Midwest 1997

Breakfast consisted of the very modest and not very tasty continental fare offered by the Stoneridge. But it was free and the orange juice was good. After we showered and packed the car, we got on the road, promptly missed our exit, and then got it together.

It was a mild sunny day—perfect traveling weather. Our first stop was in the town of Strathroy, where we enjoyed a real breakfast of eggs, sausage, and pancakes and tried our darnedest to keep Eric from wrecking total havoc. We also stopped at a super market before getting back on the highway.

Our tour of Canada ended near the town of Sarnia. It was there that we crossed over the Clair River and reentered the United States. The view offered from the very elevated bridge over the river was stunning—The waters of Lake Huron a deep luring blue. On the far side of the bridge, we entered Michigan. This was first time I ever set foot in that state, marking it as the 48th state I’ve been in, leaving only North Dakota and Alaska on the unvisited list.

We took I-69 east to U.S. 23 north (which becomes I-75), skirting around the city of Flint. I believe we stopped at a rest area along I-69, ten miles or so outside of Flint, where Travis and I played baseball and tossed the Frisbee.

At some point, Sharon mentioned stopping in Frankenmuth, having heard about the really big Christmas store there. Frankenmuth just happened to be on the way, so we made it our next stop. The first thing we did there was visit that really big Christmas store, which as I recall was billed as the world’s largest, and I don’t doubt that for a second. But being what it was—a really big store filled with Christmas ornaments—I wasn’t all that impressed. Sharon and the boys, however, seemed to enjoy the place quite a bit.

Then we drove into downtown Frankenmuth and parked at the Bavarian Inn, one of the town’s two huge touristy restaurants. We went back and forth from the one restaurant to the other trying to decide where to eat, both claimed to have “world-famous Frankenmuth chicken” dinners. We decided on the Bavarian Inn, which has a large German beer-hall type dining area. It was a memorable meal, primarily for the incredible amount and variety of food served. It was absurd, but cost only $46.38 including our tip. The beer was fantastic, the sauerbraten as good as any I’ve had in the U. S., and the “world-famous Frankenmuth chicken” was pretty good too.

Sharon was up early and took the boys out to play on the narrow beach by the lake.  I went out awhile latter and took some video of them.  Although I didn’t witness the event, Eric ran into the lake and naturally got soaked.

After showering, etc., we packed up and checked out at about 10:30 a.m. and drove into the heart of Mackinaw City.  The main street is lined with restaurants and gift shops.  We stopped and ate another hearty (and saturated fat filled) breakfast.  And almost without question, Eric was again a terror.

We stopped in a gift shop or two afterwards and then got on the road, which almost immediately took us across Mackinac Bridge, a long span across the Straits of Mackinac, which separates Lake Huron to the east from Lake Michigan to the west.  On the other side of the strait are the Upper Peninsula and the town of St. Ignace.  We hopped on U.S. Route 2, pretty much bypassing St. Ignace.

The first 45 miles or so along U.S. 2 skirt along Lake Michigan and afford splendid views of this beautiful region.  Unfortunately, the day was overcast at the time, and as a result the waters of Lake Michigan were a dull blue-gray.  There wasn’t much along this stretch in the way of civilization except for scores of long-abandoned roadside motels and resorts.  Quite 

a few business folks must have bet that the tourist were going to descend upon this area in droves.  Apparently, those folks were wrong, although I couldn’t figure out why—it was a very pleasant area.

U.S. Route 2 then travels inland a ways, after which it runs along the coast again starting near the town of Manistique, until finally it passes beyond the northern shoreline of Lake Michigan.  We had a picnic at a roadside rest area along the lake near the town of Manistique.  It was a nice place and a pleasant little stop under clear skies.  I took a couple of photographs.

The road took us to the towns of Norway and Iron Mountain.  Near the latter we looked for and found the Majestic Pine/Roosevelt Mountain Ski Jump, which was mentioned in an article we got off the internet called “Across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.”  The jump is next to a ski resort and is used for international competitions, but of course, it not in July.  At the bottom of the run, the boys chased me around for awhile and then Travis and I walked around a bit.  We took off looking for the base of the ramp itself and miraculously found it.  The view from the bottom of the ramp offered quite a different perspective than it did from the bottom of the run.  Although there are steps leading to the top of the 90-meter ramp, and in fact a few kids were up there, I settled for the splendid view 90 meters below.

I managed to find my way back to U.S. 2, no small feat, and then we headed to the town of Crystal Falls in search of dinner.  We couldn’t find anything in town but did on the outskirts—a restaurant featuring diner-style food at inexpensive prices.  I had the open-faced turkey.  Travis very much enjoyed his “girl” cheese sandwich.  A shop near by had something called “pasties,” which I assume are meat-filled pastries.  These things, whatever they are, were billed all over the Upper Peninsula, but alas I never did eat one.

From Crystal Falls we drove for a couple of hours to the town of Ironwood, where we looked for a place to stay.  It was still relative early, at least for us to be looking for a place to stay—about 9:00 p.m. or so, but we couldn’t find anyplace that caught our fancy that had vacancies.  We thought about it and decided to move on.  According to “Across Michigan’s Upper Peninsula” many of the motels in town go for $25 a night and feature real cedar saunas in the Finnish tradition.  We probably should have looked a little harder for one of these places.

I believe it was right outside of Ironwood, on the Wisconsin border, where we stopped at a liquor store and I found a bottle of Lowenbrau Marzen beer from Munich.  This is the only bottle of Lowenbrau I’ve ever seen in this country.  Travis and I also bought two self-standing rockets at the store.  (I didn’t drink the beer until after we were home.  It was great.)  (Note:  This store may have been outside of Iron Mountain, where U.S. 2 cuts into Wisconsin for a short distance before going back into Michigan.)

On the road again, we drove through the far northern part of Wisconsin as night fell.  We’d been told that the stretch of U.S. Route 2 across the Upper Peninsula was overrun by deer and that we should be very careful not to hit one.  We only saw two, one alive and one dead, but having been told this made driving a bit nerve wracking.

Sharon took the wheel at some point along this empty stretch because I was beat from having driven the entire day.  We probably should have traded off earlier and often.  As we approached Duluth, the area became more and more urban.  But we didn’t encounter many motels, and none that appealed and had vacancy.

We buzzed right around Duluth, which was a beautiful city at night with water all around, primarily because there was no place to stop on the highway.  Then soon again we were in mostly-unpopulated country with little towns here and there.  Those little towns either had no motels or ones with no vacancies.  We pressed on, the time getting later and later and later.  I would fall asleep for a while and then wake up.  I hope Sharon didn’t do the same, but it must have been hard to stay awake.

Finally, we found a Best Western motel in Grand Rapids with a vacancy.  It must have been past 2:00 a.m.  We took it the room, dragged our stuff in, and were soon asleep.

Highlight:  The Majestic Pine/Roosevelt Mountain Ski Jump and hanging out on the balcony while the kids and Sharon played on the beach in the morning.

Lowlight:  Again, looking for a motel.  We looked forever.  I may be dreaming this very minute and actually we’re still looking. 

Next we stopped at the nearby town of Bemidji, noted for being the birthplace of Paul Bunyon.  We found the noted real-life size statues of Mr. Bunyon and his blue ox without too much trouble.  We exchanged taking family pictures with another couple beside those statues.  Then Sharon decided to take the boys on the rinky-dink rides at the adjacent amusement park.  I wasn’t into it.  Once that was done, we looked at moccasins and found a pair for Sharon that was perfect, but the price seemed a little high and the help wasn’t all that great, so we passed.  Next stop Crookston. 

For the next three or four hours or so, we did Crookston, hometown of Sharon’s mom.  We pulled into town about 5:30 p.m. and stopped at a gas station to call Sharon’s Uncle Paul in nearby Thief River Falls.  She left a message on his answering machine.  Then we looked for a motel.  But the thing was Crookston, Minn., was booked solid, believe it or not.  (As I speculated at the time, was most certainly due to the recent devastating flooding in nearby Grand Forks.)  We ate dinner at Crookston’s McDonald’s, where the boys played in the ball pit for an hour or so.  Then we had ice cream at Crookston’s Dairy Queen.  Sharon called her uncle again and again but no luck.  Evening was upon us, and as sure as night follows day, mosquitoes follow (and suck the living blood out of) anybody in sight in northern Minnesota as evening falls.  Given our predicament, we decided to move on.  But first we looked for and finally found the house where Sharon’s maternal grandmother had lived for many years, and where Sharon had visited on many an occasion in her childhood.  The place looked o.k. to me, but to Sharon, it wasn’t the stuff of memories.  Then as the sun set we left Crookston behind and headed down U.S. Route 75.

I felt at the top of my game down this stretch of highway.  We were in full swing, yet the trip was fresh, and the land was wide open and so gentle, and that big old sun was going down in a big old red ball between the silos.  And then it got dark, and those nasty little (read “huge”) mosquitoes started raining on our windshield.  And the Voyager would never look the same for the rest of the trip.  Yep, it rained mosquitoes down U.S. Route 75.  And it’s a good thing we had plenty of gas, because there was none to be had along this stretch.  And it was a very good thing we had ample windshield washer fluid, because I couldn’t have seen where we were going without it.

At long last we came to the town of Moorehead, Minn.  I followed the detour signs to Fargo, N.D. and soon we were in North Dakota in the city of Fargo.  State number 49.  We took a wrong turn but quickly righted ourselves.  Then for good measure we took another wrong turn that took us to the end of nowhere.  Eventually we got it together and found a Motel 6.  The place wasn’t too expensive and was without question a dive.  So we took it.  (This was probably the worst place we stayed.)

Sharon spoke with her folks on the phone about the plans to meet them at the Mall of America on Friday, July 25th at noon.  Afterwards, Sharon and I drank a lot of beer (or at least I did) and discussed what we planned to do for the next few days of the trip.  I had long had a burning desire to get to the Badlands of South Dakota, and if we were to meet her parents at noon on Friday, the Badlands didn’t seem possible.  Finally we decided that we’d meet them in Kenyon, Minn., on Friday evening and go to the Mall of America on Saturday.  Then we fooled around.

Highlight:  Lake Cass—as I said, this is what the trip was intended to be about, and at Lake Cass it was.

Lowlight:  Them damn mosquitoes raining down on the windshield along U.S. 75.

I returned with the minivan, Sharon whisked the boys inside, and we rode out of town, partner.  We took U.S. 385 south through the Black Hills.  It was a very scenic drive, and the most scenic spot by far along the way was a pull off overlooking Pactola Lake.  What a view.  The rain had let up and blue skies were taking hold, so pulled in to have look and take a few pictures, some of which came out beautifully.  Then we headed towards Mount Rushmore.

We took U.S. 16 and U.S. 16A into Mount Rushmore National Memorial.  A few miles from the monument, we drove through a tacky touristy “town” full of souvenir shops and then wound up the mount until coming to some fellow charging five bucks to park (but the sticker is good for an entire year).  We paid, parked in the garage, and walked up the steps, across the under-construction pavilion, and up to the welcome center situated across from the stoneheads.  It was raining again and we were thirsty, so we ducked into the cafeteria on the grounds.  The government’s facilities here are relatively new and actually rather nice.  None of this stuff was around in 1979 when Jeff and I rolled through here and gave it the once over.

The cafeteria wasn’t crowded at all and offered a perfect view of the monument.  So we took our time drinking coffee (Sharon I believe had cappuccino) and eating some delicious fudge, while the boys ran around like lunatics.  I bought some more fudge to take with us, and then we stepped outside in the drizzle to pay our last respects to the stoneheads.  They were looking as good as ever.  We stopped on the way out at the information center, where we picked up some pamphlets and learned some history about Mount Rushmore.

Leaving Mount Rushmore was a turning point of our travels—it marked the end of the road out, afterwards the journey was homeward bound. 

We wound our way down the hill and through that glitzy little town of souvenir shops, where for a second or two I thought of stopping.  Then we followed U.S. 16 to Rapid City, passing along the way innumerable attractions, some of which we would have liked to have visited but didn’t because of too little time and money.  Rapid City was a navigable town and the hub of this growing region of southwest South Dakota, which I believe is going to be hot real estate someday soon because it has so much to offer with Deadwood, Custer State Park, Mount Rushmore, all the attractions, and the Badlands. 

Our next destination was the Badlands of South Dakota.  But first we stopped outside Rapid City to decide if we should grab some dinner and where.  But we couldn’t decide or agree on what to do, so we headed east on South Dakota Route 44.  We spotted a rainbow, which I photographed.  We doubled back a short distance to pick up some milk and beer at a convenience store.  While I was inside, Sharon waited to use the pay phone to call her parents.  While waiting, she overheard the man on the phone mention that a storm and possibly tornadoes were expected in the town of Scenic.  Scenic was exactly where we were heading.  Although the skies were clear and sunny overhead, there were ominous clouds and lightening flashes well ahead of us.  Obviously concerned, we switched on the radio to hear more about the storm.  The station we tuned to provided National Weather Bureau storm warnings, about every fifteen minutes, calling for severe rain and large hail in the areas ahead of and around us.  The times provided, however, often confused us, compounded by the fact that we didn’t know if we were in the Central or Mountain Time zone.  Also the warnings were by county, and we had no way of knowing where they were.

Duly warned we drove on toward the Badlands, trying to stay behind the storm.  Once again we turned around and backtracked to a bar/general store, where I picked up some cappuccino and asked about the storm.  The clerk told me that it had already passed through the immediate area.  Once more, at about 7:30 p.m. Central time, we motored east on highway 44.  I drove slowly and kept one eye on the sky, which remained clear above but increasingly gloomy and lightening-filled ahead and to our right and left.  We didn’t know what we driving into, all we knew is that we were the only ones on the road and sky ahead was foreboding.  On the one hand, this kept us from fully appreciating the natural magnificence of this thoroughly desolate and with each mile evermore tortured area.  On the other hand, the threat of deluge and hail and god knows what else, made the eerie Badlands all that much eerier.

We took the Interstate around Indianapolis and then Interstate 74 to Cincinnati.  Near the Ohio border, the land becomes hilly and much more interesting.  Without too much trouble, we found my Aunt Joyce’s house at 1752 Iliff Ave.  Joyce had told me the night before that she would be at work until midnight or so but would leave the side door open for us.  She also told me not to worry about her big dog.  Her big dog, a German Shepherd I believe, is one-of-a-kind.  And that’s very good for whatever pride the canine world enjoys because they would enjoy a lot less if all dogs were like this one.  I’ll explain.  I go up to the gate.  The big dog barks.  I say “boo.”  The big dog runs and hides and isn’t seen or heard from again.

The house at 1752 Iliff Ave., of course, was owned and lived in for many years by my maternal grandparents.  I’d been there many a time, the last being in the summer of 1989 (?).  The place was never much to look at, and although Joyce had vastly improved its appearance, Better Homes and Gardens was not likely to call.  (Joyce had not, however, improved the appearance of the front door—I never saw such a dilapidated entranceway to a lived-in house.)  I gave Sharon a tour of the place.  Then we brought our stuff inside and drove to Skyline Chili for dinner.  Skyline Chili is a Cincinnati institution.  Their chili was superb.  As I recall, Eric’s behavior was not.

Joyce had left me keys for my cousin Sherry’s apartment and directions to it and a nearby park.  We found the park easily enough and had a very relaxing, enjoyable time there.  We had the place practically to ourselves.  For an hour or more, Travis hit baseballs and Eric chased after the Frisbee as the day turned to dusk.  Finding Sherry’s apartment proved to be problematic.  We drove up and down the street she lived on looking into several buildings without any luck.  Finally, I called her and got directions.

Sherry must have liked candles a great deal because she had about 10 of them scattered about her living room.  And they were all lit.  Eric was keenly interested in every one of them; consequently, we spent a good deal of our time trying to keep his curiosity from burning the place down.  As we did so, we chatted with Sherry, who filled us in on her work and love life.  My cousin Tammy and her husband, Steve, and their children stopped by.  They lent a few cots, and we drank a few beers and chatted.  Then Tammy went to work, and a short while later Steve led us back to Joyce’s house.

While we waited for Joyce to come home from work, we debated where to sleep.  We considered setting up the cots upstairs but decided instead to sleep on the floor in the living room.  So we laid down blankets and pillows and tried to put the boys to bed.  But before succeeding, Joyce came home.  Eventually, the boys fell asleep, and Sharon and I stayed up late talking with Joyce.  Sharon went bed about 2:00 to 2:30 a.m., for me it was closer to 4:00 a.m.

Highlight:  Hanging out in the little park near Sherry’s apartment.  The weather was perfect, and the boys had fun in this leafy well-kept patch of green.

Lowlight:  Looking for a McDonald’s with a ball pit.    

Sleeping on the floor was surprisingly comfortable, and I woke up refreshed despite getting to bed so late.  Our plan today was to go to my Cincinnati Grandparents’ one-time home in Belclare Rd. in Dent.  Although they moved away from there when I was about eleven years old, I have many fond memories of staying at the small house with the big yard and woodlands in the back.  I hadn’t been back in god only knows how long.

So with Joyce navigating the way, I drove us all out to the house on Belclare.  There was road work going on right in front of the place, so we had to park a little ways away.  Then we walked about:  The back yard didn’t look so big anymore, but the woods were still there.  And the house in the rear, where the one day long ago a young mother bumped her head, took a nap, and never woke up, it was still there.  As was the hill beyond which I once thought was the end of the earth.  And the house on Belclare, it was there too.  It looked quite good—there was new siding and new wooden deck where once there had been a cement slab with heavy, round iron railing.  We walked around the construction area, took a couple of photographs (but too few because I ran out of film), and made our way down Belclare. Next to my grandparents’ house, there once lived two boys with whom I once played.  Their mother was in the driveway, and we chatted with her for awhile.  Other than the date, not much had changed.  It is a shame that my grandparents could not have spent the rest of their days living in the house on Belclare.

After our stroll, we went to a nearby German restaurant called The Watermill Inn and ate lunch.  I had the German Sauerbraten (and still have the menu).  The food, the ambiance, the service, and Joyce’s company were all delightful.  The boys, of course, were something else altogether. 

Our little stay in Cincinnati had nearly come to an end.  We drove back to Iliff, packed, said our goodbyes, and were on way.  It wasn’t quite that simple, we did get misdirected a time or two and caught up in a little traffic.  But once we got over those little hurdles, it was smooth sailing across the state of Ohio via Interstate 70.  I remember nothing about the drive other than again feeling that our great adventure was all over.  And this time, it really was.

Soon after crossing the Pennsylvania border, we stopped in the town of Washington for a fast food dinner at McDonalds.  It was about 9:00 p.m. or so.  We briefly considered checking out a motel next door that advertised inviting accommodations at a bargain rate.  We thought if we stayed there, we could see Sharon’s friend Terry the next day.  But that is all we did—briefly consider and think, and move along.

We drove north to Pittsburgh, which is lovely along the river at night, and then headed west on U.S. Route 22 to Altoona en route to State College.  Somewhere along this stretch, I became very sleepy and turned the wheel over to Sharon.  And she drove the final leg of a long memorable journey.  We pulled into Pat and Wally’s house in in the wee hours.  And that was it.

Highlight:  Visiting the house at Belclare.

Lowlight:  It was all over.

2009 Notes: Watermill Inn is now Abby's Pub & Restaurant at 5753 Harrison Ave., Dent, OH.