ACROSS THE ROOF OF THE COUNTRY
My next stop was White Butte, North Dakota. I had never been to North Dakota, so it was
the only new state for me on the trip.
And White Butte is remote enough it’s just not on the way to anywhere
else. The route there goes up through
the infamous Sturgis, South Dakota. I
wasn’t terribly impressed. Beyond
Sturgis the landscape changes from the Black Hills to farmland and grassland.
I pushed north, alternating between my punk playlists, the
old Ricky Gervais podcasts, and the Craig Johnson audiobook. That was the
general soundtrack for my entire trip. There
was a lot of Lagwagon, Streetlight Manifesto, The Ramones, and various random
non-punk songs blaring from my phone mounted to the dash.
As I approached White
Butte the rise in the land became apparent.
The surrounding grasslands were rolling but mostly flat. There were chalky hillsides jutting out of
the plains, and I knew that had to be my destination. There was very little in
the area except a few seemingly abandoned farmhouses. The road comes in from the north to a nice
little developed trailhead with a professional-looking trail extending away
into a cleft in the chalky dirt pile.
There were some interesting chunks of rock laying around
along the trail, and the hike was pleasant despite the 90° temps and the bright
sun. I shed my t-shirt and went in only
my shorts and my old trail running vest with a water bottle, my keys, and my
cell phone. I thoroughly enjoyed the
hike up the butte to the grassy plateau on top.
About the time I got on top the wind picked up and clouds obscured the
sun, but there was little promise of moisture, and the heat was only eased by
the wind itself. I stayed longer than I
normally would have, just enjoying the solitude and the views. Eventually I started down, and I felt so good
I wanted to run the fine trail. I
refrained. White Butte is the high point
in North Dakota at 3,506’.
After I left White Butte, I knew I had a hard push north and
east to get as close to my next destination: Eagle Mountain. The high point is way up in the northeastern
tip of Minnesota within Boundary Waters Canoe Area, near the North Shore of
Lake Superior and hardly fifty miles from the Canadian Border. What concerned me was the seven mile
out-and-back hike. It didn’t seem to
involve much elevation gain, but the distance and the time it would take felt
like a ding in the itinerary. Or at
least an unknown factor.
I made it to Osage, Minnesota late on Wednesday the 11th,
and after coming up bust at a couple of hotels opted to spend the night in the
Walmart parking lot. I was able to get a
few hours of decent sleep. I got up
around dawn and moved on toward Eagle Mountain.
I was excited to see more of Minnesota, as I had only previously skirted
through the south edge of it in 2020 with dad going to visit Hawkeye Point in
Iowa.
I easily found the trailhead way back in the forest. It’s well-developed and signed, and I quickly
skipped off into the wood with my minimalist rig. Cell service was thin, but the trail was
wide. I saw a few people, but not a lot,
and reached the summit in good time, passing pretty Whale Lake along the way,
and finally coming to a great overlook below the summit with a gorgeous view
off to the south.
I tagged and bagged the summit, not spending too much time
there and returned to the car with an absolutely empty belly. I’d not eaten in a good long while—sometime the day before. Along the Voyageur
Highway I found the Coho Café and Bakery in Tofte. I got one of the best club sandwiches I’ve
ever had and a mind-blowing piece of tiramisu.
It was good fuel for the push on to Timm’s Hill in Wisconsin. Eagle Mountain is the state high point of
Minnesota at 2,230’.
Seeing as there are no interstates in Minnesota, Wisconsin
or the UP of Michigan it was a frantic, slow crawl through pretty farmland to
Timm’s Hill. On the drive between points
my friend Mark from Montana called (the infamous Crash Test Librarian), and we chatted and caught up. He talked to me while I roamed around in the
woods looking for the high point and driving through the public area until I
found the appropriate parking area and wandered up to the observation tower at
the top. I felt like a jerk yammering on
my phone while I hiked—I only saw two people—but I hadn’t really talked to
anyone in days, and it was great to catch up with Mark. It was nearly sunset when I got to the top of
the tower and enjoyed a colorful view high above the trees. Timm’s Hill is the high point of Wisconsin at
1,951’.
I decided I would drive as far as I could once again, hoping to either find a hotel or campground or some suitable place to sleep in the Jeep. The problem was I had moved out of the wide-open West into the more populated Midwest. I eased into Rhinelander after dark, but not too late. I had visited Rhinelander with my grandparents when I was kid on a trip that encircled Lake Michigan. We’ve got some distant relatives there. Nothing looked familiar, but the Comfort Inn looked inviting, so I got a room and slept hard that night. Well, once the motorcyclists got parked and stopped idling outside my window at 11:00pm.
The end of the trip was beginning to materialize far off on
the horizon. That was Thursday the 12th. I had the state high point of Michigan and
then I’d begin the long trek south toward home, picking up Campbell Hill in
Ohio along the way. I hoped to have
enough time to visit a beach along Lake Superior, and truthfully, I had plenty
of time, but once I began the long slide home, I didn’t want to get held up
trying to find places to eat and places to sleep. I was hoping to be home sometime
Saturday.
However, the most challenging leg of the long journey was
ahead of me. I would not have expected
it from the high point of Michigan.
I woke up in Rhinelander on Friday the 13th. When I left the hotel, I put Mt. Arvon in
Google Maps. So far on the trip I had
just plugged in the pre-saved points.
Sometime over the past year I had gone through and plugged in a lot of
state high points for easier reference in case I found myself nearby. I did that with the understanding I should do
additional research on each point before setting out to visit them. Up to that
point I had just been winging it, with no further study of any of my destinations,
and it had worked out beautifully in my favor.
I watched the miles count down. And finally, I was making one of the last
turns mapped by the AI/GPS. There was a
small blue sign on the edge of the paved road as I turned onto gravel. I raced along, gaining elevation, throwing up
a roostertail of dust. And then suddenly
Siri announced, “You have arrived.” I had
not, in fact, arrived. I was next to a
gated road fading off into the woods. I
could see a high ridge off to the south that was much higher than I was and kind
of far away. I kicked out of the track I
had in Google Maps to find the right one only to discover I had zero
cell service. Zilch. Simple, I would
drive back to the paved road and look it up.
Except there was no service at the paved road either. I looked over at the Mt. Arvon sign and it
pointed east along the paved road, not up the gravel road. Stupid old bum eyes.
I headed east and kept checking to see if I had picked up
service and scanning the side of the road for more signs. Soon enough I saw another blue sign and
turned in. Another gravel road. I continued south until I saw another
sign. And some yellow arrow signs. I passed a house there, and then most
definitely moved into a wilder area, crisscrossed with logging roads in a
labyrinth of man-made lines going to and fro.
I went on, following the arrow signs upward winding through
the woods, and hoping for more blue signs for confirmation. I didn’t get that until I was much deeper
into the Huron “Mountains.” After a
steeper section I finally reached a small turnaround that serves as the
trailhead for Mount Arvon. I got out and
hiked the short loop to a viewpoint and then back to the picnic area that
encompasses the highest point. I signed the book, took my photos, and returned
to the Jeep. Surprisingly, I had decent
cell service at the summit. I plugged in
my next destination: Grand Marais Public Beach, and the app plotted a
course. Hallelujah! Mount Arvon is the state high point in Michigan at 1,979'.
Once again, my belly was empty. I’d only eaten some continental eggs at the
hotel, and I’d burned through them a long time before. The app was taking me out to the east and not
back north the way I’d come in, but I figured if that got me to food and gas quicker,
I was all for it. So, I went deeper into
the crevasse and didn’t realize I was going to be touching the void.
I went down and down and down, winding through the logging
roads, never seeming to get any closer to civilization. Every time I got a peek through the trees, I
just saw more trees. It was like
Mirkwood. After an agonizingly long time
my dash dinged, and I looked down. My low
tire light had come on. I drove a little
farther until I found a good spot to stop and got out. I looked at all four
tires, but all four looked okay. I
thought maybe the rough road had rattled the sensor loose. And I knew it was possible I had picked up a
nail or screw or some other piece of junk and had a slow leak. I also knew the best thing to do at that
point was to keep moving until I couldn’t.
I was a long way from any kind of help with no cell service. I had food and water and shelter, but that
would be small comfort if I had to start walking to find help.
On I went, barely slowing and actually speeding up as the
road improved to a smoother gravel surface.
On and on and on I went. Finally,
the gravel changed to pavement. The
pavement passed through recreational areas, but no services appeared. There was no traffic. On and on and on. Finally, I started to get a
little service. Finally, structures
started to appear along the road. I was
coming hot into Marquette.
When I got good service, I put in a gas station. I beelined for the nearest one, hoping for an
air pump. I pulled in with the distinct
feeling of something wrong with the Jeep.
I jumped out only to find the driver's side rear tire was flat. And had been for a little bit. I had apparently driven through the
neighborhood with it flat. A teenage kid
walked up and told me the air machine didn’t work. Then he tried to offer advice like I could
drive two blocks down to another gas station.
Or I could put on my spare. I
thanked him and set about changing the tire.
Once that was accomplished, I plugged in tire repair shops and found one
a mile away. Off I went on my nine-year-old
donut. It had never been put on the
Jeep.
The guy at the first tire center recommended the second as
he was by himself and had a full day booked.
I explained to the guy in the second shop that the guy in the first shop
recommended I check with him and that I was on my way home to Kentucky from a
trip and needed the tire repaired or replaced.
He asked if I could leave it.
When I said I couldn’t he said that was the best he could do. That he was waiting on a 2:00 appointment
that was five minutes late and I could wait around and see if they could work
me in. I asked if there was anyone else he would recommend and he pointed back across the street to the first guy. “Or Walmart,” he added. Fine.
Walmart. It was a mile away, so I
headed there.
They got me right in.
They couldn’t repair the tire.
And because the Jeep is AWD and the tires on it had decent treadwear
they couldn’t sell me just one. I had
anticipated this and accepted it. I hadn’t wanted to buy
a set of tires on the trip, it’s a heck of a terrible souvenir, but I had
little choice. The guys at the Marquette
Walmart tire center got me out in an hour and a half barely, and I was back on
my way. All told I only lost two and a
half or three hours at the most, and I was gunning for Grand Marais Beach. I paused in Munising to eat and got some
pretty great local pizza before running along a little bit further to a nice
public beach about half an hour before sunset.
The water was so clear, and there were all kinds of cool rocks. I took my time and tried to enjoy walking
along the beach and looking at rocks. I
wanted to get in the water—it felt great—but I didn’t want to drive and sleep
wet and sandy that night and there wasn’t a good place to change in the parking
lot. I just waded and watched as the sun
sank.
Climbing into the Jeep I knew I was truly on the final leg
of the trip as I drove away from the greatest Lake. I was determined to drive as far as I
could. It was eleven hours from
home. I knew there was no way I could
drive through the night, and there was really no reason to. I just needed to go as far as I could to cut
down on the driving the next day (Saturday).
I traversed the UP in the dark and marveled at the half-moon reflecting off Lake Michigan as I approached the straits ahead. Once again, the Chaney grandfolk had taken me on a trip to Canada when I was but a wee tyke (okay, maybe 10 or 12 years old, but i was skinny back then) and we crossed Mackinac and then went on to Sault Ste. Marie where we boarded a train that took us three hundred miles north to Hearst where we stayed the night and returned the next day. Mackinac was one of the standout memories of that trip. While it may not have been that on this particular trip, it was stunning lit up over the straits in the clear darkness.
I stayed in the quietest and darkest rest area I’ve ever
seen along I-75 south of Mackinac. I
slept hard and longer than I expected.
But before daylight I was pushing south again. I swung by Campbell Hill, Ohio. Rural Ohio is pretty except for all the
Trump/Vance signs. Campbell Hill is a
weird high point. You drive through a
school parking lot, and then squeeze int between some buildings at what I
believe is a radar array. It was under
construction—which is fitting for the Ohio high point—and I didn’t linger. Campbell Hill is the state high point of Ohio
at 1,549’.
I had just shy of four hours of driving left. I was determined not to stop unless I
absolutely had to. I got gas, and I ate
between Dayton and Cincinnati, and then I set the cruise and drove on. I drove and drove and drove. And then finally I was home. I’d driven 4,450 miles in nine days. I’d visited six new state high points bringing
my total to twenty-three. I’d visited
one new state (North Dakota) bringing my total to forty-four US states visited. And I had summited a new Thirteener and had a
life changing experience.
What I didn’t describe in these trip reports is the soul
searching, and active healing, and auto-therapy I did as I drove, and hiked,
and adventured. I found answers I needed
to find. I found answers I didn’t know I
needed to find. I had some great
revelations. I left some old baggage
behind. I laid some demons to rest. I mapped out new paths. I decided some things that needed to be
decided.
It was the trip of a lifetime. It was the trip I had been trying to take for
a lifetime. It was the trip that I pined
for in good times and bad. That I did it
alone, and that it went so well despite my trials in the mountains of Michigan
is testament to my own capabilities, my own resourcefulness, my own vision and
strength. And I needed to see and feel
those things. I had lost my way along
time ago. I had lost my confidence and
my spark.
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