Day 5 - Grand Marais to Grand Portage
- 60.9 miles
- 3,307ft of gain
- 5h 20m of riding
- Song of the day: Call Me the Breeze by J.J. Cale
Today’s ride made me feel like I could pedal forever, I have become so accustomed to my daily routine that I can’t imagine my days any differently. I started the day with a monster climb out of Grand Marais along the Gunflint Trail. I stood up and pedaled, shifting my entire body weight side to side with each pedalstroke, to keep myself moving at a snail’s pace. I refused to get off and walk my bike, that would mean the hill won. It probably would have been faster but that wasn’t the point, the point was to keep pedaling. I couldn’t tell if I had been pedaling for 5 minutes or 2 hours, my legs couldn’t tell the difference either. They had either become that much stronger or were completely numb, either answer was fine with me. I intended to ride farther north to approach Grand Portage from the east but when I missed my turn for the trail, I knew it was a bad sign. I backtracked until I found what I believe used to be the trail. It was overgrown and barely resembled a path. There was a time I would’ve been brave enough (or stupid enough) to attempt navigating it. Not today. To avoid having to backtrack on the Gunflint Trail back to Hwy 61 and all that climbing being for nothing, I chose to take a gravel road that shot east and met up with 61 farther north. One of my maps showed this road being a dead end while the other showed it did in fact meet up with 61. I took the chance and it paid off. Beautiful gravel roads all the way back to the shore.
I was riding north on Hwy 61 next to the lake when I saw a roadside bakery with big block letters reading “CINNAMON ROLLS.” Obviously, I immediately veered across the road to investigate. As I was leaning my bike up, an older couple was walking into the store. They started asking all about my trip and, when we got inside, introduced me to Lisa, the owner and baker. Lisa made caramel rolls today instead of cinnamon (I was a big fan of that decision). The bakery was also a convenience store with everything someone could need for a weekend of camping on the north shore and included an area full of diner-style seating. I sat with my new friends, Arlin and Carolyn, as they enjoyed their ice cream and I had my caramel roll. They have a cabin in the area that Arlin had been building for a few years. We sat and talked for about half an hour before parting ways. Not before Arlin got my number to check in on me in the coming days of my trip, to make sure I’m still alive.
I write today from the campground at the Grand Portage Casino. I sit in front of a campfire, facing the lake with Hat Point and Tamarack Point on either side forming the bay. Small boats move out onto the lake of glass for an evening fish. There’s no telling where the lake ends and the sky begins. The horizon is an endless blue illuminated by the last light of day behind me. How can this be real?
Day 6 - Grand Portage to Rock Harbor
- 2.6 miles
- 89ft of gain
- 14m of riding
- Song of the day: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot
I wasn’t planning on having coffee this morning in an attempt to hasten my packing and get to the marina, but when I woke up to the initial signs of sunrise, I knew I needed a warm cup of coffee to hold and enjoy in that moment. The sun peered over the hills and began filling the bay with rich golden light. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the lake was still. I was in awe. Easily the best sunrise I have ever experienced.
I write now from the stern of the Voyageur II ferry. I didn’t realize how starved I was for prolonged human interaction until I got on the boat. I found myself bouncing around just looking for people to talk to. For a good while, I sat at the bow and spoke with Joe and Randy, a pair of retired special Ed teachers from Houston. They were well-traveled and on their second trip to Isle Royale. We talked for what seemed like hours, about our respective trips, national parks, politics, grad school, and so much more. It felt like they were my grandparents for a time, eager to hear more about every aspect of my life. We arrived at Wendigo Harbor, along the southern tip of the island, and all got off the boat to listen to one of the park rangers tell about the island. I said goodbye to Joe and Randy, they weren’t getting back on the boat, this is where their adventure began. We departed for Rock Harbor and I sat at the bow alone for mere minutes before another couple came up to inquire about my trip. I already forgot their names but they were two photography professors from Omaha. We talked for a while and sat inside together until conversation died down and they pulled out their books. I, still hungry for human interaction, made my way to the stern to find my next victim. I found 2 couples, probably in their mid 70’s. We picked them up in Wendigo after they had hiked the length of the island. The ladies sat with me for a while and I asked them about their numerous adventures. They had camped all over and, if I remember correctly, visited Isle Royale annually. They talked about the slow process of upgrading their gear to be more comfortable since they were “old.” I quickly leaned back and lifted my sunglasses as if to get a better look and exclaimed, “What?? Old??” They loved that. Eventually, they too would go inside to warm up and I was left outside alone to journal. I could sit and watch the wild expanse of Isle Royale slowly move past forever as I listen to the boat’s engine hum and the waves crash behind.
Wow. Isle Royale is awe-inspiring. Such a massive expanse of raw, isolated wilderness. It’s only accessible by ferry or float-plane contributing to it being the least-visited national park in the contiguous U.S. The main island is 45 miles long, 9 miles wide, and surrounded by approximately 400 small islands. I knew that I needed to come back to hike the length of the island. Bikes aren’t allowed anywhere on the island except the harbor so I had to leave mine there and carry my gear to the campsite, about a quarter-mile. I found a site just off of the trail with little tree cover, the sun beat down on the spot. I thought it would make for a perfect place to dry out my tent and any damp gear. I was able to get out on a short hike to Scoville Point, about 5 miles round trip from my campsite. A sandhill crane joined me on the trail for about a quarter mile, walking 15-20ft in front of me. It eventually turned off the trail, I snapped a picture, and we parted ways.
