to canada and back

EPIC.

Those were the words that John left me with when we decided we needed to renew our tradition of road tripping. We had no clue where we were going to go, do, or see, but we knew it had to be something extraordinary.

To understand the reason for the trip (there was none), you'd have to understand the friendship that John and I have forged. We met in the summer of '05, when we were both working at Springhill Michigan. We were both passed along the extroverted conveyor belt and branded as shy, uninteresting, and rather boring at first glance. As the introverted method prescribes, we laid low for the first couple of days, let the quiet (ha) people sort themselves out, and, in proper fashion, decided we were going to Canada within 2 days of meeting each other.

The first trip took place in the late late summer of 2005. It was more of a run-through of things to come, and we were joined by Chris Jetter. Everything went down in about two days. I met John, asked him to go to Canada through the U.P., and asked Chris all the day before we left. Nothing was planned, and we didn't even have a place to stay in up there until about 2 a.m. on Friday night (quick note: if you travel, don't decide sight seeing is a better alternative to finding a place to sleep.) Being young, adventurous, and, unfortunately oblivious, we drove around Sualt Ste. Marie for 4 hours gazing at the sunset and taking ridiculous pictures before we decided to settle down. Unfortunately for us, every campground in America was full, so we had to hop the border and pray for the best. After getting thoroughly lost, we decided to turn right on the only road we found out of town, and luckily, we found a campground about 10 kilometers outside of town. We drove up to Pancake Bay, jammed on the coast, screwed with a weather rock, scavenged for delicious chips (which didn't exist) and came back. (I also managed to smuggle about 20 peanut butter kit-kats back into the country....unless you're a customs official....) Given that we had about 18 hours to pull it all off, it was a success. The voyage as a whole, however, seemed like one of those first Apollo missions where the astronauts just went up, played with the new rockets, and flew back. Something was missing.

Fast forward three years. John and I were searching for an adventure. The original dream was to travel northwest with no destination, but given the fact that John had the MCAT and I had to move into work, there was no time frame where this would be feasible. Instead, we brainstormed, and within two days of talking we knew we had our adventure: 3 days, 1300 miles, and Lake Superior. Two weeks later I found myself in a car driving to Grand Rapids, and our voyage began.

Having learned the lessons of our prior mistakes, we made it our first priority to find a campground. (the goal was to find a place to sleep every night where we wouldn't get a V.D. I'm still a little worried about the motel in Duluth, but...I think we accomplished our goal) Given the fact that the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (the u.p.) is ripe with camping spots, this came to be an easy task. We found Mitch the Canadian (I'm using an artistic liscence and making up his name) and quickly found a campground.

Now....any epic wouldn't be an epic without a hitch. Ours was my stupidity. In a haste of packing, I made a list, triple checked, and carefully bagged every item that I would need. What I didn't bag was my passport. In a panic, we found some customs agents before we crossed, and once they insured us that we could in fact get back into our own country, we jetted for the border.

Upon crossing, we were fortunate to venture into a surprise. We had to stop off at the checkpoint, and submit our identification. John was worried that the car would be stripped and searched, but my fear vested that I might be stripped and searched. After scoping the area, I found nobody that had a Hannibal-Lector smirk on his face that was donning a white latex glove, so we submitted our I.D.'s and promptly left. After a wonderful Canadian breakfast at McDonnald's, we were out.

The first thing we discovered about the lake were the random mountains. As soon as we crossed into Canada, we were presented with terrain that featured hills, bluffs, and plateaus. In fact, I don't even know if I remember looking at the lake from a viewpoint that was not at least 100 feet in the air. It was breathtaking, to say the least.

After driving for about 3 hours (and after about 2 bags of Red-Vines and Wild-Berry Twizzlers and Purple Gatoraide) we stumbled upon Wa Wa, where we found a street fest. Unfortunately there was nothing there worth buying, but we did manage to find out about Canada Day (evidently Canadians celebrate their independence on July 1st...who knew)

The most beautiful thing about the whole voyage into the wilderness was that of the unexpected. Cell phones don't work in Canada, so we had no way of contacting the outside world. You would see a car about every 10 kilometers, so we were in a remote location to say the least. On top of that, it was about 200 kilometers between towns of any size (most towns had populations of around 1,000 people), and we were left, seemingly on our own, to venture into the wild. The lake itself seemingly never came into view, so when it actually came INTO view, it left you flabbergasted and without words to properly express it. It always came and went, and it always left you yearning for more.

After Wa-Wa came Marathon, which, had it's positives and negatives. We were able to stop and relax, which was remarkable. Unfortunately, even after a 5 kilometer drive on the unpaved road to nowhere, we found that Marathon itself had no power, no bathrooms, and, sadly, no peanut butter kit-kats. (That's all I wanted. ALL I wanted. Now they don't make them anymroe, and I'm crying myself to sleep every night. Awesome.) The power did eventually turn back on, and after a quick stop at the urination station, we were back on our way.

Thunder Bay was next, and it was everything that we dreamed of. A decent sized outpost on the banks of Lake Superior, Thunder Bay provided us with food and entertainment. We were able to stop, sightsee, and venture into the bay (Thunder Bay Bay?). We stopped at a pub and were finally able to grab a decent bite. (unfortunately, that decent bite means that I'm going to need a plummer to snake out my arteries...I don't think I can afford a real angioplasty) Upon learning that it was three more hours until Duluth, we quickly vacated the area, and we were on our way to Minnesota.

The crossing was wildly easier than anticipated, as the customs agent was nice enough to let me back into my country without proper documentation (although we did get a stern lecture, eh?) just like the customs agents in Michigan predicted. Wonderful. After learning that I wouldn't have to be exiled in Canada, we crossed the border, and ventured into the single scariest thing I've ever witnessed.

Grand Marias, Minnesota. Nothing is there. Nothing should be there. It's a quiet, scenic town on Lake Superior. Unfortunately, it also hosts some sort of Pagan festival where inebriated people dressed as deers waltz to music that is reminiscent to something that would be played during a horror movie. We thought it would be fun to stop and watch, we ended up fleeing for our lives (ok, not really, but it's fun to emphasize the drama. I'm writing this, I can do whatever I want).

Finally, exhausted, and without the foresight to plan ahead, campgroundless, we strolled into Duluth, Minnesota, the birthplace of Bob Dylan. We finally settled upon a motel, unpacked our stuff, and stayed the night. Fortunately for us, the motel had a room left. Unfortunately, it only had one king bed. So, the moral? From now on, we plan ahead.

The next morning, we found an amazing hole-in-the-wall restaurant, chowed some breakfast, and went on our way (Angioplasty count: 2). Unfortunately, anything after Duluth is just a haze in my mind. After mile upon mile of unsettled terrain in Wisconsin and the U.P., fatigue set upon us, we became slap-happy, and I forgot everything.

The voyage ended in the same place it started, on the very edge of the U.P. of Michigan, after about 1,350 miles of driving over 2 days and 3 nights. It was Epic, to say the least.