The view from our hotel room
For those of us who live in Michigan, "going Up North" has a particular meaning. It means we're riding up the mitten for the weekend or the week, maybe even to the Upper Peninsula.
Next weekend, Ironman and I have plans to spend a couple of days in Traverse City, on Michigan's pinkie. Known for its annual cherry festival, surrounding wine country and the Traverse City Film Festival started with the blessings of Michael Moore, it's a summertime mecca for Michigan travel.
But for my first weekend ride on Memorial Weekend, we tried something a little closer to home. A ride to the tip of the Thumb -- Port Austin, on Lake Huron. First we rode up to Frankenmuth, a historic German colony famous for homestyle fried chicken dinners, Bronner's Christmas store and touristy kitsch. This weekend there was a "Dog Bowl" going on with doggie tricks and fuzzy friends all over the place. We did a little shopping -- I bought some turquoise beads for a necklace I was making, and a half-price black denim jacket with "jewels" in the shape of an eagle and "Live To Ride" on the back. Then we hit the road toward the northeast.
We never ride on the freeway if we can avoid it, so we drove the county roads through cow pastures, corn and oilfields. We saw a whole lot of bikers on the way and met a few instant friends wherever we stopped. Friendly small towns along the way offered good food and cheap prices.
Port Austin was a nice, quiet spot where we arrived early enough to get a room with a view of the sunset on the water. We stayed at the Lake Visa Resort. Our nextdoor neighbors, who rode in on Harley-Davidsons, told us about a restaurant three blocks away called the Garfield Inn, after President Garfield, who was a frequent guest there. So we had a delicious gourmet meal at the historical inn, which was buzzing with customers, and walked back to our hotel.
Breakfast was at another popular spot, the Lighthouse Café near our motel, where the wheat bread was "homemade" and the servers were super busy. After breakfast, we traveled nine miles further east to Pointe Aux Braques Lighthouse and Lifesaving Station, where we met more new friends from home and toured the grounds and museum. I also picked up a vest pin for my motorcycle jacket and made a donation for the upkeep of the historical site.
Then we took our time driving home, stopping at a friend's along the way to brag about my new bike -- on which I put nearly 350 miles in two days.
Our bluetooth headsets lasted almost the whole way. The batteries, which we hadn't charged overnight, failed us on the last hour of the ride, but by then I knew where I was and didn't need help finding the way.
And here's my kicker. When we pulled in the driveway, one of our bikes went down in the gravel ... but it wasn't mine! I'm sure Ironman wouldn't mind me telling you about it. He says he did it to make me feel better.
Isn't he just a doll?
























