Despite being up on the road by 6:45am, US-2 remained asleep for the next couple of hours, and it could have been due to it being a Sunday. For quite some time, my bicycle was the primary, most times sole, contributor to noise along a peaceful and quiet US-2.
Traffic picked up around 10:00am, presumably people (maybe some even weekend warriors) feverishly returning to lives left behind for a weekend, as evidenced by their speedy driving. Sometimes, it can be encouraging to think this while the world whizzes by as you pedal: firstly, motorists miss out on so much compared to a cyclist; secondly, when you're touring the day-to-day doesn't have to be rushed. Of course, occasional and incidental circumstances may dictate otherwise, but the norm of riding one day and into the next doesn't have to be hustle and bustle. If it were, well then there's just that much more that I share with that speedy motorist.
As I pedaled closer and closer to St. Ignace, the shoulder of the road held more and more debris. Approximately half a mile before reaching the reduced one-lane Cut River bridge, I had a flat tire and stopped for the necessary repair. Thinking about having a flat tire before the bridge versus on the bridge made this quick repair a lot easier to bear.
Give or take 67 miles after leaving Blaney Park, I arrived in St. Ignace shortly after 12:00pm. I purchased a Ferry Ticket to Mackinac Island, which also included a ferry ticket from Mackinac Island to Mackinaw City. You see, touring cyclists are not so uncommon on US-2 and the Michigan DOT will drive you across the Mackinac Bridge for a nominal fee: one can't legally ride a bicycle across this bridge, and I doubt could do so unnoticed. Getting across a bridge by vehicle while touring seemed fairly bogus to me, which made the ferry an easy choice. Touring philosophies aside, there was additional motivation of a lighthearted variety for going to Mackinac Island: the exorcism childhood demons!
Our family took a vacation to Mackinac Island years ago, and while I don't recall all of the fine details of that family vacation, I do remember being sick (to the point of vomiting on the ferry), and I also remember a rented bicycle failing me on a family bike ride around the island. Jauntily determined, these childhood demons would be exorcised from Mackinac Island. Before boarding the ferry, a gentleman struck up a conversation with me. He shared that earlier in his life, he also had enjoyed touring all around Michigan (there are many, many places to ride its 56,539 square miles). He shared that parts of my upcoming route would be in some of the most beautiful areas that Michigan has to offer.
When the ferry arrived on the island, I promptly navigated toward the main road in town, which is technically state highway 185. MI-185 is a state trunkline highway that circles Mackinac Island, and is unique in that it is the only state highway in the nation where motor vehicles are banned. Riding around the island was enjoyable, but being cautious was necessary. There were a lot of tourists - not the like of my touring - that were also enjoying a ride around the island. Even though I wasn't riding the moment I heard a woman scream "I can't slow down" while barreling down a hill by bike near the British Landing, simply hearing this was unnerving. From here, I pedaled downtown to a pub for two beers and to a nearby fudge shop before taking in an unexpected event. Apparently, there was a parade today which was the culminating event for the 71st annual Mackinac Island Lilac Festival. This experience conjured up memories of Garrett and I riding into Cashmere, WA where the town was eerily quiet before a parade. Unlike that day in Cashmere, there was nothing quiet about Mackinac Island on this day, and boarding the ferry to the less chaotic down state seemed best.
With two ferry rides down without any nauseous experiences, I was pedaling on to a state park for camping. I tried going to Headlands International Dark Sky Park, but the impression I got was that camping wasn't allowed there, so it was only another eight miles to Wilderness State Park. Not long after beginning to settle into camp, I was subject to an incessant bombardment by mosquitoes. The number of mosquitoes was only somewhat noteworthy, but what distinguished this assault from others was the size of the mosquitoes. Their being colloquially referred to as the state bird of Michigan is nothing short of suitable.
I was treated to a gorgeous, fire-like panoramic sunset on Lake Michigan only steps away from my campsite. This sunset was very apparent from glancing out of the tent, but beholding this view from the beach at Big Stone Bay, all the while sharing it with the aforementioned mosquitoes, was truly the place to be.
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