Fog pervaded most of the day. It closed in the world, obscured Lake Michigan in a wall of white, and at times concealed cars from sight until they were within a hundred feet, and I imagine made me just as invisible to them. I turned on my rear light for some time in hopes to help me be seen. The fog meant little wind and kept it nice and cool, but the blindness bothered me at times. At least Highway 2, which I spent most of the day on (after getting out of the labyrinth around Manistique Lake, and heading down 70 aways), has a very broad shoulder, just as my host of last night had told me. I needed that big of a shoulder to feel comfortable with how much traffic there was. It made me miss the quiet, little (but still nicely paved) country roads of Minesotta.
The fog meant that where there was little to see already, there was even less, any good views of the lake swallowed in mist. For the most part today was spent just biking quick as I could along the extremely flat ground to cover my long 100 miles. There wasn't much or anywhere to stop. I went into what was advertised as the biggest gift shop in the UP, but was told rudely (despite no sign indicating such) that they forbade any pictures, so I walked out, considering it didn't actually have much to see anyways.
I followed much of Gary's advice for the day on where to go, where not to go, and where the good places to rest are. And the advice was generally very sound from what I saw. The beach rest area he told me to stop at in Manistique was my favorite spot of the day, even though it was still very foggy at the time. There were lots of gulls and geese alike, grouped together in patches of their own kind across the beach. And the water at the fountain there couldn't have been any more refreshing.
After that it was back into forest with not but trees and more trees and low visibility. The fog finally cleared at a point where I then got a real view of the water at this bay. There was very little for a long stretch, and by the time I got to Rapid River I was desperate for a restroom. The first gas station I came to was old and shut down. But on the edge of town were two big ones. It was odd, buying food (a couple local made cookies) as I almost always do when I use the restroom somewhere, I got asked if I'd bought any gas by the lady at the register as though she was utterly oblivious to my bike helmet and other obvious signs I'm biking.
I missed the turn for the bay shore road I was directed on to avoid busy divided highway 41 for a stretch...because it was too busy to get across to get to it. But I managed to hit it a little further down, and I was grateful for that advice too. It was a much nicer road and I got some good photos for it too. ...Of course it's at this point that the fog, turned clear skies, turned cloudy, has turned to rain, but at least a light shower...for a time, before it really starts to pick up. Right when there's some things to see finally, like the waterfront park (I still briefly stopped at) in Gladstone.
It was all push along the unpleasant highway 41 after that, through the rapidly intensifying rain. It never became a downpour, but I did still get soaked. It had been so light to start that I didn't bother with gear, then I figured I could make it to the end before I got truly wet...then I was too wet for it to be worth putting on gear. I got off the damned highway, worked my way through town, and came to the main downtown strip where I was headed. I passed right by the place, not knowing what to be looking for. But then I heard my name called out and was directed back to the place, an apartment over a bar (which I would have known had I remembered what the message had said better, or been able to pull it up in the rain).
I could write an entry into itself on my host tonight if only I had the time. He was in the Navy, traveled all over, raised his daughter as an incredible single parent, has worked as a bike shop mechanic, and now as a really talented chef, which his daughter, also living in town, is doing as well. He wants to live the Bohemian life down in Hawaii when he retires and I have no doubt he will. He plays ukulele very well. He bike commutes on his sweet custom built for him touring bike (with badass friction shifters) in this conservative town of Escanaba where few folk do, and will do it with his cat litter box panniers and sometimes even takes his cats out for a ride in a rigged up cat carrier trailer set up. He encouraged his daughter in all her interests and has rock climbed, roller derbied, danced, and just about everything under the sun with her. He even helped her to get herself diver certified as (the youngest?) ever at the time. He's a great guy with a great philosophy on life. We had a good time getting pizza at the local Italian place and a (second, and locally brewed) beer at the pub. Despite some boring stretches of road, the fog, and the rain, especially with my host today, it was a damn good day.
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