120: tiny cabins, cut river bridge, 2 tourers, a miss, pasties, the robbery, northernmost sleuthing, do or don't enter the water, conspiracy, snowmobile museum, hog island and big knob, finns and saunas, bates decor, woke, early to bed

September 6, 2025

Brevort to Gould City

All along the route yesterday and today, we've been seeing these abandoned tiny cabins. We talked about what they were used for and why they're now empty and derelict. Our guess is that they were almost surely used by hunters, and that everyone now brings their own lodgings: campers and RVs.

It sure seems like a waste because it wouldn't have taken much to maintain them, and all of the cyclists who travel this road (which, by the way, is named US Bicycle Route 10 on google maps) would most certainly appreciate them.

the amount of colors doubled today - here's another peek

Locals call this bridge over the Cut River a "million dollar bridge over a two-bit creek." The path started out okay, but tapered to not quite wide enough to ride across. My handlebars barely fit, but they DID fit.

The views from the center of the bridge were long, and advertised the range of blues and greens of Lake Michigan. I would even call it a "million dollar view."

I can understand why they call it a "two-bit creek.”

Immediately after crossing, we faced this angular dropoff into the woods. Neither one of us felt safe pedaling so, like someone feeling for a flashlight after the lights go out in a storm, we inched the bikes across the moist ground, making sure they were on our RIGHT side so that if we took a misstep it would be the bikes that tumbled down the 45% grade and not us.

Eventually, we came to this section where we could pedal out.

We stopped for breakfast at the Epoufette Bayview Inn, just 6 miles down the road.

The restaurant was warm and welcoming, and after finding the other bikers we sat at the table next to them. A retired married couple, they started in South Dakota and are ending their ride in Petoskey... tomorrow will be their last day.

They seemed a little distant at first, but eventually warmed up. They're doing a lot of camping, and stayed at the Big Knob State Campground last night. Once the server delivered their meals they said a brief prayer, then dug into their food, so our conversation paused for a moment. After finishing their breakfast they weren't interested in lingering to chat any longer - they have a long way to travel today. Fortunately for them, they'll have such a strong tailwind that they won't need to pedal at all.

Lori got the breakfast special: a pasty. I’m sure most of you know about pasties, (pronounced PASS-tees, not PAY-stees) , the folded pastry filled with seasoned meat and vegetables. In the U.P. they're as common as ticks on a dog, and every single person I talk to has a strong opinion about the best place to get them (all different), and why. The only consensus is that if you put ketchup on one then you can no longer claim Michigan as your home state and should be deported immediately to one of the lesser states, such as any other state in the Union.

Pasties are ubiquitous in the U.P., but they originated across the pond among the miners in Cornwall. There they flourished because they were portable, filling, and could be eaten without utensils, the way Real Men eat food, and the thick, crimped crust served as a handle which could then be discarded since miners’ hands might contain traces of arsenic or other contaminants.

However, just like “cornholing,” previously mentioned in this journal, the word pasty has a completely different meaning in the rest of the country. It made me wonder if the scenario has ever come up in which a guy from the U.P. ventured into a store in the South and said something like, “I’m looking for some pasties, a couple for me, two for my wife, and one each for my daughters.... and I think another one for my dog.”

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Northern Michigan has always seemed like a safe place. That belief was challenged this morning when the diner was robbed at gunpoint.

The guy was short, with the coldest, deadest eyes I've ever encountered, skin like old leather, and actual holsters for his two pistols. A cowboy hat, black of course, was perched on his head as he peered down his long nose at everyone. I could see a scar just under his chin.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to... he had two guns. Oddly, he had this fake-looking tin star pinned on his chest.

Lori was across the table and we locked eyes. I gave a slight jerk of my head towards the door and, with only a slight pause, she nodded.

Maybe it was risky, but as he momentarily turned away we slipped out the side door. I was half expecting to hear a gunshot and a sharp pain in my back, but we got lucky, and although I feel bad for the people we left behind I'm just glad to have made it out alive.

I was able to surreptitiously snap a picture of him, and immediately alerted the police. "It's the Armadillo Kid," they told me. "You got lucky."

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As you know, this journal is mainly filled with superlatives: “The World’s First,” “The World’s Biggest,” "The World's Longest, or Shortest," etc. Today, as we pass through Naubinway which, for you etymology nerds, comes from an Ojibwe word meaning "place of echoes," I'll be continuing in that same vein..... we’ll be seeing The World’s Most Northernmost Point of Lake Michigan. Yes, in the entire world, seeing this lake’s northernmost point is in your future.

However, there’s a twist, because I'll also be continuing the same intense investigative journalism you've been seeing for the past six months. In this case, my research has found two places claiming this honor.

In this photo you can see two separate locations claiming to be the northernmost point. This needs further investigation.

Here's a view from the one on the top right of the map. Looks semi-legitimate. Let's see what the other one looks like.

I found the other site and called upon one of my specialized investigative tools of the trade, “vision,” which was quite helpful as I looked at google maps and read this sign. The other tool, an ability to read at a 5th grade level, also came in handy as I found out that the SOUTHERNmost NORTHERNmost point of Lake Michigan is simply a marker stating that "The actual northernmost point is about two miles east of here." Another difficult case solved.

But my investigative spider senses continued to tingle, so I dug deeper. Again, using my vision, I determined that NEITHER of the locations is actually the world's northernmost point of Lake Michigan. I don't know why these people are trying to hoodwink the public, but I suspect it involves a deep conspiracy and billions of dollars. But don't worry - I won't rest until I find out what's going on, or until I see a comfy bed, whichever comes first.

Upon arriving at the southernmost northernmost point, I noticed this sign.... "DO NOT ENTER WATER ! ! !" What's in the water that could electrocute a person?? Giant electric eels? Massive electrical cables?

Or, if you REALLY want to go into the water, I guess it's okay. But you can't sue us because we put up this sign.

Even weirder: the two signs were posted right next to each other. Juxtaposition.... It's always about juxtaposition.

At this point, I wasn't so much tired as I was sleepy. My somnolence was so overpowering that instead of immediately taking off, I sat down and leaned my back against the side of a building, out of the wind, as I let the sun warm me. After closing my eyes for a few minutes (and maybe falling asleep) we took off again.

The Top of the Lake Snowmobile Museum is in Naubinway and I had planned on checking it out, but after concentrating so hard for those thirty seconds to solve the Northernmost Point Mystery, as it's now known worldwide, I was in such a funk, my processing power depleted, that I completely forgot. Had we seen the building it's more likely we'd have stopped, but our detour to the Point routed us around it.

The museum contains more than 185 vintage snowmobiles, including weird prototypes like snow-motorcycles, plywood sleds, and child-sized snow machines. Their website brags that “The Top of the Lake snowmobile Museum was ranked #1 of the top 13 Fantastic Snowmobile Museums in North America,” and the pictures I reviewed made that a credible statement, so I think it would've been worth both the time and the very reasonable $5.00 entrance fee. I'll definitely hit it the next time I pass this way.

Shortly after getting back on the road, I found this bag of electronics on the shoulder.

If you recall from earlier in the journal, the women of Hog's Creek, Ohio, got together and petitioned to have the town's name changed to Bellevue because it sounds more sophisticated. Here in Michigan, they're owning it.

This name might actually be worse than Hog Island.

sunshine, rain, sunshine, rain, sunshine, rain... and sometimes both at the same time.

There was no rain in the forecast today and yet, multiple times, it came down in buckets. Looking at the weather reports has actually become laughable, and I'm starting to wonder if they hire used car salespeople to do the reporting.

"No refund! I told you it's gonna be sunny, and it was, just like I said. I didn't say there wouldn't be rain, just that you'd see the sun at some point today - and you saw it. Yes! A full fifteen minutes of sun so, sorry, pal, you get no refund on your weather forecast. No refund!"

The Upper Peninsula is home to the highest concentration of Finns outside of Europe.

People in the U.P. have their Finnish friends to thank for their beloved saunas. We've seen several places that sell portable saunas like this one.

When I was trying to determine where to stay tonight, I came across the Bates Motel. I was amused by the name, and upon reading the reviews I learned that one of the rooms is themed after the Alfred Hitchcock movie, Psycho, which has a Bates Motel. Fake blood splatters adorn the bathtub, for example.

In the reviews I read that "it smells of dogs and cigarettes," and that "the rooms are pretty nasty," with "no mattress protectors, no blankets, the bedspread had holes." Amused, but considering some of the other places I've stayed, undeterred, I continued reading: "there was only one extension cord hanging from the ceiling between beds," and there were "stains all over the carpet, holes in the walls, a bathroom style lock for the door, and the sink was hanging from wall."

At that point I began wondering if the splatters might be someone's actual blood. Sill, I decided that even the stains aren't a problem, depending on whether they're blood or some other bodily fluid.

My only genuine concern was that this gem might get taken by someone else so, upon reading about it last night, I immediately called to reserve it. My good fortune held, and I was able to lock it in so no one else could snatch it away.

Only one of the rooms has the Psycho theme.

Reviews can be deceiving. It was actually a decent motel.

disappointingly, only the bathroom had the Psycho theme

Honestly, I could go for a bit more blood splattered across the fiberglass, maybe even a peep hole from the office into the bathroom (blockable from this side, of course).

This is more like it, but it was in the restaurant. Unless, of course, that's real blood from a complaining customer.

Considering ours was relatively nice, and not at all like the eviscerating online reviews, I think the owners have been renovating all of the rooms. Lori pointed out an interesting observation, and it made me wonder if it's a rural phenomenon: you can see that the shower has been replaced. They didn't complete the trimming so, with the tape exposed, it doesn't appear to be finished. This is an example of something we commonly see, and I wonder: Is simply being "functional" good enough?

We each ordered a large pizza for dinner. The gentleman in the center with the black shirt ordered a pizza as well, with the comment, “We’ll have black olives, because we're woke.” Thinking it was really funny, he repeated it to the server twice.

I'm not sure why I was so wiped out today. The brief nap before dinner helped, but I still went to bed early.

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Today's ride: 35 miles (56 km)
Total: 3,145 miles (5,061 km)

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Gregory GarceauIn defense of ketchup, and I almost never defend ketchup, that condiment is fine on a pasty. When it comes to pasties, the eastern half of the U.P. might as well be the Lower Peninsula, or Wisconsin, or Alabama. Who are they to say putting ketchup on a pasty is worthy of banishment from Michigan when those folks offer . . . GRAVY?

As you move into the true mining country of the western U.P.--you'll find more authentic Cornish pasties. (Okay, I'm sure you've already discovered that by this time.) Pasty shops there offer ketchup packets for those so inclined, but rarely gravy. If they do offer gravy, it's to please the tourists from the Lower Peninsula--AKA, Trolls or Appleknockers. Of course, a really good pasty is best with neither ketchup nor gravy, but of the two, gravy sucks.

Sorry about this outburst, but I'm passionate about pasties. I wrote about them on my cooking blog. I'm so proud of my pasty post, that I'm going to share it here. https://chefgcooks.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-magnificent-pasty-upper-michigans.html
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3 months ago

Mark BinghamTo Gregory GarceauThat's a very articulate polemic, and coming from Chef G., the winner of multiple international cooking competitions, I don't know how anyone could disagree.
Also: Gravy??? Really?
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3 months ago