rd — Raber Rd south to North Caribou Dr — N. Caribou Dr east to De Tour Village

TOTAL MILES: 61

I had taken the 6-hour ride from Detroit to the Soo on Friday, August 7. Bill and his wife Pam provided me with a comfy bedroom so we could start early Saturday morning. This also enabled Bill and me to review some Google maps of our planned routes the night before. We discovered a couple "errors" in our plans, like a road that was gravel which showed as being paved on a conventional map. And, a spot labeled as a "town" on a conventional map which was nothing more than a couple houses and a church. (We had intended to use this "town" as our lunch stop for one of the days.)

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John unloads his bike at Bill's

We set our departure time for 10:00 a.m.

We arose the next morning at 7:30, and enjoyed a tasty blueberry pancake breakfast prepared by Bill. We then made final preparations for departure; both of us still not one hundred percent certain that we could pull off this crazy venture.

Five minutes before departure time the rain began. It was a slightly cool, medium-to-light rain that continued non-stop for the next three hours. We determined that we wouldn't let it quash our spirit or deter us from our plan. So, we each donned our rain jacket and set out for our one-week cycling odyssey — the first-ever Eastern Upper Peninsula Bike Tour — EUPBT 2009.

In addition to the rain we had a 10 to 15 mph headwind from the southeast. We concluded that either the God of Cycling or Mother Nature had decided to put us to the test on our opening day … and that if we passed this test everything would be uphill weather-wise from there. Amazingly, it turned out exactly that way.

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Pulling out of Bill's driveway, in the rain  (Bill left, John right)

Bill led us through the Soo's side roads to Hwy 129. Then, for the next two hours we relentlessly pumped our way southward on Hwy 129 through the rain toward the tiny town of Pickford, our lunch stop. The cars blew by us creating trails of spray. And, coating our legs, socks, and shoes with road grit.

But we pressed on undaunted. After a year of talking, planning, and training, we were happy-as-heck to finally be DOING it — rain, headwind, and all. It was truly exhilarating. In fact — crazy as this might sound — in looking back on it, I believe this "opening rain" may have even enhanced the overall experience. It was like fate's stamp of approval, certifying the experience as being 100% Real — two senior men on a cross-country bicycle trip in summer 2009 in the picturesque northland of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, peddling undaunted through a summer rain. At that moment it felt like it was "about as good as it gets" — even with the rain.

At 12:15 we arrived at Pickford. We went to the Main Street Café. Which, as you might guess, resides on Main Street (a few hundred yards east of Hwy 129). We were glad to be there, to experience someplace dry.

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Main Street Café — out of the rain, at last

Upon entering the café a few of the diners glanced our way. We sat down by the front window, near an elderly couple. The woman gave us a surprised look and said, "Oh, we passed you in the rain on 129. I said to my husband, 'Wow, I feel sorry for those guys.'"

We were both soaked from waist down. But, to my surprise, I was wet from waist up, as well. I was wearing a light sweatshirt under my rain jacket. It was extra-long and I hadn't tucked in the bottom. While riding, the rain water was running down my rain jacket and dripping from the rain jacket onto the bottom edge of the sweatshirt. By the time we arrived at the café, water had wicked three-quarters of the way up the front of my sweatshirt.

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Handsome hungry diner in the window

The café had a full menu and great food. Service was a little slow (only one waitress working when two were needed), but she made up for the slow service with extra friendliness. Bill had a Rueben sandwich and I had the Boiled Dinner. The menu touted fresh-baked pie, made there. The blueberry pie called out to me. I inquired of the price.

"$2.75," said the waitress.

I ordered it. She then asked if I'd like it a la mode. I, again, inquired of the price.

"Ten cents," she replied.

So, that decision was easy. A minute later she brought out a slice of blueberry pie with three scoops of ice cream. It was exceptionally delicious.

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John and his scrumptious blueberry pie a la mode … with three scoops

We got back on the road at 1:15. To our thrill, the rain had stopped about five minutes prior. Although we didn't know it at the time, that rain was the last we would ride in for the rest of the trip.

From the café we headed eastward out of Pickford on Gogomain Road. Traffic was almost non-existent. So most of the time we rode side-by-side and chatted. Very pleasant. The skies remained sunless and overcast for the rest of the day. But in a couple hours the roads dried.

Bill informed me that Pickford was "The Hay Capital of Michigan" (or something like that). He took a photo as proof.

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Roadside view in the Hay Capital of Michigan

After a few miles the Pickford farmland gave way to the typical U.P. northland forest. This forest varies in make-up from region to region, but generally consists of a delightful mix of both deciduous trees and conifers, of numerous varieties. It lines thousands of miles of highways and byways throughout the U.P.

Along this stretch a doe and fawn (deer) stepped onto the highway about 200 yards ahead of us. They froze in mid-road, eyed us for about 10 seconds, then turned and went back to where they came.

Also along this highway we came upon a must-do photo op — one of our favorites. We dubbed it "Yooper Rest Stop." And, of course, couldn't resist adding our own prop for enhancement.

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How handy, how creative — a roadside "Yooper Rest Stop"

Pretty soon we reached the end of Gogomain Rd and turned right onto Raber Road. One of the interesting facets of the U.P. — at least in our eyes — is the many intriguing buildings along its highways and back roads. Which sometimes included "old structures from the past."

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Humbled building of yesteryear

Heading south on Raber Rd we came to the tiny waterside hamlet of Raber, located on Raber Bay. (Raber Bay is a widening in the St. Mary's River just before the river empties into Lake Huron.) We spotted a jetty extending into the bay and couldn't resist taking a side-strip out to it. The only thing on it was a small flock of wary geese and one feisty Common Tern. This tern — apparently viewing us as trespassers on its private property — dive-bombed us all the way to the end of the jetty. It swooped down at lightning speed, as if it were going to hit our head, and then would veer off just a couple feet before reaching us. Once we got to the end of the jetty and dismounted our bikes it gave up and went elsewhere.

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End of the jetty, overlooking Raber Bay (Bill left, John right) —
pesky tern has gone, maybe it's camera-shy

The day was still overcast and the shoreline looked fishy as heck. So I unstrapped my fishing rod from my bike frame, snapped on a spinnerbait, and proceeded to fish the perimeter of the jetty. It produced nothing.

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It looked mighty fishy, but nothing bit

As we were departing, an older couple with their son (or grandson) and dog strolled out. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes. They were from Ohio, up staying at their cottage. Once they discovered that Bill and I were cross-country biking, and were in our mid-60's, their eyes lit up. They seemed to find us intriguing.

This turned out to be a common occurrence over the rest of the week. Once folks got close enough to see our age-wrinkles, and realized that we were cross-country biking at 60 to 70 miles per day, they would inquire as to our age … and would find us "interesting." Almost invariably, everyone we met like this was exceedingly friendly. They seemed to be eager to talk to us, and would wish us well.

Upon leaving the jetty, Bill was smitten by the black-eyed susans and joe-pye weeds lining the gravel road. So we snapped a photo.

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Biker Bill amid the beautiful foliage of the U.P. jetty

Eventually we reached North Caribou Road and turned eastward toward De Tour Village. A few miles before De Tour we came upon a small, somber-looking overgrown country cemetery with a small, sad-looking sign containing the words "Sacred Heart Cemetery." This mini burial ground was surrounded by dark, damp woods. Combined with the ominous gray overcast sky, Bill and I couldn't resist going in. It was an odd mix of old, weather-beaten grave stones, half covered by overgrowth, plus curious-looking white-painted wooden crosses scattered about, most of them with no markings. We took a photo of one of the furthermost headstones, located almost in the woods.

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Cemetery and the woods — maybe God wants it this way

De Tour Village is a quaint, charming, small waterfront town on the end of the St. Mary's River just before it widens into Lake Huron. Across from De Tour is Drummond Island, about a mile away. This body of water is known as De Tour Passage. Car travel to Drummond Island is accomplished via a ferry. Oddly, there are no motels in De Tour. But there are a couple bed and breakfasts. So, we stayed at the Huron Street Inn bed and breakfast. A few minutes after we arrived, a fellow (guest) pulled up in a car. We chatted with him for a minute and discovered that he was a musician who had come to town to be part of a concert.

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Happy sight after a day of riding

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Our room — the Carriage House — was second floor of the white garage

Our bedroom was the Inn's "carriage house," which essentially is a refurbished space above a large garage. We found it handy because we stored our bikes in the garage and could access the garage from the carriage house. This rustic accommodation was quaintly furnished, done with ample amounts of wood paneling. It contained four beds — one double and three singles, plus a separate bathroom. We enjoyed it.

To enter the room you ascend a stairway. At the top of the stairs is a small half-size refrigerator with a dish on top containing an assortment of delectable-looking "goodies."

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Yummy, yum yum

Upon first entering, hungry Bill couldn't resist popping one of these goodies into his mouth, thinking "What a nice treat for greeting the guests." After one chew he promptly removed it, warning me that it was not food but, instead, either scented wax or soap.

We showered, put on street clothes, and took the short walk down Main Street to find a place to eat. There's a couple restaurants, a tavern or two, and an ice cream parlor. We settled on the Mainsail Restaurant. The food was acceptable but pricy. It had one of those menus that lists an array of alcoholic beverages but not a single price (a pet peeve of mine). To celebrate our successful first day on the road, Bill and I each ordered a draft beer. As it turned out, a mere glass of domestic brew (like my Sam Adams) came with a $4.75 price tag. We then realized why the establishment avoided publishing drink prices.

For dessert, we stopped at the ice cream parlor and each got a "small" cone. Typical of many such places, this small cone was huge. Having an ice cream cone after dinner turned out to be a little tradition we enjoyed for the rest of the week. With cone in hand, we took a short stroll of the town (it didn't take long), including going down to the ferry dock. This little village contains a number of interesting old structures, including this tavern. What intrigued us was, it had a new front of beautiful varnished log planking … combined with this uniquely contrasting old side wall.

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Old side wall stands in striking contrast to the new panel siding of the front

Once back at the carriage house, we washed our shirt and shorts and hung them up to dry. We tried to get the weather forecast on TV, but only got static. Shortly, we went to bed. I believe we each fell asleep within minutes. I recollect nothing between then and the next morning.

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