Thursday - July 20, 2006

We awoke to blue skies and a tasty breakfast before heading northeast through Wisconsin. The entire morning, we drove through rolling green fields dotted with dairy farms and grain silos. Near large cities and small towns we passed numerous hand written signs for sweet corn. A quick look at the map suggested that we could enter Michigan and cross the U.P. by mid-afternoon at latest, allowing an early evening descent through Michigan before settling somewhere near Jackson. While I fancy myself a somewhat experienced navigator, I could not have been more wrong. Rather than actually counting the miles (or even calling up a Yahoo Maps estimate), I simply eyeballed it and guessed. As the hours wore on, I realized that our schedule would demand a long drive that night.

Even so, we continued along. I was particularly interested in traveling among the Yoopers as residents of the U.P. are often called. And I wanted to try a "pasty," the local name for a meat and potatoes pastry. Jenny's family comes from this part of the country, so she learned how to make the handheld meal that was a staple of nineteenth century miners. Trying a pasty would prove to be pretty easy. When we hit Iron Mountain, we found the main drag littered with pasty places. With no particular expectation, we stopped at Dobber's Pasties and grabbed some of what the places calls "Yooper Soul Food." Sure enough, a single pasty is thick, heavy, and filling. A bit bland, but certainly worth a try.

We turned east, returning to the Hi-Line that previously carried us through much of the high plains. Let me tell you, the U.P. is a beautiful drive, particularly when devoid of the numerous logging trucks that ply the roads at other times of the year. Today we encountered virtually no traffic, just little towns, lots of motels, and resorts catering to Lake Michigan visitors. My favorite part was the cabins that must have been built in the 20s and 30s. Many are still open, and they looked mighty photogenic. Our favorites were the Hilllcrest Motel (East of Iron Mountain) and Four-Star Motel (West of St. Ignace). Part of me wanted to keep good time and simply enjoy the trees and occasional views of the massive blue lake. So we barreled on - until we spotted a sign for an "Office Museum" in Hermansville. I drove past before feeling pangs of regret. What would we find in an "Office Museum?" We lurched the car around before turning onto the street that led us to a hidden town off the road. Vienna then told me the bad news; she spotted a sign indicating that the museum closed at 4 p.m. But my instinct (or was it my stubbornness?) demanded we continue. Sure enough, when we pulled up to the three-story building, the tour guide was just pulling out. But she turned out to be very kind and patient, asking us if we were planning to come this way again. Honestly, we aren't. So, she opened up the doors and gave us a personal tour. Vienna was originally not too keen on this idea, but we both soon agreed that the tour is pretty fascinating.

We discovered that Hermansville was a factory town built by the Wisconsin Land & Lumber Company, which specialized in hardwood flooring. The office we toured was a headquarters building that included nineteenth and early twentieth-century artifacts of office life: massively thick ledgers that had to be carried between floors by dumbwaiter, dictaphones that stored the human voice on cylinders, and plenty of adding machines. Sounds boring, right? Not when interpreted by an enthusiastic tour guide. We only planned to look for a couple of moments because we didn't want to overstay our welcome, but our guide couldn't resist showing us all three floors, the company store, a tiny unit of workers' housing, and plenty more. After almost an hour, Vienna and I agreed that this stop was worth the detour in our schedule. Driving through the town, we spotted other examples of workers housing, with their sharply pitched roofs set at an uneven angle. It's fun when you're able to read some of the story of the built environment that you'd otherwise pass by.

By now it was late afternoon, and we still had a couple of hours of driving ahead before we'd hit the Mackinac Bridge that separates Lake Michigan and Lake Huron. From there, we would burn along the interstate as far south as we could go. It was sunset when we spotted the bridge. I set the iPod to Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" as we drove the almost five mile span. We crossed silently, looking at the massive bodies of blue water and enjoying the reddish glow of the setting sun. Then we joined the interstate and raced as fast as the speed limits would allow.

After a while, I began to think we passed through Michigan at the right time. By day, the numerous delays for bridge construction would likely to have resulted in frustrating traffic jams. But at night, we simply had to dial back to sixty for a bit before returning to our cruising speed. After a surprisingly good meal at Applebees, we played the audio version of Monty Python and the Holy Grail and a little bit of Beavis and Butthead before Vienna drifted off to sleep and I turned on my "night driving" playlist. It was 2 a.m. when we finally reached our stop. I think I was partially asleep before I even hit the bed.