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Home The U.P.
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Bike Week
Courtesy of Michigan Department of Transportation (2007
Michigan State Map) Riding along I found myself watching the rain drops form on the bike's windshield and then stream up and off like some exploding fireworks. There wasn't much traffic on Hwy M-94 this morning, which I didn't mind at all. In fact I hadn't had to deal with much traffic at all so far. Then again this was the U.P. and traffic only really happened at fairs and during deer season. As I drew closer to Manistique old memories started coming to me. As passed by the old Jack Pine Lodge, it had me remembering some great times spent there with my folks and friends. This morning there was no activity at the old bar, but it looked like it was still open for business these days. I wonder if they still have the old wooden Indian? Not much further and I found myself slowing down as I passed by my old childhood school house. Once a three room school, it was heated by this huge old pot belly wood burning stove located in the center of the building. During the coldest days of winter, more times than not, we’d have work at our desks in our winter coats and gloves. It was another time and place in America then, but a good one all the same. As I neared Manistique, I decided take a detour and ride over to Indian Lake. I grew up there and visit the old neighborhood on my bike felt right. Taking the long way, I rode through places I haven't been by in years. The area seem so quiet and peaceful, but for the throbbing sound of my motorcycle. When I reached the bridge, I pulled the bike off to the side of the road and looked out over Indian Lake. The Copenhagen Bridge was the place where all the kids in the neighborhood gathered during the summer. I logged many hours there swimming with friends and family. The lake and river were like glass this morning. Not a boat to be seen on the lake. As I looked down at the water, I found myself wishing I had brought my swim suit. I would have liked to have jumped from the bridge just one more time. It amazed me again that there wasn't one boat on the lake. Made me wonder if the fishing had gone bad or tourists just weren't coming here anymore. As I looked at the names etched in the steel railings on the bridge it brought a smile to my face. How many times had I carved my name into that bridge only to see it disappear with periodic painting of the bridge. I wished I could have stayed longer, but I running short of time so with a little regret, I fired up the bike and rolled down through the old neighborhood. Not a soul to be seen anywhere. I don't think people spend much time outdoors anymore. Motorcycling may not be much exercise but at least it gets you away from the TV and Internet. Manistique was an old logging that now revolves around a a local paper mill and tourism. It felt weird as I started my ride through town. I caught myself thinking how cool it would have been to have done this as young man. Instead I ran around in an old 1954 Plymouth. It wasn't much of chick magnet, but it got me around. Once I even took it to Montreal and another time around Lake Michigan. Still how cool it would have been to have motorcycle back then. Not much changes in Manistique from year to year. On my left was the old food store where I got my first real job. It's now a Family Dollar store. It seems like every old store has now become some kind of a Dollar Store. A short distance later I rode by the Harbor Bar which is still closed. A lot of good memories floating around that place. What a great biker bar that would make I thought. In fact I think the original owner was the first biker in Manistique. Feeling hungry I decided to pull into Hardees. As I walked in I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see anyone I’d recognize or not? Then again, it had been so many years since I left, who would recognize me anyway with my white beard all dressed in leathers? From Hardees it’s only about a ten minute ride to the family cemetery. This visit was one of the reason for this ride. Three generations of Johnson's are buried there. I asked my dad once about a scar he had on his leg. He told me he'd got it when he laid down his uncle's Harley. True or not, I don't know, but I always remembered the story. That and the fact that apparently that uncle had rode the bike through a bar screen door in Chicago. I don't know if there is a hereafter or not, but sometimes it doesn't make any difference. I sat by graves them all about how proud they would be of the Johnson family. So many of us now spread out all over the country. Where they listening? I’d like to think so. After doing some time cleaning up around the graves, it was time to leave. As I fired up the bike, I could swear I heard my mother voice scolding me for buying a motorcycle. I smiled as I left the cemetery headed for home.
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