We’d had two long 75-mile days before the layover, so this day’s 44-mile trip felt like a quick jaunt.

The route led us out of town on a wonderful paved trail on the edge of Lake Superior, the sky above me clear, a cool but not cold breeze coming on off the water. The day could not have started better.

It was on this trail that I encountered this wonderful group of friends, one pedaling, three riding happily in baskets.

Even when we left the paved trail, the main road was fine, the shoulder good. We soon left that again though, and continued through neighborhood streets, where I was surprised to ride right past Brian’s house, the place I’d picked up my bike the previous Sunday.

The first SAG stop was at a true gem of a roadside attraction called the Lakenenland Sculpture Park, with generously free admission and open 24/7.

If you ever find yourself between Marquette and Munising and pass by this sign, turn around and go back.

The park consists of a dirt loop, winding through a forested area populated by strange and wonderful metal sculptures. Some are whimsical, but overall, the welded creations tell stories of the artist’s political and ecological views. I was fascinated by almost each one, and took pictures of most of them. Here are some favorites.

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The sign at the exit seemed insufficient for the gift I’d just been given, and I feel moved to send the owner a thank you note for sharing his art.

After that stop, I pedaled on strong all the way to the outskirts of Munising. I’d been talking to a couple at Lakenenland, and they mentioned a glass-bottom shipwreck boat tour. As I approached Munising I started watching for the signs, and reached the office twenty minutes ahead of the next tour, so I bought a ticket and a new shirt (“Great Lakes: Unsalted & Shark Free”).

I trustingly left my bike, rack bag, helmet, and shoes by the stairs and boarded the vessel in my kit, flip-flops that I always carry, and my rain jacket, as it would be cold on the water.

Thanks to my single-ness and silly outfit, I was quite the attraction myself, but I learned long ago to forge ahead in my pursuits and ignore the watching eyes.

I snagged a great seat on the upper deck and we steamed away from the dock into open water.

The first wreck had been moved to its current location after foundering on the shore during a terrible storm. The Bermuda was carrying iron ore and was overloaded for its last run of the season. They had made it into the harbor seeking shelter, but the three mates left on board overnight were lost when the ship started taking on water during the night, was pulled away from shore, and slipped beneath the surface. They were recovered and buried, and the vessel towed farther out into the harbor, where it rests now in about forty feet of clear, very cold water. Years later, the ship’s owners spent an entire short summer recovering the iron ore, divers in large metal helmets and leather diving suits working throughout the day to bring the valuable cargo back to the surface. The Bermuda was left mostly enact, its wooden body sitting upright on the bottom, unsullied by the zebra mollusks and wood-rotting bacteria that plague the other Great Lakes due to Superior’s low water temperature. Only the hole rammed through the deck into the cargo hold by the salvage company and the missing masts (which were recovered and used on other ships) show the damage. The Bermuda was lost 149 years ago and the wood grain is still visible.

We headed to the next wreck past the beautiful cliffs of Grand Island National Recreation Area. For the hearty adventurer, there are trails, rustic cabins, and many other activities available. It is accessible only by ferry.

Our next ship was the Herman Hettler, which crashed into a rock reef during a storm storm in 1926. The crew survived, and the wreck was later towed away from the reef and dismantled with dynamite for safety, and also so the valuable bearings in the engine could be recovered. The Hettler had been carrying lumber. Many recognizable parts of the ship are still visible, including a bathtub, and lead painted nail heads in the hull’s boards.

If you ever find yourself in Munising, I recommend Glass Bottom Shipwreck Tours. It’s comfortable, very educational, and the entire staff is great.

After my diversion, I headed on to camp. After a shower and recapping the morning with several camp-mates, I ran into Terry and we walked the few blocks back downtown to the Corktown Bar for a beer before dinner.

Dinner that night was a UP staple, the pastie, which is a lot like a handheld pot pie. My veggie pastie held potatoes and other vegetables, served with a side of very good coleslaw and a cookie. Then it was time for the evening’s activity, a boat tour of the Pictured Rocks.

It’s touristy for sure, but I am so glad I went. The boat had been reserved for our group, so familiar faces surrounded me on the top deck. Jason and Jerick were able to join as well.

It took quite a while to reach, but once we did, the Pictured Rocks exceeded all expectations. Their large scale and amazingly colored and varying strata of rock layers are truly incredible. Large trees and all manner of vegetation cling to every available horizontal surface, sometimes appearing to defy gravity and probability.

The return trip was just as amazing as the ride out, as we passed even closer than before to the cliffs. When I decided I was cold, Jason and I headed downstairs to the lower deck and were treated to the captivating sight of the seaglass-blue water churning out from behind the speeding boat, Lake Superior stretching out to the horizon behind, forested land on either side. I could have stood there for hours.

After disembarking, Jason and I went back up the hill to Corktown intending to meet the others, but they had decided to go elsewhere that featured live music. Having already ordered, we enjoyed another game of terrible pool before departing for the Barge Inn.

We found Matt, Scott, Travis, and Terry at a high top by an open window to the patio at the Barge Inn. Supplied with fresh IPAs, we gathered around to listen to a really amazing little band, the lead of which sang and played not only guitar but fiddle and harmonica. During a break, Scott went to talk to them and got a free CD. I’m sure nothing on there can compare to Booty Man, though.

Gradually, Scott, Matt, and Travis headed to camp, but Jason, Terry, and I stayed, engaged in drunken, increasingly confessional conversation.

All good things must end, though, and too soon it seemed, it was time to weave our way back, talking loudly and laughing, up the deserted streets to our quiet camp. Whispering our goodbyes for the night, we drifted off to our separate shelters. I slept the best that night than I had all tour, warm and snuggly despite the snoring.

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