After an interview with 9&10 News, we were on the trail around 7PM. We hadn’t gotten far when I realized that I’d left the maps in the car… oops! Erin controlled her rage, and called Julie, who will was nearly home by that time. She’s going to meet up with us at Lake Dubonet and drop the maps off on Saturday. I am still impressed that I remembered to even put the maps in the car.
Drive-by interview with 9&10 News
There weren’t a lot (or any) options for setting up camp, so we parked about 5 feet from the trail in a semi-ditch type area. Hope it doesn’t rain! I was very tempted to approach a farm house and ask permission to camp in their fields until the sight of multiple trailers and a flaming garbage can – all parked in the drive way – brought to mind scenes from Deliverance. Hence the ditch.
Saying "Adios" to Empire
The bugs are surprisingly tolerable, but it got dark before 9.30, and we hit the tent for a little Sudoku.
Gunner is a bit antsy in his pantsy, but was obviously tired under the strain of his 5lb pack. Hopefully he’ll settle down and let us get some sleep. I have no clue where we are headed – sans map – tomorrow. Should be exciting!
Day Two: 07/24 8AM
After a sleepless night in Mothra village, we woke to the throaty sounds of what could only be an ornery mama elk storming about our camp site. We’re getting the hell outta here!
Day Two Continued:
After bailing out of Mothra village, we discovered a campground not a mile down the trail… drats!
We hiked about 5 miles to an MTRA trail camp to get water only to be greeted by a sign explaining that we needed a high-powered generator to run the well pump… drats!
Since we are going mapless today, our hiking had a certain ‘aimless wandering’ quality to it. Running low on water and morale, we finally found Pearl Lake – Amazing! Fish were jumping, birds flying overhead, and I spotted a fawn running along a far bank. The tiny lake, nearly covered over with new white lilies, was an absolute oasis after the late-morning death march that had brought us there. After having lunch, Erin pumped water while Gunner and I took a most glorious nap.
With no way of knowing where we were, or where we were camping that night, we decided to stop whenever we got tired. We didn’t last long, and around 4PM we collapsed in a clearing beneath some tall pines. We started a crossword, but Erin passed out and left me playing alone. We estimate we have about 10 miles to hike tomorrow to reach Lake Dunbonet, where we will hopefully meet Julie and retrieve our maps.
Gunner spent most of the morning off-leash today. He wandered off once, but was good for the most part. In the afternoon, I leashed him to my hip belt and he dragged me up the sandy hells – I mean hills.
Today’s playlist:
“Walkin’ Into Spider Webs” No Doubt
“Young Girl (Get Outta My Mind)” Gary Puckett
“Run Run” Phoenix
“Waving Flag” K’Naan
“World of Pure Imagination” Willy Wonka
“The Hills are Alive” Moulin Rouge
“G-D Bless America”
“Can’t Fight This Feeling” REO Speedwagon
“I’m Yours” Jason Mraz
“A Whole New World” Alladin
Day Three: 07/25 6.30PM
Mostly, it was a struggle from the start. Last night’s rain made breaking camp take forever. When we finally hit the trail, around 9AM, I was already feeling sluggish. We slogged through loose sand trails that are constantly being churned up by horses’ hooves. Struggle, Sluggish, Slogged.
Speaking of sluggish, can I please mention the unearthly size and quantity of the slugs around here?!
Taking a "breather" on a sweaty afternoon.
We stopped for lunch on the Platte River around 1PM. The river was lovely. Rocky and fast-moving, but the shore was non-existent, so we perched on a steep hill of loose gravel to eat. After lunch my morale plummeted once again when I discovered that my Platy – which Erin had spent an hour pumping water to fill – had leaked, releasing 2 litres of delicious river water into my pack. Well shee-it! I refilled my Platy and we set off – in the wrong direction. We soon realized our error and spent the better part of an hour attempting to correct it. Morale? At an all-time low.
Now headed in the right direction, we hiked through deep forest where rolling hills stretched out ahead, covered with ferns. The scenery was lush, but the hills harsh. Around 3PM, we sat down to rest along a two-track. We called Julie to ascertain the estimated distance to the lake (by this time we were calling every few hours, describing landmarks, and hoping she could tell us where the hell we were).We believed we were sitting about 100 yards from Lake Ann Road, which we thought to be very near our destination. Naturally, we were sitting 100 yards from Reynolds Road, and had traveled about half as far as we thought. Morale? Non-existent.
Finally, a trail angel (JuJu), arrived bearing homemade salads, a whole rotisserie chicken, cold beer, soda, fire wood and s’more fixin’s! We stuffed our faces and sat down to enjoy our campsite. No slugs, no bugs. Morale returning.
I learned something incredibly valuable today: “Everything will be OK in the end. If it’s not OK, it’s not the end.” Love that.
Gunner’s pack has rubbed under his arm and given him a pretty nasty sore. I am not looking forward to carrying his gear tomorrow, but I’m sure he’ll enjoy the relative freedom. Thus far, the g-bird has been wonderful (ie tired), and I hope this trend continues.
Today’s Playlist:
“The Brady Bunch" Theme Song
“Independent Woman” Destiny’s Child
“The Hard F***ing Song” Tenacious D
“America the Beautiful”
“Star Spangled Banner”
“G-d Bless America”
Day Three Update:
Nick and Amy stopped by and took us out for a little off-trail magic at Moomers. YUM!
Right now, Gunner is asleep on his back, legs in the air, and snoring. Lucking for me, he is on my lap, so I have a perfect writing table! Such a good boy.
Night night!
Day Four: 07/26
Definitely an interesting day. We broke camp and hiked about 3 miles before coming across Lake Anne Road… yes THAT Lake Anne Road. In the pouring rain, 3 miles in the wrong direction, we stood laughing our heads off. We phoned to see if Nick could come transport us back to the correct side of Lake Dubonet, but supermom Julie came to our rescue.
If you weren't laughing you'd be crying.
She took us home to dry out our gear, where we consumed an entire large pizza – which I later ex-umed onto the side of the road. I felt that it was unwise to dislodge my thick “base-layer” of bug spray, but Erin insisted she would not share a tent with me if I didn’t shower.
Back on the trail, we hiked a brutal 8 miles. By this time the rain had cleared and it was plenty warm. Around mile #6, we came across a road we’d been hiking on hours before. Puzzled, we checked the map only to discover that the majority of the shore-to-shore trail – in all its loose sand glory – is within a mile of perfectly good roads. Thus, we could have hiked to that same spot a hell of a lot easier. Lesson learned.
We camped in a gorgeous field between pine forests, and Erin read the night’s chapters until I was sound asleep – though, when she asked, I vehemently insisted I was still listening. Haha!
I thought a lot about my Dad today. I kept thinking over a line I included in an email to my friends about the trip. It was something like: “we believe every step we take on this journey will help improve the lives of those who cannot do the same.” I really meant those words when I wrote them back in May, but it has been very easy to get caught up in the planning and executing of the trip, and to forget them.
So, today, as I trudged along, cursing the road, I imagined my father walking next to me – something I have only vague memories of him being about to do – and things came back into perspective. I also considered how difficult, if not impossible, it would be for him to take in the view I was then taking for granted. Though we walked a smooth packed dirt road, I knew only too well how rough it would be for my father. Today, after days of relative ease and trail magic, has definitely recommitted me to the trip in an unexpected way.
Today’s Playlist:
The “Aladdin” soundtrack
Day Five: 07/27 8PM
This morning was beautiful, waking up in our own little field, all heavy with mist. Camp break-down was record-breakingly slow yet again, and we didn’t hit the trail until 20 after 9!
We practically bounced down the trail we were so enthusiastic, Perhaps because we’d survived a very dark day, and knew things could only get better. Or perhaps we were elated we’d not been arrested for camping on what we’d assumed was private property. Or perhaps it was that we’d taken the time to make coffee with breakfast for only the second time on this trip. Most likely, we were glad to be hiking with the knowledge that our days of loose sand two-tracks were behind us.
My one-fingered greeting to a sandy trail we avoided.
We laughed our way down the roads with amazing speed, and made it to Scheck’s (where we’d planned to sleep tonight) in time for lunch! Since we’d charged our phones at Julie’s yesterday, we allowed ourselves to be a little more spendthrift with the battery life, and we called family and friends to share our good day.
Scheck’s camp was lovely. The campgrounds were small and sat along a deep, COLD river. After deciding it was far too chilly to swim, we made lunch and relaxed in the sun.
Erin approves of the outhouse.
We hiked, mainly on roads, for about 9 miles to Guernsey Lake. The sites and surrounding campground are nothing to write home about, but the lake is very nice. We treated ourselves to two dinners, AND corn bread down on the beach. The water was warm, but murky, as if after a storm.
This afternoon’s hike was completely grueling. We walked at length in silence down dirt roads that cut through beautiful fields dotted with yellow flowers. The trees and meadows were deep green, and the sky was a rich blue, and hung with thick white clouds. It was, however, difficult to enjoy the scenery after about 4PM, at which point we’d hiked about 3 miles too many in heat about 15 degrees too many.
Resting our dogs at Scheck's.
Day Six: 07/28 9.40PM
Today was another great yet challenging day. Since giving up on the proper trail, we’ve had to get a little creative when plotting our routes. Usually, we make a vague plan consisting of goal destinations and occasionally dream destination: “let’s plan to hit Kalkaska by lunch, but wouldn’t it be great to be in Oscoda for dinner??”
Last night we collapsed into the tent with absolutely NO consideration given to the next day’s destination.
Overnight it rained lightly, which was just enough to ensure we would awaken damp and dank yet again. Despite setting our alarms 30 minutes earlier than usual, we left camp 30 minutes later than usual – at 9.30! We’re not sure what is causing this extreme pokiness, but it needs to stop.
Once on the road, we struggled to determine which road it was, and which it would lead us to. Clueless, we pressed on and ended up planning on the fly. This method proved to have pros and cons. On the plus side, we found the shortest route to Kalkaska. On the negative side, it was a dirt road that stretched out straight as an arrow for miles… and miles. Bo-ring! The hard-packed dirt hurt our feet, but we kept our spirits up with a bit of singing.
We arrived in Kalkaska around 1PM. First we stopped in at the Transit Authority to see if they could suggest a campground for the night. While securing Gunner outside, a man walked by and said “there are bathrooms inside if you need one”… OK... thanks...?
I walked in and saw a counter, behind which sat two women along with the man from outside. He motioned that I should continue down the hall – for the Transit Authority I presumed – and then he said something that made me stop: “down the hall, first door on the left.” I paused, looked around and, noticing the giant “Kalkaska Area Transit Authority” Sign on the wall above his head, realized he was sending me to the loo!
I remained still for a moment hoping my puzzled expression would speak the words I was grappling to find, but alas, it did not. Finally, I broke the awkward silence with: "I don’t need to use the restroom, I’m here to ask a question.”
“Oh!” and all three perked up, but still seemed confused as to why I thought I didn't need a restroom - they obviously thought I did. During the Q&A, all three KATA employees kept a distance which showed great deference to my aroma. They suggested camping at Pickerel Lake State Forest. I thanked them, and was on my way – without utilizing what, I am sure, was a lovely restroom.
Back out on the street, we hadn’t gone far before a familiar car pulled up. Driving was a young man who’d passed us pack on the long, straight dirt road from hell. The second time he’d passed us, heading back in the other direction, he’d pulled over to chat. He was from just outside Nashville, ran marathons, and was keenly pursuing all of the Sandy Lakes Quiet Area by canoe. We never did figure out what he was doing in Michigan… Anyhow, the third time he passed us, he pulled over and tossed out two ice cold litres of water he’d bought us. Wish we’d gotten his name. LOVE that guy!
Thanks for the agua!
Once in town, we found a diner and ordered half the menu to go. Again, we were confronted by confused faces, mildly disgusted at our perceived difference. When I stuck my head out to ask Erin for her beverage order, I stuck it back in too soon and found two waitresses, apparently unaware of my return, making fun of us.
As we sat outside waiting for our order, we received a stream of dirty looks from exiting customers. The thing that bothered me about this was not the confusion, but the total lack of curiosity. Not one person asked us what we were doing before making up their mind. I’m a twenty-something white girl with a cute dog, and I’M getting the look of death from elderly couples?!
I didn’t wallow long in my annoyance over this, and instead laid down in a sunny patch of grass – after consuming my body weight in greasy diner food of course.
We met Julie later in the afternoon and she dropped us at our camp site to organize our incoming food and gear. That done, we drove back down 612 to Lalone’s, a seedy Diner type place with so little business, half the dining area was closed off. Rather surprisingly, the soup was delicious.
Julie left us back at our site, where we set up shop, pumped water, and built a small, cozy fire. Driven in by mosquitoes, we read my new David Sedaris book (which had thankfully been delivered in the drop box).
Sunset over Pickerel Lake.
It truly was a lovely day, and even the nasty looks were positive in a way. Seeing those faces reminded me just how important a role education can play in shaping a society and its culture. I’m glad I’m in a position to do something about it.
Today’s Playlist:
Jamie Cullum on shuffle
“Blowin’ in the wind” Bob Dylan
“Humpback Whale” Dane Cook
Day Seven: 07/29 8.37PM
We actually got out of bed at 7AM and actually got on the trail (road) by 8.30! We struck out with great enthusiasm this morning, and we both seemed to be pushing hard, aware of how distant our goal was. So focused and determined were we that we missed two turns, forcing us to hike and additional 6 miles.
I don’t recall exactly how many miles we had planned to hike before lunch, but I’m willing to guess we ended up doing about 13. Nice work, ladies.
Despite the painful fact that we hiked these miles needlessly, two very positive things occurred as a result. First, as we sat resting in the shade of a tree, a car slowed and the driver, a handsome man with silver hair, rolled down the window and asked if we’d like to take advantage of a proper bathroom – and believe me, I WOULD have been taking advantage! Plus, why does everyone assume we need to use the restroom??
Anyhow, we declined. The man asked where we were headed, “Lake Huron” we replied. I then asked if he knew the distance to Old Grade Road, which we would be taking back to 612. He replied that Old Grade was about 3 miles behind us. He also said it was a two-track seasonal road with no sign – just like Papouse Lake Rd, which we’d walked by about 3 hours before.
The friendly man cleared room in his car (where we met his two “assistants”). I sat in back with 5year old Duncan, who dazzled me with stories of fish he’d caught in each of the numerous lakes we passed, what he’d fed each of them, and which of them had survived.
The kind man, a designer/firemen/zoning commissioner, drove us to a spot on old grade where one can see bald eagles nesting. He also told us about a fabulous blueberry patch just down the road. The blueberries were delicious, but the road offered little shade, and we soon pined for the forest… pined, haha.
A little sun burnt, we arrived back at 612 and headed east toward our goal. We stopped to have lunch on the bank of the Manistee river. We weren’t alone though, as several groups were using our spot as a canoe launch/retrieval site. Nearly every person who passed was friendly and inquisitive, asking about our trip (and Gunner of course), and wishing us well. We even got an offer of a ride, but declined as it was much out of their way.
At this point in our day – planning on the fly as usual – we hadn’t decided whether we would hike south to Manistee River Bridge Camp, or east to Hartwick Pines State Park. The friendly silver-haired man had heartily endorsed Hartwick (He actually got married there!), so we were leaning in that direction. Our map also indicated the presence of a Logging Museum at Hartwick, which was almost too alluring for me to pass up.
We hiked, somewhat unsure, east along 612 until a woman, maybe in her 70’s came walking out toward the street from her house. She shouted to us, asking if we had enough to drink, if we needed anything. We thanked her, no, and kept walking. Moments later, she re-emerged, shouting “Girls, come back!!” when we got closer, she explained that her husband had instructed her to not let us get away.
We told her where we were headed (Hartwick, we’d finally decided) and she immediately recognized the magnitude of the morning’s errors: “oh, that’s SO far” she said. “well,” we explained “we’d be a lot closer by now had we not gotten lost.” She led us inside to speak to her husband about a ride. Upon seeing us, he asked “aren’t you the girls we saw on TV??”
We piled into his car and pulled away toward camp. On the way, Tom told us fascinating stories of working for the DNR, archaeological digs, and the area’s logging past. What a find he was! We were sad to say goodbye when he left us at Hartwick, but excited to explore the sites he had described on the ride there.
After extremely lengthy showers – even Gunner got one – we headed out to see the virgin pine stands about a mile from out campsite – A-Mazing!
The wonderful people we met today not only pointed us in the right direction, made excellent recommendations, but also totally restored our faith in people after yesterday’s disappointment.
The second thing this morning’s mishaps brought us was some of the most beautiful scenery we’ve seen so far. Twin Lakes, Indian Lake, Blue Lake, Bass Lake, all crystal clear and shades of blue beyond imagination and description. Overall, today was very physically taxing, but incredibly rewarding.
Gunner, in his nest, moments after arriving at camp.
Today’s Playlist:
“The Dynamo of Volition” Jason Mraz
“I Believe in Miracles” Hot Chocolate
“Flute Sonata #1” Erin’s ass
Day Eight: 07/30 8.50PM
I can’t say what time exactly, but at some point last night – or more likely, this morning – Erin and I gave in, and went outside to get our emergency blankets from our packs. According to a neighbor, it got down to 44 degrees, making our sleeping bags 11 degrees of useless.
Erin, bundling up, baked potato style.
We got out of a very cold, wet tent around 7.30 this morning, not too shabby. Somehow, though, we tripped and fell into a time warp, and the next thing we knew it was 9.
Our neighbor Larry had stopped in this morning (after his daily 3mi morning walk!) because he’s noticed we had no car, but plentiful gear. After a chat, he headed back to his RV, returning minutes later with a donation from his wife Loretta, whose sister has MS. We lingered to visit with the friendly couple before heading out.
It was 9.15 by the time we hiked to the main gate ad we stopped to make pack adjustments and use the restroom. Time warp again! We were waylaid by a curious DNR employee who happened to be an MTRA member. When I pressed her for information about our day’s hike she replied that we’d be fine today, but that the section past 4 mile camp was commonly referred to as “hell trail” by local riders.
We decided not to linger too long on that label – if sandy two-tracks of doom aren’t hell on horseback, what WOULD qualify for such a distinction?! – so we left Hartwick (at 9.45!!) and hit the road. Our night in Hartwick was not only filled with the glorious modern conveniences only a State Park can offer, but was also filled with warm and generous people, whose support we’d later call upon to get us through a tough time.
The route we took today was on the trail for the most part. Sadly, that meant highways and dirt roads. After struggling down a few miles of 93, we took shelter from the traffic on a small side road. This road, like all the others today, stretched endlessly on ahead without curve or variation. Blaaah… Luckily we were in tremendously good moods from the kind people we’d met and the fact that we’d officially passed the half way mark!
Taking a pit stop outside Gaylord.
The weather also worked in our favor. Just as the sun started rising to its afternoon pinnacle, clouds rushed in to shield us. Lovely.
We stopped at a pleasant little park on the bank of the Au Sable for lunch. We dropped pack and were attempting to doctor Erin’s badly blistered foot when the skies opened up and let loose a downpour. We waited out the rain under a large, leafy tree before heading out.
"it says 'approved for veterinary use'...?"
Rain sprinkled us from time to time throughout the afternoon – just enough to keep us cool and happy.
We pushed hard, and after a brutal 15 mile day, we arrived at 4 Mile Camp. The trail camp leaves a little something to be desired, and it now makes perfect sense why campers (aka “normal people”) opt for the Jellystone down the street. We were driven into the tent, which not feels more like a sauna, by rain just as we finished dinner.
Today was, without a doubt, the most physically taxing day so far. Somehow, through incredible pain, we’ve managed to stay positive and forward-looking. Just don’t mention that we have another 15-16 miles to look forward to!
Today’s Playlist:
“The Road” Tenacious D
“Last Night” The Strokes
“20 something” Jamie Cullum
“Hakuna Matata” The Lion King
“Hot and Cold” Katy Perry (stuck in my head for HOURS!!)
Day Nine: 07/31 5.50PM
I got out of the tent only after some prodding. To our great surprise, we were on the road by 5 minutes to 8! BIG improvement. The sky was still grey, and it remained a bit chilly until around 11AM. This was a huge advantage, and it allowed us to push hard without stopping too many times to rest.
Picking blueberries along the trail
We followed the trail quite a bit today, which meant lots of unnamed seasonal roads and other cartographic shenanigans. We followed the trail up to 72, and hadn't hiked long before spotting a trail marker. We were a bit surprised since we weren’t expecting one for another 2 miles, but we took it, glad to be out of the sun and away from the fast-moving traffic.
The trail wound its way south and east before crossing a dirt road, which was, of course, unnamed. We continued East expecting to hit Meridian, and eventually find a campsite along Big Creek. No such luck. The trail somehow deposited us onto McMasters, about 100 yards from 72. Ugh… The surprise trail maker was marking an old section of trail, but - aside from wasting 3 hours - we'd missed Hell Trail after all.
I had been feeling sick all afternoon, and finally refused to hike another mile. I hitched us a ride to Luzerne in the back of a pickup truck – my first time sitting in a pickup bed. As soon as we arrived in Luzerne, I stopped by Ma Deeter’s to ask about a place to stay because hiking three miles to the trail camp was out of the question. We ended up hiking a mile or so south of town and hopping off the road into Huron National Forest. The site is rugged in a dry way. Not many deciduous trees, lots of scrub growing low to the ground. Not ideal, but I was desperate.
Weeeee... I'm having fuuuun....
Other than not feeling well, and being denied a nap, the day was nice. We saw lots of different scenery despite being mostly on roads. Some highlights for me included a lush moraine valley in the midst of succession following a fire, the sun rising through the misty overcast that hung above a re-forested hillside, and fly fishermen slowly picking their way upstream through the rocky, cool Au Sable.
Walking down the dirt two-track portion of 4 Mile, we were amused by Gunner’s antics. He ran, and jumped, and spun, and dove trying vainly to catch butterflies. It was nice to see him act like a puppy.
Today’s playlist:
“Natalie” The Killers
“The Sun Will Come up Tomorrow” Annie
“Sunrise, Sunrise” Norah Jones
“The Show Must Go On” Moulin Rouge
“The Heat Is On” Glenn Frey
“Lonestar” Norah Jones
“City Hall” Tenacious D
Day Ten: 08/01 11AM
We hiked back up to Luzerne and headed to the IGA Express – whatever that is – hoping to enjoy one of the showers advertised on their billboard. Sadly, they cost about $.50 a minute, and we were both pretty sure we couldn’t shower effectively in 8 minutes, at which point we would be broke.
We’d planned on the shower portion of our morning lasting considerably longer, and we were not excited by the prospect of loitering outside the IGA for 2 ½ hours (Phyllis was supposed to arrive around noon). I’d only been sitting outside for 2 minutes and had already fielded 10 questions regarding Gunner, his pack, his stamina while wearing his pack, and his level of enjoyment while wearing his pack. I was still feeling ill, and lacked sufficient energy to feign friendliness. Thus, we walked back across the parking lot to Ma Deeter's – effectively “across town” – and I stepped inside to ask if we (including Gunner) might partake of a little coffee on their back deck. The woman looked at me as if I’d asked her if she’d mind if I lit her hair on fire: “absolutely not! No.” she replied. Fair enough, I thought, but she didn’t need to look at me like that.
I sat dejectedly in the parking lot grumbling to no one in particular. It was during one such rant that two bikers, whom I’d seen seated at the bar, exited and started chatting with us. If we’d been more awake, I’m sure we could have enjoyed their company more. They were just our type of friend: foul-mouthed, funny, and into the outdoors (I 'spose it doesn’t take much to be our friend). Our bikers, Dean and Chad, were in town for unspecified reasons, riding to undisclosed locations. We learned that Chad had a place down the street, and its proximity to Ma Deeter’s bar seemed the only explanation for their visit. We chatted about the trail and our trip, took some pictures, and bid them farewell.
Erin ducked in for some coffee to go, hoping to escape to the park just up the street. While Erin was inside, the waitress I’d offended poked her head out and asked if I had Gunner’s “certification”… "Which certification?” I asked. “You know, blind… or…disabled”. “Um, no."
She was obviously fooled by his very official-looking red backpack, and shame on me for not thinking quickly enough to take advantage of her confusion: “Why yes, he is my service animal. I am disabled” would surely have sufficed, but my head just wasn’t in the game. We took our coffees and headed to Comstock Nelson Park.
Day Ten Update: 9.20PM
Phyllis found us at the park shortly after noon – she’d left late and driven 100mph to compensate. Well done. We went straight back to Ma Deeter’s for lunch. The food was surprisingly good, but the staff was no entirely knowledgeable. When asked for the history of the restaurant, our server stared blankly and sort of shook her head. “What was this building originally used for, a lodge?” I offered. “Yes, a lodge... and rooms for rent” Redundant Rita replied. We learned later from Julie that it was originally a whorehouse. Lodge indeed.
After lunch we drove toward Mio to find Blueberry Hills, a farmers market we’d read about online. When we finally arrived at what was billed as the Dixieland Flea Market of produce, crafts and “honey goods,” we found one stall of decent veg with a tiny end table supporting half a dozen bottles of honey. We bought two peaches under the watchful gaze of the 8 employees occupying the 20 square feet of store.
On our way back into town we spotted a flea market, and decided it was worth a visit. As soon as we stepped in out of the rain we were met with a man sandwiched between a display case of ammo and a wall of guns. YES! This place had it all: antique glassware, auto supplies, black light posters, and a diner, the walls of which were plastered with old adverts for Coke, Elvis and Betty Boop. Phyllis bought Bob a fine leather do-rag, but nothing else caught our eyes. I did find it fascinating, however, that a ‘gymnast Babrie’ retailed for $45 at the same stall that offered Hull and McCoy ceramic pieces for $8-10. Wrong, so wrong.
We left the freak show and headed to the fairgrounds. Someone I’d ran into at Ma Deeters last night mentioned that all the hotels in Mio were full because of a quilt auction. Now THAT was something I had to see. The fairgrounds were packed in spite of the rain. We had arrived at the tail end of the auction (another first for me), but just in time to see a large quilt get sold for $2,200! We wandered around the stalls for a while, but most were closing up shop, so we grabbed a tasty piece of pie, bought some shampoo for the shower we hoped to take, and headed back to Mio.
We hit up a couple of the local campgrounds hoping to get permission to use the showers. After a few "No's,"we rolled up to [name redacted] campground, the most trace-leaving, anti-wilderness place on earth. This nearly naked plot of plan was covered with tents and RVs, people elbow to a**hole. There could be no reason compelling enough to make me part with any sum of money to stay there. Yet, plenty of people felt differently – why??
We had loads of time to consider this question while in line for one of the camp’s only 4 showers. Baffled, we finally asked a fellow line-stander and she explained she was there to go river tubing. Well, surely, I thought, this place must offer free shuttles to the river… “no,” she replied, “someone has to stay behind to drive.” “oh.”
By the time we’d neared the front of the line, truckloads of drunken hillbillies had returned, wasted, from 4 hours of drifting downstream tied to a cooler. From the urine-scented shower I could hear them cursing loudly (~10ft from the playground) and threatening to “pound the f*ing door in,” if I didn’t hurry up. Nice folks, salt of the earth. We sorted our resupply as quickly as possible and high-tailed it outta there.
Goofing around at the PermaLog HQ
It was really nice to see my mom today, and I am glad she was generous enough to spend the whole afternoon with us. I feel good knowing she was able to be part of the trip.
Today’s playlist:
“Don’t Stop Believing” Journey
“Landslide” Fleetwood Mac
Day Eleven: 08/02 7.35PM
Not sure how it happened, but we managed to break camp by 7.30 AM today. Sadly, our rapidity failed us not long after when the hamstring(s) I had pulled power-walking down M-72 suddenly constricted under the weight of my pack, leaving me tottering down Keeley Road like a tin soldier.
After begging Erin to slow the pace, I struggled to make even the most modest progress down what seemed at the time a bleak, treeless ribbon of sandy doom unraveling endlessly toward the sunrise.
Suddenly it occured to me: Ace wrap! I dropped trow in the middle of the road, wound the ace wrap around my thigh until the fat yelled “uncle!” then plowed ahead.
My time as an invalid was short-lived, but it had cost us. We’d traveled 2 miles an hour (no joke!), and it was now going on 9.30. I tried my best to make up the lost mileage, but occasionally I was forced to stop and admire the amazing scenery. We hiked around 6 miles along Keeley, all within the Huron National Forest, and mostly Kirtland Warbler habitat. SO cool. A lot of the habitat was re-growth where fire had recently made way for the fast-growing Jack pines – the Kirtlands’ home of choice. I wasn’t previously aware, but this area is the only place in the world where Kirtlands live.
Toward the mid-section of our hike across Keeley, the road narrowed and the piney fields were replaced by tall, dense, lush aspen stands. The sun was still rising, but the air retained much of the morning’s chill as we descended into the forest’s shadow. The weather not only allowed us to hike in comfort, but made the views that much more pleasant. Along the sun-dappled road, we could see wild flowers still strung with dew taking on a frosted appearance in the morning light. Gunner bounded in and out chasing sounds and scents, only to emerge soaked and panting.
Heading toward Curtisville, the roadside was thick with Queen Anne’s Lace, some still taking the form of downy birds’ nests. The road alternated between paved and not as it climbed and plunged, weaving its way between small farms. The views from both hilltop and valley were perfected by the balance of rich green fields dotted with trees and line with fences against amazingly blue skies and pure white clouds. The sun had hit its apex and our work had become harder as a result, but we pushed on, certain Curtisville lay just around the next bend.
A little comic relief on the trail
We stopped for lunch outside the Curtisville Trading Post, where I supplemented our lox and pita with donuts, chips, ice cream and chocolate milk. During lunch, a breeze picked up, urging us onward but also making the final stretch of our day’s journey that much more pleasant.
The nearest campground was a county park along Alcona Dam Pond, a small lake inhabited solely by seasonal RV campers. It seemed odd, looking out over such a lovely scene and seeing boats docked in front of “Prowlers,” “Winnebegos,” and “Itascas.”The campground is a bit odd. Drunken hillbillies are plentiful, of course, but the strange part is the total lack of management. All around are signs posted referring to the “office”: “shower tokens available at office,” and “permits obtained at office,” and yet, there is no office to be found. There is even a sign assuring you that you should select a campsite, and “an attendant will be along shortly.” Our hearts skip a beat each time a car rounds the bend, but its never any one from the "office.”
I’m starting to get excited about our proximity to Oscoda. Only 2 ½ days left on the trail… just seems impossible – although my body can testify to each of the 200 miles hiked so far. I am looking forward to eggs and toast, fish, and veggies. Really, just excited to be back on a “real food” diet.
Today’s playlist:
“If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life” Jimmy Soul
“How lucky we are” Meiko
“Aint no Mountain High Enough” Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell
"Evert Breath You Take” The Police
“Lookin out For Love” Fleetwood Mac
“Captain Planet” Theme Song
“Salute Your Shorts” Theme Song
Day Twelve: 08/03 (watch died in Mio)
Remember yesterday’s entry when I briefly mentioned we were sharing our campground with some not-so-sober hillbillies? Well, our relationship with them ended up not being so brief. Let’s go back, shall we?
Long before quiet hours began we could tell that their good time was not winding down any time soon. By the time we crawled into the tent, the party down the street was beginning to heat up. It turned out that our neighbors were no strangers to the area: they obviously knew half the population of Curtisville, and as not to be rude, had invited the other half over for drinks as well. People -- or should I say Townies – came and went, on foot and by pickup, past our campsite through the night and into the morning. I can say with confidence that this was the worst night’s sleep of the entire trip- but it wasn’t over yet.
Around 4AM, just as the din of the party was softening, and the pickups were rumbling away, we awoke to an unfamiliar rustling outside our tent. Now we’ve encountered many a critter in our day, but nothing prepared us for this. After a thud from outside sent me groping for my headlamp, I opened the tent fly to find an adolescent raccoon with his face buried in a bag of granola. Suddenly, it hit me: “that little ring-tailed a**hole ripped my new stuff sack!” Indeed. Instead of gingerly un-snapping and un-rolling the bag to enjoy a feast of all its contents, he had decided the situation called for a more direct approach.
I shoo’ed him away and secured the remaining contents of my food bag in Erin’s more durable vinyl bag, but the memory of his coon-anigans will outlast even the new bag I buy to replace the ripped one.
The next morning – this morning -- still feeling a bit violated, I put the water on for coffee and was busying myself with camp-breaking when small rain drops began to fall. By the time the coffee was done, we could barely drink it as the downpour landed in our cups and splashed hot coffee in our faces. It poured and poured. Soaking wet (through my rain pants!), a truck slowed and the windows came down. In the driver’s seat was a man we’d met earlier while suiting up in the bathroom pavilion. He offered us a ride, indicating that he (Bill) and his wife (Leah) were on their way to Tawas, so taking us to Rollways was no inconvenience.
They dropped us off, and we ran for the cover of a vault toilet. Under the somewhat stinky awning, we erected our tent and made a pot of hot cocoa to take inside with us. We stripped off our wet clothes, hung them under the awning, and made a dash for our campsite (holding the tent over our heads as we ran!). We piled in, huddling near Gunner for added warmth. Cold and damp, we fell into a most-pleasant nap. That is, until the camp “host” stopped in.
“HELLOW? HELLOOW??” an increasingly shrill voice broke through our dreams and forced us back into consciousness. “hello?” I responded. The voice told us, none too delicately, that our “things” (aka soaking wet gear) could not reside beneath the toilet awning. The implied request that we emerge from our warm nest, collect our wet “things,” and introduce their chill to our tent was not greeted with joy. The voice explained that she’s had to shove our things aside to complete her “TP check.” I’m sure you can imagine how this story of adversity touched us, and moved us to comply with her ridiculous request. I say ridiculous because it was not only still raining, and our gear still wet, but the toilet in question was one of FIVE shared by 19 campsites – only five of which were occupied. On our half of the campground, we were the only potential users of the 2 available toilets, since all the river views were on the other side.
We complied, and went back to our Sudoku-induced relaxation.
A couple hours later, the voice returned. This time informing us that her “boss” said that if we intended to “sleep here all day” we’d have to pay the $15 fee. The way she accused us of "sleeping all day" made me feel like the unemployed, 30 year old loser living in her parents' basement, slacking the day away playing X Box and eating Doritos. After she left I wondered aloud “who’s your boss, Smokey the Bear?”
Today’s playlist:
“My Father’s Gun” Elton John
“Rain Rain Go Away”
“I'm Gonna Be (I Would Walk 500 Miles)” The Proclaimers
Day Thirteen: 08/04 ?PM
We kicked ass and took names. Hiking from Rollyways to Old Orchard was a bitch, an angry, vindictive bitch. 16 miles of highway in “scenic byway’s” clothing. Despite being within spitting distance, we saw the river only twice.
We were on the “trail” by 7.30AM (doo da doo!), and by 9 we were ready for a break. The sun seemed awfully high for the hour, and it was muggy as hell from last night’s rain. So we stopped in to the Au Sable Resort, a collection of quaint red cottages anchored by a general store. We went in and, while chatting with the proprietor, perused the aisles of junk food, finally settling on cheez-its, sun chips, juice, and a rather neglected-looking Ho Ho. We snacked outside on picnic benches, relishing the 4 miles already behind us.
View of the Au Sable from the Logging Memorial
By 11AM, we were dripping in sweat, and stopped to rest at the loggers' memorial visitor center. There, it seemed, every high school athletic team in the county had gathered, and were exercising lustily in the public walkways. We tried to overlook the sweaty, dirty young boys jogging about shirtless, occasionally dropping to the ground for push-ups or crunches, but we’re only human!
Aaaaanyhow, back to the point. We thoroughly enjoyed the museum, but had to get back on the road, which – as the owner of the Au Sable Resort had explained – was designated as a “Scenic Byway” (the 70th most beautiful place in America… according to whom, we don’t know). Around lunch time, I discovered I was out of water, so as I walked my mind wandered, considering all the unpleasant consequences that might befall me as a result of my imminent dehydration. It was from this place that my mind was brought back to reality when, about 100 yards ahead, I saw a woman’s figure emerge briefly from the thick forest, glance in our direction, then slip back into the cloak of trees. Huh??
“Erin,” I said “I just saw someone behind that dead tree up on the left.” Naturally, with no such person in sight, Erin doubted my claim, which, when coupled with the near total isolation of the road, seemed pretty specious.
As we approached the tree in question, I noticed a small seasonal road, on which was parked a shiny new royal blue car (I think a Chevy HHR or something similarly silly looking). I assumed the woman had been taking a pit stop, and when she failed to materialize, I quickly forgot her and re-focused my attention on my coming hydration-related delirium.
About 20 feet down the road, I heard Erin’s voice, an urgent whisper, telling me something about masturbating in the woods. My mind snapped back to reality and the first logical thought it called up was the memory of the David Sedaris story we’d read the day before (the one where a man, confusing David with an erotic cleaning service, proceeds to masturbate in front of him while David attempts to vacuum). Erin’s voice again: “To – The – LEFT!” I realized suddenly she has been in reality the whole time, and is trying to subtly inform me that a real live man – not a woman after all! – is REALLY whacking it in the very real woods. Somewhat curious to see a man seated on a stump, pumping away at his own -- not to mention thrilled to have proved Erin wrong about the mystery woman-- I turned to look…
Sadly, as is so often the case, my imagination failed to align with reality. The man was not, as I had assumed, sitting on a log, pants unzipped, but was instead standing, completely nude, facing us. Horror.
As I locked eyes with this strange stranger, he raised his hand and waved at me. I turned me eyes back to the road, waiting for a reaction to cement in my mind, but it didn’t, and I stood completely stunned and frozen.
We dialed the police, but by the time I connected with a dispatcher, the blue tool mobile was pulling out of the seasonal road. As it drove away we noticed a dishtowel, hung from the back window, obscuring the license plate. After finishing my call, I stood in silence for a long time, imagining this disturbed individual driving away in his uber conspicuous car, clothed only above the waste. Of course, whether or not he had time enough to don his pants, I don’t know, but this is how I imagined his getaway. It was, however, certain that the whole show had been premeditated, orchestrated with thought and care for our eyes only.
For the next two miles our eyes were wide, scanning the road for potential nudists. Despite all this, we trooped on, making camp before 3PM. Flashers aside, we feel very proud of our ability to not only meet the physical demands of a 16 mile hike, but also to do it all with a smile and a song.
Tonight we are staying in yet another hillbilly haven. We arrived at the [name redacted] campground after a grueling, hot, sweaty, and occasionally water-less hike – every mile of which was printed on my face when I stumbled, loopy from dehydration, into the main office. I stood for a while before a large woman wearing some goofy kitty sweatshirt and oddly sleek, Sarah Palin-esque eyeglasses approached the counter. I indicated my very strong desire to exchange cash money for one of the numerous camp sites on offer. She asked which site I wanted, and I stared blankly at her, hoping she was kidding (there are nearly 1,000 sites at this campground, which stretches over 2 miles…). She explained that we needed to go set up, then hike back to her and register, then hike back to our site (effectively adding 3 miles to that day’s journey). I must have looked completely homicidal at that moment because I was wavering on the brink of a meltdown, but she was unmoved, and sent me on my way with only a giant wall map to guide me.
This joint is run by the county in “partnership” with Consumer’s Energy. By “partnership,” it was obvious they meant Consumers had bought up a mess of land along the river to run power lines from its hydro-electric plant and then decided to make a buck leasing it out to the county, who in turn established a giant, poorly operated campground.
We wandered aimlessly away from the office, hoping to find a tent site (80% were reserved for RVs), and managed to find a stretch of unoccupied sites by some showers. As if this place weren’t odd enough, we soon realized these sites were vacant because they were beneath the humming power lines, and adjacent to the “scenic byway.”
We feasted on mac n cheese (our traditional meal for the last night on the trail), and crawled into our Deuters, joyous to have such a short day to look forward to tomorrow.
Today’s Playlist:
“Empty heart” Josh Ritter
“Wait For Live” Josh Ritter
“Distrubia” Rhianna
“Over The Rainbow” Judy Garland
Day Fourteen: 08/05
Despite planning to sleep in until 7, we were both awake before 6 and were soon up breaking camp (for the last time!!) and preparing for our pancake feast. With our packs set, we sat down to a delicious meal of honey-soaked flapjacks (thanks to some “shake and pour” batter from the general store!).
We hopped the fence intended to keep wayward campers from becoming splatterpaint masterpieces, and headed east along the highway. No more than 100 yards down the road, we both needed to stop and doctor foot ailments. Today’s hike was a continuous struggle to maintain motivation, and sadly, momentum!
The sun crept upward, and the sweat started to roll… slowly, painfully slowly, the miles started to add up behind us. We finally reached Oscoda and, marveling at its surprising quaintness, we enjoyed the sight of a small town with no visible hillbillies! We crossed state street and I broke into a run. I was so impatient to be on the beach, I sprinted – pack and all – the last two blocks. In one fluid motion, I dropped my pack, and collapsed into Lake Huron.
Boots and all...
After donning dry clothes, we headed back west (for the first time in while!) to a tiny little coffee shop where we sipped iced chai lattes until Paul and Kelli arrived to retrieve us. In the car waited not only turkey sandwiches and fresh fruit, but homemade power bars from the farmer’s market – and a bowl of dog food for the G-Man. And all we had to do was hike across the state!
That night, Kelli stuffed us full of stuffed cabbage, bean salad and bread before herding us outside for a boat cruise, followed by a gigantic bonfire. As the full moon rose over Hubbard Lake I thought to myself: “worth every mile.”
Lake Huron...
