By Lucy

Lake Superior, the largest lake in the world, really more of an freshwater sea. 550 klicks wide, 250 clicks across, third largest freshwater lake by volume, holding 10% of the world’s surface freshwater. If you combined the water volume of the four other great lakes, it still wouldn’t hit the volume of this lake.

The Circle tour is what it sounds like, just driving around the lake. Roughly 2000 clicks, we planned for a week.

Things got off to a slow start on Wednesday.

Since I’m not driving, I don’t get to decide when we leave. We all know I like to hit the ground running, but since there’s little I can do, there’s no point in fussing about it.

He took the bike to the shop to get the clutch tension adjusted quickly, so I puttered around the house cleaning. It still makes me laugh how readily we fell into these roles – I think he’d honestly forget to wash the dishes if I stopped doing them.

Unfortunately, because I had the radio on loud and was singing away, I didn’t notice my cell phone ringing. Eventually he got thru to me – the rear tire needed to be swapped out. Two hours, minimum. Also, I needed to go pick him up from the shop.

Jeez, already leaving later than I like, and now a further delay. He should have brought the bike in Tuesday, or even Monday. Nothing for me to do except tut inside my mind.

While we waited, I purchased an eSim and installed it. I debated if I should bother getting one for him as well. The cheapest one was 1 gig for 6.50, and to be honest, we weren’t likely to even use a gig between the two of us. Neither of us can use phones on the bike, hotels have Wi-Fi, and he doesn’t do a lot on his phone anyway. Plus, I can hotspot him.

Finally the bike was ready!

“Do we want to leave today?” He asked. “We’re not on a timeline, we can leave whenever.”

Leaving late I was ok with – delaying an entire other day seemed like a bit much. But I had no real reason to need to be back, so it was hard to argue.

He tossed me the spare key to the bike. Score! He decided we should head out, so we packed up the bike. Again, I had managed to pack even less than him, keeping in mind we were gonna be gone for even longer this time.

We finally got underway shortly after 2.

It was oppressively hot and sunny. Even the 100 kilometer headwind wasn’t enough to cool us down.

About half an hour out, the breeze changed. It was cool and wet, a welcome change, but so sudden and with so little distance made!

The border was unimpressive. Just a single squat building, two lanes for traffic. But I broke into a cold sweat irrationally. This was the biggest hurdle – if they turned us back now, game over. And I’ve heard horror stories of people turned back for no reason.

There was a line for the border and I hopped off the bike. Motorcycles don’t idle well. They get hot and cranky, plus the Vagabond has to hold both of us upright. The line was moving well, but not that fast, so I just walked along next to the bike as he walked it in neutral. He handed me his passport.

As we got up to the front of the line, a border control office stepped out of the booth and held his hand out for our passports. He looked us up and down before asking what our business was at the border today.

I looked at the Vagabond. Might as well let him take the lead.

“We’re doing the circle tour trip.”

“How do you two know each other?”

“Coworkers. And we’re in a relationship.” He added, after a pause.

Ouch?

They chatted back and forth a bit about places to stop along the way, before the guard handed our passports back and wished us a pleasant journey.

The Vagabond pulled over up ahead to clear the line. I went into my phone settings and turned on my new eSim as we stopped for a minute off to the side.

“Coworkers?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Traffickers call the girls their girlfriends. I say we’re dating, he asks how we met. Might as well get it out of the way. We’re not a normal couple, after all.”

I suppose that makes sense. This is why I let him speak. Although, I don’t think he looks like a pimp, or me a victim.

So, I was in the US for the first time in my life, or first time so far as I know.

The scenery obviously looked exactly the same as what was on the other side of the border; slate cliffs, pink granite, evergreen forests. We gained an hour.

The road signs were the first noticeable sign of bizarroland. Signs, signs, everywhere a sign is right! They were constant and stating the bleeding obvious, like a sign saying “No passing” next to a solid yellow, or signs saying “Do not mow” by the side of the uninhabited highway.

The American flags were a given. The frequent eagle statues were a surprise, as were the sasquatches.

The road started out well paved but quickly degraded. I remember John Oliver doing an episode about American infrastructure crumbling. There were few spots for passing on the single-lane highway.

The Vagabond was enjoying messing around with his new dash-cam, so I was glad for that even if nothing came of it.

About an hour and a bit from the border, we stopped for gas and a bathroom break. Because we were delayed, I was hungry, so I grabbed a pack of jerky that was confusingly low in sugar.

An ancient car died at the pump and refused to turn over. Ah, right. Cars have a lifespan of roughly 20 years on Canadian roads because most insurance companies won’t insure them after that. I know this because my first car (first as in the first car I purchased myself) was a ’92 Grand Am and I had a hell of a time finding reasonable insurance for it. But here, no car insurance needed, so cars are free to roll for as long as the owner can make them.

A few motorcyclists drove past with no helmet. The Vagabond pointed them out. Yes, Minnesota is one of the states where you aren’t required to wear a helmet if you have your full license. Personally, I still can’t imagine why you’d want to – with windburn, bugs, rocks, and the ever-present threat of death, I’m more comfortable with my full-face helmet on. The Vagabond brought a full face in case it rained, but otherwise wears a half-shell.

The decision over where to stop was a point of contention. He’d pointed out that Duluth was a three hour drive from Thunder Bay and we could visit anytime as a day trip, so we’d decided not to bother sightseeing there. I wanted to try and get far enough past Duluth to find a cheap motel and crash for the night so we’d have more sightseeing time elsewhere tomorrow. He wasn’t sure he could make it. Ignoring my suggestions, he picked a hotel that seemed cheap on his phone, in a small town called Two Harbors.

We passed a town called “Castle Danger”, another possible retirement option for me!

We got to Two Harbors and pulled off the main road slightly before the town. I laughed as we pulled into the parking lot for the hotel.

It was a train.

No, really.

“Doesn’t look like a cheap motel.” He said, pulling over. “What do you think, go inside and ask?”

“Sure, we’re already here.” Also, to be honest, I kind of really wanted to sleep in a train. I couldn’t think of anything like it I had seen in Canada.

“Ok, let me park better…” He had turned the bike off because it was hot.

I knew there was a problem when the bike didn’t turn over right away. Once, twice….

The third time, the bike gurgled before releasing a plume of black smoke from the carburetor.

Cue the Vagabond cursing a blue streak, although he wasn’t that upset because it was still in English. We managed to push the bike in neutral until the kickstand could come down fully. Still cursing, he circled the bike a few times.

“I just took it in! What do you think it is?” He looked at me.

I shrugged. “I don’t know motorcycles, I know cars!”

He checked the oil. It seemed low.

Black smoke seemed bad, but low oil was an easy fix. Just top up the oil. It smelled like when my practice bike had started overheating during the course. The first thing that popped into my head was that the mixture was too rich – like how his buddy had almost killed his old bike. The smoke had come out of the carb, after all.

“Is the choke -“

He shook his head. “No choke, it’s automatic.”

Ok… so something along where the choke would be, which is no longer an easy fix.

We went inside and he asked the lady at the desk what it cost for a night.

“200, but we only have queen beds available… No two-bed rooms.” She trailed off, her eyes trying to connect the dots between us.

“200 is a bit overbudget, but I’m worried about the bike.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Do you have a rag I can use?”

She went into another room and came back with a rag. We went back out and checked the oil again.

It looked good, just low. And when it’s hot it should be higher.

“It’s overheating. Top up the oil, let it cool down?” I suggested.

“We’re only been driving two hours, how could it be overheating?”

I don’t know, I don’t work on bikes, I work on cars! I reached into my pocket to text Duff, then realized I couldn’t. I was in the US of A. Why doesn’t the Vagabond know any of this? He’s been driving bikes for 40 years!

Back inside to the desk. “Is there a shop nearby?”

“Everything is closed at 5 except O’Reilly’s.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I can drive you if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.”

“Dear!” The woman yelled out back. A man came around. “I have to drive this gentleman to O’Reilly’s, his motorcycle broke down.”

The two of them took off, leaving me and the man staring at each other.

“Did she finish checking you in?” He asked kindly.

“Uhh…” The Vagabond hadn’t said a word and just left me there holding both helmets. If I checked in and he had fixed the bike and wanted to keep moving, I’d be in trouble. On the flipside, I doubted we were moving tonight. We were both tired and clearly the bike was also done with today. “No.” I said, approaching the desk.

I checked us in to a room and put it on my card. Since I had the spare key for the bike, I went out and grabbed my stuff, which was in a single bag, and what of his I thought he’d want from the several bags he packed. I grabbed the camera off the bike, popped out the battery and the SD card, started the batteries charging and the SD card uploading. With the lame hotel Wi-Fi, best to get this started ASAP.

The lobby was nice, full of adorable train decorations, free coffee and tea, and a closet literally full of puzzles and games.

The room was nice too, if small and oddly shaped from the whole “made from a real boxcar” schtick. Live edge tables, a little sitting area; someone put a lot of love into this place. As rail nerds do.

The two of them came back in half an hour. She handed me a six pack of beer and a bottle of whisky before resuming her place behind the counter.

Really? He made her stop for alcohol?

“You should know, only one place delivers out here. Northshore pizza.” She added.

Excellent.

He threw his coat on one of the chairs in the lobby and stomped back outside with his bottle of oil. I grabbed it and walked it up to the hotel room, throwing everything down on the bed before running back outside.

He topped up the oil and started the bike. It started readily this time.

He drove it closer to the door and turned it off. He popped the back and found most of the bags unpacked.

“Oh.” He said. “Well. 200 for a night, what a racket. That’s like 270 Canadian, plus tax…”

“It was 306.”

He blinked at me for a minute. “You paid already?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, you were busy and stressed.”

He paused again. No ‘thanks’ was forthcoming, but should I expect one?

We covered the bike and went back inside. I opened the menu for the place that delivers; they had pizza, nachos, and salad. Vacation or keto? We decided to split nachos and a garden salad, with blue cheese dressing. With any luck, the salad would prevent my guts from absorbing many carbs.

My Ekster utility card came in handy as a bottle opener! I’m always so happy when I get to use it.

He opened and chugged his first beer, then took a hit from the whisky and opened another, and sat down. “She said ‘You better not drink all of that and get rowdy, or I’ll throw you out! She also kept asking what our relationship was.”

I snorted with laughter. No chance of him getting rowdily drunk, he never does. Also, no presumption that I’ll drink at all? Maybe I’m the rowdy one! Pretty sure that’s the first time someone’s just out-and-out asked ‘hey you guys are weird, what’s going on there?’. I always figure out of everyone who’ll question it, hotel owners are the ones most used to odd couples looking for a getaway. Guess not here.

We tore into the nachos and salad when they arrived and they were good. I showed him the videos from the camera and explained a bit to him about EIS and the SD card. I tried suggesting we go to the lobby and play a board game, but he got 3 beers deep quick and flopped on the bed.

“Original ceiling.” He says, gesturing up. “Boxcars seem like the place a couple of Vagabonds like us should be sleeping.”

It was indeed the original ceiling, covered in stains, scrapes and scratches. I smiled. “Yeah. Should be moving, though. Me and Hanuman were talking about getting someone to teach us how to hop trains.”

“My son knows how to. For his work.”

“Illegally. Dodging the cops.” Still, would be nice if he could teach us the basics.

“Ah.”

Soon he was snoring away. I’m always glad when he passes out readily. I stayed up for a bit on the computer.

We slept in late. When we went down to the lobby, I made myself a coffee, but he sailed right past breakfast and went outside to the bike.

“Well, it started up alright.” The lady said, as the bike roared to life outside. “Hey, can I talk to you?”

I expected her to ask why I was with him, but instead she asked why my credit card’s name didn’t match the name I gave. But she didn’t assume I had stolen it – she asked if I was in witness protection.

Not very good witness protection if I’m wandering around with a card with my old name on it, is it? Still, it made me smile. And the Vagabond is… a cop assigned to me? A bodyguard? Sounds kind of film noir and romantic. I showed her the name change certificate and she was ok with that, if not satisfied.

He called the bike shop and they said the same thing, probably low oil, overheated, or both. We had breakfast – standard free breakfast fare – and packed up to move on. He smiled as I took no time to pack.

“Yeah, I can tell you’re used to living out a suitcase. You always throw everything right back in!” He said.

Sure, except you’ve been doing this way longer than me. So you should be better at it!

It was drizzling slightly, and I couldn’t convince him the camera was waterproof, so it stayed packed away. The damp was a nice break from baking in the sun, although it always makes him nervous.

Less than an hour later, we hit Duluth.

What a city! Tunnels and bridges galore, houses scattered up and down the slate hills, a vertical city. I wish I had a video of it to show you. The waterfront was covered in what looked like grain elevators, but there were giant mountains of some ashy grey substance. Coal? Iron? Potash?

There was one long, tall bridge at the end, and then we were in Wisconsin. We stopped for gas here.

I was sort of disappointed. I had this book I liked, Wolves of Mercy Falls. Just the first one, not the rest of the series. It was set in Minnesota and was a three hour drive from Duluth, but having just driven the length of Duluth, I struggle to think of where the story could have been set. It was barely three hours across, unless they were on the Canadian border, which was not implied.

This drive was a bit boring for a while. Highway 2 goes straight through Wisconsin in two hours, but the signs for the Circle tour go north up 13. It looks like it follows the coast, but it’s a fair bit of fields and trees and if I did the tour again, I’d skip this bit.

We stopped in a small town called Cornucopia for lunch. I ordered a bowl of chowder, which was 6 ounces of watery broth with chunks of potato and fish in it and was very disappointing. The Vagabond got a fish meal that was too much for him, so we shared that instead. You win some, you lose some.

The weather finally cleared up enough for him to bring the camera out, which was good, because 40 minutes later we drove through this beautiful, quaint little town! Bayfield, it was called, the only reason to detour here. We lamented not stopping here for lunch and maybe walking the boardwalk, but we’d chosen our lunch stop and he wanted to keep going.

Our next stop was Ironwood. He wanted pot for the night, and out of the three states we’d be travelling through, it was only illegal in Wisconsin, which means we had to make Michigan.

This was a lot of riding. Our first trip had really just been the big push out and the big push back, with not much in the middle. It is just like riding a horse in terms of physical stamina. I could feel it in my core. But we weren’t walking much and I was despairing for the conditioning in my legs. I started getting spots of wear from the inside of my gloves and boots.

It was also interesting being back on the bike now that I knew how to ride.

There were some things I wasn’t expecting. There were signs all over the place for smoked fish and wild rice, traditionally indigenous foodstuffs. There were also frequent signs for Gitchi Gumee, occasionally spelled Gitchi Gamee or Gitchi Gumi, which is the indigenous name for Lake Superior. It almost seems like there is a larger indigenous presence on this side of the lake.

Although to be honest, there was just more people on this side of the lake in general. Highway 17 north of the lake wanders through some of the most inhospitable, unsettled land in Canada, not counting the truly frozen north.

Signs for copper also started popping up. One of the indigenous myths for Lake Superior is that a beast lives in the depths, named Mishipeshu. Mishipeshu looks like a great scaley panther. Legends vary – either he guards the copper along the bottom and sides of the lake, or the copper is his shed scales, but either way it is sacred and precious.

I wanted a “scale”!

Shortly after 6, we pulled in to Ironwood. First gas, then the pot shop. Then to a hotel.

He picked the Magnuson on the main drag. Now, it was fine – the rooms were clean, the Wi-Fi worked, and there were no bed bugs.

First strike, however, is that there is no front desk. There is a kiosk that connects you to a call centre somewhere and spits out keycards. Second strike is that there is no restaurants within walking distance. Third was breakfast… but I’ll get there.

Our room was on the ground floor. The window had no screen or lock, just a stick, so the Vagabond pulled the bike up to the window and we passed our luggage through it.

He didn’t feel like going out, which underlined the problem with taking the bike. If he doesn’t feel like going out, I’m stuck. We walked to the gas station that confusingly has a grocery store inside of it.

Not really any Keto options. I mean, there was, but I’d be bending over backwards to do it and I felt bad doing it on someone else’s dime. So I got some boneless garlic parmesan chicken wings.

I’ve noticed that every time I consumed something that put me over my carb count for the day, I got a wicked headache. Is that normal for Keto?

We spent the rest of the night relaxing.

The next morning, breakfast was hilariously awful. A mostly empty bucket of stale powdered donuts, and a fridge with fruit punch and orange juice. He had his apples, so I walked back to the store by myself and got a black tea, hardboiled eggs and some cheese. The store had a large selection of gourmet coffees to put Starbucks to shame!

As I got dressed, I stopped to look in the mirror. The dress that had become a shirt had become a dress again. My skintight jeans were starting to hang loose on my hips. None of my bras fit anymore, even in the band. A face I hadn’t seen for seven years looked back at me – lean. Even though I picked the Keto diet because it can have dramatic weight loss, I hadn’t really thought this would happen. I was me again.

The next part of the route runs up through a portion of Michigan called “the Upper Peninsula”. It’s a nice scenic route that doesn’t hug the coast enough.

And then we hit Houghton.

Houghton is gorgeous! It was a boom town for copper mining, although now it’s primarily cottage country with a booming college campus.

We came over the ridge for the river valley and the entire gorgeous old town lay before us like pages in a book. The road winds its way down the hills like an S, so you have time to take in all the historical buildings and the gorgeous views. I loved every minute of the descent and the climb back up the other side, and I can’t wait to upload the video and show you!

It was more forest for another twenty minutes, then we encounted a part of the road I loved again. It was twisty and up and downy, and the trees merged overhead to make a pretty green canopy. It was the kind of road you wanted to take fast on a dirt bike or ATV and go WEEEEEE!

We ended up in a small picturesque town called Copper Harbor. It was full to the gills with people. We stopped at a Inn called “The Mariner”, which was head to toe a carpenters’ work of art, lots of woodwork. The server was very patient – we were burned out from the road. Buffeted is a word that comes to mind. You can hear the roar of the engine and feel the whip of the wind long after you’ve staggered off the bike and massaged your sore legs. The food was excellent. They had gluten free bread, which had to be some sort of cornbread from how crumbly it was, but I liked it.

The Vagabond started complaining about the weight in the bike. All my belongings fit in a single saddle bag, so the other saddle bag and the tour-pak were all him. As he said it, though, my dreams of a copper scale evaporated. I couldn’t ask him to carry more weight.

On the way back around, we took the loop to Eagle River, which is poorly sign-posted. I highly recommend it, it was a proper shoreline road, very picturesque. The only way to continue was to go back down to Houghton and take the other road out.

Shortly outside Houghton we stopped for gas. The Vagabond asked me if I wanted to stop in Houghton, but I shrugged. Most of this trip, he had asked me for my opinion, but it didn’t seem to have much weight in what he decided to do.

We went back through Houghton, but he didn’t stop. Personally, I was glad. I kinda just wanted to keep going.

Shortly before 6, we pulled into two small towns so close together they look like one, Baraga and L’anse. We drove through most of the town before we found a place he liked, a motel whose owner thankfully didn’t raise an eyebrow at us requesting a single bed.

After we unpacked, we decided to walk downtown for dinner. There was a bar that seemed to be the hip-happening place to be, Skippers. The waitress was friendly and flirty with the Vagabond, but I prefer them flirting with him over them being hostile to me.

One of the things that’s always been curious about me and the Vagabond is that we almost always want to order the exact same thing on the menu. It does make picking dinner easy as pie, one of the ways we are one mind in two bodies. We tend to order two things we both want and split them, which is lots of fun. We got the artichoke dip and blackened salmon dinner and they were really good!

I order a margarita and then another, almost certain not within Keto but I just wanted to feel good for the night. He got a Manhattan – his favourite cocktail, which makes it especially funny that he can’t pronounce it right – and then three blueberry beers. As in, there was literal blueberries in it. The waitress told him if he didn’t love the first one, she’d buy it for him, and he told her to drink it too, which she smiled at.

I giggled, feeling the alcohol. It was a stiff margarita. “The waitresses always flirt with you when they think I’m your daughter.”

“Do they?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Cuz you’re handsome. Cuz they get cranky when they figure it out.” I giggled again. He blushed and looked down at the table.

Several drinks and a couple of hours later, we staggered back to the hotel as the sun set over the bay behind us. It had been a slow start, but the trip was finally getting good! This was living!