Day 18 -- All day on Mackinac Island, Michigan -- No miles

Today we spent most of a very glorious day on Mackinac Island, Michigan. We took our camp's free shuttle downtown to the ferry dock, rode a twin-hulled jet boat out to the island, walked quite a bit around the quaint harbor town, and rode a two-horse surrey around the back streets. Unlike yesterday, the sun was shining bright and the wind was NOT blowing a gale, which made it quite pleasant to be alive and free and wandering through life as a retiree.

But that's where the superlatives end. Beginning with that somewhat obscure movie starring Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour, "Somewhere in Time," which was filmed on Mackinac Island in and around the Grand Hotel in 1980, tourism to the island has skyrocketed. Except skyrocketing tourism doesn't exactly give a person a correct mental image of an island that is simply mobbed with tourists. The harbor is mobbed with arrivals and departures. The restaurants are ceaselessly mobbed no matter what the hour. The T-shirt shops, of which there are many, are mobbed to the point of being inaccessible. The bike rental businesses are mobbed. The horse-drawn scenic tours are mobbed. And lastly, every single street, alleyway, dock, staircase, bike lane, and sidewalk is mobbed with mobile traffic of some sort.

And that's not all. Because people bring their own bikes to Mackinac, and thousands of others rent bikes, the very streets are mobbed with bikes of every description. There are fat-tired bikes and thin-tired bikes and bicycles built for two and bikes hauling trailers full of children and solitary bikers and whole families on bikes and romantic couples dating on bikes and countless bike racks hugging the roadsides that are chock full of bikes no one wants to be riding just then.

So, what have I missed? Oh, I know. In paragraph two I mentioned the horse-drawn carriages or wagons that meander around the island giving tours of a variety of lengths to folks like us who would like to have the history and cultural aspects of the place related to them by someone who lives and works there. If you want to pay the minimum for this service, you can hire a modern-looking wagon that can accommodate perhaps thirty people at a time. The conveyance is not very pretty, rides on rubber tires, and usually looks a bit tired and shoddy. If you want a more intimate ride that holds, for instance two couples or four individuals, you can pay more money and hire a more comfortable livery that looks like something from the nineteenth century. Each of these are pulled by a matched pair of horses, though the larger wagon has larger horses as you might expect.

Concetta and I opted for the more expensive, more intimate, carriage that was commanded by an 18-year veteran of the carriage-driving trade whose name was Tom. We shared the carriage with Bob and Kathy from Wisconsin who didn't say an awful lot, but that was okay because it allowed me to barrage Tom with an endless series of questions about his job, the horses, the passing scenery, and anything else that crossed my mind that required explanation.

And that brings up the subject of horses. In addition to all the other beings vying for supremacy on the highways and byways of Mackinac, the ubiquitous horse holds a substantially prominent place. I never did quite understand just how many carriages and wagons were plying the island's roads at any given hour, but Tom told us that his "small" company had 30 horses and his company's competitor had ten times that many. So there are something like 330 horses on the island. Keeping in mind that the horses are usually found in groups of two, that's a lot of wagons and carriages competing for space on the narrow streets of Mackinac. I suppose I should mention that motorized vehicles have been forbidden since the 1890s. Even the trash collector on Main Street has a horse-drawn wagon.

So, now that you've read the foregoing rant you probably think we didn't enjoy ourselves. Well, you'd be partly right. Concetta and I just hate sharing our space with a crush of humanity under any circumstances. Noisy, jostling, situations are just not the optimum for a couple of solitude seekers like us.

On the other hand, there are a million things that can be favorably said about Mackinac Island. First of all, every darn thing you see in every direction is either historical, architecturally impressive, or cute as hell. You have the main part of town that abuts the harbor and is just filled end to end with brightly-colored, and cleverly decorated shops. Up and away from the main part of town are a number of Queen Anne-style Victorian houses that are immaculately kept, and most sit nestled in gardens that just make you want to break from your tour and go sit among the blazing borders of flowers. Then there are all the historic points of interest, not the least of which is Fort Mackinac that dates to the American Revolution when the Fort was established by the British.

After our carriage tour was over, and after we rewarded ourselves with some delicious ice cream, we hiked up to the bluff overlooking the town whereon the one-time British stronghold was located. We took the backdoor route rather than climb the steep pathway and stairs to the front door, which is what you should do if you have any mobility problems. My wonky knees appreciated the longer route. Ask the ticket agent at the foot of the path to the fort for directions to the rear entrance.

Once at the top of the bluff, we dodged a couple of horse-drawn wagons, then presented ourselves at the back gate where tickets were also being sold. Having already purchased our tickets at the front entrance, I presented our proof to a girl-guide who was standing near the ticket booth. But she shook her head and said, "that's not my job." We were rather dumbfounded, but recovered quickly. We just told her thanks, and walked right through the ticket aisle and continued up the path to the fort's rear entrance. No one said anything from the booth, and no one came after us. Considering that it cost $27.00 dollars to enter, we thought their lack of diligence odd, but maybe we just looked super honest.

And then for the next 90 minutes we visited most of the buildings, photographed everything like crazy, and even watched a trio of "soldiers" demonstrate how 18th century soldiers loaded and fired a rifle (or smooth bore, I couldn't tell which). I was rather impressed with the quality of the reproduced decor for all the military buildings, as well as the care that had been taken to recreate and maintain the buildings themselves. There was a barracks, a hospital, a sutler's store, a quartermaster's storehouse, a bath house (yes soldiers took baths at Mackinac), personal quarters for the officers, a childrens' space, several block houses, and a few others we didn't get to.

The actual history of the fort is pretty interesting. The British established the fort between 1779 and 1781. When the British lost the revolution, America became the owner. But when war broke out again between England and the U.S. in 1812, the British secretly landed their troops on the north side of the island, placed canons on the high ground overlooking the fort, and forced the defenders at the fort to surrender when they learned that they were greatly outnumbered. Two years later the Americans tried to push the British off the island, but they were soundly defeated in the only battle ever fought there.

In December of 1814 the war was over. With the peace came a restoration of ownership of Mackinac Island to the United States. Soon after, John Jacob Astor established the American Fur Company's northern department headquarters on Mackinac Island and by the 1820s the fur trade was flourishing. Furs from the company's winter camps in Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota flowed to Mackinac every summer. On Mackinac Island's Market Street, the furs were counted, sorted, and baled for shipment to the East Coast and Europe. Millions of dollars worth of furs passed through Mackinac Island in the 1820s.

All this history stuff is intensely interesting to the Happy Wanderers. But by the time we had toured main street, hiked up to the top of the bluff, and then toured the large military site, we were getting a little footsore. We had planned on hanging around until dinnertime, then visiting a dining room that we had heard about while on our carriage tour, but once we got back to the city we opted instead to jump on the ferry and go back to our waiting shuttle. After a comfortable boat ride back to the mainland, and the shuttle back to the camp, we spent the rest of the evening in the wonderful solitude and quiet of our home on wheels, away from the Madding Crowd. Sometimes enough is just enough when it comes to touristy hot spots.

So, the question is, would we return to Mackinac Island someday. Yes, I think we would, but we'd have to target the off season for our visit. We definitely would avoid Labor Day weekend, that's for sure. There's just way too many people there in too small a space for our tastes. But hey, on the positive side, after much searching through a variety of shops, I finally managed to find a 100% cotton Mackinac Island t-shirt that I liked. AND, we had just a terrific sandwich at a Market Street sandwich and ice cream shop. I was totally surprised by that bit of luck.

Since we're here for yet another day, tomorrow we plan to pack up the rig, stay on the mainland, and go downtown here in Mackinaw City and see if we can find a few interesting things to see and do. Concetta saw a sign for a nautical museum that should be interesting. Also, on our way to this camp, after our harrowing adventure on the bridge, we passed a frontier fort operation that perhaps we can find our way back to. At any rate, stay tuned as the Happy Wanderers are on the prowl for more adventure. And when you are out their on the two-lanes, we wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Day 17 -- Sault Ste. Marie to Mackinaw City, Michigan -- 65 Miles

Today we did something that I hope to never do again: cross the lofty Mackinac Straights Bridge in a high-profile vehicle in a ferociously high wind. The experience frightened me out of several years of life, I'm convinced. And I don't have that many left to spare.

I knew as we approached the bridge ramp that it was going to be hairy. All day the winds off Lake Huron had been buffeting us on Interstate 75. It wasn't pleasant, but the Interstate is so wide, and the traffic today was so light, I scarcely cared. But the Mackinac Bridge was a whole other matter. Fortunately, we at least had two lanes in either direction. Also fortunately, no one was riding our bumper in either lane behind us, which made it easy for me to hug the right lane's center line like a three-year-old hugs their Teddy Bear.

Now I've driven over countless tall bridges in the course of traveling 40,000 RV miles since 2013, and I don't remember any span in particular that caused me such alarm. But today the combination of high winds and white-capped lake, 200 feet below us, put me in mind of all those 18-wheelers in Washoe Valley, near our home, that unwisely venture across in high winds, and the driver ends up looking out his front window in a vertical format. The truck is on its side, the trailer is on its side, and the whole mess is in the center divider. Concetta told me later that she had the same mental image.

So there we were, both of us wondering just what it would be like to not only be blown over sideways against the fragile-looking railing on the bridge's outer edge, but perhaps not even being stopped by the railing as we headed for the icy depths below. Neither of us could be counted as a good swimmer, so unless we were really near shore, survival was out of the question.

So here I was, furiously white-knuckling it and praying that the bridge was actually shorter than the 26,371 feet advertised, and every few seconds a giant gust would hit us and propel us back toward the bridge's outer edge. My heart was in my mouth as I quickly steered us back to hugging the left side of our lane. The really scary part was when we came to bridge stanchions. Since I was employing quite a bit of pressure on the wheel to keep us hugging the white line, when we would come to a stanchion, the buffeting would suddenly cease and I would find myself barreling into the left lane. Fortunately, no one even approached us from behind in either lane, probably because they could see the trouble we were in, and didn't want to be sucked over with us.

For some reason, as we finally approached the final section of bridge, I found myself wondering if the "heart-in-mouth" feeling that I was experiencing as we crossed that 26,000 foot span was anything like what those twenty-something bomber pilots experienced as they attempted to land their craft for the first time. Maybe that's crazy, but that's how it felt to me.

So, having survived the bridge, here we are in Mackinaw City's Mill Creek Camp for the next three days in Mackinaw City. We decided we wanted to visit Mackinac Island a couple of days ago and Concetta set about trying to find a camp that would take us on short notice. The problem is that today is the beginning of the long Labor Day weekend. Ordinarily, we don't make reservations anywhere because we don't really know where we'll be at any give time. But this time we knew we wanted to visit the Island so we would almost certainly need reservations if any could be had.

Amazingly, when Concetta called Mill Creek Camp, they informed her that she was in luck since someone had just then canceled leaving a spot with full hookups unclaimed. She had chosen the River Mill camp because they advertised a shuttle that would take us to the ferry boat that would then transport us to the island. That's an unbeatable offer since we wouldn't have to break down our camp in order to drive to the ferry. So, our ferry tickets are purchased, we've walked the route we need to walk to find the shuttle in the morning, and I even had time to pop into the camp store to sample their coconut ice cream.

This morning, before we left Sault Ste. Marie, we took time to visit the Tower of History. I was a little skeptical as the tower resembled nothing so much as something a new architectural student might design on a lark. But we decided that since there was a chance we might learn a little about the history of local Indian tribes, we would go ahead and pay them a visit.

First of all, here's what I was able to find on the web about the history tower: "The Tower of History soars 210 feet above Sault Ste. Marie and the Soo Locks. The tower has 2 observation platforms for visitors to get spectacular 360 degree views and spectacular photos of the world’s busiest inland shipping channel, the Canadian wilderness, and the quaint city of Sault Ste. Marie."

"The Tower was built in 1968 by the Catholic Church as the Shrine of the Missionaries. The Shrine was meant to be part of a larger complex which would have featured exhibits about the early Missionaries such as Bishop Baraga. A community center and a new Church were also planned. The Church later cut the project in favor of other endeavors, and the Shrine of the Missionaries was donated to the Sault Historic Sites in 1980. It has been operated as the Tower of History ever since."

Because the Tower budget had been compromised from the beginning, the few historic displays therein are dated, faded, and difficult to appreciate. But skipping by the few displays, what really takes your breath away is standing on the top observation deck and watching the ships glide serenely by far down in the Saint Mary River channel. Concetta and I were excited to see that a large cargo vessel was just clearing the lock as we watched, and we stayed for many minutes in order to get photographs of the ship. Fortunately, though the sun had been playing tag with the persistent cloud cover, we did manage to grab a few photos of the Algoma Equinox.

After that, it was an easy hop to get out on the Interstate, and then we enjoyed a serene 65 miles to our afternoon objective. So the Happy Wanderers made out like bandits this time. We scored a three-day reservation at a great camp right on the shore of Lake Huron, which should have been impossible right before a three-day holiday. But RVing is like that sometimes. When you think you've got it made, fate throws you a curve ball. And when you think you couldn't possibly get lucky one more time, fate decides to fill your inside straight. That's life on the road.

In the last two days Concetta and I have been privileged to do something neither of us has done before -- visit both Lake Superior and Lake Huron. When we set out on this vacation, we had no idea we would be seeing those magnificent bodies of water. The point is, vacations should contain a certain amount of serendipity. Don't nail down your itinerary too tight. Stumbling over something you've heard about but thought you'd never see is hugely satisfying and sublime. And stumbling over something you NEVER heard about before is heaven.

As we walked through the camp this afternoon we came across a tiny travel trailer looking very much brand new. It was all done up in aquamarine and white and had the name, "Retro" on the side. I think it was called a Retro because it looked very much like the similarly-painted travel trailers from my childhood that everyone now calls "Canned Ham" trailers. My parents borrowed just such a canned ham trailer way back in 1962 or so Mom could fulfill her dream and travel around the western states visiting all the places that cropped up in her genealogical studies of the family history. We tended to concentrate on Utah and Colorado since the Jones and Curtis families spent quite a few years there.

The trailer was so small that there was no room for brother Cliff and me to sleep indoors. In fact, there was no room inside the cab of the Chevy pickup that Dad used to pull the tiny trailer. For both activities, riding and sleeping, Cliff and I would be set up in the pickup bed. Dad had erected an aluminum "shell" with open sides over the bed. For our riding comfort, Dad acquired an old Studebaker seat that he fastened down somehow. Here Cliff and I rode backwards through thousands of miles of desert and mountainous countryside with never a thought to seat belts or other restraints. So, naturally, the pickup bed also served as our sleeping quarters. I don't remember Dad enclosing the sides for privacy or warmth in the back of that pickup, and distinctly remember waking one morning with ice on our sleeping bags. There was ONE plus about riding in the back of the truck, we had the ice chest with all the soda pop back there.

It was from the back of that old white Chevy that I first discovered not only my extreme love of travel, but my love of history as well. It was at this point in my life, I was perhaps twelve, that I began buying from roadside stands a variety of western history magazines and reading them as we rolled through the very country about which I was reading. It was spectacularly intoxicating for a kid of twelve who had never been out of southern California before. My mother would have loved to do a whole lot more travel in pursuit of her thirst for historical background, but it was not to be. Dad just didn't quite understand or sympathize with the process. But I hope she's looking down now and can see that I'm trying to follow in her footsteps.

It's all too true, everyone needs to expose their children to the magnificence of America. It will instill in them a indelible memory of what makes this country great. And when you do go out there and hit the two-lanes to make your traveling dreams come true, we wish you happy traveling and exciting destinations.

Day 16 -- All day in Sault Ste. Marie -- No land miles

Today was our cruise day on the Saint Mary river between Lake Superior and Lake Huron. We almost went yesterday late afternoon, but in the end the forbidding skies decided us against going out on the water. It was a good thing, as almost immediately after we told the ticket agent we'd go in the morning, the skies opened up and rain began to fall.

But today was different. When we got up and looked outside, we saw what we normally see in Nevada: blue skies and fluffy clouds and not a hint of bad weather. Okay, we thought, but will the good weather hold while we had breakfast, broke camp, then drove a mile down to the embarkation point? Amazingly it did! Not only was the sun still shining when we finished breakfast, it was still shining when we arrived to buy our tickets. There was only one problem: we pulled up almost simultaneously with two buses full of the senior citizens. Oh my God, I thought, as we hustled to lock up the rig and practically run to the ticket office. Those walker-bound folks will buy up every single ticket and we'll be stuck waiting for the next voyage.

Fate intervened, thank goodness, and the semi-ambulatory seniors were all signed up on a different company's boat. The ticket agent had lots of tickets for our intended voyage. Once our purchase was accomplished, we found a shortish line for OUR boat which would turned out to be only lightly loaded. In fact, the boat was so lightly loaded that we could have sat on the top deck, on the bottom deck, or anywhere in between and would not have excited any comment. Only when we got ready to enter the locks and lots of people crowded toward the bow were places to stand at a premium.

Our tiny tour boat's intended voyage was down to the American Locks of Saint Mary's River that connects, as I said, Lakes Superior and Huron. Keeping in mind that two of the four locks are not used, as they are slated for a revamp soon, we soon discovered that ship traffic occupied the other two locks, which made it impossible for us to proceed. So, the captain took us on a small voyage downriver to see what we could see.

It was a fine morning, so just about anything looked interesting from the rock-steady deck of the Nokomis as we first motored down the Canadian side of the river, then returned on the American side. I was especially interested in a Canadian museum I could see from the boat that proclaimed to be devoted to "Bush Planes." Now that would be a museum I'd get a kick out of and made a metal note to revisit Canada one day and see it. We also saw a small fleet of tugboats owned by the Purvis Company that works extensively in the Saint Mary River shipping channel

On the American side, as we wheeled about and came back upriver, we saw a fantastic display of "floating dry-dock equipment" A floating dry dock, basically a large barge, has the ability to submerge in the river shallows much as a submarine would submerge, then allow a boat to enter above it. Once the boat to be dry-docked is in place atop the barge, the floating dry dock blows it's ballast tanks and pops to the surface, thus cradling the dry-docked boat and raising it out of the water.

The most awesome historical building we saw on our small voyage downriver was the Edison Sault Ste. Marie Electric generating plant. The plant was built in 1902 using materials originally dredged from the American Locks. The absolutely magnificent stonework was done, according to our Captain, by none other than Italian stone masons. If memory serves, there is a canal that feeds the generating station, water from which drives twenty-seven turbines. Local fishermen, several of whom we saw, propel their boats right up to the generating station's outflow arches and do their fishing. I guess it must be pretty good there.

One of the boats we saw as we beat back upriver was a supply boat which spends it life ferrying food and other supplies to passing freighters so they don't have to stop. The freighters keep steaming up and down-river and the supply boat just pulls alongside and transfers everything the crew is going to need for the next couple of weeks.

By this time the skipper expected the locks to be free of shipping, but such was not the case. Since we could not get through the American locks, the Captain took us slightly north to enter the Canadian locks. Though we didn't realize it at the time, this was actually a bonus. The Canadian locks are smaller and more intimate. We pulled into the lock and an additional tour boat pulled in behind us. Once the two boats were firmly tied to the bollards above us on the lock side, water began to pour into the lock cavity and slowly raise the two boats. Almost before we knew it, the two tour boats had risen twenty-one fee and were now set to enter Lake Superior.

Our destination once we had cleared the Canadian lock was Algoma Steel, though none of us knew it. Soon we were approaching a gigantic industrial operation that occupied the entire horizon. Only then did the cruise ship Captain begin to tell us a little about what we were seeing off the starboard bow. I've used Wikipedia to share a little of what we heard over the intercom: "Construction of the Algoma Steelworks started in February, 1901. On February 18, 1902 the first Bessemer converter was put in operation using pig iron made from the Helen mine, owned by Algoma. The first rails were produced by the complex in May 1902. However, blast furnaces for pig iron manufacture were not completed at the site until 1904. Unlike most other steel producers, Algoma had no access to local coal, forcing it to import coal and coke from the United States. The Bessemer process was felt to produce steel that was well-suited to manufacture of rails, which was the Algoma complex's primary product for the first two decades of its existence."

During the First World War, Algoma made steel for artillery shells but after the war continued to rely on rail production. The necessity of importing ore and coal from the United States because of the low quality of Canadian iron ore, as well as the absentee owners' greater interest in annual dividends than building a viable industrial complex, held back Algoma during the 1920s. At the height of the Great Depression, the company was insolvent and in receivership until Sir James Dunn gained control in 1935 and restored it to profitability. Dunn's policy of never paying a dividend to stockholders, coupled with extensive modernization and expansion during the Second World War, and an extended period of steel demand up until the mid-1950s, allowed Algoma to expand and become a more balanced steel producer.

Our Captain on the tour boat told us over the intercom that 90% of the steel produced for the war effort in World War II came through the "Soo Locks" on the Saint Mary River. I can tell you that I don't think I've ever been as close to a steel-producing plant as we came today. We were able to see the various components for the process, which are coal, Taconite, and two types of limestone.

From Quora I learned that: "Taconite is a very low-grade iron ore, containing only about 15% Fe. However, assuming that you wanted to use it to make steel, here’s how I would do it. A mix of high-volatile, medium volatile and low-volatile coal (volatile meaning the relative content of xylene, toluene, butadiene and other aromatic hydrocarbons) is coked (meaning heated without air) for 17 or 18 hours to drive off the volatiles. The result is called “coke” and it consists of carbon and about 9% to 12% ash."

"The coke is dumped into a blast furnace, together with iron ore pellets – in this case, Taconite pellets – and some limestone as flux (flux to form slag, containing the impurities), and hot air is blown in to burn the coke and also to use it to reduce the iron ore pellets to Fe plus CO and CO2. The result is liquid iron, tapped from the blast furnace at approximately 1400C. This iron contains 4.2 wt% carbon, because that’s the saturation level for carbon in iron."

"This molten iron is taken to a steelmaking furnace, where it is dumped into a furnace containing 15% to 25% ferrous scrap (meaning 15% to 25% of the total metallic charge is ferrous scrap). Oxygen is then blown into the liquid iron at high velocity, to reduce the carbon content from 4.2% to 0.10% -- 1.0% (sometimes slightly higher) by removing carbon as CO (90%) and CO2 (10%). The result is now called steel. Manganese Mn and other alloying elements such as Mo, Cr, Si, Ni, etc., are added, according to the grade of steel being produced."

"Once the steel is cast from the furnace, it is then hot rolled to the desired shape – flat rolled or shapes (beams, bars, etc.). Tempering, annealing, and other heat-treating processes are applied after the steel is hot rolled."

To emphasis the weight of the steel the Algoma plant was producing, we passed a barge loaded with 30 rolls of steel, each one weighing in at roughly 32,000 lbs. The steel was so heavy that should the company want to send the steel rolls by 18-wheeler, only TWO rolls could be carried at one time. Obviously, the barge was a more effective way to send the product.

As the Captain ordered our little tour boat to come about and we left the steel plant behind us, I couldn't help but marvel at the strength and complexity of the world's industry. This particular company was Canadian, but I'm sure that American plants, many of which are enjoying a resurgence in business because of our Government's efforts to re-balance tariffs on imported steel, are using much the same process to produce their product.

As our last part of our cruise was drawing to a close, we could see that the huge freighter that had been transiting the American lock had now cleared, and we were free (along with our sister tour boat trailing behind us) to enter the lock and go back downriver toward our embarkation point. Although everything seems like it's happening in slow motion when you transit a lock, it is nevertheless a breathtaking and moving experience to see the effortless change in elevation of your craft.

For me, the morning was all about the wonderful blue skies, the billowing clouds, and the simply stunning views of the many and various points of interest that we passed. There's seldom anything you can shoot with a camera that comes close to the thrill of photographing boats upon the water. So often they are painted brilliant colors of red, white, orange, green, and blue that stand out marvelously against the blue of the sky and the deep blue of the water.

In addition, a special thanks goes out to a special Ms Henderson of 100 miles north of Memphis, Tennessee, a fellow photographer, who spent many minutes in photographic banter with me, and later agreed to photograph Concetta and me to memorialize our cruise in Sault Ste. Marie. Most times, if you can engage the locals or even other tourists as you travel the highways and byways of this country, you will enjoy your experience all the more.

And so our two-day visit to Sault Ste. Marie is coming to an end. Tomorrow we hope to visit a couple of small local attractions since we can't check into our next camp, which is a mere sixty some odd miles from here, until after lunch. Hopefully we can wile away the morning right here, then head south on Interstate 75, have lunch somewhere in the country, then roll into our next camp in the early afternoon.

So that's it for now. The Happy Wanderers were REALLY happy today with our seagoing adventure. And when you venture out on the two-lanes in search of great destinations of your own, we wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Just a note on our camp here on the edge of the Saint Mary River which connects Lake Superior to Lake Huron. We chose this camp because it advertised riverside RV spaces. Now that we've been here two days, we can see that lots of people come here for extended periods just to sit and watch the passing ships. If the light is just right, I suspect that the ship-watching can become rather addictive. Personally, I'd probably grow tired rather quickly of watching freighters glide slowly by. Now if they were warships, that might be different. But just to show you what's possible when shooting boats, at right is the two rather derelict craft that are sitting just fifty feet out our RV door. They haven't moved an inch, but they're still fun to enjoy!

Day 15 -- Brimley to Sault Ste. Marie, MI -- 26 Miles

You probably noticed that our total progress today weighed in at a stellar 26 miles. No, we didn't get stuck in a mud hole because of all the rain, we simply set our sights on a camp in Sault Ste. Marie that lay right alongside the watery passageway between Lake Superior and Lake Huron. This passageway, as you might guess, tends to concentrate the ship traffic between the two lakes. It's this ship traffic that we were hoping to observe.

We probably could have come here yesterday afternoon, but as it happens I was tired of driving and we felt the camp at Brimley, 26 miles northwest of here, was likely to be large and partially empty since it belongs to a Casino. We weren't so certain about tonight's ideally-located park, as we felt that camps right on the water would probably be popular with other folks wanting to watch and photograph shipping.

The upshot was we got to this camp really early this morning and managed to get the last place directly on the water that they had. The available utilities were disappointing as the camp does not offer full hookups, which meant we'd have to use the dump station. But the manager was quick to point out that no camps next to the great lakes offer sewer connections.

Once we were checked in, we turned the rig around and went back down the road to the place where we planned to visit -- the Valley Camp cargo ship which serves as a floating museum. According to Wikipedia: "Valley Camp was launched in Lorain, Ohio, in 1917 as the Louis W. Hill for the National Steel Corporation. She sailed for this company for 38 years hauling iron ore and coal until 1955 when she was sold to the Wilson Marine Transit Company. It was in this fleet that she received her current name. For this company she carried a wider array of bulk goods including grains and stone."

"Valley Camp was a member of the Wilson Fleet only until 1959 when the Republic Steel Corporation bought her and several of her Wilson fleetmates, including her identical sister ship Silver Bay (formerly Albert Heiken of National Steel). Republic kept Valley Camp's name, and for that company she hauled iron ore and coal to their mills in Buffalo, New York; Cleveland, Ohio; and Indiana Harbor, Indiana."

"In 1966, Valley Camp made her last voyage. Her age was not an issue in her retirement, but a major problem with a coal-burning boiler was, Her twin, Silver Bay, went on to sail until the early 1980s."

"Purchased by Le Sault de Sainte Marie Historical Sites, Inc., for $10,000, the ship was towed from Wisconsin to Sault Ste. Marie on July 6, 1968, during Sault Ste. Marie's tri-centennial celebration. As a museum ship, Valley Camp is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Visitors have the opportunity to explore and look in every nook and cranny of the ship. In addition, the cargo hold houses hundreds of artifacts, paintings, shipwreck items, models, two lifeboats from the wreck of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, and exhibits of objects related to maritime history."

"Valley Camp is well maintained and has brought in many tourists to Sault Sainte Marie. Valley Camp stretches 550 feet overall with a 525-foot keel. Other dimensions of the ship include a beam of 58 feet and a depth of 31 feet. Her gross tonnage capacity is 12,000 gross tons."

"The ship was powered by a 1,800 horsepower (1,300 kW) triple expansion reciprocating steam engine which she retains to this day. Never the flagship of the fleet, her quarters were spartan yet comfortable. The crews quarters are lined by wood trim and equipped with simple bunks. The wheelhouse is lined with wood and trimmed by brass. Her original steering wheel is in place. In the stern, her original smokestack, including her double-chime whistle are still in place. Almost unmodified from her original configuration, she is the most intact example of the classic Great Lakes ore carriers that once numbered in the hundreds and few of which survive to this day."

Wikipedia said this thing was big, but we had no idea how B-I-G she was until we were standing beside her. This ship is mammouth, containing something like 20,000 square feet of interior exhibit space. And that doesn't even count the deck space you encounter when you venture topside

The admission price to access this massive floating museum is a bit stiff, we thought, but we imagined that the upkeep on this vessel must be substantial. They did give us a small discount for military veterans.

The first thing that struck us as we entered the exhibits area was the overall quality of each and every exhibit. Though some displays were certainly better than others, presumably due to whichever volunteer group had been involved in construction, but the sum total of the ship's displays were just wonderful.

The displays covered the whole spectrum of the shipboard experience, from historical to more modern. We learned about every imaginable topic from rope tying to iron ore hauling, from underwater salvage to air sea rescue, and from whistle codes to running lights protocol. If you wanted to know something about ships, seaman, and a whole different world at sea, you'd probably be able learn about it at this museum.

Speaking for myself, I always adore the physical aspects of any trade. Aboard ship I love the anchors and winches and steam engines and ships wheels and rigging and, well, you name it. The Valley Camp Museum has a myriad of artifacts in their collection, many of which you can reach out and touch unless a sign prohibits you doing so. I was just in heaven the whole afternoon.

There was only one problem with today's activities: My expensive Nikon lens took this opportunity to begin malfunctioning. I can still take photos, but only ones from a distance. The camera simply won't focus closer than four or five feet. At first I thought there had to be something wrong with the auto-focus mechanism. But then I discovered that the lens won't hand focus, either. No amount of resetting to factory specs, changing out the battery for a fresh one, nor checking all the pertinent settings does anything at all.

At this point I'm not sure just what I'm going to do about the problem as there are many weeks of vacation time left. Nowadays you simply don't see many camera shops, but I have found one listed in Sault Ste. Marie here and will try and go there tomorrow. I know the lens needs to be sent off to Nikon, but I won't do that until I get home. I'd rather find a nice used lens at a camera store or pawn shop that I could buy for an affordable price to get me through vacation and then serve as a backup in the future.

What's silly is that I brought backups for lots of other stuff on this vacation, just didn't think about backup for my lens. You get used to Nikon lenses being bullet proof, but every once in a while they WILL surprise you.

Moving on from my personal disaster, we're hoping to do a harbor cruise tomorrow if the sun decides to shine. I'm not sure it's worth doing if it's raining like it was an hour ago. Seems like it rains all the time here in upper Michigan. We'd also like to go to the old section of town and do some walking if the weather will behave. If the weather is nasty, well we'll just go hang out at the Walmart. I wonder if they sell fine lenses?

<>And that's it for now. We are the Happy Wanderers coming to you from the ultra soggy state of Michigan where we're praying for rain anywhere else but here so we can have a nice, sunny harbor cruise tomorrow. So until then, we wish you happy (and dry) travels and exciting destinations as you hit the two-lanes and explore the greatest country in the world.

Day 14 -- Germfask to Brimley, Michigan -- 143 Miles

Today we had but one goal in mind: to drive northwest along Michigan Routes 28 and 121 from our camp in Germfask to a spot on the southern shore of Lake Superior known as Whitefish Point. There we hoped to find a historic lighthouse marking the entrance to Whitefish Bay, and a nautical museum devoted to ship wrecks on the Great Lakes. You might recognize the name Whitefish Bay from the famous Gordon Lightfoot ballad, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," which went down just a few miles from Whitefish bay back in 1975. More of that in a minute.

The lighthouse at Whitefish Point was established by orders of President Abraham Lincoln in 1861, and as such represents the oldest active lighthouse on Lake Superior. The lighthouse and museum grounds have been extensively refurbished (confided a local resident whom I met in the restroom) This resident said you used to be able visit the grounds and the museum, but the rest of the buildings were off limits and had a rather faded, weathered appearance.

Now, the museum building, as well as every other structure on Whitefish Point, look newly painted and fabulously maintained. All buildings sport a bright-white clapboard exterior and bright orange roofs that I'm sure you can see for miles out into Lake Superior.

We eagerly strolled the grounds visiting all the various buildings and talking with the approachable and friendly docents in each. We especially liked the Light-Keeper's two-story house, where all the various rooms on both stories were fabulously furnished with the proper period antiques.

We wandered next to the U.S. Coastguard Station where the long boat was kept for emergency rescues in the bay and beyond. There we met a young man of Welsh lineage who was only too eager to answer all of our questions and to ask a few of his own. We could tell that he was delighted to hear that we had driven all the way from Nevada to see his beloved museum and Coast Guard Station

Once we had toured all the available buildings, we retreated to the gift shop to score a knickknack or two. Naturally I grabbed a couple of T-shirts for my onboard traveling collection. Before we left on this trip I had told myself "no more t-shirts" since I have a rather large collection in the RV already. "But," I asked myself as we strolled the gift shop today, "when will I ever be back here?" And so a couple of t-shirts came away with me.

Next we headed for the lake shore. I wasn't sure that the sun would behave, as much of the afternoon it had been a constant no-show. But thankfully, Mr. Sun poked his face out enough for me to grab an outdoor shot or two. I guess I'm lucky I saw the sun at all today since all last night the rain came down in sheets and buckets. This morning we got up to find our camp was rain-soaked, waterlogged, and muddy, and it was a real pain getting the gear all packed when it was time leave.

And now for Wikipedia's version of the story of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the ship that didn't quite make Whitefish Bay during a gale-force storm back in 1975:

"SS Edmund Fitzgerald was an American Great Lakes freighter that sank in a Lake Superior storm on November 10, 1975, with the loss of the entire crew of 29. When launched on June 7, 1958, she was the largest ship on North America's Great Lakes, and she remains the largest to have sunk there."

"For 17 years, Edmund Fitzgerald carried taconite iron ore from mines near Duluth, Minnesota, to iron works in Detroit, Toledo, and other Great Lakes ports. As a workhorse, she set seasonal haul records six times, often breaking her own previous record. Captain Peter Pulcer was known for piping music day or night over the ship's intercom while passing through the St. Clair and Detroit Rivers (between Lakes Huron and Erie), and entertaining spectators at the Soo Locks (between Lakes Superior and Huron) with a running commentary about the ship. Her size, record-breaking performance, and "DJ captain" endeared Edmund Fitzgerald to boat watchers."

"Carrying a full cargo of ore pellets with Captain Ernest M. McSorley in command, she embarked on her ill-fated voyage from Superior, Wisconsin, near Duluth, on the afternoon of November 9, 1975. En route to a steel mill near Detroit, Edmund Fitzgerald joined a second freighter, SS Arthur M. Anderson. By the next day, the two ships were caught in a severe storm on Lake Superior, with near hurricane-force winds and waves up to 35 feet (11 m) high."

"Shortly after 7:10 p.m., Edmund Fitzgerald suddenly sank in Canadian (Ontario) waters 530 feet (88 fathoms; 160 m) deep, about 17 miles (15 nautical miles; 27 kilometers) from Whitefish Bay near the twin cities of Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, and Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario—a distance Edmund Fitzgerald could have covered in just over an hour at her top speed."

"Although Edmund Fitzgerald had reported being in difficulty earlier, no distress signals were sent before she sank; Captain McSorley's last message to Arthur M. Anderson said, "We are holding our own." Her crew of 29 perished, and no bodies were recovered. The exact cause of the sinking remains unknown, though many books, studies, and expeditions have examined it. Edmund Fitzgerald may have been swamped, suffered structural failure or topside damage, been shoaled, or suffered from a combination of these."

"The disaster is one of the best-known in the history of Great Lakes shipping. Gordon Lightfoot made it the subject of his 1976 hit song "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" after reading an article, "The Cruelest Month", in the November 24, 1975, issue of Newsweek. The sinking led to changes in Great Lakes shipping regulations and practices that included mandatory survival suits, depth finders, positioning systems, increased freeboard, and more frequent inspection of vessels."

Now if you'll take my advice, grab a DVD of Gordon Lightfoot's Greatest Hits and listen to the "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" for yourself. You'll find it's a very moving song indeed. While you're at it, listen to all of Gordon's outstanding songs. My buddy John introduced me to Gordon Lightfoot way back in 1972 when I was attending the University of California, Santa Barbara. Later, when the two of us were plying the Mediterranean Sea aboard a sixty-foot motor sailer, we had two cassettes of Gordons to remind us of home. After that, his music never left my subconscious. He's truly a great song-writer.

But there's one more episode in the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald story, and it has to do with paying tribute to the 29 men who went down with the ship. The whereabouts of the wreck was discovered in 1976, but it wasn't until dive technology made it easier to reach the wreck that a plan was discussed to rescue the bell of the Big Fitz and place it in the Whitefish Museum of Great Lakes Wrecks. In the summer of 1995 the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society together with families of the Fitzgerald's crew, the Canadian Navy, and the National Geographic Society raised the ship's bell to honor the 29 men lost on November 10, 1975

Today the ship's bell has a place of honor in the Shipwreck Museum and serves as a further reminder that 30,000 men, women, and children have been lost to shipwrecks on the Great Lakes. To further honor those lost on the Fitzgerald, a replacement bell, inscribed with the names and offices of all 29 of the Fitzgerald's crew, was lowered to the wreck and placed in the exact spot where the original bell had been removed.

And that's our memorable adventure for today. Outside the window of the RV, where just minutes ago the sun was shining brightly, it's begun to rain heavily as if to remind me of just how suddenly storms can blow up over Lake Superior. So, as the rig rocks back and forth with the force of the winds off that august body of water, I'll turn my attention to thinking about tomorrow and our visit to Sault Ste. Marie just a few miles down the road. We've never been there before, but we've heard that the "ship watching" is terrific. They also have harbor cruises and a Shipboard museum we've heard about. To get into the spirit of Great Lakes shipping, I even bought a small pocket book at the gift shop today on Great Lakes ship watching. Should be fun and educational.

Well, that's it for now from the Happy Wanderers. When you come to visit the northern reaches of the Michigan Peninsula, we suggest you bring your umbrella, warm clothes, and be sure and visit Whitefish Bay. We guarantee that you will be dazzled. Until then, we wish you happy travels and exciting adventures in this awesome and ever-changing land of ours.

To give you some idea of our route and distance traveled, I have included below a graphic. The distance traveled is right around 2,400 miles.

Day 13 -- Iron Mountain to Germfask, Michigan -- 141 Miles

I heard scattered raindrops on the roof of the RV this morning when I woke about 5:00 a.m. In view of the fact that I didn't really want to get outside and put away all the hoses and electrical cable and such in order to break camp, I just stayed in bed until 6:30. By then the rain had let up a mite, and I thought that we might have a sunny day for traveling to the shore of Lake Superior. But no such luck. It was not raining very hard, but most of the day a light drizzle accompanied each and every mile we traveled.

Since the day intended to be overcast and gray, we weren't much in the mood to stop anywhere along the way to take photos or do any touring. We just tooled along, listened to our DVD book, and tried to appreciate the verdant presence of the forest towering above us on each side of the highway. I did see one point of interest that would have lured me in on a sunnier day -- that of a iron mine tour underground. But somehow, the gloomy weather discouraged me from wanting to go underground for any reason.

I remember when we were in Wales back in 2008 we had an opportunity to take the underground tour of a coal mine. We had to leave all our electronic devices in the car, as nothing that would create a spark was allowed. But the tour and the tour guide were utterly captivating. We learned things about mining that still boggle our minds to this day.

Did you know that in the 19th Century children -- even girls -- of five and six years old were very often put to work underground in the coal mines? The kids would not do actual mining, of course, but would be employed in things like opening and closing access doors, or feeding the many dray animals that were kept underground and used for pulling ore cars. These dray animals would most often spend their entire lives underground and would only be transported to the surface when too old and unfit to work.

The children who were employed to open and close the big fire doors would spend the entire day in the dark as fuel for lamps was too expensive to waste. Standing in the dark, they had to listen for the sounds of an mule and ore car approaching. Then they would spring into action and open the door just long enough for the load of ore to pass, then close the door again. Our guide told us that the children's big complaint was not that they spent their day in the dark, but that they couldn't easily protect their lunch from the rats that roamed the tunnels.

The guide then proceeded to tell us about the miners and their working conditions. I'm sure most people have a mental image of today's miners working underground using mechanized machinery to gnaw away at the vein of ore surrounded by what they call "country rock," the non ore-bearing rock. Modern miners use front-end loaders to load the ore into ore cars, which are then whisked to the surface using electric vehicles.

That wasn't how it was in the 19th century. First of all, miners did not get paid for merely showing up to work topside. No, miners had to show up at the elevator shaft, take the long ride down to the ore-bearing level, then they had to walk to the coal face and relieve someone else whose shift was ending. Depending the distance, it might take thirty minutes or even longer to reach the coal face, and all the while the miner was not earning a cent.

Once at the coal face the miner probably was not expecting to see a mechanized drill of any sort. No, the miner was expecting to have to drill his own holes or use a pick-axe to remove the ore. At that point I asked the guide how much room they had to work if they didn't have prime conditions. "Well," he said, "a miner working by himself might have only 18 inches of head room at some coal seam locations. "If the miner had as much as three feet of head room he was in clover." Few of us can imagine such hardship just to earn a few dollars.

"Now comes the good part," the guide said. "Miners working these coal seams didn't get paid for just showing up at the coal face and breaking their backs for eight hours. No, they only got paid by the quantity of coal they loaded into an ore car and sent to the surface. Each miner would make his mark on the ore car so the talley-man on the surface would record the tonnage in his production book. Come payday, the miner would receive wages based on his output and nothing more."

But the guide wasn't through. He went on to discuss the topic that is always at the top of everyone's mind: safety and medical concerns. "There was no such thing as sick leave, medical leave, or taking time off if you were sick or hurt. If you got hurt you hoped that your co-workers were willing to take time away from loading coal to rig up a stretcher and help carry you to the surface. They probably lost several hours in the doing, which meant no coal loaded and less money in their pay envelope. If you were too sick to work you still had a lot of walking to do just to get to the elevator.

"Now you're probably wondering what happened if a miner was seriously hurt or even killed," the guide said. "Well, the easy answer is nothing. The company didn't give you a dime when you were injured. If you were killed, your co-workers would most often take up a collection for your family, but that's about it. And people nowadays think they have it hard," he finished.

Our tour to the Welsh coal mine was enough to convince us that my ancestors had certainly been sturdy folks and miraculous survivors. No, they hadn't been coal miners. In fact, they'd been iron workers. On a daily basis they had to deal with the ore similar to what was mined in the Iron Mountain mine that we passed today. Perhaps we should have ventured underground and seen the stuff that provided my ancestors with a living a couple of hundred years ago, but hopefully there will be a next time as we wander this great state of Michigan.

So until then, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations as you travel the length and breadth of this always surprising country of ours. While you're doing that, we'll be sitting here in this soggy camp being pelted by very determined rain.

Day 12 -- Rhinelander, Wisconsin to Iron Mountain, Michigan -- 111 Miles

Today's high point almost didn't happen. While traveling through the state of Wisconsin, I had noticed in the U.S. Atlas that near the town of Rhinelander the mapmakers had noted the words "Logging Museum" in red ink. That would be a cool place to visit, I thought to myself. I mentioned the idea to Concetta and we discussed the possibility of a visit. But we had all but decided against it because the museum complex didn't open until noon, and photos of the museum grounds on the web seemed to focus on the younger folks and what they might find exciting to do there. Additionally, with such a late opening, we wouldn't have much time to spend on the road getting to our next camp even if we only spent an hour at the museum. Decisions decisions.

We talked about the fact that the camp in Rhinelander, called West Bay, was so very pleasant and so reasonably priced that even if we couldn't reach another city and another camp, we could just return to West Bay and ask for our old camp site again. After all, I had already figured out how to level the rig on that particular spot. But by the time we went to bed last night we had made no firm decision.

But this morning put a different face on the situation in my mind. I knew that we had to visit Walmart to do some shopping. I knew we had to purchase gasoline for the rig. I knew we had to walk the trash down to the office and take our checkbook so we could pay our bill. And I knew I wanted to fill the fresh water tank because we were half empty and the water at West Bay was pretty tasty. It occurred to me that once all those chores were done, we would have used up most of the morning and we would be looking at getting a late start anyway.

Once we were through with all the chores, the groceries were stowed and the tank filled, I asked Concetta to feed the Logging Museum's address into the GPS and we'd just go take a quick look before leaving town. I knew it wasn't open, but by then it was after 11:00 a.m. and it wouldn't hurt to take a look at the outside of the museum complex before we moved on.

Well, thanks to the fact that the GPS took us on sort of a wild goose chase before bringing us back to the park entrance where the Logging Museum was located, there was a bit less than 30 minutes left before the 12 noon opening hour. After walking over and taking a look at the grounds, and seeing all the cool equipment displayed outside, I was beginning to warm to the idea of staying. I caught sight of a museum employee and asked him if the museum would be open today since it was a Sunday and he affirmed that they would. Right then I knew what I wanted to do.

When I got back to the rig I suggested to Concetta that we might have a light lunch of fruit and yogurt or something, and then go ahead and visit the museum. She agreed, got out some cheese and homemade cookies to go with the fruit and yogurt. By the time the museum grounds were open we were ready to go.

Now I have to say that since I'm not only a huge fan of vintage tools and other hardware, I have become fairly knowledgeable on just what tools are used in what trades. The first building we entered was the sawmill which was absolutely fascinating, especially the planning machine that could cut for sides of piece of wood simultaneously. The mill machinery was set up to be operated using heavy canvas belts that ran off a 1920s McCormick Derring farm tractor with a power takeoff.

Next we visited the Blacksmith Shop which miraculously held just about every single blacksmith tool I'd ever seen in my life and then some. The building was about the size of a two-car garage and all four walls were just chock full of tools of every description. In addition, much of the floor space was taken up with things like wagon jacks, seed separators, and examples of blacksmith forges. It was heavenly!

The next building we entered, which was even larger than the first, was the logging camp Cookshack. There, every conceivable kitchen tool known to 19th century cooks was thoughtfully displayed. In addition, the museum had arranged a couple of huge dinning tables complete with checkered tablecloths and enameled plates and cups all ready for the loggers to arrive and sit down. I recognized some of the kitchen gear of course, but a lot of the tools were new to me. My favorite was a long-handled pie tong, about three feet long, that had a curved portion at one end and was just perfect for reaching in and hoisting a oven-hot pie from the deep and cavernous oven.

It was at this point that we were fortunate to meet Kerry, the museum docent in charge today. Kerry, I was soon to find out, displays the same burning desire to find and identify every single vintage tool that he can. We met when he drew my attention to a gadget in one corner of the Logger's bunkhouse that he had so far been unable to definitely identify. I gave him my guess, which was a cheese or tobacco cutter, and promised to consult all my tool books when I get home to see if I can come up with a better identification.

We two then spent the next half hour discussing old tools with all the gusto you'd expect of two guys who'd known each for years. I soon realized that Kerry was indeed a kindred spirit when it came to antiques and I hope we're able to stay in contact in the future. Before we parted, Kerry showed us one more tool that he has not identified and neither Concetta nor I had ever seen before in all our travels. I'm excited as it will give me something to research and try and add to my vintage tool knowledge base.

Leaving Kerry to his museum store duties, Concetta and I ventured out into the grounds where we found a narrow gauge engine and cars, as well as a wealth of old logging equipment. Most people don't know that logging took place in winter as well as summer. Logging didn't stop when the snow fell. On the contrary, logs were often easier to move in the snow using teams of draft animals and sleds. The museum grounds sported several examples of heavy duty sleds used just for that purpose.

The narrow gauge equipment sits next to a Soo Line railway station that has been largely restored to house not only a plethora of vintage railway station amenities on the first floor, but a startlingly large and finely crafted model railroad operation in the basement.

I was unable to get very close to the narrow gauge locomotive, but the number 5 was used for hauling logs from area camps to the mills in Rhinelander. It was subsequently exported to Mexico where did work hauling ore for a time before finally being returned to Michigan in the 1980s. The locomotive and tender are currently undergoing a major restoration, which was the reason that I was unable to get close

Thanks to an information sheet gifted to me by Kerry, I know that the Museum is city-owned and operated and receives a budget that draws from room tax monies, among other funds. But the major part of the Museum's operating budget comes from visitors and private donations.

In addition to the exhibits I have detailed herein, there were other exhibits that we simply didn't have time for today. There's a complete one-room school house, a Civilian Conservation Camp (CCC) camp barracks and garage, a Fire barn which stores three of Rhinelanders' earliest fire fighting machines, and Dukes Outboard Motor and Boat Barn. We did in fact briefly check out the outboard and boat barn, but not enough to do it justice.

About 1:30 p.m. we managed to tear ourselves away from the museum, say goodbye to Kerry, and bid farewell to a truly memorable and fascinating place to visit. From the museum we navigated over to Route 8 and headed toward Michigan and our next adventures. Our intended destination for the evening was the River's Bend camp in the state of Michigan near the town of Iron Mountain.

For the most part we just drove this afternoon, though at one point I couldn't resist stopping for a basket of freshly-picked peaches that just seemed to call to me from the side of the road. And that about does it for today. Tomorrow Concetta wants to see Sault Ste Marie at the upper end of Michigan. I'm not sure how far away that is, but perhaps you'll find us there tomorrow. Until then, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and Exciting destinations as you head out on the two-lanes and explore this ever-changing and so ultra friendly land of ours.