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DAY
2 — Sunday, August 9, 2009
De Tour Village to Trout Lake
LUNCH STOP: Hessel
ROUTE: Hwy 134 west to H63 (a.k.a. Mackinac Trail) — H63 south to Hwy 123 — Hwy 123 north to Trout Lake
TOTAL MILES: 74 (the longest daily distance of the tour)
We awoke at 6:00 a.m. to thunderous cracks of lightning, along with a torrential downpour. We both assumed that we would likely be peddling through six hours of rain that day. And, so mentally girded ourselves. However, the rain stopped at 7:30.
At 8:00 we went to the main house for breakfast. We were greeted by Sheila, the morning hostess and breakfast cook. Hoping that she might do us a favor, I handed her a small bundle of wet clothing — T-shirt, socks, and sweatshirt — and asked if she would kindly put them in the dryer for us. She instantly obliged.
Once in the dining rooming, music began floating out from behind a closed door of an adjacent room. It was violin music. After about 10 seconds we realized that it wasn't a recording but, instead, was live. As we proceeded to eat we enjoyed this live, from-the-other-room violin serenade. It continued for about half the breakfast and then stopped. Then the door opened and out stepped the fellow we had met the evening before.
This, of course, opened a discussion of his music and upcoming concert. We learned that his name was Steven Brook and that he was a professional violinist with the Grand Rapids Symphony. To further introduce himself he gave us his musician's version of a baseball card. (I apologize for the poor scan quality, which renders a granular effect not on the actual card. It's the best I could do with my present expertise.)
He said he passes out this card when speaking at schools — the kids love it. Amazingly, the first time I viewed it I didn't even notice the third arm. All I focused on was his face.
Bill then took the opportunity to arrange a group photo (the expert photographer being Sheila's young daughter).
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Bill, Steven, Sheila, John —
Huron Street Inn, August 9, 2009
Our ample breakfast — prepared by "chef" Sheila — consisted of blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, fried sliced potatoes, English muffin, juice, and at my special request, a bowl of All-bran.
The fried potatoes were great. The bacon was crispy-grilled to perfection. But my favorite was the blueberry pancakes — like nothing I'd ever tasted or seen before. These were unique, one-of-a-kind pancakes. Pancakes with character. They were any shape but round. They were loaded with huge, juicy blueberries that you could actually taste. But most unique of all, the edge of each pancake was a crispy, dark-golden brown. The result was: When you bit into a piece of outer-edge pancake it was both soft and crunchy at the same time. Very appealing. Plus, this pancake was so flavorful it needed nothing else. I ate mine "as-is" — no butter, sugar, or syrup added. And loved them.
After breakfast, Sheila gave our whites back to me, now dry — and neatly folded in a tidy little stack — a gesture we genuinely appreciated.
We began to prepare for departure. In so doing, Bill went to the garage to attach his travel bag to his bike. He noticed a can of lubricant on a workbench and, so, took the opportunity to give each of our bike chains a little spray. Thereby, keeping them from rusting from yesterday's rain, and avoiding squeaking for the rest of the trip.
We got on the road at 9:30. Skies were overcast and puddles of water dotted the sides of the road. But, we had a brisk south-easterly tailwind — a welcomed change from the headwind of the day before.
We peddled westward on Hwy 134. This road parallels the picturesque Lake Huron shoreline — which, for the next 20 miles, rendered numerous inspiring views of the morning water and nearby islands. Traffic was little to none. So we rode side-by-side for miles and chatted.
After an hour, a moderately heavy fog drifted in from the lake. We could see through it okay. But it had the effect of forming a sheet of small water droplets on our glasses — creating annoying blurry vision. This didn't bother Bill so much as he merely looked over the top of his lenses. But, I'm quite nearsighted and, so, this option didn't work for me. As a result, we had to stop several times for me to clear the water from my lenses. I found myself wishing that my glasses were equipped with mini windshield wipers. After an hour the fog lifted.
At 11:30 the sun broke through and blue skies appeared. At the same time we reached Cedarville. This little lakeside town happens to be the site of the Great Lakes Boat Building School. Recently started, this unique program is the first of its kind in Michigan — maybe even in the entire country. Bill's friend (and dental patient) Paul Wilson gave us a guided tour of the facility, explaining the curriculum and unique hands-on approach of the school. It was most impressive. Anyone interested in wood boat building, or considering a career as a boat-building craftsperson, would do well to look into this one-of-a-kind program. The website is www.greatlakesboatbuilding.org.
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Bill, Paul Wilson, John —
Great Lakes Boat Building School, Cedarville, MI
Bidding Paul Wilson and the Great Lakes Boat Building School adieu, we continued on down Hwy 134 to the lakeside town of Hessel, our lunch stop. (This stretch of 134 is also called North Huron Shore Drive.) The day before, Hessel had hosted the annual Les Cheneaux antique wooden boat exposition. We regretted not having seen it. Nonetheless, some of the majestic crafts were still at dock and on trailers.
Bill took the opportunity to snap a photo of one of the old, well-known boat restorers and dealers, Mertaugh Boat Works. This business, by the way, happens to be the world's first Chris Craft boat dealer.
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Venerable boat dealer/refurbisher
in Hessel
We had lunch at Hessel Market — a typical old-town store. It has "kept up with the times" by converting much of its space to grab-and-go food. Plus it has a few tables for sit-down eating. The menu offering is surprisingly broad, prices are reasonable, the food is good, and counter service is prompt and friendly. Check it out if you ever get to Hessel.
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Sunday lunch stop
This particular day was our longest of the tour — 74 miles. And, at this point we had more of it in front of us than behind. So, after eating and filling our water bottles, we settled into our saddles for a long afternoon of peddling. Fortunately, we now had sunny blue skies dotted with white clouds, a slight tailwind, and temperature in the mid-to-high 70s — perfect riding conditions.
We continued westward on Hwy 134, which came close to the lake shore at some points — providing beautiful panoramic vistas of great Lake Huron. Eventually we arrived at I-75. East of the expressway on the south side was a small roadside fruit stand. Behind it, inconspicuously tucked into the woods and only barely in view was a large mobile trailer and outside porta-potty. We stopped to get some fruit to eat. We had our eye on the apples. However, they were packed in small baskets of 5 or 6 per basket, priced at $1.50 per basket. We only wanted one apple each, and informed the woman of that. She pondered for a few seconds, then her eyes lit up and she announced, "THIS is your lucky day. I'll sell you each an apple for 50-cents each." So we gladly handed her a dollar bill, and she told us to take our pick. We took advantage of the shade of her tent while enjoying our apples. Then we remounted our bikes, ascended over I-75, and within a quarter mile came to Hwy H63 (a.k.a. Mackinac Trail). We took this road southward.
Virtually all of the paved roads of the U.P. provide great bike riding, but some are idyllic — a biker's heaven. This stretch of H63 is one of them. The road is well-maintained blacktop. Traffic is nil. Signs of civilization are minimal and unobtrusive. Beautiful woods line both sides of the road for miles. We rode side-by-side and chatted. It felt like we owned our own 20-foot wide, paved private bike path that extended forever through northland wilderness. Combined with the great weather, it was a truly magnificent experience, a biker's dream — and we both felt like we were in the middle of it.
However, it was not to be without a touch of creative "Yooper humor." In the midst of it all appeared a set of painted Bigfoot footprints extending across the road. They seemed to be coming out of nowhere and heading to nowhere. We couldn't resist a photo.
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Compelling evidence of the "U.P.
Bigfoot"
Eventually we came to Hwy 123. We were running low on water. So we stopped at the intersection to examine our map for possible upcoming towns on 123. Just then a guy in a truck pulled up. He inquired if we needed help. We asked him if there was a store down the road. He said, "Only one. It's in Moran, about five miles away."
We were happy to get to the store/gas station in Moran, which basically consisted of this store and a couple dozen homes. We took advantage of the restroom. Then packed in some extra glucose by downing an ice cream bar, and finally, best of all, each procured an icy cold bottle of water.
As we were heading northwest on Hwy 123 toward Trout Lake, our day's destination, the skies began to darken, making it look like we were riding into a rain storm. But it never happened. We now had about 65 miles behind us and both of us were beginning to think about how great that motel room, hot shower, fresh meal, and cold beer was going to be.
Eventually we arrived at our nightly lodging, McGowan's Motel and Restaurant.
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McGowan's Motel & Restaurant
… on the right side of the tracks
We checked into our motel room and began what was to become our "motel arrival ritual" for the rest of the week. Bill took the bed closest to the bathroom and I took the one closest to the front door (for no particular reason). Then Bill took the first shower and I followed with mine. This worked well because Bill's shower lasted only about four minutes while I seemed incapable of doing it in less than fifteen. Then we washed our shirt and shorts and hung them up to dry (which they seldom completely did), and then took a stroll to find a restaurant for dinner.
Trout Lake is a very small town. After a short one-block walk down "Main Street" we concluded that the best eatery choice was McGowan's Restaurant at McGowan's Motel. It's a tidy, well-run operation (the front counter of the restaurant doubles as the front desk for the motel.)
The restaurant has a full menu. But, Bill and I opted for the all-you-can-eat soup and salad bar, which provided a diverse selection of quality foods.
After dinner we took a walk around town including the resident neighborhood of a couple blocks, which took no more than 10 minutes. Then we went to the local tavern — the Buckhorn Inn — for a cold brewski — a 16-ounce glass of draft beer for just $1.50, a welcomed improvement from the $4.75 rip-off of the night before.
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Friendly folk, economical beer
— hard to beat
After that, since there just happened to be an ice cream parlor in town, we got our ritual after-dinner ice cream cone.
While walking back to our room we noticed two trucks parked on the shoulder across the highway from the motel. Each had an odd-looking appendage — a dog trailer. Each of these dog trailers was filled with about a dozen beagles. We couldn't resist crossing the road to say "hi" to them. They seemed happy to have us as visitors, and a couple told us so. Little beagle noses poked through the bars of each trailer as we approached. I think they may have wanted a lick of ice cream. In one of the trailers the dogs were numbered. Each dog's number was visibly "affixed" to its side by having been shaved into the hair on its side, apparently with a barber-style hair cutter.
From the truck license plates we realized that one of the trucks was from Ohio and the other from West Virginia. We wondered what they were doing in Michigan's U.P. The next day, in talking with some guys, we discovered that people bring their beagles to the U.P. this time of year to train them for rabbit hunting — apparently so the older dogs can train the newcomers in the ways of the craft.
Upon entering our room we noticed some dirt bikes parked in the lot. We wondered what was bringing them to town.
We turned on the TV to get the weather forecast for the next day. But, unfortunately, the TV system didn't seem to work properly. Bill and I each tried our hand at the controls to see if we could "fix" the situation. But, as best we could tell, we only made it worse.
We went to bed. I didn't hear a sound all night — not one single beagle bark. I don't know if the doggies just decided to stop barking right when I hit the sack … or whether I slept so soundly I just never heard them.