Mackinac Day Five

 
August 22, 2025

Beach at the dunes

After breakfast at The Shack we said goodbye to the most idyllic setting of our trip and headed to Silver Lake Sand Dunes in Mears, Michigan.  The dunes consist of 2936 acres, over 1800 of which are public lands. This national park is all sand with scattered patches of wispy grass and a few scrubby trees. We piled onto a large dune buggy and Delphe, our driver, told us the grasses we see sticking out a foot or so above the surface have roots that run twelve feet deep. The small trees also have deep roots that suck the nutrients and moisture from far below the surface.  Dead wood sculptures were plentiful and we learned from Delphe that these are the remains of a fire in the 1800s that took out the many trees that once grew there.  Years of wind, sun, and weather sculpted the charred stumps into interesting shapes and some have been given names.  There’s a Statue of Liberty and a Michigan State replica – or so she told us.  I couldn’t see it myself.

By the shores of Silver Lake the sand is reclaiming territory, taking back a few feet each year. This is not the Silver Lake from the Laura Ingalls Wilder book of the same name.  That one was in the Dakota Territory.  We passed a sign that had been on the beach but is now almost completely buried, only inches of its top showing above the sand. What had once been close to the shoreline and rising high above the ground was now a hundred feet or more inland and almost completely buried.  Delphe pointed to a far distant dune and told us there are up to nine houses completely buried under the surface.  The owner of one house being threatened with complete destruction and burial has received permission from the park authorities (since he is situated in a state park) to sell the sand he removes from his property each year.  He is hoping to recoup some of the hefty expense he incurs trying to save his home from the ever-encroaching sand.

I wanted to ask Delphe where the sand comes from but never managed it.  So I Googled it.  The internet says the massive amounts of sand and quartz were deposited by glaciers that are believed to have once covered Michigan.  After the glaciers melted, strong winds from Lake Michigan blew the accumulated sand from the glacial deposits onto shore which formed towering dunes over thousands of years.  And you know if the internet says it, it must be true.

Delphe took us on a fun ride over the dunes and down a few very steep hills, a sharp curve or two, and up to the beaches along the shoreline.  It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, perfect for what we were doing.

Our next stop was Russ Restaurant in Grand Rapids, Michigan.  The food was down home cooking and delicious, conducive to naps all around on the bus.  Hopefully our driver doesn’t need one.  We passed the mic around on the bus, sharing our favorite things and places on this trip and disussing options for next year’s plans.  Lori, our tour escort, handed out promotional things like key chains, toiletry bags, and mini first aid kits.  She pulled names out for door prizes.  Since I almost never win anything I barely paid attention but then to my surprise and delight I won a stuffed elk that makes a bugling sound when squeezed just right.  This is guaranteed to provide me with hours of fun annoying other people.

A short time later we dropped off Shirl who lives nearby. She left us some of her delicious home-made cookies to pass around later this afternoon.  Paul played his guitar and most of the bus was singing along while we  continued on  southward.  And now nothing remains of this year’s travel except a rest stop or two and a supper stop close to home.

Following the military procession home

As I indicated when I wrote the above paragraph, I thought nothing noteworthy was left to write about.  Turns out that was not true.  In Wooster which is located about half an hour from home we were stopped at a red light when fire trucks and police cars, probably about twenty of them, all with lights flashing, turned onto route 83, the same way we would be going.  About three cars in we saw a hearse and speculation began about its occupant.  Was it a policeman or fireman who drew such honor from law enforcement?   Was someone killed in the line of duty? I went back to Google and found the answer.

On December 1^st, 1950, over seven years before I was born, United States Army 1^st Lt Hott, from Holmesville, Ohio was killed in action in North Korea.  In 2018 fifty-five boxes of remains were turned over by North Korea for identification.  1^st Lt Hott is the one hundredth service member identified and returned home for burial. He was a highly decorated veteran who also fought in WWII.  What stories he could have told us!

We followed the procession all the way to Holmesville were we turned off for the last five miles to home.  What a reminder that we are walking free because of 1st Lt Hott and countless others like him, men from small town america who gave everything so we could.  Thank-you Lt Hott.

Saying our goodbyes and unloading luggage

Mackinac Day Four

August 21, 2025

The horse-drawn wagon was ready to transport us to breakfast at 5:50 this morning.  I told Paul to bring me some toast.  I don’t like breakfast before 9 or 10.  Our rooms at the lodge were actually suites with a kitchenette, a small living room, and I even found a Murphy bed behind what looked like closet doors. I brewed a pot of coffee and enjoyed a hot shower and a few minutes of time alone. I like people, especially the group we hang out with on these bus trips, but at heart I’m an introvert who needs a bit of down time too.  And no food before I’m fully awake and preferably after a cup or two of coffee.

When Paul got back from breakfast he had a toasted bagel, plenty of cream cheese, and fresh pineapple and cantaloupe slices.  He said he didn’t ask for anything except a raw bagel but the kind woman serving breakfast (another sister from the lodge-owner clan) insisted on getting it all ready for me.  These really are the kindest, most serving people we’ve met so far on this trip.  Their furnishings were not the latest or most stylish but immaculately clean.  Their concern for our comfort was far more valuable than designer décor.  I would highly recommend their establishment to anyone.

We stopped in Leland, Michigan, a quaint little fishing village, for lunch.  Many of the old buildings remain but they have been transformed into touristy eateries and shops.  We were behind schedule so Lori, our tour escort, suggested we eat ASAP and hit the road again.  The place was crowded with tourists so finding food quickly would be a challenge.  I saw a young couple seated at a waterfront table, unwrapping their very large sandwiches.  I asked where they bought those and they sent me to a hole-in-the-wall (literally) called The Cheese Shack.  The line was so long we waited a half hour, grabbed our food and ate on the bus. They were mighty delicious though. And the wait was enjoyable. Warm sunshine, beautiful views, and plenty of people to watch.

We stopped at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore Park for a 1.5 mile hike to see the dunes.  Rising over 400 feet into the sky at the edge of Lake Michigan, the white sandy cliffs were a stark contrast to the dark trees bordering them on the land sides.  The trail wound through thick trees, up hills and down, with an occasional glimpse of the water down below.  A few of our group stayed on the bus but most of us trekked through the forest to see what we could see.  I allowed myself half the allotted hour to move toward the goal, leaving enough time for the return trip.  With my uncooperative knees, I wasn’t able to make the whole hike but still enjoyed what I did manage.  I pondered the passage of time and the way it ravages us physically.  A short while ago I would have plowed up and down those hills with plenty of stamina and time to spare.  Now I was forced to pace myself, grit my teeth, and tell my grinding joints to shut up and move.  It really is irritating and I’m going to have to decide how to fix the problem.  As soon as I have time.  And I reminded myself that my troubles are minor compared to so many others.

We pulled into The Shack, a church camp in White Cloud, Michigan around supper time. Unlike any church camp I’ve ever seen, this is a large collection of beautiful log buildings on the banks of a small lake.  State of the art kitchens, well-appointed bedrooms, gazebos, docks, chairs to sit, paths to walk, flowers everywhere, everything geared toward peace and rejuvenation. A delicious hot meal was waiting for us and banana splits were promised before bedtime.  All of us agreed we could stay here for several more days but tomorrow we head toward home.  Tonight though, it’s time for cards and camaraderie.

Mackinac Day Three

 

August 20, 2025

I woke up this morning to beautiful surroundings.  Yesterday’s clouds were breaking up and I glimpsed blue sky peeking through, meeting Lake Huron on the horizon. Mackinaw Island was waking up and I was ready to go exploring.

We had breakfast at the hotel and I managed to spill a full glass of water all over the table.  I confirmed that my reflexes are still pretty good though since I dove out of the way fast enough to avoid getting soaked.  Fun times.

Mackinaw harkens back to a simpler time before motor cars and fast paced living; all transport is either by horse or bicycle.  The houses are beautiful Victorians in varying shades of blues, yellows, greens, and I even saw some lavender. The mad perfusion of color continues with flowers bordering buildings, sidewalks, and roadways.  Hanging baskets on lampposts hold cascading blooms, lush and brilliant, evidence of green thumbs and horticultural knowhow.  Gentle waves lap at the shoreline and sailboats, ferries, and tugs move about offshore among several of the lighthouses visible in the distance.

After breakfast we climbed aboard a horse-drawn carriage pulled by two Percherons, large and docile, and accustomed to their task.  Lucia, our Romanian guide, filled us in on all the local trivia as he handled the huge horses with ease.  He told us that he, like many of the others working on the island, is a student and working only for the summer.  The island has 300 permanent residents with 400 more that are “snowbirds” who leave when the weather turns cold.

The Grand Hotel, he told us, was built in 93 days.  It seemed impossible, seeing the majestic size and intricate detail of the original structure.  Six hundred workmen were hired to get the job done and the paint on the walls was still wet when the first guests arrived.  Years later when an addition was added, doubling the original size, it took two years to complete.  I suspect the first half was done before regulations strangled efficiency.

Lucia drove our carriage past “the island’s deepest darkest secret,” a building he said housed the only vehicles on the island: an ambulance, a fire truck, and a police car. When all the downtown tourist area is shut down in winter, snowmobiles are permitted since they are “on the snow so not technically on the island.”  The motorized vehicle ban was enacted in the late 1800s when a backfiring car caused an incident with a startled horse.  Now it’s simply to maintain the historic charm of the place, which it does very successfully.

We unloaded at the top of the tallest hill and browsed in the conveniently located gift shop.  Our group picture was taken and available for purchase. Yes, I succumbed and bought one.  Paul bought us each a donut and some coffee.  The donut was warm and dripping with icing and totally worth the calories.

A different carriage took us back toward town and Jesse, our new guide, introduced us to his three massive Belgians. There are 600 horses on the island for the summer season but most are flown to the mainland for the winter.  Some years they can be transported across the lake on the ice bridge if the weather is cold enough for long enough. 

Jesse drove us through the church cemetery, Protestants on one side of the narrow road and Catholics on the other.  Further along a picket fence surrounded a military plot where most of the graves are marked with “U.S. Soldier” because their names are unknown.  According to Jesse, many years ago, the wooden crosses bearing each name, became so worn they were illegible. When stone markers were placed it was no longer known who was who, even though their names are recorded in the official records as being interned there.  The flag flies permanently at half-staff to honor the unknown soldiers, one of only three or four military cemeteries in the country permitted to do so.  Jesse told us many more facts, most of them interesting, as we drove past the old fort, now a museum. 

The carriage stopped to unload those of us who chose to walk back to town.  Paul and I decided it would be prudent to combat all the excellent food we’ve been served so we clambered down with a few of the others. We passed an Amish family with their six or seven youngsters and I could see why our area of Ohio holds such fascination for the many tourists.  They really did stand apart in startling contrast to the “world” rushing by on all sides.  Our walk into town was beautiful, the narrow lane taking us down a steep hill surrounded by panoramic lake views, rooftops of house scattered throughout the wooded landscape and a picturesque church tucked in amongst more flowers.

Down below on tourist-filled streets at the water’s edge the many shops were in hectic operation.  Bikes zoomed by, those with battery power ignoring the 25 mph speed limit.  Horses and carriages were everywhere and the pungent odor of horse manure and urine filled our nostrils. Paul and I dodged around the teeming masses streaming here, there and everywhere.  I had a hankering for an ice-cream cone, having just walked half a mile downhill, so at the first opportunity I procured one and it was delicious.  A toddler went by with his father and when he saw me happily licking my rather large cone his eyes lit up and I heard him demanding ice-cream as his parents hustled him down the street and away from me.  Sorry people for complicating your day.

It wasn’t long before Paul and I got separated.  I looked for him for a few minutes and then decided he was fully capable of taking care of himself.  He didn’t answer my phone call, or my text which did irritate me just a little.  As I walked back up the crowded street I saw a sign that said “Hamburgers” and I remembered he had mentioned that is what he wanted for lunch.  I went in and there he was with a few others from the bus.  He asked me why I had not answered his phone calls or texts.  As I recently heard in an old movie, “What we have here is a failure to communicate!”

By mid-afternoon we meandered back to our hotel to meet the rest of our group, then made our way to the dock for our ferry back to the mainland. Unlike our trip to the island yesterday, the lake was calm with nary a wave nor raincloud in sight.  I climbed up top and it was beautiful!   

By late afternoon our bus reached Thunder Bay Resort, a rustic, neat-as-a-pin cluster of buildings far from any signs of civilization.  One of our hosts stepped on the bus to welcome us and told us a bit about the family-owned and operated establishment we were about to enjoy.  She told us about their recent purchase of two robotic lawn mowers they have named Bill and Ted because they are not too smart.  And about the man who had started out with forty acres that gradually grew to over four hundred, now known as the Elk View Preserve.  Sadly he passed away only six months ago but his passion to help rebuild the dwindling Elk herds in North America, and to provide a place for visitors to see them in nature, has continued.

We barely had time to change clothes and freshen up before a horse-drawn wagon pulled up to our doors and collected us for a trip through Elk territory.  Al, the loquacious driver, told us about his beautiful Belgians, Pete and Diesel. He regaled us with jokes, a lot of facts about the preserve, and a few personal anecdotes sprinkled in.  Jeff, our guide, is also a member of the family who owns and runs the place.  

We drove through heavily wooded forest and reached a locked gate, ten feet high, the strong wire and steel posts reminding me of Jurassic Park.  Jeff jumped down and slid the tall gate aside, explaining that it had to be at least ten feet in height because deer can easily jump an eight foot fence.  They are trying to keep the deer OUT and the elk IN. I was hopeful this evening would end better than the movie but as we slowly made our way down a lane bordered on both sides by more of the same heavy duty fencing my imagination did take a few turns and I decided if the water in my bottle started jiggling I was going to run for it.

Jeff explained their breeding processes with the goal of producing the perfect bull with the perfect rack.  They have around forty in their herd and with the annual birth/death ratio that number remains steady.  The current leader of the harem is Thunder Jack.  One of his progeny, named appropriately, Jackson, is projected to be the next leader of the herd. Their management of the elk is limited to preventing inbreeding and culling out the superior specimens to increase the odds of that perfect bull.  Al told us that they do not interfere if an animal is injured during the normal course of elk life, that they let nature take its course. We saw a stand of dead trees and Jeff told us the elk had used them to rub the velvet off their antlers but will never return to a dead tree.  Unfortunately, this rubbing on live trees by the elk will often kill the tree.

After an hour or so of elk watching we arrived at a charming cabin deep in the woods.  Inside was yet another family member waiting to receive us.  Two huge elk heads framed a large stone fireplace and a wreath with twinkly lights lit up the center. More elk heads were on the other walls and seeing them up close was awe-inspiring, their massive size much more evident in close proximity.  We had been warned to stay back from the fences because if they charged we would not be able to move fast enough to escape their reach. The elk racks on the hearth demonstrated again how large these animals are.

More twinkly lights were suspended along the walls and one huge elk-head over the doorway was sporting a dark red scarf around its neck.  Jazz music was coming from somewhere and the incongruity of that genre in this rustic atmosphere struck me as particularly incongruent yet added to the overall appeal.

Tables were prepared for us and we were indulged in yet another five-course meal with wine tasting and all the trimmings.  We were the only guests for the evening and they treated us like royalty. A grapefruit wine and an orange mandarin wine were the featured samples handed out. The names made me leery but both were quite pleasant and mild to the taste.

I stopped off in the restroom and I can honestly say I have never seen anything like it.  I went back to the table for a camera and told the others I need pictures of the bathroom.  They looked at me like I might need intervention but when I showed them the pictures they understood.  Beautiful antiques and Victorian dresses filled every available space in the ladies’ room and primitive snowmen with more beautiful antiques filled the men’s. Yes, I took pictures in the men’s room. No there were no men in there when I did it. Those bathrooms looked nicer than my house.

After we were all filled to capacity we rejoined Al and Jeff for the return ride back to the lodge.  It was dusk, the endless pines stretching in every direction, the gloom beneath them impenetrable without flashlights. I asked if they had ever had any Bigfoot sightings. Without hesitating Al said, “Yes, last Tuesday.”  Everyone laughed but I had an uneasy feeling he might be telling the truth.

Mackinac Island Day Two

 
August 19, 2025

We left our hotel this morning around 8:30.  It was cool, overcast and rainy.  After a short bus ride we pulled onto a single lane highway that led us through pine forests lining the high banks of Lake Michigan. With long straight stretches interrupted by sharp curves and gentle hills it looked like camping paradise.  Or maybe a scene from a Stephen King novel.  Trees slapped the top of the bus and as far as the eye could see there was nothing but pine trees.  My imagination vacillated between idyllic scenes of roasting food over a campfire to wondering when Bigfoot was going to appear from the deep gloom of the pines.

Photo by Carolyn

After awhile we reached Stutsmanville Road.  Since our bus trips all started with the Stutzman Family and their annual vacation adventures, Stutsmanville held some interest to the five original Stutzman cousins still on the bus.  Stutsmanville, we learned, got its name from some settlers of the same name who moved to the area years ago and contributed much to its development.

We found an old church where the original settlers supposedly worshiped.  Pictures were taken and our journey commenced. 

We found our way to Petoskey State Park.  Supposedly there is a walkway to the beach nearby but since the misting rain continued and there was nowhere suitable to park the bus we opted out of that adventure and continued onward to Charlevoix, Michigan. Another roadside area presented us with the opportunity to hike down many steps to see some waterfalls.  Since it was still rainy and the many steps down would also need to be climbed back up my knees and I decided to catch a glimpse of the rushing water through the tops of the trees and call it good.

Charlevoix is a beautiful town situated on an isthmus between Lake Michigan and Lake Charlevoix, and bisected by the Pine River. It has somehow maintained a quaint, inviting atmosphere with many high-end shops interspersed with pubs, bbq’s, candy establishments, and bistros.  With tree-lined streets fronting the riverbank, tables and chairs scattered about in the shade, and the unhurried atmosphere of various and sundry canines leading their humans on leashes, it was altogether pleasant in spite of the persistent cloudiness and mist.

Photo by Carolyn

Paul and I ate with several of our fellow travelers at The Villager Pub.  The fish chowder and BLT I ordered were excellent.  The coffee was served in a clear glass mug and it was pretty much see-through.  Dear friends Anna and Sarah would have loved it since they prefer their Java on the light side.  I found it wanting but in view of all the other perfection around me I didn’t complain.

We crossed the Mackinac Bridge in the early afternoon.  Rising 552 feet, or 55 stories above the straits of Mackinac this engineering marvel spans five miles of waterway where Lakes Michigan and Huron meet.  Also known as the Mighty Mac it’s easy to see why it is world famous.  Our destination, Mackinac Island was visible in the distance, the Grand Hotel sitting like royalty waiting to greet her visitors.

The ferry ride to the Island was rather thrilling the swells providing gasps of exhilaration and  much laughter as we surfed our way to the shoreline of a place still reminiscent of times gone by.  I tried my best to take pictures of the lighthouses en route but the ride was so bumpy I had limited success.  Paul was busy trying not to turn green and he managed to keep his lunch and maintain his cool during the sixteen minute journey.  I think he was pretty thankful it wasn’t longer though.

We are staying at the Bicycle Street Inn for the night. Two friendly ladies holding “Welcome Green Country Tours” signs met us at the dock. We walked to our hotel just a few feet away and our bags were delivered to our rooms a short time later.  Our hosts reminded us to watch for horses and bikes (no vehicles are allowed on the island) and we picked our way around some road apples as well.

Supper was to be at the Grand Hotel and one of our friendly hotel greeters told us it was an eleven minute walk from our current location.  I daresay it would have taken an Olympic sprinter to make it in that amount of time.  At a very brisk pace it was more than twenty minutes and mostly uphill.  Most of us were fine but there were several among our group that should not have been expected to make the trek on foot.  We all survived though, and once inside the incredibly beautiful hotel we found our tables and gratefully sank into our chairs.

The papers we had been given prior to leaving home had warned us that there is a dress code at the Grand Hotel.  Dinner jackets and ties for the men, dresses for the ladies. Paul dug out the suit he had worn only once to our daughter’s wedding fourteen years ago.  Since he lost 25 lbs after his heart attack it still fit – in fact it looked a tad too big.  I, on the other hand, ransacked my closet for a suitable evening dress tolerant of my current state and finally found one that would work in a pinch.  After surveying myself in the only possible choice, as unflattering as it was, I resigned myself to making the best of it and prayed for renewed determination to get in shape as soon as this trip is over.

Our five course dinner was served by a waiter from somewhere overseas, I guessed, from his lovely accent.  He carried loaded trays of food on his head, no hands required.  Calling us women at the table everything from Nice Lady to Mama as he took our orders, he was pleasant, efficient, and gave no indication that he could tell we were all from the country and had no clue which of the four forks, two knives, or four spoons we should use first.

The breads were delicious, as were most of the other dishes, from appetizers, salads, soups, and entrées to finally the beautiful desserts.  And the dishes less palatable made up for it by being interesting and attractive. 

Photo by Carolyn

Before leaving we gathered for our group photo on a set of stairs in the lobby.  The décor was overwhelmingly beautiful and reminded me of the movie Dirty Dancing, except this hotel was much more grand than the one in the movie.  From furnishings to carpets to chandeliers and tiled floors, it was clear that each detail had been carefully thought out and no expense had been spared.  Our tour guide, Lori, told us the cost of a room for the night would be over $900.00. I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink knowing the amount of money I’d be hemorrhaging during the night.

Lori ordered horse drawn carriages for us to return to our own humble-by-comparison hotel but Paul and I opted to walk.  Feeling stuffed from our overindulgence at the table some exercise would not be amiss.  The weather had cleared, the town was picturesque and pleasant, and after all it was downhill the whole way back. As we walked down lamp-lit sidewalks Paul mused about the emptiness of excess and his belief that experiencing it once was interesting but quite sufficient for him.  I had to agree.  The exotic foods and luxurious surroundings were amazing and fun.  But living this way all the time would be like Christmas everyday - nothing special and no good for anyone. Though I suspect some of Paul’s musings might be inspired by his aversion to dressing up in general and to neckties in particular. 

Mackinac Island, Day One

 

August 18, 2025

A beautiful sunrise greeted us this morning, albeit filled with red warnings for sailors, as we started our 2025 bus trip adventure.  The summer is virtually over; schools are starting in two days and my favorite time of year is just ahead.

It’s been a crazy year with unforeseen events shaping our futures in ways we did not anticipate.  In some ways good, in some ways not so much, but in all of it l feel blessed mightily.

Paul had a massive heart attack a month or so after our last bus trip.  We feel so grateful that with the rapid intervention (he was in the hospital for a stress test when it hit) and by the grace of God he had no permanent damage and is doing very well.  Most likely he has more O2 flowing through his system than he had in a long time prior. He’s lost weight and we are both more aware of what we are eating.  I’ve actually gained but I’m more aware.  So there is that. 

And I’m retired.  Everyone seems to think this is a wonderful thing; for me it’s been a mixed bag. I loved my job but am also faced with the reality of aching knees, creaking joints and an aging woman looking back at me from the mirror each morning.  I approached my final day at work with anticipation and dread.  I’m a person who needs a purpose.  Well, Destiny laughed at me and threw me a few curve balls and I find I’m busier than ever.  I thought I’d organize my closets and clean my office and scrapbook my family photos.  So far I haven’t even had time to mop the floors. To be honest I’m not much of a scrapbooking person anyway.  And cleaning has never filled me with passion either.  Inner conflict is a constant though because I like a clean house and neat closets.

We spent the summer in the company of our grandchildren. Gracious neighbors offered their pool up for our enjoyment and we took full advantage. Putt-putting and local water parks, ice-cream cones and card games, golf practices and competitions, hiking in the woods and Sunday breakfasts on the Blackstone after church, these things and more, helped us find joy as we navigated through the chaos of unplanned life events.  The high point was a trip to the Outer Banks, one of our favorite vacation spots these past twenty years or more.  Our grandchildren are now the age their parents were when we first fell in love with Nag’s Head and Kitty Hawk.  Climbing the dunes with them this year took me back to a time when I labored under the illusion that the safety and happiness of my children were within my control. Life has taught me a thing or two since then.

Now it’s a few days away from our responsibilities for Paul and I.  This year we are the smallest group since our first trip with these friends a decade or more ago. There are only about twenty of us, less than half the number on the first trip we took together.  Cancer claimed some, COVID took others.  Mose, Cal, Mary, Chris, Elsie, Rose, Julia, Sharon M, Noah, and Sharon H are no longer here.  Others are dealing with health challenges preventing them from travel. They are all missed and their names come up in conversations along the way as we remember a meal we shared or a joke that was told or a prank that was played.  We are reminded to appreciate every day we are given and to live life with everything we’ve got while we still can.

Our first stop today was in Perrysburg, Ohio.  We ate brunch at a First Watch.  My avocado toast with perfectly over-easy eggs hit the spot.  And the hips too, no doubt. 

Back on the bus we investigated the on-board facilities. This is one of the luxury busses, with reclining seats, incredible leg room, arm rests, charging ports, TVs, and plenty of personal space.  A tour of the toilet area revealed maybe five more inches of room than an average run-of-the-mill bus and an actual curtain for the frosted window.  Why do you need a curtain for a frosted window you ask?  Well, even when the window is supposedly secure and not see-through, it is decidedly disconcerting to arrange oneself on a commode, careening down the highway, without having to worry that a sadistic bus designer put in one-way glass for the amusement of other motorists.  Hence the curtain.  Or at least that’s my theory.

An hour later we stopped in Ann Arbor, Michigan to pick up Shirl.  Shirl’s husband Cal was one of the many casualties of COVID.  I remember him well from our first bus trip, always joking around from the seat behind me, nothing ever dull when he was around. I’m glad Shirl keeps coming along on these trips even though I’m sure it’s not always easy. Things are never dull when she’s around either. She’s managed to keep her upbeat attitude and fun-loving spirit in spite of the heartaches life has doled out.

We traveled on to Mackinaw City, Michigan, arriving at our hotel around 4 pm. When we left Ohio this morning the weather was warm and humid.  We stepped off the bus to grey skies, brisk winds, and cool temperatures.  After grabbing warmer clothes from our suitcases we re-boarded and left to do some strolling and shopping around the town. 

Mackinaw City looks much like any other quaint little tourist town with all the retail outlets usually found in such a place.  It is not altogether unlike our home town of Berlin with fudge and candy shops and stores filled with souvenirs, cheap except for the prices.  What I suspect was once a thriving little traveler’s destination now has “For Rent” signs in more than one window and I wondered if the abandoned buildings were fall-out from COVID or some other economic crisis.

I met Paul coming from the other end of the street with a very small block of fudge he informed me had cost six dollars.  Back on the bus he gave a sliver to everyone who was interested and it vanished like smoke on a windy day.  I’m not a fudge person but it was good, I have to say.

We ate supper at Audie’s Restaurant, a family affair, with a nice buffet ready and waiting for us.  Part of the reason I love bus trips is the lack of waiting in restaurants.  Tables are already set for us with all the arrangements made before our arrival.  The food was good and plentiful and once we were properly stuffed we got back on the bus for a short trip to a local lumberjack show.

We spent an hour being amazed by Dakota and Tommy, the two lumberjacks performing the pseudo competition, during which we, in the stands, hollered, clapped, and screamed ‘TIMBERRRRRR!” repeatedly.  At the end of the show two people from the audience were called up to participate and were then rewarded with a Frisbee and a free ice-cream coupon. 

One of the lucky contestants was seated next to Paul and during her introduction to the crowd we were told she hails from London, Ontario.  When she returned to her seat, Frisbee in hand, her companion sarcastically informed her that she will need to pay tariffs on her loot when she gets back to Canada.  Paul and I found this way more amusing than was warranted, I dare say.  He of course, struck up a conversation with them that lasted more than a few minutes since he is also a Canadian.  Unlike me, Paul is able to strike up a conversation over far less than hailing from the same country.  By the time he got back on the bus he knew where they were from, that they had been on the same river cruise we are hoping to take next year, that they received flack from acquaintances back home for visiting the USA in this political climate, that they didn’t care, that they planned to see the world anyway, and sundry other details about their lives. He said it was the best part of the evening.

When we got back to the hotel, who should we see in the lobby except Paul’s two new friends.  I fled to the snack room and picked up a Klondike bar.

 

 

Colorado 2024 Day Thirteen

Today is a travel day.  We’ve crossed another time zone and are passing through Indiana as I write this.  On our last day of this trip it’s like it always is on the last day.  We’re all looking forward to being home but sad that our adventure is over once again.  This morning on the bus has been filled with storytelling, jokes, reminiscing and surreptitiously passing thank-you cards and collecting tips for our driver and our tour guide.   

One of the stories (actually quite a few) was from Dave. On one of their trips to Europe they were passing through the Frankfort airport.  Since Irene had an injured leg, Dave was taking all the luggage himself.  He had figured out a way to form a train by connecting the suitcases together and he headed up an escalator like a one-man Union Pacific, one arm loaded and the other dragging a trail of luggage behind him.  Following him was Ruthie, a fellow traveler, also loaded down with luggage.  One of Dave’s bags caught on something and catapulted him backward down the escalator.  When he hit Ruthie a chain-reaction started and both of them went head over heels down the still-moving stairs, their bags and suitcases raining down around them.

Dave says “an angel” in the shape of a man came from somewhere and shut off the escalator.  After the dust settled Dave and Ruthie got themselves untangled and, with the rest of their group gathered around, did an assessment to determine the damage.  Other than a rip in Dave’s pants, all seemed ok.  Since they still had quite a day of travel ahead, the correct suitcase was found and Dave hurriedly opened it and retrieved another pair of pants, which Irene had carefully rolled up when she was packing.  When he whipped out the trousers and unfurled them, his extra underwear went flying.  Ignoring them he gathered up the pants and headed for the nearest bathroom to change.  One of his highly-amused and unsympathetic friends called out, “Hey, whose are these?” pointing to the underwear that had sailed out of the bag and across the busy airport waiting area.  Dave ignored the comment and subsequent laughter, left the underwear, gathered his remaining shreds of dignity and disappeared to change his pants.  According to him, he never did pick up the underwear and they may be in a corner of the Frankfort Airport to this day.

While the rest of us have relaxed and enjoyed ourselves Laverne and Martha have been working hard. Driving through places that were not built with buses in mind revealed Lavern’s skills for sure.  Cave of the Winds was especially hair-raising but he did it well. And each evening as we all retired to our hotel rooms or scattered to restaurants for supper, he and Martha stayed behind to clean the bus, restock the water in the coolers, and prepare for the next day.

I listened to the murmur of voices as everyone visited with their neighbors on the bus or moved seats to talk to someone from up the row. Looking out the window, I could see a slight change in the leaves from when we left two weeks ago.  Greens are giving way to golds, oranges, reds, and yellows. Autumn is my favorite time of year in Ohio.   The only complaint most people have about fall is that it’s too short.

Paul has been talking about Wendy’s frostys for the past week and he promised repeatedly that if the bus stops at a Wendy’s he will buy everyone on board a frosty.  This morning he mentioned it yet again saying that the offer expires tonight.  We all laughed. With a big bus to maneuver one cannot just wheel in anywhere for a quick snack.  Martha was passing around the mic and having everyone tell what their highlight of the trip was.  Most of us were done with our turn when suddenly, just forty-five minutes from home, the bus turned right.  Into a Wendy’s.  Everyone burst out laughing.

Paul went in to order and Pearl videoed the poor guy at the counter when he heard that 26 frostys were needed.  The look on his face was priceless and he had to call up the manager from the back but they assured us they could handle it.  The last few were a bit thin but it didn’t dim our merriment any.  It was a great finish to an altogether great time.

After Wendy’s one more thing happened that tied up another loose end that had been plaguing us.  There is always a scavenger hunt paper passed out on these bus trips.  This time though, no one was able to finish although Barb and Pearl had everything checked off but one:  a black and white cat.  In fact in over 4,350 miles, NO ONE on the bus had seen a black and white cat.  Just a few miles from home Martha yelled, “A black and white cat!” and everyone looked to where she was pointing.  Lo and behold, a black and white cat was running through the field to our left, alongside the bus, taunting us all.  More laughing all around and the feeling that there really was nothing more to be seen to make this trip complete.

I have a lot coming up in the next few weeks and I’m ready to get back and get at it.  We have several major transitions taking place in our personal lives and at work we’re entering our busiest time of year.  Our annual Christmas Open House at the store is only a few short weeks away.  And as anyone who has visited Amish country in Ohio knows, October is crazy.  Some lodging places have bookings a year in advance.  Festivals and homecomings are everywhere.  And the scenery explodes with color, showing off its finery for all the tourists and locals alike.

Yes, I’m ready to be home.

Colorado 2024 Day Twelve

Our last full day on this trip!

A beautiful sunrise greeted us as we drove toward home. Our phones moved forward one hour as we traveled east, leaving Nevada and entering Iowa.  The landscape didn’t change, still flat with farmland full of corn and wheat.  If I were a farmer I am sure I would appreciate the miles and miles of prairies because it would be much less hassle than the farmers back home face with the rolling hills and steep inclines.  But the sameness gets to me.  I like the forests, the lush green grass, the streams, mountains, hills, and complications of Appalachia.

We drove to Kalona Iowa, taking only two quick restroom breaks, before stopping for lunch. At one of those breaks we met someone Paul had visited with at our hotel this morning.  He had just bought a classic Trans Am and was driving it to his home in NY. I heard someone say, “Are you following me?” and I recognized the heavily tattooed, pony-tailed man immediately.  Laughing and a few words were exchanged between him and some of those who had spoken with him this morning.

We stopped for lunch in Kalona whereaA local Amish family served us the best meal we’ve had since we left home.  Meatloaf, ham, mashed potatoes, real ones.  Thick slices of fresh baked bread with strawberry jam. Peas that I think might have come from their garden. Salad with vine-ripened tomatoes. Tapioca pudding.  And home-made pie for dessert.  It was a challenge to control my intake but I was moderately successful.

After lunch we had a tour through the local Amish community with our host acting as our step-on guide.  It looked much like all the other Amish settlements we’ve been through, the only difference being that they have a lot of goat farms rather than cows.  Neat-as-a-pin farms dotted the flat landscape and our guide explained how goat farming works.  Since milkers have four suction cups and goats have two teats they can be milked two at a time on one milker.  He explained a few other things but I was so full of lunch and drowsy that I didn’t hear it all. I admit, somewhat ashamed, that I fell asleep.

For our first rest stop after leaving the Kalona area we spent an hour or so at the “World’s Largest Truck Stop.”  It was unlike any I’d ever seen with a food court and multiple chain options along with a full sit-down restaurant.  Their food court had a Wendy’s which thrilled Paul since he’s been craving a frosty for days.  A sign at the bottom of a large stairway told the truckers there were showers, a theater, a barber, a dentist, a public laundry and a chiropractor.

The Iowa 80 Truck Stop claims to serve 5000 customers each day and that it has never been closed since it opened its doors in the 1960s.  I don’t believe they were exaggerating with these claims.  The place was crazy busy.  Paul got his frosty and bought me one as well.

We got to our hotel around 6:30 and after supper on our own, seven of us actually played cards.  And laughed til we cried.  I won by the way.