4^th of July Holiday, 2006—Meandering to Michigan (or An Expose in Motorcycle Camping)

Please note: Much of this trip was rainy and I inadvertently got a smeared photo lens so the quality of the photos is compromised in some of the shots.
 

It’s Wednesday before the big weekend and we are pressed for time to get everything done. Marc has the entire rear end taken off the Gold Wing waiting for the arrival of the hitch, which comes in this day so he dives right in when he gets off work, installing it. It goes smoother than he initially thinks but still takes a couple of hours.

Thursday evening finds him working on installing additional tail lights to our motorcycle trailer. But first he hitches up and hops aboard for a quick spin to see how the bike tows the trailer fully loaded. It’s a heavy load! For some reason the converter that came with the trailer doesn’t work with the bike, and he is unable to get functioning tail lights. He knows how to fix it, but it will require cutting in and installing two more tail lights. Just about the time it is getting dark, he completes that task. Why is it anymore that you buy something brand new and it doesn’t work right?

The last chore is to affix the poorly welded aluminum platform (done by a local welding shop) that will hold our ice chest to the front trailer frame. He really wants to extend the length of the trailer tongue to allow for better towing and also so the ice chest will not interfere with the swing of the trailer. It’s now Friday and we want to leave Saturday morning but with all this still left to do, it begins to look doubtful. This will be our first overnight foray on the bike as we make plans to hit the highways heading north to Yooper land; in other words, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
 

Despite the last task of adding the additional length to the trailer tongue and then a quick paint job, after packing the trailer and Tucker our cat, finding it to his satisfaction, we manage to hit the highway at 9 a.m. Once on the freeway headed north, traffic proves heavy and before Tomahawk we hit rain.

North of Tomahawk, the freeway ends and it becomes Highway 51, a two laner still thick with rushing tourists headed north. We had planned on trying to see Star Lake so manage to peel off at Hazelhurst to some less crowded county roads. Star Lake has two Wisconsin state forest campgrounds and the first one we enter is full. We try the second and the location is actually better with more lake views and we spot a site just vacated that morning. We immediately set to emptying the trailer (it’s amazing how much stuff it holds) and setting up our new tent before the threatening skies let loose again.

It doesn’t take long once the shower passes for us to discover that there is yet another site which was vacated that morning which is actually much more private and more to our liking so we make the move to the new site. By the time we are set up again it’s nearly dinner time. Our first night in the tent is a combination of massive amounts of firework’s noise, laughing kids, barking dogs, and somewhere out there, the beautiful cry of loons. Fortunately, Sunday dawns nice and after camp coffee we are on the bike headed out on the narrow and weaving County K road before 8 a.m. looking for the mysterious Little Bohemia Resort.

Picture a cold spring in 1934. John Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson and the gang, including some of their girlfriends, have hot-footed it to the great north woods (over dirt roads) trying to escape the heat of pursuit from robbing yet another bank. They make it to the resort, built in 1915, of Little Bohemia on Little Star Lake on April 20th (now off Hwy. 51 at Manitowish Waters for those who want to visit).

Two days pass—Dillinger even plays cards with the owner before a tip reaches the FBI that the gang is holed up at the remote location. In a snafu of major proportions, once the FBI and local constables arrive, a shoot-out ensues which ends up killing three locals who fled the bar. Thinking they were part of the gang, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Meanwhile, the gang made their getaway down the embankment and along the shores of Little Star Lake leaving the “gang girls” behind. (Later that summer, Dillinger’s life will end in another shootout in Chicago.) When the shooting stops, there are more than 100 bullet holes scarring the wood interior and the windows. One of the best things about this place, is that the owner had the marketing foresight to never replace the pockmarked wood and preserved the actual broken glass by framing it within new window glass on both sides. People now come from near and far to visit.

The interior is a cornucopia of memorabilia and north woods kitsch which we enjoyed immensely over a tasty breakfast. We park the Wing and Road Gnome in front of the end of the lodge that sustained all the bullet holes and take photos to memorialize the experience before we leave—headed for the Upper Peninsula. Maybe it sounds strange, but walking in Dillinger’s footsteps here has become a highlight of our time so far in Wisconsin! Perhaps it’s because part of our family lore is the time the big man had cookies in the park with my great grandmother because she didn’t know at the time who he was. She said he was very polite.

I guess states don’t worry about erecting state signs off little back roads because we see no such evidence when leaving Wisconsin and entering Michigan south of the small town of Wakefield. We’ve passed little traffic and note that even the town is suspiciously vacant for a Saturday holiday weekend. Wakefield’s glory days are long since past when the last iron ore mine closed quite some time ago, we are told by an old-timer as we stop at the visitor center. He begs us to return for their fireworks display and says tourists are now the mainstay of the town and they’re happy to see us. Wakefield has the distinction of being the launching area for visits to Michigan’s well known Porcupine Wilderness State Park. We say goodbye and mount up for the last highway miles to reach the shores of Lake Superior.

We had thought about visiting Porcupine State Park but decide the mountains so bragged about are just not big enough for our tastes and the woods are so thick even the vistas are muted. This part of Michigan is verdantly green however, and the highways are in great shape—the riding sublime.

The big Gitche Gumee sneaks up on us; tantalizingly close yet only a specter behind the thick trees. Finally, on the way to Ontonagon, we pull into a small county lakeside park and take a break by walking Superior’s beach for awhile. Even the Road Gnome gets to enjoy some time along the shore.

We need gas so stop in Ontonagon, a typically small town of the UP. It’s Sunday however, so most everything is closed as we do the slow drag through downtown. We are on a loop, headed back for camp along Hwy. 38 to what later proves to be the national forest road from hell (too many frost heaves), H16 through Ottawa National Forest. After leaving some farm fields behind, the forest grows so thick in these parts we can’t see past the roadside until we take our next break at a railroad siding called Frost.

Skies start to look threatening and we are tired, so head the pony for camp. We get light rainfall Sunday night and not quite so many fireworks and awaken Monday to nearly a steady rain. Lesson learned: it’s no fun to pack up a soppy, wet camp. The rain gear goes on; we head back to Plover on new to us highways and county roads, and despite the rain pass many other bikers. First biking camp trip down—many more to come!
 

If you go: Michigan’s Upper Peninsula is pretty in its own way but don’t expect the spectacular scenery often found out west. Gaining any sort of vista is a rarity but experiencing the small town flavor and pace of the place is an escape from the ordinary. The same can be said of Wisconsin’s north woods, which we will explore further in upcoming trips. Part of the allure of both areas is the history and old fashioned charm of lodges, cabins, and homes built long ago. Towns are small and you won’t find a fast food joint in any of them. Also, despite being located in national or state forest, campgrounds are often surrounded by residential cabins and homes. Sites can be small with little privacy. Surprisingly, there are also businesses tucked way out in those woods—mostly pubs and small mom and pop groceries. It’s again, a different twist than you will find out west, where the vast tracts of national forest stretch miles with no evidence of human encroachment save for the brown campground signs. One last note: with the woods being so thick, many forest hiking trails look like this. Since I had already picked up a tiny deer tick (the kind that carry Lyme disease) right in camp, we decided to skip any hiking and leave it to the bugs.