Terri and Peter's RV Adventures

With bites on top of bites and mosquitoes double teaming deer flies, I remembered one of the less endearing qualities of the Midwest. After a sleep in kind of morning, and Mackinack Island scheduled (in our minds) for tomorrow, we eased into the day, eventually driving to Mackinaw City for Peter to do laundry. (What a guy.) I headed over with the dogs a few blocks to one of the big tourist stops (you can tell by the number of fudge and t-shirt shops nearby), Colonial Michilimackinac and Fort Mackinac.

I’d packed a lunch and planned to walk along Lake Huron, maybe throw some balls for Lily and enjoy people watching. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze and the temperature was mild. Little did I know that there was the largest global fly convention in town and they were convening on me and the two dogs, as in covering us as we walked, undeterred by swats, lunging bite attempts (by the dogs) and movement. I looked around and felt like I was in some kind of zombie movie. I was the only one swatting one way and the other like an untethered rag doll attached to a whirly bird helicopter. Everyone else was sitting placidly at picnic tables or benches, eating, talking and playing in the sand. Not that I felt paranoid, but I gave up and miserably evacuated to the car where I ate lunch and the dogs pouted in the back seat.

As I bit into my sandwich, two old time Chevy pick up trucks with souped up sounding engines pulled into the parking spots in front of me giving me a front row seat to the MAGA world (based on their t-shirts). One weighed 300 lbs with long hair trailing below his shoulders, the other was skinny, tattooed-laced arms, pinching a cigarette with his first finger and thumb, taking a deep drag and lifting the hood to examine and take out some part of the engine. I thought I was watching a 1950s James Dean movie. Soon, they slammed the hood, walked over to the fudge shop and re-emerged with two women in tow, one wearing reflective aviator glasses and smoking a cigarette, the other with weight matching her 300 lb friend. One used keys to unlock the door (no fob for this truck), got into the driver seat and leaned over to unlock the passenger door. They took off in a thundering engine roar which I’m guessing made them feel like big men. Who knows.

I decided to drive through Mackinaw City and found it to have more fudge shops per square mile than wherever the fudge headquarters of the world is. I headed back to the laundromat but couldn’t pass up a fresh and smoked fish market. You could tell it was the real deal. It was a small, unadorned shop and had huge racks of fish smoking outside (and I don’t mean the fish were smoking cigarettes, if that’s how it sounded).

I bought fresh trout that looked fabulous and headed outside where an older couple dressed in biker leather was enjoying their smoked salmon. We struck up a conversation (thanks to Lily of course) and they proceeded to tell me that they come here from somewhere south just to buy fish at this fish place. According to the man, the owner “bargains with the Indians” who catch the fish in the nearby lakes, not in ponds. The biker guy ended up giving me a taste sample of his smoked salmon and it was fantastic. Back in I went to get smoked salmon. Going outside again, he gave me tips for restaurants, fish places, and other things to do around here and on the Upper Peninsula where we’ll be when we head over to Wisconsin.

They reminded me of the friendly people we met in Canada. Not in a hurry, very forthcoming with information and extremely generous and fun. They also suggested dryer sheets to keep the flies at bay and said they should go away in a couple of weeks. Well, so will we so that wasn’t very reassuring.

Picking up Peter and the perfectly folded laundry (he’s a master), we couldn’t think of any place else we’d rather be than at our campsite. So, I’ll take Lily for another ball throwing session in the lake, like the one this morning (where I meditated on a rocking bench facing the lake, it was gorgeous), then we’ll grill our fresh trout and enjoy another northern Midwestern evening. If I didn’t have to read the news, life would feel pretty great. It’s a hard balance to strike between staying informed and staying sane and serene. I’m not sure I’ve found that balance yet.