Traversing the Upper Peninsula.

After a great night sleeping in the hammock under the stars, I awake to a cacophony of bird songs.

The next stop on the docket is on Friday in Chicago to visit my good friends Julie & Claus and their new baby Vivian. I can’t wait to meet Viv and catch up with them. I need to decide whether I head south, or take the long way through the UP (Upper Peninsula) of Michigan and down the east edge of Wisconsin. The decision doesn’t take long and I set out for the Mackinac Bridge that will dump me in the UP.

My friend Chris suggested I check out Traverse City and then head north up route 31. The town is very nice and the old houses along tree-lined 6th street, which is paved in brick, are exquisite. After a few trips through old town, I find outstanding coffee at a hipster-run establishment called “BLK MRKT.”

The ride north to the bridge brings me through a number of pretty waterfront towns. The lake frontage is endless and all of the residents seem to take full advantage of it.

The Mackinac Bridge is amazing. I initially make the mistake of riding in the lane that is decked with metal grating. My grandpa, who rode a motorcycle over the bridge many years ago, warned me to use the paved lane. The grooves in the grate pull my tires from side to side and it feels like I have little control over the bike. Once I’m able to merge into the paved lane, it’s smooth sailing over the massive suspension bridge. Being 200 feet above the water, fully exposed on a motorcycle is quite a thrill.

[Mackinac Bridge selfie]

[the five mile long bridge]

The UP is an interesting place. I immediately start seeing sign after sign for “pasties.” After the umpteenth sign, I pull over to inquire. As I walk in the door, the owner of the Hog Island County Store asks “did ya stop for a paas-tee?” He has a thick accent that seems a bit Canadian, but not otherwise recognizable. As he warms up my pasty we chat about the UP and the folks who live there. He tells me that they are referred to as “yuppers” and the lower peninsula dwellers are referred to as “trolls” because the live “under da bridge.” After he describes the general tension that exists between the yuppers and the trolls, he asks me where I’m from. When he hears that I’m from LA he gets very excited and wants to talk about life in the “big city.” He very eagerly serves up my pasty and wants my review after my first bite.

A pasty is essentially the marriage of a pot pie and a hotpocket. It’s a slightly greasy pastry stuffed with beef, potatoes and peas. It’s strange, but hits the spot for a 3pm lunch.

[UP pasty]

[where the pasty was procured]

At 5pm, I hit the 6000th mile of the trip! I realized a few thousand miles ago that one of my hypotheses about the trip that was way off, was the total mileage. I estimated 8000 miles without taking into account any detours. Thankfully, the trek has been one detour after another and I will likely tally over 10k by the time I reach LA.

[6000 miles!]

I start the journey south along the west edge of Lake Michigan before realizing that it’s time to find a place to camp for the night. I pull into a very nice lakefront campsite and check in with two friendly old yuppers. After alerting me that they have never had anyone from California, they direct me to my site and warn me that the bugs are out. As I jump off the bike and peel off my riding gear, the mosquitoes immediately attack. I’ve never experienced them this thick before. Any piece of exposed skin immediately has the pesky parasites attached and mining for blood. I quickly pitch my tent and dive in for respite. On a quick trip to the bike for food and water, the friendly yuppers who checked me in, swing up in their golf cart with a handful of dryer sheets. “These will help keep the state birds away” they tell me with a chuckle. As I read and eat dinner in my tent, the rain fly becomes covered in the little black sillouettes of mosquitoes trying to get in.

[view from my campsite]

[view from my tent]