Bicycling in Michigan - June 2013 - Part 3

On the morning we left Paradise we had to retrace our steps 11 miles -- a fact that always aggravates me-- unreasonable but there it is.  I hadn't liked Route 123 to begin with and didn't like it any more on the rerun.  When we made a left turn toward Brimley, however, there was a subtle change in the road-- it seemed to curve and swoop attractively and I found myself much enjoying the ride.  Thus it went along until we reached Bay Mills, a community of Chippewa Indians where there is a resort and casino.  Most interesting to me, however, was the Indian Burial Gound.

We were mystified by the small "houses" scattered through the cemetery and it being obvious that they were too small for bodies, I wondered if they were for bones but with a little research I learned that they were spirit houses.  

We stopped for lunch at a restaurant in Brimley called "Willabee's" and having a friend named Willoughby I began to wonder how long it had taken from the name to evolve to that iconclastic spelling.  Once at home I took a look at U.S. census records.  I quickly found that there was only one family in Michigan named  "Willabee".  They were Willobee in 1940, Willabee in 1930, and variously Willoby, Willabee, Willobee and Willoughby in earlier census and marriage records.  One of the important lessons of genealogical research.  There is no wrong way to spell a surname.  

The end of the ride found us in a motel a few miles from the Soo Locks in Sault Ste. Marie.  There appeared the most wonderful dog-- a golden doodle named Wrigley.  I requested the dog to come, to sit and to stay and he obeyed without hesitation.  

The next morning we rode to breakfast at a place adjacent to the locks and after eating went off to explore.  The area was discouraging at first-- no bicycles allowed and a high fence that made viewing very difficult.  John discovered a special viewing area, however, and we went up to watch a huge ship pass upward through the lock from Lake Huron to Lake Michigan.

We were fortunate indeed to have come upon the locks at that time-- there was not another ship scheduled until noon and the Paul R. Tregurtha is the "Queen of the Great Lakes"; that is to say the largest ship operating. The museum showed a comparison between the ship and the Empire State Building, the ship being only a few feet shorter in length.  It was fascinating to watch "her" slowly steam into the lock, the door closing, the water rising and eventually to watch the ship pass through the upper gate.  

This is a picture of the empty lock.  

Our ride from Sault Ste. Marie to Cedarville was uneventful and unmemorable.  It was a gray day with intermittent light showers and we had a pretty decent lunch somewhere along the way.  The hotel in Cedarville was basically nice but undergoing new ownership and a rehab-- this meant that the ice machine and laundry machines were unavailable and the computer in the lounge was so old that it kept telling me to upgrade to a modern browser.  After a couple of futile attempts to get my email, I gave up.  Cedarville was one of the places we were to spend two nights, the suggested day trip being out to Detour Village.  Poor Detour!  It looked like it was ready for a party to which no one came; flags and flowers and no people or cars.  We speculated that the short high season for the area has not yet begun and that a week or two might bring some activity to town.  In any case, we had lunch and rode 24 miles back to Cedarville.  There was some nice scenery along the way, as the road went closer to the lake than many we had ridden on and we saw a log house that John coveted.  

To be continued (Part 4 ).

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Part 2

Bicycling in Michigan - June 2013 Part 2

Leaving Birch Lodge  in the morning, we were momentarily delayed by the passing of a long train loaded with logs.  It was interesting to see how much logging is being done on the U.P. and how many loaded trucks and trains we saw on our ride.  Once the train had passed, we headed out on the same tedious highway that we had experienced the day before-- I tried to focus on the pleasures of being on the bike, feeling strong, being with John and looking for the lady slippers.  This tactic worked reasonably well and got us to a lovely scenic rest stop where the Tahquemenon River meets Lake Superior.  

Refreshed by our stop, it was an easy ride to Paradise, Michigan and let me simply say that one can name a town anything at all but it need not necessarily be an accurate description.  Our hotel, however, was just perfect-- all the rooms were on the water side, each with a lovely balcony looking over the lake.  Steps led down to a pretty sand beach and even better, we were to stay two nights and there was a grocery story where we could buy a bottle of wine.  

After our arrival I was persuaded to ride the additional miles from Paradise to Whitefish Point, the home of the Shipwreck Museum.  The ride was humdrum but the museum was fascinating and again there was a place to walk out to the lake's edge to look at the area called "The Graveyard of the Great Lakes".  For many years the Great Lakes were a beehive of shipping, accidents were numerous and thousands of lives were lost, including those of immigrants from Europe as well as sailors on commercial vessels.  

This sign, not at the museum but at Detour Village, I find almost incredible.  Six thousand wrecks in 20 years?  In any case, sailing in those days was a risky business and the loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald in November 1975 illustrates that the "great lake they call Gitche Gumee" remains a mighty force.  All 29 crew members perished and in the heartbreaking words of Gordon Lightfoot, "all that remains is the faces and names of the wives and the sons and daughters".  

Our day of "rest" involved riding up to see probably the best known site in the U.P., Tahquemenon Falls.  We rode first to the Upper Falls, 14 miles from the hotel.  The Upper Falls is 200 feet across with a drop of 48 feet, making it the third largest in volume in the U.S.  The site is nicely developed and maintained with paths, boardwalks and viewing areas designed to protect the beauty of the spot and provide good access.  

The Upper Falls is also enhanced by the proximity of the Tahquemenon Falls Brewery and Pub where we had a great lunch and didn't for one moment consider purchasing this fabulous moose (and his accessory stool) for $850.00 

The Lower Falls, four miles back toward Paradise, are actually a series of five smaller falls cascading around an island.  Despite having probably the steepest descent of our whole ride-- a hole we had to climb out of after our walk around the several falls, they were well worth viewing.  

Paradise doesn't live up to its name, as I mentioned, but one heavenly feature is an excellent fabric shop.

John was glad that we were on bicycles and I had to limit my purchase to one yard of Thomas the Tank Engine fabric to make a pillowcase for young William Merritt.  

To be continued (Part 3).

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Bicycling in Michigan - June 2013: Part 1

Having gone to college in Ann Arbor, John had heard much about the glories of the U.P.-- the Upper Peninsula of Michigan-- called "God's Country" by some.  Hence when he read about Adventure Cycling's Great Lakes "Inn to Inn" cycling trip, he suggested our participation.  It was only after we had signed up that we realized we had missed an important bit of information.  While the trip was inn to inn, there was no support vehicle involved-- everything we had with us must be carried on the bicycle!  This was not in the fine print, but clearly stated in the ride description-- how did we miss it?  Some small amount of dithering ensued but we decided that we could do it-- after all, we had ridden self supported last fall in Aroostock County, Maine for three days and ten days was not much different as long as we did not have to carry a camping supplies.

So off we tooted, driving both cars down to Greenfield to leave mine with Eliza who is staving off car troubles and with a stop for lunch with Margaret and Nora on the way.  After a night in Greenfield we left in the Outback and had an uneventful drive through Buffalo and into Ontario.  A night in a tacky hotel and we continued on to Petosky.  Our stay there was at the Terrace Inn in Bay View; a community very much like our own Bayside here in Northport.  Both have evolved from Methodist campgrounds but the Michigan version has sustained a more "Christian" culture.  There are said to be 400 cottages, many of them very large and ornate.








The Terrace Inn is old and elegant and enjoyable in the cramped way that old hotels are.  A bathroom has been shoehorned into each bedroom,  leaving not much elbow room for us but the ambiance made up for it and breakfast was super.  Being a day early, John and I rode on the "Little Traverse Wheelway" 18 miles down to Charlesvoix and back before we met our group of 13 riders and Gillian, our leader in the afternoon.  Dinner was together and we all retired early with the general air of anxiety that seems always to precede a group trip.



For most the tension is mild and manageable but the red haired woman in the middle row, despite being dressed in bicycle clothes and participating in the group picture, immediately loaded her bicycle on her car and disappeared-- her jitters about the ride triumphing.

John and I were the only couple to ride separate bikes-- the two other couples rode tandems-- one upright and one recumbent.  Bob, the man in the blue shirt, rode a recumbent tricycle.  Gillian (our leader and in the red coat) and the five remaining ladies rode their own bikes-- including Susan, the woman to my left who is 80 years old!  She is a retired gym teacher and a former bicycle racer whose motivation and strength are great but whose eyes are failing.  She is bravely aware that her days of cycling safely are coming to an end.

The day was misty and gray-- the kind of weather that leaves the sky and the water looking exactly the same and  eclipsing any glimpses of Lake Michigan we might see through the trees.  The first 12 or so miles was on the Little Traverse Wheelway we had ridden the day before-- this time toward Harbor Springs.  It was pretty much a slog in iffy weather but I did get a kick out of this sign-- not one you normally see on a bike path.  I also had time to ponder on a sign that said "Web Cam Day Care"-- imagining the parents taking time from whatever they were supposed to be doing to hover electronically -- their children ideally sharing well with others and eating only healthy snacks.  Our destination was the Lamplighter Motel in Mackinaw City and we reached it without incident.  The claim to fame of this place was "theme rooms" and ours was The Lighthouse Room.  Lighthouses, everywhere-- the bed posts, pictures, bedspreads, curtains, even the shower curtain and the curtain rings!

The next day began with an obligatory ride over the Mackinac Bridge (perversely pronounced exactly the same as "Mackinaw" City).  The "Mighty Mac" is the third longest suspension bridge in the United States and the twelfth longest worldwide.  Sadly when it was built in the 1950's  few sane adults were riding bicycles and there was doubtless no suggestion that the bridge be made wide enough.  Consequently since the bridge opened in 1957 the State of Michigan has been providing shuttle service for bikers (and for many bridge phobic drivers).

This ride brought us to the outskirts of St. Ignace and from there we headed off into the vaunted beauties of the "U.P."  It wasn't long, however, before my inner grouch made an appearance and I started wondering when we would be finished with this long stretch of tedious and monotonous roadway and get to the great scenery.  Turns out, never!  At least not that day.  When I complain about steep hills John reminds me that hills make scenery.  As so often, John is right.  While the straight highway stretching interminably ahead was easy to ride, it looked much the same, mile after mile. The redeeming feature were the thousands of yellow lady slipper's that lined the roadway.  Pink ones common in Maine and my friend Joan and I greet them with delight each year.  The yellow ones are just as lovely and were somewhat effective in silencing my grouch.

Our ride ended in a small village called Trout Lake, more specifically at a place called Birch Lodge and what a place it was!  Envisioned to be a combination summer resort and tuberculosis sanitorium, it was the dream of a Wisconsin physican and his wife.  Before the building was even completed in 1912, however, the doctor died of rabies.  His wife carried on alone but the resort quickly ran into financial troubles and the road has been rocky ever since.  One of the "fixes" along the way was the construction of an eight room motel and it was in this building that our biking group stayed.  The lodge itself has new and enthusiastic owners who plan to restore it and make it attractive to modern tourists-- that is to say guests who don't want to share a bathroom located down the hall and used by perhaps a dozen or more!  

It was a gorgeous place outside and a fascinating one within.  When things finally whimpered to the end in the 1980's, the lodge was simply closed.  The birch bark papered bar/lounge could serve as a movie set with the old stools, bar fixtures, cash register and signs such as "Free gum under the stools and tables".  

Our gracious hostess had coffee, tea and baked treats in this area and was happy to show us around the rest of the building.  I found it spellbinding with many rooms still ready for occupancy as they had been for thirty years and amazingly, the linen room, looking as if the chambermaids were in and out hourly.  

The downside of all this natural beauty and interesting history was that we were sharing it with thousands (millions?) of starving mosquitoes.  Mosquitoes are not fast enough to bother us while riding (and please hope that you do not have to change a tire!) but the idea of communing with sky, water and birch trees came to an immediate halt when the reality of the bugs hit us.  Dinner over we were early to bed and so ended the second day of our ride.  Part 2 coming up.  

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Its been ages!

Since I last posted and it is so hard to start again after stalling out.  Having something I need to "save", I turn to the blog for that purpose and future posts will follow in jubilant succession, I imagine!

This photo is of a "book" that was apparently created by my mother, Lois Baker, as part of her unsuccessful effort to woo a man named "Forrest Altman"-- a man who apparently broke her heart and catapulted her into the willing arms of my father.  It was probably done about 1945 when she was 20 years old.   There are no names in the book and the person for whom she created it either didn't accept it, didn't want it or never received it.  There is nothing wonderful about it-- in fact it is incoherent and random and makes no sense.  She did keep it, however, so it must have been important to her and when I got it, from my sister Sybil at her Thanksgiving visit in 2012, I was touched simply to have it.  The book was made by my mother's hand; she chose the text and cut out and pasted all the bits.  There was even a scrap of net still attached-- impossible to tell what it was.

Here is another picture.

After searching my soul I decided that this is not something I should keep.  It has no personal message, no meaningful content (at least now, at least 67 years after it was created) and most of all it is not something with which to burden my daughters.  So, with a pang of sadness it has gone into the recycling bin-- better somehow than the rubbish barrel.

Capes, Teeth, Blood

Who says you can't buy everything you need in Belfast?

Our daily dog walk-- 8 am and often noonish as well.

I can't stop making these things.  Here is my production so far-- less one that was so awful I gave it to the church sale.

Who Knows Where the Time Goes....

Yesterday morning we were listening to the Sunday Morning Coffee House.  Suddenly I was standing stock still mesmerized by the beautiful voice of Kate Wolf singing that song-- feelings of melancholy, nostalgia and ecstasy flooded my being-- Kate Wolf, her lovely voice silenced by death at the age of 44, the aching beauty of autumn, the joy of waiting for four babies to be born.  Five great grandchildren for my parents, and my mother didn't live to see a single grandchild.  Me, suddenly with a medicare card and fully feeling the passing of my life and the coming of the new generation.  Sad but joyful at the same time, having had a full and marvelous life myself-- not long enough yet but neither too short.  So very blessed, particularly in having John, my true companion for all these years.


A week ago John and I walked with Margaret and Andrew in the huge Evergreen Cemetery in Portland.  The picture above shows a plot housing the remains of residents of Portland's "Home for Aged Women".  Feeling nearly "aged" myself, I was taken with the scene and was inspired to see what I could learn about one of the inhabitants.

I imagine that Caroline Franklin would be amazed and pleased to think that nearly a century after her death someone is interested in learning anything about her life.

From her Maine death record I learned that Caroline Franklin, nee Drake, was born in August of 1822 in Seekonk, Massachusetts.  There is no birth record but her parents, Albee and Rhoda (Tisdale) Drake had three other children born in Sutton and there is a census record for Albee in Sutton in 1820, so Seekonk may be wrong.  The 1856 State Census of Iowa shows that Caroline, by now under her married name of Franklin, was living in Allamakee, Iowa.  She was with her parents, Albee and "Rolla" and a one year old girl recorded as R.M.V. Franklin.

In 1860 Caroline was still with her parents and still in Allamakee but there is no young girl so we must assume that she died.  In 1870, still in Allamakee, Caroline was living alone but there were at least two Drake families nearby.  In 1880, enumerated as "Carrie" she was still in Iowa but a search of nearby households reveals no other Drake families.

By 1900 Carrie had returned to New England.  Although there is no Maine connection previously, in 1900 Caroline, now 77 years old,  was living with Henry Dexter, a nephew, age 39.  He was born in Iowa.

By 1910 Carrie was in the Home for Aged Women and on 28 October 1915 she died.  Cause of death was
"Hypostatic  Pneumonia" and senility.  From Wikipedia we learn that hypostatic pneumonia usually results "from the collection of fluid in the dorsal region of the lungs and occurs especially in those (as the bedridden or elderly) confined to a supine position for extended periods".

So what do we know about her other than bare bones?  We know that she moved westward with her family, perhaps before Iowa became a state in 1846.  (Lack of available census records hinders the research).  We know from undocumented internet sources  that Caroline Franklin married her sister Eliza's widowed husband, John Franklin.  He was supposedly a physician.  Since Caroline appears to have had a baby about 1855, Franklin must have died sometime in that year.  It is possible, however, that the baby was not Caroline's but Eliza's and that the marriage to John Franklin may have been motivated by the desire to care for the motherless and soon completely orphaned child.   Whichever the case, one cannot but imagine that there was grief and sorrow to spare in this pioneer family.  

While we can know nothing about her personality, the fact that she was a widow for more than sixty years, that she had no children to surround her, that she eventually returned to New England and lived with a bachelor nephew and that she came to rest at last in the Home for Aged Women, gives plenty of scope to imagine what her life was like.  Perhaps she was whining, querulous and a complete old nuisance but I prefer to think that she was a cheerful and industrious soul, always ready with a smile and a kind word.  

Harvest Moon and Bite of Tick

This is a picture I took with flash.  You can see the top of the stairs leading down to the shore.

This is a picture I took when by the light of the moon alone.  Pretty spectacular!

This is "barley bliss" casserole from a vegan cookbook.  It was not great to begin with-- I think the barley was not soft enough and it was really awful after I put the leftovers in the garage and forgot about them.  Needless to say, it became compost but the crop of mold was really impressive.  Why didn't I take a pic?

This is baby girl Merritt, due on February 10th-- the tentative name is Juliet but that is not carved in stone.  Why is she standing on her head?  I can't seem to change it.



My heart is broken by this picture of my cousin David about whom I wrote recently.  He appeared in court for less than a minute, was appointed a lawyer and was given another court date of October 22nd.  Clearly whatever was keeping him high is no longer with him-- he is thin and sad looking.  I hope his mother doesn't see this.

I found an embedded tick yesterday morning-- right after I got up at 5:00 am.  It was on my hip where I couldn't get a good look and only irritated him with my ineffective use of the tick spoon.  So I waited three hours for John to get up.  At times I thought perhaps an embedded tick was a good enough reason to wake John early but I know he gets his best sleep at that time and I decided it was too girlish to make a fuss.  Joan and I had taken a walk on Monday and because the day was lovely and my feet were aching, we lay down in a field, gazed at the sky and chatted.  Although I have been vigilant about ticks all summer, I never gave it a thought this time-- so it was a call to the doc again for the medicine.  Last time it cost .33 cents and this time it was down to .24.  And I saved the $20.00 co-pay because they didn't make me come in.