Manistique, Michigan
August, `80
Well here I am, sitting in a $6. per night camp site--the end of the
line, end of the road, the end of the trip. After I started throwing
things away, I started feeling empty. In retrospect, the same type of
thing occurred on my last bicycle trip. I hope my parents appreciate
the fact that I'm not bicycling the best part of the trip -- the home
stretch. Tomorrow, I will meet them on the north side the Mackinaw Bridge.
Yesterday, when I reached Munising, I called information. I was
looking for an old college roommate of mine. In the early `'70s we
hung out together, and I wanted to pay him a surprise visit if
possible. He was from Manistique, so I thought maybe he was still
there. The operator told me there was a J. Fredrickson phone number
listed, so that was good enough for me. I reconfigured my route and
headed down to Manistique.
When I arrived, I went into a bar on Main Street and inquired into the
whereabouts of Jimmy (Manistique was a small enough town for that kind
of thing). The bartender informed me that he hadn't seen him in a
long time, but his parents lived in town. "Why don't you get in touch
with them," he said. I tried calling, but nobody was home. The guy
sitting at the bar drinking a beer told me he didn't know what Jimmy
was doing now, but three years ago he was working as a corrections
officer in the prison system up in Marquette. Disappointed, I got on
my bicycle and started pedaling east on Highway 2.
Highway 2 was enough to turn a bicycler's hair white, especially when
the bicycler in question knew there were better routes to travel. The
traffic was so bad I had to stop bicycling early. I camped just off
the highway, under some power lines. The next day it was more of the
same. Michigan was a great state, but my opinion concerning the
idiot's driving the highways remains in tact -- Michigan has more than
its share of assholes.
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