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.

My Cousin: David Charles Baker

A week ago today at his home in Salt Lake City, David was arrested after a most spectacular finale to several months (probably longer) of deteriorating mental health.  I didn't learn about the arrest until Tuesday evening but my sisters and I had become concerned when his endless stream of  YouTube rants and other online postings suddenly ceased.  The paranoia and delusions were so pronounced that I sometimes wondered if he was faking the whole thing-- running for president, talking with god, making bombs, threatening people with a sword cane, buying gloves that functioned as brass knuckles, vowing to get back at all the people who misused him-- and certainly it seemed that everyone misused him-- people in the post office, the bank, the gun and ammo store, the camera store, etc.

Here is a sample of his recent writing-- an email to his mother.

Re: Please send a check for $40,000 to MIKE "God" PROCTOR at Enginuity Automotive Services, Inc. 5926 Stratler Street Murray, UT 84107 (801) 268-0125 before he gets back on Tuesday

Inbox

x

David Charles Baker	Sep 15

O*M*G - and this is how my life goes all the time:

I went in to tell Mike the good news you'd be sending $40k and his daughter said he was like a little kid with the steel-knuckle gloves I sent him when he liked mine and had "just left minutes ago for his 40th wedding anniversary" in Elko. I was going to run out and tell him he was getting $1,000/year from y'all as a little wedding gift for being such a stand up guy he's been with the same woman for 40 years.

He really needs the money because he made the mistake of having a worthless son (Brad; sassed me so Mike canned him from his shop) who had a kid and doesn't want to care for it so poor Mike and his wife, at nearly Susan and Don's age, have to take in a teenager. 

My mother said she can "barely stand Janet and Andy's kids for even five minutes and was so glad" I never had kids. Imagine having to raise one of mine.

Thank you again for sending Mike the money. And isn't that a funny coincidence? It's almost like GOD INTENDED IT TO HAPPEN THAT WAY.

BTW, I said yesterday that Michael Proctor is God. So you know, since he's getting the money, it literally is like God intended. DO IT!

Oh, and I didn't go out to Elko as Kristy said she would kill me if I bothered God on his 40th anniversary and when the daughter of God tells you to do something, sometimes I do it ('cause she's super cute and in a bad marriage so I have a pretty good shot if Kelli approves; God has already given his blessing by saying how much he hates his son-in-law).

HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, HATERS?

There are lots of details about his arrest on the internet and they are easy to find with a search.  His videos have received thousands of views, the picture of his arrest wearing a black sequined mini dress with cowl neckline and orange fun fur trim is everywhere as is his mug shot:

How did we get to this point?  I thought David was irrational a couple of years ago when he refused to provide DNA for genealogical purposes.  The reason given was that the government might discover that he had a rare, fatal and highly contagious disease and would therefore kill him to protect the human race.   I told him that the testing people did not need his name or even initials and that the genealogical test was very limited, but it  made no difference to him.  Then last summer (2011) two of his beloved dogs died and he seemed to go off the deep end.  My sisters and I talked and talked about the situation but always came to the conclusion that there was absolutely nothing we could do.  We all felt helpless, distressed and very sad.    

I am reminded of two lines of poetry (Edna St. Vincent Millay).

Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down

I feel tonight more happy and at east.

David spent his last day of freedom busily shaking disaster and the fruit did fall down.  It seems very clear that his escalating craziness was designed to provoke a response.  Does he feel more happy and at ease?  Did he need the legal system to help him stop a descent into madness that he couldn't escape on his own/  Did he hope or expect to be killed in the process?   A similar situation later in the week, also in Salt Lake City, ended with the death of a mentally disturbed man.  

As I wrote today to his mother, I may be naive in hoping that the several charges filed against him will be dropped in favor or inpatient psychiatric treatment.  In the meantime I think of him alone in custody-- no drugs, no computer, no dogs, no freedom.  Please let it be that some wise and kind person is trying to help him through this.

David in happier times.  He brought four black dogs to visit us in Maine and because he needed to sleep with all four (and his wife Kelli!) we gave him our bed.  

Clarence M. Baker: 1896 - 1950

Today, afflicted (or blessed) with a sudden fit of industry I began sorting the heaps on my desk.  The first thing I lighted upon was a picture of my grandfather, Clarence Baker and his high school graduating class.  I decided to write a letter and send it off to the Brandon Vermont Historical Society.  In the process I realized that by coincidence today is the 62nd anniversary of his death on September 25th 1950.  He died two months short of his 54th birthday.  The Vermont death certificate reads "Right sided heart failure duration 2 hours"  Contributing causes were noted as severe asthma and hypertensive heart disease.  Twenty five years less one day later, 24 September 1975, his widow, Madge Clark Baker, died.  The death certificate says "self-inflicted medication overdosage" caused by a "severe depression reaction".

I was not yet three years old when my grandfather died and I cannot remember him.  He was a mild man, henpecked according to my mother who was very fond of him.  He had a beautiful voice and was a soloist at church and in other venues.  He was a pillar of the community, an active member of the church, an optometrist with a practice in Brandon and a Freemason.  I have researched his ancestry back to Thomas Baker, the original immigrant to New England.  Thomas Baker (1638 - 1710) came to Massachusetts but soon left for Rhode Island.  A tailor by trade he later ordained as a Baptist minister and was pastor of the Kingston Rhode Island church from 1664 to 1710.

Clarence was in the Naval Reserve during World War I.  In this picture he looks very like his grandson and my brother, Brian Smith.

Clarence played the cornet and it was said that he played in John Philip Sousa's band but I have never confirmed this.  The instrument was passed down in our family and was briefly played by Brian but I believe it has since gone out of the family.

This is the picture taken at the end of his life-- a slight variant of the one used in his obituary.