Split Rock
Dropping down from Ely to the North Shore, I headed for Split Rock Lighthouse. Ah, Split Rock! Its beauty arouses the spirits of artists and photographers. I hadn't been there before and was looking forward to it. This summer holiday weekend it was full of tourists from everywhere, the ticket sellers were completely dysfunctional, the 20-minute introductory movie had lousy production values, and the lighthouse itself was, frankly, pretty rinky-dink. Run by the State Historical Society, I give it high marks for preservation, barely passing for operations.
Northward on highway 61, I found a private campground and rented their last campsite for three times what I'd paid in Ely, with their enthusiastic assurance that it was "the last available campsite on the whole North Shore!" Sheesh. With planning, I could have avoided these holiday crowds, but then, planning is what this adventure is NOT about.
Grand Marais
Next day I finally made it to the sanity of Grand Marais. What a gem! Located on a natural harbor on Lake Superior, the town's distance from the Twin Cities keeps out the riffraff and their bratty kids--you have to know about Grand Marais, be willing to drive the distance, and then spend some time there. It's small enough that it's charming and easy to walk around, but large enough to have the desired amenities. For example, The Angry Trout restaurant (Recommended) serving freshly-caught fish with delicious accompaniments and an attractive presentation, indoors or out on the deck, around $20. At the more plebeian Blue Water restaurant, you can get a huge filet of fried, home-battered walleye for $10 while looking out at the harbor from the second-floor windows. Then there's Sven and Ole's, which I enjoyed more for the atmosphere than the pizza. I stayed at the huge, modern, well-run Municipal Campground (Recommended).
The Stalled-Engine Incident
Having packed up the RV and pulled out of the campsite, I got all of 100 feet across the campground before the engine sputtered, died, and refused to start. While I glumly stared under the hood, a campground employee came over to commiserate. In a nice episode of male bonding, we examined the facts and agreed it (a) was fuel related, (b) wasn't flooded, so likely to be (c) the fuel pump or (d) a clogged gas line. This being Sunday, I decided to stay another night at the campground (which had the advantage that I could sample more restaurants), This wonderful person (who moved here from Minneapolis thirty years ago and teaches high school science the rest of the year) chained me to the campground pickup and towed me over to an empty campsite, then pushed me back into it while I steered. Gosh, the residents up here are good people!
For the rest of the morning I watched a parade of end-of-the-holiday-weekend campers departing the campground in their dinosaurs — humongous RVs, bigger and more powerful than Greyhound buses, with very upscale features. For example, I watched one stop, and with a soft hiss of air the door opened, and steps automatically descended to the ground, so the wife could drop some trash in the Dumpster. But driving a dinosaur wasn't enough — most pulled their full-size SUV behind. Talk about a carbon footprint! Talk about the increasing gap between the haves and have-nots.
Monday morning I called a tow truck to haul my Ford RV over to the Chevy dealer (the only car dealer, and largest garage in town), where they kindly took me in, diagnosed a faulty fuel pump, locally found a suitable replacement, installed it, and sent me on my way, all in the same afternoon. Of course, it cost upwards of three hundred dollars, but man, the feeling of relief was worth it.
Naniboujou
Leaving Grand Marais the next morning, I headed to Naniboujou Lodge for lunch. I had long heard about it, read about it in newspaper and magazine articles, and was fascinated with the lurid history of its magnificent wooden structure, way up there on the Gunflint Trail. Heck, I'd never even been on the Gunflint Trail before, so it was time. I gassed up the RV and with great expectations headed up the Trail. Wide and smooth at first, after a few miles it became a narrow old blacktop road with bumps and cracks. Ten miles went by. Twenty. I began to wonder how far up the Trail the lodge was. Of course, I could have looked it up before I left, but isn't it more fun this way? Twenty five, thirty miles. It was odd, I thought, that the lodge wasn't mentioned on any of the signposts. I pulled off the road and walked into an establishment. The jolly fellow behind the desk laughed and told me, "You're on the wrong road! It's on highway 61." Driving back downhill, I wanted to believe him, yet the thought nagged me that the Naniboujou could be just a few miles higher, and he was sending me on a wild goose chase.
An hour later I pulled off highway 61 into Naniboujou's parking lot. The structure was a lot less magnificent than I'd expected, and its location on the shore of Lake Superior baffled me. But the dining room was open and its ceiling was decorated more garishly than any sane person could imagine. The food was wonderful — the French onion soup was luscious, even the side salad was exceptional — the atmosphere just right, and the price not as much as you might fear (lunch under $15). (Recommended)
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Clock
When I bought the RV, it came with a clock on the wall, which I rather liked. Cheap, battery-operated, kept good time, a convenience. Then one night, in the quiet of a campground, falling asleep, I became aware that the clock ticked so loudly that it dominated everything — it ruined the camping experience with its loud TICK, TICK, TICK... I couldn't fall asleep. Enraged, I arose in the dark, ripped the clock off the wall, felt around in its innards and pulled its battery out. Ahhh... blissful silence, and sleep. (Eliminating ugly man-made sounds is quite satisfying, actually.)
The Three-Way Continental Divide
At a rest stop I read this thoughtful inscription:
A drop of water falling here in the Giants Range, a rare three-way continental divide, may flow north into icy Hudson Bay, east into the Atlantic Ocean, or south into the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
From the north slope of these very old granite ridges, streams flow into the Red River of the North, through Lake Winnipeg, and into Hudson Bay in northern Canada.
Creeks and rivers on the south slope flow into the St. Louis River, enter Lake Superior at Duluth, and eventually reach the north Atlantic through the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence River.
On a western spur of the Giants Range the great watershed of the immense Mississippi River system gathers the flow from a maze of streams and swamps as the legendary river begins its winding course from Lake Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico, more than 2500 miles away.
Lying as it does near the center of the North American Continent, Minnesota marks the transition between eastern woodlands and westgern prairies and between northern coniferous forests and rich grain-growing lands of the mid-nation. It is a land of dramatic differences, tied to the world through three great waterways that originate in these rocks and streams.
A drop of water falling here in the Giants Range, a rare three-way continental divide, may flow north into icy Hudson Bay, east into the Atlantic Ocean, or south into the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
From the north slope of these very old granite ridges, streams flow into the Red River of the North, through Lake Winnipeg, and into Hudson Bay in northern Canada.
Creeks and rivers on the south slope flow into the St. Louis River, enter Lake Superior at Duluth, and eventually reach the north Atlantic through the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence River.
On a western spur of the Giants Range the great watershed of the immense Mississippi River system gathers the flow from a maze of streams and swamps as the legendary river begins its winding course from Lake Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico, more than 2500 miles away.
Lying as it does near the center of the North American Continent, Minnesota marks the transition between eastern woodlands and westgern prairies and between northern coniferous forests and rich grain-growing lands of the mid-nation. It is a land of dramatic differences, tied to the world through three great waterways that originate in these rocks and streams.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Hello? Hello?
Hey, out there! Is anyone reading this blog? No Comments, so I guess not. Unless I see some Comments, I'll assume nobody's reading, and I'll quit writing.
How to leave a Comment: At the bottom of each post is the line "Posted by Meadowlark..." Click on the word comments at the end of that line. Then you'll need to log in, using your Google user name and password. (And if all this is too much, just send me an email.) Thanks.
How to leave a Comment: At the bottom of each post is the line "Posted by Meadowlark..." Click on the word comments at the end of that line. Then you'll need to log in, using your Google user name and password. (And if all this is too much, just send me an email.) Thanks.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Where's my....?
Frustration built these first days on the road because I couldn't find anything. To understand the situation, consider my method of packing. It was actually part of my method of vacating the apartment, which involved triage of my supplies and possessions into boxes for (a) the Dumpster, (b) the local thrift shop, (c) giving away, (d) storage, or (e) taking along in the RV. So the stuff for the RV got thrown into boxes without any organization whatever, and looking for something I needed meant searching through all the boxes in the RV until I found it, assuming I could find it among all the other stuff. But, I assured myself, things will eventually get sorted out. It's wholistic. It's all an organic part of the Adventure. It thumbs its nose at the tight-sphincter rules at the apartment complex Ive escaped from.
Here's an example. The first day out, I couldn't find a belt. Now, a belt in an important item — without it, my pants wouldn't stay up. I tried grabbing the waist at the side and hoisting it, but that proved uncomfortable, not to mention it must have looked weird. Then I found a better approach, in which I placed the back of one hand in the small of my back, as if I were trying to look suave. That worked better, but even that was too much, so I took a length of nylon camping cord and used that as a makeshift belt... worked fine! A few days later I found a belt and the crisis was over, but it wasn't until two weeks into the trip that I discovered the other belts I'd brought.
Here's an example. The first day out, I couldn't find a belt. Now, a belt in an important item — without it, my pants wouldn't stay up. I tried grabbing the waist at the side and hoisting it, but that proved uncomfortable, not to mention it must have looked weird. Then I found a better approach, in which I placed the back of one hand in the small of my back, as if I were trying to look suave. That worked better, but even that was too much, so I took a length of nylon camping cord and used that as a makeshift belt... worked fine! A few days later I found a belt and the crisis was over, but it wasn't until two weeks into the trip that I discovered the other belts I'd brought.
The Adventure Has Begun
Lift Off!
Saturday was crazy, moving my furniture out of the apartment into the neighbor's, loading the last stuff into the RV, cleaning my apartment, returning the keys, then, finally, in the afternoon, getting in the RV with Menominee and leaving the apartment complex for the last time. We had met our deadline — Saturday, June 30, the last day of the month, the last day to be out of the apartment.
A couple of errands and we were on the road! Drove aimlessly on back roads, generally northward, to get out of the city heat. Crossed the Mississippi at Anoka, made it to Cambridge by early evening, and decided to stop there. A kindly manager at Cub Foods gave permission to stay overnight in parking lot. Whew! Time to start decompressing!
Next day, it was still hot and humid as we drove northward. By the time we got to Jay Cook State Park, just short of Duluth, it had cooled off, so we spent the night there. Gosh, it got cold! In the middle of the night I had to find a warm blanket and huddled under it the rest of the night. It occurs to me that the coldest July 4th in the continental U.S. just might be in Duluth.
Continuing northward, Hibbing beckoned, so we slanted over in that direction. By the time we got there, I was really hungry for lunch, so we stopped at the Hibbing Visitor's Center. There, a nice little white-haired lady was generally cheerful as she resisted my attempts to extract a recommendation of a restaurant for lunch, directions to it, and the location of a Caribou Coffee shop. But we finally found Zimmie's and had a delicious lunch there. (Recommended.) Turned out that Caribou Coffee was on the highway outside town near the new Lowe's and Walmart, a spot the Visitor's Bureau lady probably had never visitied. Bought dessert and got the first free Wi-Fi Hotspot of the adventure! Whoo hoo!
Potica
In Hibbing they make potica. It has nothing to do with politics or poetry, and is pronounced po-TEE-sah. It's a "traditional European-style sweet bread," deliciously sweet and tasty, and I enjoyed it for breakfast and dessert. You can walk into a Hibbing grocery and find potica in the freezer, $9.95 for a pound, made by Sunrise Bakery. In the Twin Cities, you might be able to find it at a specialty shop.
Ely
We had had no difficulty leaving any of the places we stayed until we got to Ely, which turned out to be so nice that we spent three nights there. Clean, dry air, nice temperatures, low humidity, pines all around... ahhh! Many of the people there looked outdoorsy, tanned, fit, relaxed, happy. The high point was an Independence Day parade through town, featuring the town fire engine and a squad of Girl Scouts portaging canoes. The International Wolf Center was interesting too. Returned again and again to the Front Porch Coffee Shop and Internet Cafe (Recommended) for free Wi-Fi (with a purchase). Stayed in Fall Lake campground (Recommended) in the National Forest a few miles east of town, where Menominee loved to go outdoors on her leash and explore the campsite. It was here, in campsite 40, that she stalked and chased her first National Forest brown squirrel. A scooter would have been wonderful here, riding the few miles from the campground to Ely.
Saturday was crazy, moving my furniture out of the apartment into the neighbor's, loading the last stuff into the RV, cleaning my apartment, returning the keys, then, finally, in the afternoon, getting in the RV with Menominee and leaving the apartment complex for the last time. We had met our deadline — Saturday, June 30, the last day of the month, the last day to be out of the apartment.
A couple of errands and we were on the road! Drove aimlessly on back roads, generally northward, to get out of the city heat. Crossed the Mississippi at Anoka, made it to Cambridge by early evening, and decided to stop there. A kindly manager at Cub Foods gave permission to stay overnight in parking lot. Whew! Time to start decompressing!
Next day, it was still hot and humid as we drove northward. By the time we got to Jay Cook State Park, just short of Duluth, it had cooled off, so we spent the night there. Gosh, it got cold! In the middle of the night I had to find a warm blanket and huddled under it the rest of the night. It occurs to me that the coldest July 4th in the continental U.S. just might be in Duluth.
Continuing northward, Hibbing beckoned, so we slanted over in that direction. By the time we got there, I was really hungry for lunch, so we stopped at the Hibbing Visitor's Center. There, a nice little white-haired lady was generally cheerful as she resisted my attempts to extract a recommendation of a restaurant for lunch, directions to it, and the location of a Caribou Coffee shop. But we finally found Zimmie's and had a delicious lunch there. (Recommended.) Turned out that Caribou Coffee was on the highway outside town near the new Lowe's and Walmart, a spot the Visitor's Bureau lady probably had never visitied. Bought dessert and got the first free Wi-Fi Hotspot of the adventure! Whoo hoo!
Potica
In Hibbing they make potica. It has nothing to do with politics or poetry, and is pronounced po-TEE-sah. It's a "traditional European-style sweet bread," deliciously sweet and tasty, and I enjoyed it for breakfast and dessert. You can walk into a Hibbing grocery and find potica in the freezer, $9.95 for a pound, made by Sunrise Bakery. In the Twin Cities, you might be able to find it at a specialty shop.
Ely
We had had no difficulty leaving any of the places we stayed until we got to Ely, which turned out to be so nice that we spent three nights there. Clean, dry air, nice temperatures, low humidity, pines all around... ahhh! Many of the people there looked outdoorsy, tanned, fit, relaxed, happy. The high point was an Independence Day parade through town, featuring the town fire engine and a squad of Girl Scouts portaging canoes. The International Wolf Center was interesting too. Returned again and again to the Front Porch Coffee Shop and Internet Cafe (Recommended) for free Wi-Fi (with a purchase). Stayed in Fall Lake campground (Recommended) in the National Forest a few miles east of town, where Menominee loved to go outdoors on her leash and explore the campsite. It was here, in campsite 40, that she stalked and chased her first National Forest brown squirrel. A scooter would have been wonderful here, riding the few miles from the campground to Ely.
Rustling
One afternoon, as I walked up to my RV parked on the street, I heard an odd noise coming from it — a brief rustling sound. Curious, I walked around the RV, listening. As I came round the back to the passenger side, I heard it again. I opened an access panel for the fridge and found a lot of dry leaves. Hmmm. Some kind of nest? I cleaned the leaves out and climbed the ladder up to the roof to check the roof vent. The rustler had chewed a hole through the plastic big enough to enter! So I went to the hardware store for some steel mesh and screwed that over the whole vent. Let's see the rustler chew through that! (Makes me glad I have a really good squirrel hunter along with me.)
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