Destination Dreamland, Day Three
The motorcycle is named Maude. As we ride, I think about the naming conventions people (by which I mean men) use for their modes of transportation. Motorcycles and often cars seem to receive a woman's name, but when men name boats, they tend to opt instead for a pun or a cliché, something cutesy. My father is named Bo, I am Dacia, so when he first got a boat, he named it the Bodacious. I can't think of a better name for a boat, but perhaps I'm biased.
Me being me, I had always assumed Maude was named after Harold and Maude, but I learn after the trip that Jason named his motorcycle after Maude Lebowski. I find the news a bit disappointing, although it's understandable considering that Jason a)isn't a man in his 60s, and b)probably didn't grow up in a house where Harold and Maude was revered, referenced, quoted, and watched again and again.
We wake up relatively early at the Dreamland and head to the restaurant for breakfast. The same waitress who closed the place down at 8pm the night before was there to open things up at 6:30 the next morning—she's a lifer. This seems to be her daily schedule. The restaurant sees a steady trickle of traffic—mostly bikers and long-haul truckers stopping in, but we do see a family or two as well.
The 14-hour-day waitress greets Jason and I with “Good morning, you two.” I regret never asking her name.
Our plans are up in the air. We know we want to ride around the Upper Peninsula and see whatever there is to see. The main issue with this is that there is so much to see. We're torn between headed west to Kitch-iti-kipi, a natural spring that looks gorgeous, or northeast to Tahquamenon falls. In the end, two things send us west: First, I discover that there's no swimming at the spring, which stays at a consistent 45 degrees Fahrenheit—about 40 degrees too cold for swimming anyway, if you ask this southerner. The second factor, and an important one, is Jason's discovery that there is a bear refuge on the way to the falls. So, off we go.
We ride about an hour on back roads to Oswald's Bear Ranch in Newberry. It's a sprawling reserve with a little lake, and home to 29 rescue bears that are housed in a few different habitats. You can buy apples to feed the bears, and it's fun to watch the bears stand up and beg for food to be tossed to them. Bears seem so endearing from a distance. Like big, sweet, dumb dogs who probably would give incredible hugs if it weren't more in their nature to kill and eat you.
We walk through the property's winding trails. It's close to 90 degrees this day, and the Michiganders are suffering, Jason included. He hangs in there, I roll my eyes at all the tourists whining about the heat, which I feel is a condescension I've earned the right to with twenty-one Texas summer under my belt. Although I'm surprised when Jason suggests I purchase a hoodie in the gift shop—he's worried about me getting cold on the bike, even with my leather jacket, the next day when we have exciting plans that involve riding at night. We wind up both purchasing hoodies. There's an option to have your picture taken with a baby bear, but I pass, and later regret it. That's two regrets so far, if you're counting. I guess I'm going to have to go back someday.
It's an easy 20-minute ride to the Tahquamenon falls. It's hot, and the stairs are steep as we walk out to the upper falls, which are absolutely breathtaking. We take pictures, watch the water fall, enjoy the serenity.
There's a brewery and restaurant on site, and after riding, wandering through the bear reserve and walking to the falls and back it feels incredible to sit in the air conditioning and have a cold beer. Or two.
I've never been to a state park that housed a brewery before, and I am in awe at the luxury. Texas is home to plenty of beautiful state parks, but typically don't offer much more than picnic table or two when it comes to dining options.
At the park, Jason takes another lie-in-the-grass power nap, then we head northeast on Maude towards Lake Superior.
Riding anywhere on a motorcycle is a full sensory experience compared to driving in a car. The first time I visited Detroit, last June, Jason rode me around through various neighborhoods in the city, and I felt like it was the best possible way to get a tour. I was fascinated by the different smells we encountered riding around Detroit: food, spices, woodsmoke, the sweet tang of rotting garbage. “Your city smells good,” I told Jason back then.
In the UP, there are smells to take in along with the sights, but there's also so much to feel. As we get close to Lake Superior, the air changes completely. It goes from hot and still to dense with water, and so very cool. Our bear ranch hoodies come in much quicker than we could have imagined. We pull over to don them, because being close to the water easily drops the temperature a good ten, maybe even twenty degrees. It's a shock riding into it, kind of like walking from a hot, sunny sidewalk right into a meat locker.
We stop to stretch our legs at a roadside park in Paradise. The UP is long on compelling town names. Dreamland. Paradise. I wonder if it's part of the state's tourism marketing until I see road signs pointing to Dick and Big Knob. So, maybe not.
We're not entirely starving after our late brewery lunch, and late-night dining options in the UP are nearly non-existent. We ride about 90 minutes back to Gulliver and pick up dinner at a gas station. Almonds, peanut butter crackers, a gas station sandwich (Jason, not me; I am not that brave).
Back at the Dreamland, we eat our gas station dinner, drink a bottle of wine, watch more charming local news. I take a bath to relax and remove the road grime before bed. It's quiet, peaceful, perfect. We have no trouble sleeping tonight.
