Pre Trip Mileage
Bike ready for departure
Fear is a powerful emotion. Perhaps one of our most firmly engrained and hardest to shake. In our days as hunters and gatherers there were plenty or real threats. Civilazation has eliminated most of these and now much of our fear is lying dormant and unused. Waiting for something unusual to attach itself too. I am afraid of aliens. Dark, black, vicisous, Sigourney Weaver aliens with acid for blood.
To say that the first day of the trip was characterized by fear and my first night camping alone would be to discount the day up to the point in which the sun was about a fists height above the horizon so i'll start at the beginning and get to that.
My intent was to be on the road by 8am. The need to drop something off at work Wednesday morning delays my departure untill after 9. My eager optomism remains. With only an immediate fuel stop and a brief break at a rest area the 160 miles to Duluth comes quickly and pleasantly. The bike still exhibits the grindy mechanical unusuallness at launch unless i give her a few berries and slip the clutch a bit but i'm choosing to ignore that for now. Otherwise she purrs like a kitten and rockets me to the north without complaint. Headgasket and all.
Here we are on Brighton beach just north of Duluth where i had a quick picnic lunch.
A quick detour off of HWY 61 takes me up to Palisade Head which is one of the more spectacular stops on the North shore. I talk to some rock climbers who like my bike.
After a few more corners and hills, a mocha in Grand Marais, and much unnecesary musing I stop at a sceneic overlook near the border. Here I meet not one but TWO gentleman both with 75 GL1000's or so they say. One blue / green and one red. Both sitting in the garage. One of the gentlemen is the original owner. The bike has sat unused for 20 years. I hope seeing mine on the road inspires something. The colors of the leaves are starting to peak.
Sleeping Giant Provencial Park FAR on the horizon.
My border crossing is uneventful. The border guard seems amused by my inquiry about camping at the park and as to whether i will have a problem finding a campsite stating simply that, "it has been below 0 the past few nights and that it is near the end of their season".
At this point I began to feel a bit of urgency in finding my destination picturing desolate pitch dark campgrounds surrounded by caverns, caves, alien nests, and the unknown; with only me, my imagination, and a tent to protect me from whatever it is that is out there.
Miles continue to come easily and Thunder Bay comes and goes with no more than a fuel stop. The landscape in this area is rugged and intimidating. The ledges, gorges, and rock face make one feel insignificant and vulnerable. With somewhere around 50 miles left and the sun still clear of the horizon I feel secure that i can make camp before dark.
After 19 miles down a narrow winding road to the end of the Sibley Peninsula I find the Park Headquarters. Sure enough it is closed but a truck behind the building indicates that a ranger is around so i pay the 41 dollars and self register for a campsite.
The sun setting on the sleeping giant from my camp site.
The campground is quiet. There are a few sites occupied by camper trailers. I carefully chose a nice site on the lake close, but not too close, to my fellow humans and set to getting the tent pitched and dinner made. My thoughts quickly turn to fire so i try to scavenge some wood while my water heats.
While returning to my camp with little more than a few twigs the ranger arrives enquiring as to whether i have paid my fees so i am glad that i have. He sells and hand delivers a bundle of firewood with the only drawback being that change for my 20 is given in two fists full of Canadian Quarters. What am i going to do with these?
With a fire burning and darkness having set i am feeling pretty good about the day and only slightly uneasy about the night. Not accustomed to going to bed at anywhere near 8 i open my bottle of Jameson and try to enjoy the fire. There are strange noises off in the not so distant distance. I think i hear a rabbit meet it's end. One of the only other campers is watching what sounds like a 50's sitcom or some radio show. The forrest blankets much of the midrange of the program and all i can hear is eery bits and pieces of the trebble and bass. It is surreal and somewhat unnerving.
I hear a creature. It is close. I turn on my headlamp and turn in its direction with all the courage i can muster. There is a skunk headed straight for me and about 30 feet away. It is unaffected by the light. It is uneffected by me standing up and stomping. I give it a bit of a charge. It continues in my direction. I pick up a hand full of pebbles that line the site and throw them at him. He bumbles back off into the darkness.
This happens again, and twice more, in similar fashion before i have my fill of whiskey and retire to the tent. My neighbors continue with their entertainment as does the rest of the forrest. The wind and the lake have quieted and there is plenty too hear and my first few hours of sleep are fitful.
In what feels like the dead of the night i awake suddenly. It seems as though something is in the tent and wrestling with my feet. How can that be? No.......whatever it is it's on the other side of the tent. My senses are returning. It is pawing at my feet. I give it a gentle kick and scramble for my headlamp. By the time i find it and it's switch the creature has run around under the fly to the other end of the tent and we are face to face about a foot away and staring each other in the face. He must not like my breath or sees the hatchet lying next to me because he submits and disappears into the night. I can't say i slept soundly the rest of the night but I had not a single thought of aliens.
More to come.........