Ski Capital of the Midwest

Well, the rain hit early in the morning, and I had to suffer through breaking down my camp, packing a wet tent, and riding off in semi-dry clothes.  I was kind of numb for a poor night’s sleep and drove through a landscape that never really changed until I got to Sault St. Marie.  It was straight and lined with trees.  The GPS kept me on the backroads, not that there are many significant roads out here on the U.P. (Upper Peninsula).  I zig-zagged through several small town neighborhoods as I had programmed the Tom Tom GPS to avoid all major roads.  Therefore, I saw more of the lifestyles of Yuupers (the colloquial term for those that reside here in the U.P.).  I wish I could tell you something significant, save for a small gas station and convenient store and restaurant where the entire town was present.  I overheard bantering with each other and with the small staff of one.  It was one of those gas stops that hadn’t yet updated their pumps to accept plastic.  Nonetheless, a tiny taste of the central Americana that is often forgotten in the I-5/I-95 corridors isolated from the hardworking Americans that seem to live in another world.  I almost forgot, another stop for fuel at a BP station in another small town had dirt lot, even up to the pumps.  Inside the store they sold animals skins, almost every creature native to the U.P.  Almost walked away with a skunk pelt for $20.  Although the bobcat one would’ve looked cool on the bike seat, but my wife probably would kill me.

I fueled on the American side in Sault St. Marie, paying half the price for gas as in Canada, and then paid my $3.50 to cross the bridge into Canada.  I didn’t volunteer any information to the customs official at the border.  “No, sir, I have no drugs (especially not 40 illegal prescription pills over the legal limit for entrance), nope not me.  No alcohol, no guns, no nothin’.  Just a tourist.

I followed my GPS on a circuitous route through Canadian neighbors to the KOA, that I later learned was just a straight shot up Highway 17.  The ol’ TomTom just loves to take me sight-seeing.  I did notice that the Canadians still operate a huge steel mill.  I doubt there are any of those left in the US.  I’ll be traveling to the rust belt, as its called now since all the steel mill closures in the Pittsburg to Cleveland valley that once chugged out exhaust from numerous steel mills.

A couple of observations along the way.  I passed Powderhorn Ski Resort (see figure 21B), “Capital of Skiing in the Midwest”  I haven’t seen a hill higher than a tree in the last three days, but I have to give them credit for their enthusiasm.  I had to snap a shot of Trafalgar in front of “the Bear Capital of Michigan.” sign, I suppose that really brings in the tourists.  The logging trucks carry there load side to side, the logs being a lot shorter than what I’m used to out west where the carry the logs fore and aft.  Also, the U.P. town of Mitchell is the iron ore capital of the universe, or something close to that.  I saw a few odd trailers being towed by semi’s, the high-sided trailers were short but must have carried iron ore, because each side of the trailer had at least ten wheels, in addition to the semi’s.  Pretty exciting trip, counting tires, eh?

I took a day of rest in the KOA cabin, did laundry, sat cabin-side reading and watching some Netflix, basically enduring hardships of those early pioneers.  I heard that the WiFi was very slow on the Oregon trail.  One monument marker told a story of one poor pioneer’s son that dumped his XBox out the back end of his covered wagon, somewhere in Nebraska, because he couldn’t play the new Killer Steam Locomotive game, since it was licensed only for online play.  Ah, the hardships they endured.

Holy Bat farts, there goes a black squirrel, never seen one of those.  I’ll see if I can capture a picture.  Just like Marlin Perkins—for those of you old enough to remember him.  He was a sadistic feller that sold insurance for Mutual of Omaha, always trying to kill Jim in exciting and natural ways.  Poor jim, now there was a moron.  Marlin would say something like, “Hey, Jim, jump in the river and get that man-eating giant anaconda!”

Jim would respond, “Ah, duh, okie dokie, aghhh resozztu arghtyavx…”

Okay, back to Sault St. Marie, Ontario.  I entertained quite a few people asking about my travels, even while I stand there with a cigar in my mouth.  They must think I’m part of the attraction.  “Hey, look there’s one of those morons that rides that death cycle.”

“Let’s go see if he’s from Quebec, they’re all a little off there.”