Sunday, July 21, 2002
Dale: The Odyssey, Part III: It's Tuesday
There are two essential rules for driving in the UP:
(1) All road maps are approximate.
(2) Stay on the M-[ichigan] or U.S.- roads.
(3) If you ignore Rule #2 and get lost, you will be found by an archeologist.
"Hey, if I take County Road X, it will be a shortcut to the airport!"
Bzzzt! Wrong!
It looks like a shortcut, and in terms of mileage it might actually be one, but quite simply you are buying yourself a heap of trouble. Business was finished approximately 5 hours before the flight took off, so I thought I'd be creative. Previously, I found a shortcut that consisted entirely of paved roads, which was actually quite useful. I should have stuck to it. "Nah. I can read a map, and my map tells me County Road X is a more direct way to Sawyer International. I will try it."
Well, the road sure looked straight on the map. Unfortunately, the only other pathways that are as twisty involve a man with a bull's head wielding an axe. Still, the gravel road was fairly smooth. It also reminded me of another fact of UP driving: the sparse population. You can drive for miles without ever seeing another car, or even a home. Such was the case here. If I'd gotten into an accident, someone several centuries hence would be labelling me Homo Dipwadicus. "Note the large forehead on this specimen..." Nevertheless, I got to another paved section of road in relatively good order. I don't learn: I found another shortcut on the map. "Hmm, this should save time. Plus, the road is paved."
It was. For about seven miles, which meant that by the time the pavement ceased, I was more or less committed to keep going. Again, the gravel was smooth, and this time I saw someone in a minivan going the opposite way. Good sign, I thought. Then, a few miles later, I was faced with another problem--the ambiguous road sign. At a turn, the sign indicated I was on the right road, but it was pointing back towards the way I had come from. It did not indicate which road was the county road. On instinct, I took a right.
Oops.
The road seemed fine for a while, but almost imperceptibly began to narrow. And green started appearing up the middle. It became worse as I drove, narrower and greener. The final straw was the boarded-up cabin I passed. Old cedar shingles, stained with tar, and an overgrown outhouse in the back. It had been abandoned for at least a quarter century. Nobody was living, nor had lived, on that road for many a year. I began to get the feeling I was in a movie, and I was in the scene where the idiot city slicker is about to encouner the violently reclusive clan of inbreds/mutants/inbred mutants. Children of the Mine. I turned around. At this point, the road was so narrow that turning the car was almost exactly like the golf cart scene from the first Austin Powers movie. I headed back, and found that the correct answer had been "left." I reached the paved road, and made it to one of my favorite towns, a place called Gwynn. Gwynn is ten miles south of the airport, and has the privilege of hosting St. Anthony's Catholic Church. St. Anthony's is a magnificent place. It's Catholic, with a grave marker at the front of the Church remembering the unborn killed by abortion. Plus, it's always unlocked, so you can go inside to pray. It's simply but beautifully decorated, with prominent Eastern style icons on the walls. It features a few Bibles you can take to the pew, and has my dream magazine rack: "This Rock", "Homiletic and Pastoral Review", "Crisis", "New Oxford Review" [for when I'm feeling cranky], and others that I didn't get a chance to see. I yanked out a few issues, broke out my rosary, and prayed and read for forty five minutes, thankful to God for the blessings He has given us. St. Anthony's isn't air-conditioned during the day, and it was 95 degrees that day. Nevertheless, it felt cooler outside when I left.
All in all, a good end to a too-exciting day.
There are two essential rules for driving in the UP:
(1) All road maps are approximate.
(2) Stay on the M-[ichigan] or U.S.- roads.
(3) If you ignore Rule #2 and get lost, you will be found by an archeologist.
"Hey, if I take County Road X, it will be a shortcut to the airport!"
Bzzzt! Wrong!
It looks like a shortcut, and in terms of mileage it might actually be one, but quite simply you are buying yourself a heap of trouble. Business was finished approximately 5 hours before the flight took off, so I thought I'd be creative. Previously, I found a shortcut that consisted entirely of paved roads, which was actually quite useful. I should have stuck to it. "Nah. I can read a map, and my map tells me County Road X is a more direct way to Sawyer International. I will try it."
Well, the road sure looked straight on the map. Unfortunately, the only other pathways that are as twisty involve a man with a bull's head wielding an axe. Still, the gravel road was fairly smooth. It also reminded me of another fact of UP driving: the sparse population. You can drive for miles without ever seeing another car, or even a home. Such was the case here. If I'd gotten into an accident, someone several centuries hence would be labelling me Homo Dipwadicus. "Note the large forehead on this specimen..." Nevertheless, I got to another paved section of road in relatively good order. I don't learn: I found another shortcut on the map. "Hmm, this should save time. Plus, the road is paved."
It was. For about seven miles, which meant that by the time the pavement ceased, I was more or less committed to keep going. Again, the gravel was smooth, and this time I saw someone in a minivan going the opposite way. Good sign, I thought. Then, a few miles later, I was faced with another problem--the ambiguous road sign. At a turn, the sign indicated I was on the right road, but it was pointing back towards the way I had come from. It did not indicate which road was the county road. On instinct, I took a right.
Oops.
The road seemed fine for a while, but almost imperceptibly began to narrow. And green started appearing up the middle. It became worse as I drove, narrower and greener. The final straw was the boarded-up cabin I passed. Old cedar shingles, stained with tar, and an overgrown outhouse in the back. It had been abandoned for at least a quarter century. Nobody was living, nor had lived, on that road for many a year. I began to get the feeling I was in a movie, and I was in the scene where the idiot city slicker is about to encouner the violently reclusive clan of inbreds/mutants/inbred mutants. Children of the Mine. I turned around. At this point, the road was so narrow that turning the car was almost exactly like the golf cart scene from the first Austin Powers movie. I headed back, and found that the correct answer had been "left." I reached the paved road, and made it to one of my favorite towns, a place called Gwynn. Gwynn is ten miles south of the airport, and has the privilege of hosting St. Anthony's Catholic Church. St. Anthony's is a magnificent place. It's Catholic, with a grave marker at the front of the Church remembering the unborn killed by abortion. Plus, it's always unlocked, so you can go inside to pray. It's simply but beautifully decorated, with prominent Eastern style icons on the walls. It features a few Bibles you can take to the pew, and has my dream magazine rack: "This Rock", "Homiletic and Pastoral Review", "Crisis", "New Oxford Review" [for when I'm feeling cranky], and others that I didn't get a chance to see. I yanked out a few issues, broke out my rosary, and prayed and read for forty five minutes, thankful to God for the blessings He has given us. St. Anthony's isn't air-conditioned during the day, and it was 95 degrees that day. Nevertheless, it felt cooler outside when I left.
All in all, a good end to a too-exciting day.
