122: light and sound, a new experience, auburn pines, seney stretch, the interview, wetmore, squeezed by time, self-discipline, the bermuda, wooden lighthouse, smuggler's cove, kaleidoscope, our other option, ennui

September 8, 2025

Seney to Munising

We set the alarm for 6:00 in order to be ready to leave at 6:30, but I woke up at 5:15. If you've read this far in my journal you already know how I feel about mornings, and how things like "light" and "sound," however minimal, are grossly intrusive.

Consequently, we easily managed to keep our scheduled departure. Again, it was windy, in our faces, and cool, with a wind chill factor of 43F/6.1C.

Lori and I staring, amazed, at this phenomenon called "sunrise," an entirely new experience for both of us.

Lori is sound asleep in this picture. I don't remember taking the picture, so it's pretty likely I must've been asleep as well.

The trees haven't been spray painted, nor are they some weird variation of pine. The morning sunlight, just as it starts peering over the horizon, gives them this deep red color.

This morning we're on a section which has been locally dubbed as "The Seney Stretch." It's called "the most boring road in the state" because it consists of a laser-straight shot through a large swamp and a wildlife refuge. I had read about it, and was looking forward to it about as much as plunging a clogged toilet, until I found out how long it is: 25 miles. At that point I laughed out loud.

Twenty five miles?? You may recall that I was raised in Texas, where 25 miles is, in many locations, the distance to your closest neighbor. When I worked in West Texas, the closest McDonald's restaurant, the number of which are approaching infinite, was an hour and a half away.... a straight shot of seventy five miles to a town large enough for fast food, with not much in between other than tumbleweeds, cotton fields, rattlesnakes, and dust.

Twenty five miles? That's adorable.

People who drive logging trucks are the biggest menace on the road, clearly unfettered by a conscience.

In general, truckers are the most courteous drivers, always swinging wide left when passing. Logging truck drivers, on the other hand, won't ease over six inches even if there's no oncoming traffic.

The reason? Because the head-injured morons who drive these trucks have had their conscience surgically excised and replaced with a finely balanced combination of seething anger, white-hot hatred of everything that isn’t in their interest, and a pathological disdain for all of humanity. I’m convinced there's a special interviewing process to become a driver, and can picture the scenario:

"Sure, buddy, you got a CDL so you can drive a truck, but do you got what it takes to drive a logging truck?"
"I got me a Class C felony. Did 8 years upstate. Ag assault."
"Pffffft. Son, ever one of our guys gots a felony. That's entry level shit. I wanna know: you got what it takes to drive one of our loggin' trucks? Cuz you look a little sissy to me."
"Hey, fuck you, man!"
"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd wanna do."
[applicant comes over the table swinging his fists]
"Whoa! Back off friend! You're hired! You're exactly the kinda guy we want. [soft chuckle] Save it for the bikers. Now, there's just one final test...."
[At this point the interviewer leads the applicant into a small, darkly lit room where he finds a blindfolded bicyclist tied to a chair in the corner. On a table in the opposite corner there's a scalpel, a hammer, and pistol.]

This is what happens when one of those logging trucks passes within a few inches of you.

We stopped several times to eat a snack on the way to Munising, pushing ourselves, but wanting to make sure we replaced the calories we were burning. I had set an alarm for 10:00, the time they open, to remind me to call about our upcoming tour.

The website stated that there were two options: 11:00 to 2:00 and 3:00 to 6:00. However, when I called at 10:00 sharp to reserve the 3:00 slot I was told that they're now only doing one a day, at 1:00 - they just haven't yet updated the website.

I explained that we're on bicycles and asked if it would be okay if we're a few minutes late, but got a hard no, even before I finished my sentence.

Now, all of a sudden, I felt time squeezing us. We needed to get to Munising in time to eat something and make it to our boat, but we were still 11 miles away. The urgency began growing inside.... until I realized that we didn't leave at 10:00 like we normally do, we left at 6:00. Eleven miles? We'll be there shortly after 11:00. It felt weirdly uncharacteristic having so much time left in the day after riding this far.

Once in town, we stopped at The Driftwood Deli and had a leisurely lunch, then rode to our tour boat.

As I mentioned yesterday, my research said neither tour company was wonderful. What I learned is that renting a pontoon boat is much, much better. I found that to be true. It's more expensive, but well worth the extra cost because you can go wherever you want, stop at any point along the way, and for as long as you want. Consequently, this afternoon was one of the highlights of my entire trip, and that's saying something.

It was difficult limiting the number of pictures I'm posting here, requiring an amount of self discipline not seen in me since that time in 1998 when I declined to order dessert. I could've put up three or four times as many because the scenery was just so spectacular.

The boat rental agency asked me to take a picture of the propeller for “documentation purposes.” “It’s for your protection,” he said, “because I could send you out with a bent propellor, then claim it was okay when you left.” Translation: “There are so many idiots who do stupid stuff and end up bending a propellor that we want documentation to show it was okay when you left.”

Our first stop was just off Grand Island in hopes of seeing The Bermuda, a shipwrecked schooner that went down in Murray Bay in 1870. However, today, in this part of the lake, the water wasn't quite clear enough for us to see it.

We couldn't remember what this said and tried to interpret it later: "The [something] Underwater Preserve appreciates a 20 minute window for the glass bottom boat [to view the?] shipwreck at the above times."

Lake Superior is my 4th Great Lake on this trip, and aptly named. It is the most superior.

Lori took this video of us backing out of what I think is called "Smuggler's Cove."

The water is actually this color of green. Depending on where you are you'll see shades of green or shades of blue. In most areas you can see the bottom even in semi-deep water.

The cliffs displayed a kaleidoscope of colors, each more enchanting than the last. Viewing a section I would think, “How can they be that color?” Then, the next section would be painted with completely different hues.

I know in my brain that it's science, and geography, but the rest of me asks: "....How....???"

It looks like a piece of stone sheared off and fell into the water....

....or that there's some kind of optical illusion in which you can see through the cliff wall.

Lake Superior, the largest of the Great Lakes, is also the largest freshwater lake in the world (measured by surface area). Additionally, it contains about 10% of the world's fresh water.... TEN PERCENT.

Pictured Rocks was the first officially designated National Lakeshore in the United States.

There's several tons worth of reasons not to go under any of the arches.

This rock formation is called Chapel Rock. It’s especially famous because of the lone white pine tree growing on top.

Note the roots stretching across to the mainland. The roots are where it was once connected by an arch to the mainland (thus the name "chapel"). The arch collapsed in the 1940s, but the roots held fast. As a result of the collapse, the tree is now isolated, perched on its pedestal of sandstone.

We continue to get pictures and texts from Heather and Damien telling how much fun they'e having so I sent this photo to them with the caption: "I’m not sure it’s a good idea for y’all to be having so much fun. Lori had an episode of severe ennui when she saw your pictures. Look at how sad she is."

Three glorious, relaxing, scenic, perfect hours, and absolutely worth every penny of the cost. The only problem is that now I really want to bring Heather here sometime to share it with her.

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Today's ride: 40 miles (64 km)
Total: 3,215 miles (5,174 km)

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