The Ends of the Earth

Duluth, Minnesota Sunday, June 6, 2021

I woke up this morning with a start, I had slept till 9:30. I never do that. The Olk’s bed was so comfortable, and they were so quiet getting up, that I slept in. How luxurious. When I opened the door, there was a wonderful aroma is coming from downstairs. Mari was cooking Shakshuka. There was Duluth coffee, almond milk, OJ, and a great bowl of fruit. What is it with kids today, eating so healthy? It’s downright un-American!

I had another of my recurrent minor repairs to do, a broken tension bolt for my Brooks saddle. This broke last in Muncie, Indiana, so seems to be happening every thousand miles or so. This is the Achilles’ heel of the otherwise perfect English saddle, I will need to order more bolts from Simon Firth in Philadelphia, the sole North American distributor. In addition to the tools I’ve packed it requires a couple of large screwdrivers to repair, thankfully Harrison had these on hand.

So fun talking medicine, hiking and biking, music, and life changes with Harrison and Mari. I didn’t leave until 1:30, monopolizing another day of these trail angels. They live in a supercool house, with many features we are incorporating into our home renovation. Again, what’s wrong with kids today, to own such a nice place at the age of 31?

So where was I headed? My next stop is Hibbing, Minnesota, of the Mesabi Iron Range, but first I had to make a stop recommended by Brian, my PHIZ tour director in absentia. Enger Tower perches over Duluth on a 600 foot headland and offers a view to die for.

I almost did. Not really, but I felt funny grinding up the long hill in the 88° heat. As it happened, Harrison and Mari passed me on their way to a hardware store, and texted that I looked great. But I didn’t feel that way.

I’m 67, have hypertension (well-controlled on an angiotensin receptor blocker), borderline prediabetes, until recently was obese, and have lipids that put my 10-year risk of coronary artery disease in the mid-teens percentage. Never never actually had a heart problem, and had a negative stress echocardiogram a few years ago, but I’m concerned. Today’s feeling wasn’t really cardiac, I had no chest symptoms at all, kept checking my pulse and even my EKG on my Apple Watch and all seemed OK, but just felt disproportionately “whupped” even given the circumstances.

They say doctors make the worst patients. True to form, I stopped for an ice coffee, an ice cream bar, a cookie, and then later for a root beer float and a Coke. To all my former patients, please, do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, I thought it was best to hang back a bit when I reached the Enger Tower. Certainly was easy to spend time there, the views are spectacular, really gave you a feel for Duluth’s unique geography and commercial prominence.

Situated at the head of Lake Superior, Duluth is the world’s farthest inland port accessible to oceangoing ships, and by far the largest and busiest port on the Great Lakes. It’s 2,300 miles via those lakes and the St. Lawrence Seaway to the ocean.

With the three Great Lakes I have seen on this trip, Niagara Falls, and other bike trips to Montreal, Quebec City, and the mouth of the Saint Lawrence at the Gaspe Peninsula, I feel quite connected to this massive system. Maybe all this medical concern was just me reluctant to leave it behind. You may recall, I had trouble leaving Lake Erie.

While I was downing my root beer float I talked with a remarkable young man, Sam Henry, who had survived pneumococcal sepsis at age 7 that left him with partial amputation of his digits and the need for leg braces, but who had rallied to become a multi-talented musician. Such incredible people, responding to such adversity. He pointed the way to some isolated and unique spots in Enger Park, so I could look back at the Great Lakes one last time.

After cooling my heels in this remarkable place, I felt better, but by now it was almost 6. I had planned to cycle another 26 miles to a campground on the way to Hibbing, but it was still in the high 80s, there was a small craft advisory for high crosswinds, and I still felt it was prudent to remain in the vicinity of a major medical center until I was sure I was fine.

I knew Harrison and Mari would be happy to put me up another night, but they were 9 miles away and had to work in the morning. I was able to Priceline a fairly cheap room in the Radisson, the most prominent building in the city, with the revolving restaurant on top. It was only a mile and a half away. Descending the dramatically steep streets was harrowing in this heavy rig, heaven forbid I should snap a brake cable.

Was that 4th street I was on? Positively. Oh yeah, I had one more stop to make.

Could I sweet-talk the manager at the Radisson into upgrading my room?

Not this time. The revolving restaurant was fully booked also. I did get a view of the courthouse, one of many buildings with classical architecture in this cool town. Had great sushi for dinner that night.

And that’s Duluth, Ruth.

Distance 14 miles, 2,267 total. Time 5 hours with stops. Elevation gain 999 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria

Two Harbors to Duluth, Minnesota. Saturday, June 5, 2021

Wow. 50 days. I’ve been away so long, and yet the trip has hardly begun.

This was a joyous and bittersweet day. Joyous because of the wonderful time shown me by Harrison and Mari Olk, one of the couples I had met on the boat from Isle Royale, who offered to put me up tonight and take me to a bluegrass concert where Harrison was playing the banjo. It was a perfect evening, both weather-wise and in the venue, a tent in Superior, Wisconsin where over a hundred people gathered for their first concert in months, and celebrated with good music, beer, dancing, and conversation. I met Mari’s parents, a civil engineer and a speech therapist, and a number of their friends, everyone was having such a good time. Their enthusiasm washed over me like a warm wave. Such a night, as Dr. John would say.

On the way back to their house, Harrison and Mari treated me to a tour of Duluth with many of the historic landmarks, their colleges and hospitals, and a trip to the sandbar at the end of Lake Superior, with a great view of the city.

Bittersweet because this was my last day on Lake Superior, after nine days in the presence of this singular body of water. I only had 24 miles to go today, but was dragging my feet. As I stopped by a beach, I noticed for the first time that I could see the shore on the opposite side, indicating that the lake was finally tapering down to a point, that it was about to end.

I made multiple stops on this short trip, one spot had homemade ice cream that could rival Ben & Jerry’s, and just 5 miles later I had to stop for a Coke. Who could resist a roadside stand in an Airstream trailer?

That “61” emblem reminded me that this great North Shore highway, Minnesota 61, was about to become the famous US 61, immortalized by Bob Dylan and known as the “Blues Highway,” heading all the way down to New Orleans. Duluth is Bob Dylan’s birthplace.

To top it off, I had two great phone calls. My son Jason, who loves music and has hundreds of vinyl albums, called me right during the concert, so I felt he was a part of the celebration. He is thinking about taking a “walkabout” of his own, which I strongly encouraged. So good to hear from him, despite making me homesick.

The second was from my best buddies Brian, Eric, Frank, and Matt, who were on their own road trip. For decades, Brian has organized a semiannual junket of short hikes and roadside attractions for us he calls PHSIDARUTT, for Pre Hiking Season Improvisational Drive Around, Run Up, and Talk Trash. We all live in different corners of the country, but this reunion is sacrosanct, making sure we get together at least twice a year. I was sorry to be missing it for the first time ever, but was following along vicariously, tracking them on the Find My app. Brian has made many suggestions for my trip, which was inspired by his; if I substitute a B (bike) for the D (drive) I could call it PHSIBARUTT. Anyway, it was good to talk trash with those guys.

So 50 days. Averaging 45 miles per day, despite the down days. Still feeling great, but as always, uncertain about what the future holds. I don’t even know exactly where I’m going tomorrow. So weird for me, after a life of being so regimentally organized, to have things so open-ended like this. Exhilarating, but frightening. Homesick to the extreme, but also having the time of my life. Wow.

Distance 24 miles, 2,253 total. Time 4 hours with stops. Elevation gain 680 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria

Tofte to Two Harbors, Minnesota. Friday June 5, 2021

My legs were cramping almost constantly overnight, but it seems I’ve learned to deal with this while still sleeping, or at least only half awakening, so I felt somewhat rested in the morning. Today was straightforward, just 56 miles up Lake Superior towards Duluth, ending in the town of Two Harbors. I was racing against the clock, since I was trying to attend a virtual event.

This is my 45th college reunion year. I typically don’t go to these, but because of the pandemic this one is virtual, so we can attend online. One of the signature events is “Tech Night at the Pops” at Boston Symphony Hall, very expensive but, I’ve heard, a lot of fun. This time it was free, but it started at 7 PM. I was racing to try to get to the campground in time to tune in, but kind of ran out of gas about halfway, I guess the fatigue from last night caught up to me.

Not to worry. I had a strong enough signal that I could tune in right from my cell phone on my handlebars. What an amazing situation, listening to beautiful music while cycling along Lake Superior, ever dazzling, even going through a couple of tunnels. I was worried about these on a bicycle, but they had broad shoulders and were well lighted. Remarkably, I didn’t even lose the signal inside.

The concert wrapped up with a tribute to the class of 1971, the 50th reunion year, and the music that was popular at that time, Carole King’s Tapestry and the number one song, Three Dog Night’s Joy to the World, punctuated by a balloon drop of red and grey, the MIT colors. Wow.

This was just as I was pulling into Two Harbors, where had my first actual “meal” in two days at the Dairy Queen, and settled into my first campground on this, the 49th day of my trip. I had camped once before in Wisconsin, but they upgraded me to a cabin. This time I actually had to break out the tent.

Quite a bit of hubbub, the high school had graduated today and were celebrating at the beach. Sprinkled a bit overnight, but slept like a rock, and even made breakfast of coffee and instant oatmeal in the morning.

Distance 57 miles, 2,229 total. Time 7 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,468 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria

Grand Marais to Tofte, Minnesota Thursday, June 3, 2021

So I was searching for an appropriately goofball title for today’s ascent of Eagle Mountain, not easy to find, an eagle is not usually a goofball icon. Then I remembered Eddie the Eagle, the sentimental favorite of the 1988 Calgary Olympics, a ski jumper from England, he came in last place but was everybody’s darling. I guess there was a movie made about him a few years ago, I didn’t see it.

Anyway, this map shows my dilemma.

The simplest thing to do would have been to leave my bags at the hotel and just go up and down. However, the whole town was fully booked (more about that later) and nobody wanted to hold my bags unless I was staying there. So I was going to have to drag all my equipment up 1100 of the 1700 foot elevation gain.

My old bike app, RideWithGPS, recommended the route in grey, but I’ve been burned before (see Timm’s Hill, 5/25) and I wanted to check with the visitor center to see what they thought, they didn’t open until 10. Sure enough, they recommended the route in blue, said most of the climbing would be on a paved road, it was only 3 miles longer. Couldn’t find any campgrounds online, and most of the motels were full, but I did find an AmericInn in Tofte who said they had rooms, that I wouldn’t need to reserve, and I could arrive late. Good enough.

The paved part of the climbing was on Gunflint Road, sounded ominous, and indeed it was. It was quite steep, and shortly there was no shoulder at all, just soft gravel, with dozens of trucks rumbling by. I wound up having to walk about 2 miles, although I did reach an overlook of the Harbor.

Finally off that busy road, but just before the pavement gave out I found that my drive belt (instead of a chain, I’ll elaborate on the details of this bike later) had derailed. In the 8000 miles I’ve ridden this bicycle, that had never happened before. Easy enough to fix, I but I was reminded of an important maxim in medicine. Congestive heart failure is a syndrome, not a diagnosis, you always need to find out why, such as valvular heart disease, coronary artery disease, hyperthyroidism, cardiomyopathy, etc. So too with the bicycle, I had to find out why.

Flipped the bike by a road sign, glad I had already put on bug repellent. The answer became clear soon enough, a small pebble from that gravel road had lodged in the teeth and popped it off. Simple to fix, but important to tension the belt properly so it wouldn’t happen again. This is accomplished with an app on the iPhone similar to how you tune a guitar. You pluck the belt and aim for between 35 and 50 hertz. Not so easy when the cars and trucks were rumbling by, making too much background noise. The whole operation took about an hour.

Already sweating quite a bit, I was concerned perhaps I hadn’t packed enough water. I came upon a lovely National Forest Service campsite, with lakeside sites for just $10, it was tempting to leave my bags there. But the trailhead was still 6 miles distant, and I didn’t want to backtrack. Instead I just drank lots of their water and filled up all my bottles.

The trail head had seven cars (some had left by the time I took this photo) and a kiosk where you had to apply for a free backcountry permit.

There was also, thankfully, a picnic table which meant changing from “biking mode” to “hiking mode” was lots easier. I locked the bike deep in the woods and got started.

Right off I encountered a family, all wearing headnets, and looking completely wiped out. I was glad I had applied another layer of DEET. The trail was rocky but reasonably flat for the first 3 miles, passing a wilderness boundary, lots of puncheon, and coming out onto a beautiful lake.

I chatted with other hikers, including a couple who were very glad to borrow my insect repellent, and gave me tips about the somewhat confusing path to the actual highpoint. The trail does have a slightly rocky climb at the end, but it’s only 600 feet. You pass a couple of gorgeous viewpoints along the way, but the summit itself is completely wooded.

Sharp-eyed readers will notice that my “Highpoint from sea level” count jumped from 11 to 14. More about that later.

By now it was 6 PM, and the sun was setting at nine. I knew I had a long way to go, but had adapted a cavalier attitude today, I would just find a place by the side of the road, there are lots of establishments that don’t advertise on Google Maps. I had all this camping gear I had not yet used, in a pinch I could set up a “cowboy camp” on a flat space. I considered going back 6 miles to that good campsite, but just couldn’t get my head around backtracking like that, with all that weight.

I even got cocky, sending texts and emails, calling home, chatting at length with the hiker Mike (who took my picture) and his beautiful husky. After a few antalgic miles, I was delighted to be hiking fast. Even so, I didn’t get back to the trailhead and back into biker mode until 8:45. There were 21 miles to go down to the lake, 17 of which were still on dirt roads. Mike thought I’d find campsites along the way, as I had on the way up.

It got completely dark after a few miles. I was happy to see my generator headlight, always on, did a fine job of lighting the dirt roads, even going down fast. The taillight gave the few cars who passed plenty of warning. I noticed the stars were absolutely spectacular, but I had other priorities. I passed a number of signs, had to stop and hoist the front of the bike so the headlight trained on them, saw that none were campgrounds. Finally I hit the paved road, got pretty chilled streaking down. My water was totally gone, the only fluid I had was that can of whup-ass (the “nuclear option” Starbucks Double-Shot Energy), but didn’t want to use it, I wanted to have a chance of sleeping at least a little bit tonight. I finally got a signal, and texted Jane I was safely on pavement.

It was midnight when I hit the resort town of Lutsen, nothing was open or had vacancy. The general store at least had a bench where I could put on warm clothes. Hope against hope, I called that AmericInn in Tofte. Yes! They still had rooms, and the only place that had a front desk person there all night. Ten more miles, but along that great costal highway with good shoulders. No wind, 53 degrees.

Just then two huge busses pulled up to the store, asked if I had any water. They had just transported a load of seniors to the resorts at Grand Marais, had to get back to southern Minnesota, but were overheating and needed water. I told them I didn’t work there, and needed water too. We found a spigot behind a real estate office next door. Tasted funny, but must have downed two liters, and was able to choke down some of my trail snacks.

I knocked on a few motel doors enroute to Tofte, to no avail. Got into the AmericInn at 1:30, but life wasn’t quite done jerking me around. The only rooms they had were on the second floor, no elevator. Taking the bags off is an ordeal, so I just moosed the 100 pound bike up the stairs. The desk clerk apologized, offered to help me, said she used to work in maintenance and was quite strong, but I was too much of a chauvinist to let her. My back didn’t protest too much. Had a nutritious dinner of fruit and root beer, then slipped and fell in the shower like an old man. Shoot, my shoulder hurt, I’d had rotator cuff surgery in 2003. I checked the Empty-Can, Hawkin’s and Neer’s signs, seemed OK, took the rest of the shower while sitting in the tub. Scottie the Geezer.

Distance 63 miles including 7 miles of hiking, 2,172 total (decided to include those 6 miles in Niagara Falls as well). Time 15 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,500 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria

Grand Portage to Grand Marais, Minnesota Wednesday, June 2, 2021

My father’s mother was a de Lima, from the Sephardic Jewish side of the family, her father was a bank president and considered one of the “grandees” of New York City in the early 1900s. Me, I’m just grandiose.

I got a cheap hotel room last night, with a view of an airshaft, but tonight decided I would splurge on a view of Superior. I was very self-indulgent today, sleeping late, lingering over breakfast, emailing with friends, and not hitting the road until almost noon. There was no rush, I knew it would be too much to bike 50 miles to Eagle Mountain and climb it on the same day, it was a 7 mile hike, with another 20 miles beyond to lodging or a campsite. So instead, I just biked 35 miles to the next town, Grand Marais, the closest to the mountain.

Some construction at the beginning, but then nothing but a gorgeous road paralleling this incredible lake, which I couldn’t take my eyes off of. Again, my few pictures just can’t capture the sprawling majesty of a freshwater ocean, with subtle lighting that reminded me of Cape Cod.

I stopped at pebbly beach and dipped in my toes, the water was surprisingly warm in the shallow area.

Grand Marais reminded me of Wellfleet without the salt. Sadly, much of it had road construction, but I could still see the charm. The motel recommended a local fish place, the Angry Trout, and I did have a great meal there and watched the scenery once again.

Then back to the motel to do my laundry while soaking in the hot tub.

Sunrise from the motel the next morning.

Eagle Mountain looms 1700 feet above the lake, but you wouldn’t know it in the view from the town.

Alas, the motel is fully booked tonight, so I can’t just keep my bags here while I bike to the trailhead, I will need to take them with me. The silver lining is that I can take a different way down, and make some progress towards the next destination.

Distance 35 miles, 2,103 total. Time 4 hours with stops. Elevation gain 944 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria

Isle Royale Michigan to Grand Portage, Minnesota. Tuesday, June 1, 2021

The ferry for the trip to Minnesota was not as luxurious as the Island Queen. The Voyager II was older and extremely noisy inside, so I spent the entire 6 1/2 hour ride on the back deck.

Luckily, I had great company, two couples from Duluth, who had just finished a seven day backpack along the length of the island.

All 4 are clinicians, Sarah and Harrison are speech language pathologists, Kyle is a chiropractor, and Mari a physicians assistant who primarily does vascular surgery. We had lots to talk about on the voyage, both about medicine and about our outdoor adventures. I was envious that they had gotten to see so much of the island, when I had seen so little, but our ferry route did give us a view of quite a bit of it, as these maps show.

Again, I took a few photos, but they can’t capture the majesty of the place, the silence, the isolation. Truly a Royal Island.

We were amused by some major cargo that was unloaded at Windigo, many cases of soda, or “pop” as they call it here

The island was beautiful, but I was looking forward to returning to civilization, and an Internet connection. I was surprised to see that despite the name, Grand Portage was an isolated outpost. There was nothing at the ferry dock except a gravel driveway, a bathroom, and a lot of bugs. Still no cell signal. When the passengers departed, I was all alone, and not sure of where to go, since I was still dependent on digital maps. I groped my way blindly for a few miles until I came to a casino, which offered lodging. I had planned on going further, but the highway was under construction, there was a headwind, and the next accommodations were 30 miles away.

Geez, this was my lowest-activity day since being marooned in Amsterdam NY. The casino was pretty low-key, the rooms were nice, the Wi-Fi signal strong, and they had a fire going by the lake shore, although I was too chilled to indulge.

The room came with a $15 voucher for the slot machines, which I succeeded in blowing in seven minutes.

It called to mind one of my favorite mournful ballads from David Bromberg, Diamond Lil https://youtu.be/cDzISoDQL98

Distance 4 miles, 2,068 total. Time 1 hour. Elevation gain 172 feet. Sheesh.

Copper Harbor to Isle Royale, Michigan Monday, May 31, 2021

This title will only make sense to die hard Pulp Fiction fans. John Travolta is having male-bonding talk with Samual L. Jackson before they carry out a vicious hit. He muses about France, how he loves the little differences. Because of the metric system, they don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. It’s Le Royale with Cheese.

I love cheese, so I brought plenty with me to the island. If you look at a map, Lake Superior looks like a profile of the head of a monster.

The Keweenaw Peninsula is the mouth, and Isle Royale is the eye. I always wanted to go, but you can only get there by boat or seaplane. Now, I had my chance. If I wanted to be grandiose (who, me?) I could say I was Paul Bunyan, using the island as a stepping stone to Minnesota.

Bikes aren’t technically allowed, they don’t want mountain bikes on the trails, but you can bring them if you don’t ride them. Needless to say, not many do, so I made quite a stir with the backpackers and kayakers waiting to board the ferry, the Island Queen IV.

Always happy to talk about myself, I was in almost constant conversation on the 3 1/2 hour passage, and for as couple of hours more after we landed. I wish I could remember their names and stories, they were at least as compelling as mine.

That and logistical snafus kept me from getting into my cabin until almost 3PM. Just enough time for a short hike, the ranger had recommended a 5 mile loop to Point Scoville.

Lake Superior fascinates me. I’ve only seen it once, from the Trans-Canadian train enroute to Vancouver on June 13, 1987. It’s the largest freshwater lake by area in the world (Lake Baikal in Siberia is deeper and has more volume, and the Caspian Sea is technically a lake, but is salty) and the most pristine of the Great Lakes. The lake they call Gitche Gummi is featured in Longfellow’s Hiawatha and Gordon Lightfoot’s The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, https://youtu.be/9vST6hVRj2A, which was the last thing I listened to before I lost my signal on the mainland.

Here is a map of the island. The main facility is at Rock Harbor, near the northern tip. My hike went to the tip of that prong Rock Harbor is on. So you can see, I just did the tiniest fraction of the island.

These photos utterly fail to capture the magnificence and scale of the place. You just have to be there.

The water is so clear you are fooled that it’s much deeper than it appears. On one cliff over the water, when the wind blew just right, I got a single bar of service and was able to reach Jane. Funny, I could hear her clear as a bell, but she could barely hear me.

The trail led past one of the old copper mines that used to dot the island, before the national park was established.

When I got back to Rock Harbor, the place was deserted. All the bustle of passengers when I arrived was gone, they had backpacked or taken their canoes elsewhere. I went back to my cabin, ate the food I had brought from the mainland, watched a sunset through the windows, and fell asleep to the call of loons.

Distance 1 mile biking, 5 miles hiking 2,064 total. Time 3 hours with stops. Elevation gain 390 feet

L’Anse to Copper Harbor, Michigan. Sunday, May 30, 2021

For those of you not sure what I mean by “hypotenusing“, I suggest you check back to the posts “It’s not easy being me“ on April 28, and “From Albany to Buffalo“ on May 1.

My next highpoint was Eagle Mountain in Minnesota, and as you look at the map, you can see my quandary.

If I hopscotched across Lake Superior, using ferries, I could save almost 200 miles, a lot of backtracking, and get to see the nation’s least-visited national park, Isle Royale. The choice was obvious.

Now right away I know what you’ll say. “Aha, Mr. Self-righteous, I thought this trip was supposed to be fossil fuel free. What do you think those ferries are burning, granola?” Yeah, but they’re running whether I’m on them or not. And despite me and the bike still being overweight, I don’t think I’m adding much to their fossil fuel consumption.

On the other hand, you could make the same claim about airplanes. No question, Greta Thunberg wouldn’t approve, unless I could charter a solar-powered yacht at short notice.

On the third day of this trip, in Troy, my buddy Frank did me a solid I’m only now coming to appreciate. My hotel was just across the parking lot from Dinosaur Barbecue, but he insisted on driving me. No, I protested, I’ll break my streak. Get in the car, he said. It’s like when Cal Ripken just decided not to show up one day, and liberate himself from the tyranny of his consecutive game streak. I’m free. I can do what I want. Thanks, Frank.

Only one other problem. The second ferry only runs twice a week in the preseason. If I was going to make this work, I would have to crank out 82 miles over the hilly Keweenaw Peninsula, my longest day yet, while still poofed from mighty Mt. Arvon.

Well, at least there was a tailwind. US 41 went the whole way, and the part I had already done had a smooth wide shoulder. Would it hold all the way to Copper Harbor? The first 33 miles were flat and easy, and before I knew it I was in Houghton, the largest town on the Keweenaw, and the birthplace of American ice hockey, or so the sign says. Also the birthplace of Gut Frisbee, a precursor to Ultimate Frisbee. My recent motel proprietor, Scott, was there for a game, and he spotted me and called me over to talk and hear the origin stories.

Houghton had the Michigan Technological University, which could have rightly been called MIT.

It also had this curious sign. I guess in Houghton, like Casablanca, life is cheap.

Finally, there was Finlandia University. I put these pictures in for Krista Marjola, our foreign exchange student who lived with us for a year in 2012.

Climbing the long hill out of Houghton, my odometer rolled over to 2000. Not bad for a month and a half. Only 13,000 more to go.

Next was a curious yardstick, at the location of the highest snowfall recorded in America.

This was Sunday, and I passed the Rugged Cross Church just as the service was letting out. When they were out of earshot, godless heathen that I am, I belted out my favorite song, Gethsemene, from the first album I ever bought, Jesus Christ Superstar. https://youtu.be/Azawb907Bjg Ian Gillan I ain’t. As the cars sped by, I could see them rolling up their windows.

Presently I was punished for my sacrilege. The US 41 shoulder, which had held for 55 miles, suddenly gave out to gravel. Ugh, still 27 miles to go. I cried out, “41, O 41, why hast thou forsaken me?” Could I make it? I could feel the caffeine from my last snack ebbing away, would I have to resort to the nuclear option? I keep a can of this with me for just in case, but I don’t want to use it, I won’t sleep well if I do.

The awful shoulder was only for a few miles, I was able to hold off on the nuke, and the scenery got lovely as I finally descended into Copper Harbor at 7:30. I’d heard almost no food would be available on Isle Royale, so I stocked up on groceries here.

Distance 82 miles, 2,058 total. Time 10 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,539 feet

Ascent of Mount Arvon, Michigan Saturday, May 29, 2021

I can’t seem to find this photograph, but it remains indelible in my mind. On May 29, 1981 I am standing, sweating in my acetate shirt (why was that ever a thing?) and my cap, gown, and green hood, next to my beaming mother and my relieved father; clutching a piece of paper, just awarded by George Washington University.

I didn’t really know what I was getting into at the time, but 40 years later, I have to say, it was a great ride (technically, I stopped being a doctor on March 31, 2020 when I retired, although I am still fully licensed and board-certified, and have done a little perdiem work since then). And what better way to celebrate then to pick off another highpoint?

Mount Arvon is one of the silly ones, like all of the ones so far this trip. It’s fully wooded, the only view on top is courtesy of a chainsaw. It’s only been the highpoint since 1982, before that Mount Curwood was listed in the maps, but Arvon was found to be 11 inches higher. The motel clerks and restaurant personnel I mentioned my plans to, who’d grown up around here, had never even heard of it. Still, I was excited to do it, and celebrate this arvonersary (ouch).

Google Maps says it’s just 17 miles away, and 1100 feet of climbing. But as I mentioned, all of the trip reports said don’t rely on your navigator, you’ll just get lost in a tangle of lumber roads. The route to follow is the one I had downloaded from the visitor center yesterday. More roundabout, but it gets you there, and is marked by signs.

Yeah, but it’s twice as long and more than twice as much climbing. No matter, it was a beautiful day and my spirits were fortified by the double breakfast I’d had at the Hilltop Restaurant. Check out their legendary sticky buns.

Maybe fortified wasn’t quite the right word. I felt those buns sloshing around in my gut as I slowly cranked up the dirt roads, but I was still happy. The bike was newly light and nimble, stripped of all but the gear I’d need today. The roads, which I had heard could be problematic, were recently graded and in great shape, and I was hopeful of being able to bike all the way to the top.

It was not to be. I have super-low gearing for the steepest stretches, but that means I’m going so slowly that I weave around from side to side. There was a fair amount of ATB traffic on the road, and though they courteously gave me as much room as they could, it still meant that I had to stop on the steep parts, then walk to a flatter section so I could get started again. I gave up with about 2 miles to go, and switched to my hiking boots and poles, locking the bike to a tree.

Actually, it felt good to be hiking. As I walked along, though, I remembered that this was also a somber anniversary. Two years ago my great friend and mentor, Dick Bail, died of metastatic hepatocellular carcinoma, caused by chronic hepatitis C that he had contracted while doing humanitarian work in Africa.

I had the summit to myself. Well, me and the bugs, just barely held at bay by the repellent.

Here is the chainsaw view of Lake Superior, if you zoom in you can see that the distant shore is the Keweenaw Peninsula, I will be traversing those hills tomorrow. Ugh, that’ll be 82 miles.

Distance 58 miles, 1,974 total. Time 9 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,923 feet

Iron River to L’Anse, Michigan. Friday, May 28, 2021

Another 55 miles into a headwind today, with no towns in between, so I took the motel breakfast for all it was worth, ordering eggs, cereal, yogurt, toast, sausage, and one of those waffles. Trey, the guy behind the counter, was very accommodating, he was a big Cubs fan and we talked about the crazy baseball play yesterday.

Despite the headwind, it was one of those beautiful days today, with the sky a cerulean blue and little around me but acres of pristine forest. There was a grocery store about 20 miles in, and I had a dish of ice cream, Snickers bar, and a quart of milk. I can’t figure out why I’m not losing weight faster.

Came back out to the bike to find another broken spoke. Sigh. I’m getting better, this time I replaced it in about 45 minutes, but of course there was no one to re-true the wheel. I did the best I could by plucking the spoke until it had the same tone as those adjacent.

10 miles further down the road, I came upon a weird quirk of geography, I was re-entering the eastern time zone.

Astute blog readers will recall that I crossed into central time on May 14, a full two weeks ago. Since then, my progress has admittedly been more north than west, but I have not significantly backtracked to the east. So what gives? This felt like I was losing ground. Indeed, I had “lost” an hour, had to move my clock ahead.

That unsettled feeling was not helped by another “ping” from my rear wheel; sure enough I had broken another spoke, two in the same day, my fifth overall. By this point it was just 8 miles downhill to my destination, so I held off on fixing it. As the picture shows, the shoulder was in good shape.

My destination was L’Anse, a resort town on Keweenaw Bay of Lake Superior. A couple of days ago I was dismayed not to find any Priceline-able motels here, and it suddenly occurred to me: this was Memorial Day weekend, and a resort town. Quite possibly, everything was booked up, the papers are full of stories about people desperate to travel again, after being cooped up for a year. Camping was not an option, it was supposed to go down to 28° tonight. I started frantically calling the motels directly, nobody answered until I reached Motel 41, where the owner Scott said he had a room available. I snatched it up, paying in advance for two days.

I needn’t have worried. There was only one other room booked, to a couple of motorcyclists. Scott said because the weather was so cold, nobody was booking anything. This motel I had committed to was very bare-bones, but adequate and quite inexpensive.

Since I’d lost an hour with the time zone, I didn’t get there till after eight, and all the restaurants were closed except for a Subway. I had another lovely FaceTime call with Jane and my friends, but then had to rush to get a shower in before that restaurant closed.

Even though everything was closed, the town’s location at the westernmost extremity of the eastern time zone meant the sun didn’t set until 9:46 PM. Weird.

Tomorrow is Mount Arvon, the notoriously difficult-to-find Michigan highpoint. I researched it as much as I could, people said don’t trust your GPS, follow the route recommended at the visitor center. That center was closed, but the brochures were outside; the instructions were a bit byzantine, but I loaded them carefully into RideWith GPS. I can trust the app if I scrutinize the route beforehand. I loaded up with groceries for the 56-mile trip, fixed that broken spoke, stripped down the bicycle to just what I need for tomorrow, and didn’t get to sleep until 2AM. Good thing I slept eight hours the night before.

Distance 55 miles, 1,916 total. Time 9 hours with stops. Elevation gain 2,021 feet