Final Drive: All Roads Lead to Chesaning

After a nearly 3 hour nap, the Bridge was no longer lit. Instead it was just waiting for that sun to rise. I just looked at the beautiful marvel and laughed to myself, thinking how I slept in my car on a road I didn't even know existed before summer began. Here, I was in the same place I was when I started this trip through the U.P. Back then, my heart and soul was full of curiosity and now it is full of generosity and memories that even this storyteller can't rightfully convey. But it was time to head home. The anxiety for this exam had been building up since the Porkies and I knew I'd be best served finishing my studies in Chesaning.

I paid the toll woman my $4.00 fee, thanking her and thinking: it only costs $4.00? She must not know the beauty of Drummond, a sunset at Whitefish Point and mining in the Keweenaw? As I drove past the five-mile stretch and into The Great Lake State's hand, the bright solar called our sun was creeping just beyond the horizon. I wanted to go back to the Porkies, to the metropolis called Marquette and to see how Ironwood would keep plugging away in this 21st Century economy.

I pulled into Alma at roughly 8:30, fulfilling a promise I had made to my aunt when she lended me her camping lantern months ago. "Marc, can you make our home in Alma part of your adventure?" she asked in late May. She made me breakfast as I told her and my uncle about the past five weeks of my life, my coming of age story, and about how much I yearned to be back on the beach with my law books, but how I needed to be home for these final days.

I hopped in the car. Now less than an hour's drive from my final destination, I looked forward to when I'd read this all again in one-sitting; I looked forward to when I'd be able to share these stories with my godsons, Drew and Ben; I looked forward to when I could take them to this paradise called northern Michigan. And then, looking at the sign that prompted me to turn left, I knew, now more than ever, that my father has always been right: All Roads Lead to Chesaning.

Day 35: The Last Nap

Its been a wholesome 5 weeks already. Wow. Time does fly by fast and yet the beginning days in Tawas up through this morning in Menominee seem so long ago. Shit, I was 27 when this thing all started.

Today, continued like the past week - in full study mode with little interaction. I woke up for the sunrise, but fell back asleep until 9, when I pounded through about five hours of studying, doing MBE questions. That was only curbed by Jen, the girl at the front office, telling me that I was about two hours past checkout and her boss from the city was gonna fine me. "I guess I lost track of time," I apologized. "Tell your boss thanks for not charging me extra and that I'll refrain from encouraging any future lawsuits if I pass this test.

I needed the Internet so I decided to head to the city's library. I've been to some beautiful places for reading during the past few weeks. Located on the harbor, the Spies Public Library was no different. And just like the half a dozen other libraries I've visited, this one was also well-used by all factions of life. It kind of gave me some hope that we weren't all forgetting about the importance of a good-book and maybe that people will read the papers once-in-a-while.

I finally left the library at closing time, which was close to 6:30; I got into my lesser-packed car; and listened to property as I drove to Escanaba. I drove north of Cedar River and found Fox Park camp site. I wish I could say I stayed there for it looked like paradise on Lake Michigan and I later found out it was just $12. Instead I drove to U.P.'s third most populated city at just under 13,000 and the place actor Jeff Daniels brought fame to because of Escanaba in da Moonlight. I eventually made it down to the local Aerie to check my e-mail, charge up my electronics and meet some townies. It was here where I met Leo, who after buying me my second beer, told me that he was the city's mayor. Once again the Eagles Club has brought me a friend I'd never forget. He bragged about the town's timber past and their Lake Michigan frontage. I was content and back in good spirits after another long day of studying.

I walked next door to the city's famous restaurant and brewery, Hereford and Hops, to grab dinner, but the kitchen was closed. It was here, now nearly 11 p.m. at night and on my journey's 35 day, when I decided it was time to head home. I was coming out of the bathroom and saw a 2001 Travel Michigan article framed in the restaurant. It was titled: featured restaurants to visit in Michigan. Hereford and Hops was number 2; The Heritage House, a now closed restaurant in my hometown, was number 1. It was time to head back. (The ironic thing about that link - which I think has since been cut down - is its written about a restaurant of close hometown friends; it was written by a college friend who I first met while studying abroad 8 years ago in the British Isles. Art took a job in the neighboring town before moving to Traverse City for a similar post. We live in small world.)

I got into my car, stopped at a grocery store so I could buy my dad a pasty and headed toward the Bridge. I made one last stop in the U.P, here, of all places, a casino in Manistique to grab free coffee and upon the advice of Fred and Elaine, accept free $20 worth of credit during my birthday month, before driving to the Bridge. I pulled onto Boulevard Drive, put Bon Iver Michicant on my Ipad and took my last nap of this adventure.

Day 34: Birthday Boom County Saloon

What can I say, the 16th of July is a holiday in our family: 28 years and 9 months ago my parents had sex for the third and final time. (The first two were on their wedding night. The second prompted my sister's birth in 1980. And the third was in late 1983.

What a great way to turn 28: spending nine straight hours plowing through practice bar exams, both essay and multiple choice portions. When I said that this was a birthday I'd never forget, I really meant that I'll never forget the fellow RV campers just staring at me with looks of concern and shades of discontent that a 20-something student is simply grazing over a picnic table with headphones, a number two pencil and a booklet.

I wish I could tell you that the first part of my birthday provided great thrills; it didn't. With that said, every two hours, I'd turn on my cell phone to hear voicemails from family and friends and found it comforting to see the many friends sending e-mails, text messages or Facebook messages. It was also amazing to read "keep writing" and "best of luck next week." Its the small moments of communication that can continue our drive through life. You see, I've looked at these 30 plus days through the lens of the law, and through the voices of people. While, I am still uncertain on my cognate, I am hoping it involves aiding others. I'm not good at many things in life, but I enjoy every conversation I ever have, even the hard ones. The ability to communicate may be my greatest asset, something that I've treasured as I've plugged through our state's most northern posts.

I finally called it quits at 6:30, treating myself for a run through this port town, eventually stumbling into Wisconsin. On this hour long jaunt, I was met with the Boom County Saloon, a bar I'd later find out was still open, despite showing no shades of economic activity. Apparently, the serve libations during the odd hours of 4:45 - 7:00. (Happy Hour is primetime?) With sweat dripping down my face, I stopped, took a picture and simply smiled, recalling my maternal grandfather, who was dubbed the boommeister by many. When my grandfather was happy to be with family and friends and was a few gin and waters in, he'd often say boom, similar to how Seinfeld made yada-yada-yada famous. For example, I woke up today, opened up a bar review book, boom-boom-boom, I saw the Boom County Saloon. Here, I was about an 8 and half-hour drive from my childhood home, which was across the street from Grandpa's, now home of my cousin and her two children, and I could hear him. Ironically, this week marks five years since his passing.

My night concluded at a local sports bar, where I met Katie. I was there to treat myself to a dinner, a beer and hopefully watch the Tigers; she was there to do the same. As I talked to the 24-year-old college student from Grand Rapids, we exchanged stories about Houghton, home of her college; home of my good friend Andy. "How do you know so much about the town?" she asked. "I've been traveling for nearly five weeks through the state; I probably know more than some locals," I responded. Before I knew it, I was back in Wisconsin, where Katie bought me a birthday beer at the local brewery. Despite having met her just an hour before, our stories interchanged as we discussed how we both ended up here in Menominee. She was here on a summer internship, preparing for her future. In many ways, I'd like to think I am doing the same.

Day 33: Where the Best of Michigan Begins

I woke in the late morning after about 5 hours of sleep. I figured the small amount of sleep was worth having the recollection of having seen the Northern Lights during this venture. The day began with the beginning of continuing the review process; nerves were setting in; and despite being hours away from test day and being in the midst of true beauty, I felt the same anxiety as the hundreds of others about to take this test.

After a muggy run around Lake Antoine, I exchanged my goodbyes with Kelly and Ric, both of us knowing that this little friendship that had little merits besides the common bond of campfires and class rock. My next destination was Menominee – a border town, located on Lake Michigan. For me, this tiny town of less than 10,000 dates back to my high school days, when I was on the state’s student council board and representing my school at conferences around the state and country. Another member of the board was my friend Tommy. Though I haven’t seen him since before I graduated from high school, it was people like him who inspired me to take this trek across the U.P. He once stayed at our home in Chesaning and I figured the least I could do is the favor.

I made the under two hour drive south, continuing my fifth day in the central time zone and feeling like I was in another state more than any prior time. This was Packers’ Country, where Detroit fans are far and few between, and where Brett Favre was a legend-turned-ass. Yet, people are forever grateful for 1997, when he led Green Bay to the promise land and returned the Lombardi Trophy home.

After listening to mortgages on tape – something that is proving to be my hardest subject – I landed at my camp site along the river that shares the city’s name. This city park was by far the cleanest I’d camped at. The summer workers were out 24-7 doing yard work. I studied for a few hours, grilled my first dinner in days, and eventually met Jen, the local college-girl who worked at the front desk. When she heard of my story, she invited me to tonight’s festivities: the 4th of July Fireworks 11 days late.

As we crossed across the bridge that divides Michigan to Wisconsin, I thought how much this trip has exposed me to every generation. Here I was with a group of college students, last night I was with Ric and Kelly and weeks before I was sharing Martinis with Fred and Elaine. The show didn’t disappoint, providing a great precursor to what would be a birthday. I’d never forget. Kind of considering, such I'd be starting it in a town that calls itself 'Where the Best of Michigan Begins.'

Day 32: Putting things into Perspective

My second day in Iron Mountain started on 2nd shift and it was a marathon in this sports' town. I studied into the late morning at my campsite and when rain was finally going to meet up with me again, I figured no better time than now to do laundry for the first time in two weeks. (It's amazing how you can feel so accomplished for doing so little.) Then again I was working on outlines, hoping to finish them by dinnertime.

I spent the early evening atop the city's highest post, the iconic ski-jump that makes this place internationally famous. As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about the hurdles we all make. A year ago, I would have never dreamt to be studying at the footsteps of this giant salom; a year ago you probably would have never thought you'd be reading about this place and recalling different passages in your own life. Reflection can be one of the greatest things of life. If we fail to do so, we will be left with little to embrace in the future. I finally moved back to camp around 9 p.m. after another stop at Spuds. The place was great, but I was in need of some home-cooking. I promised myself to make something in Menominee. I promised myself to thank my mom for the amazing meal that I imagine awaits me when I come home.

My night concluded or began at around 10 p.m. when I poured a beer my friend Bob Benenson gave me for graduation and joined Kelly and Ric(sp?). Kelly and Ric were enlightening to say the least. As we sat there and talked, Ric's son blowed up huge firecrackers in the distance, which barely overpowered and the ambiance of classic rock. It was then when I was reminded again what it means to be happy. With Kelly and Ric, you can't help but think you're in the midst of a love story that only time was a hurdle. They'd met years before, had separate true loves, and time brought them back together again, or as Kelly puts it "after our divorces we finally owed up to the truth." Sitting there, Ric told me of the city's rich past.(Here we are home of Izzo and Mooch, but before them was the Ford Model T and Kingsford Charcoal, both icons for all of us, whether we use them or not.) Meanwhile, Kelly and I discussed classic rock, playing "name that tune" of many bands I told her I saw as a teen in Cadot. (What were my parents thinking? Perhaps that trip was the beginning of my adventures. Perhaps it was the beginning of their trust.) Nevertheless, this conversation made this night feel like Iron Mountain was more than a destination, but a home much like the one I love to call my own.

I went back to studying, but this wasn't met without an interruption. I thought I saw something moving in the air and decided it was time to drive back up the big hill. Just when I thought I hadn't taken advantage of Iron Mountain because of long, drawn-out study sessions, I was met with the Northern Lights. I wish I had a picture, but instead, I only have a conversation I had with a fellow dweller of the skies. This sky-seeker was a local man, the same age as me, who had seen a good part of Europe and the world. We had lots in common, especially talking about Romania. I felt a bit apologetic though: he was there as a member of our military; I was there as a tourist and employee of a law firm. If the northern lights didn't put things into perspective; talking to him did.