Michigan's "Tunnel of Trees" Rte. 119

They call this a road but I think "lane" might be a more appropriate term. A ride down this lane brings you in close proximity to every type of tree that grows in NW Michigan. You also get treated to beautiful views of Lake Michigan, sand dunes, beaches and a very interesting paved trail with little other traffic, even on a Sunday.

This picture gives you an idea of how wide the lane is. Its 20 or so miles of narrow, unmarked track with lots of blind corners and hidden driveways. I'l post a couple more pictures later. I wish I would have snapped some of the hairpin (Yes Michiganders, I said hairpin) turns.

Thanks CJS for the recommendation of this ride.

I'm back with the rest of the story:

There’s a mostly invisible line that wraps around Earth, halfway between the equator and the North Pole. I crossed the 45th parallel twice yesterday while traveling to and from the top of Lower Michigan.

Sunday morning was crystal clear and pretty comfortable as far as temperature goes. It was about 4:00 a.m. when I decided to take a little spin on the Goldwing. I figured it would get warmer as daylight approached so I took off with just a t-shirt and armored jacket with liner. I did wear my chaps, which turned out to be a good call.

I started from the southeast part of the state, heading for the opposite corner. Since it was dark out and I couldn’t see anything anyway, I decided to stay on the freeway at least for a while. I headed more or less north. The moon was a sliver over my right shoulder, surrounded by bright stars. I knew the weather would hold since the bottom part of the moon was showing, holding in all the rain. (At least that was what my father told me when I was a little kid).

As a late sleeper, I had forgotten how long the darkness lingered this time of year. As the first hour eroded away, I was starting to wonder.

The traffic was light and I decided it would be a good time to rack up a few quick miles since I intended to meander around slowly later in the day. I noticed some weird signs in the construction zones and stopped for a picture. Back on the road, I set the cruise well inside my headlight range and just low enough to make a warning more likely than a ticket if I busted somebody’s radar.

When US-23 turned into I-75 Flint came into view and just as quickly faded into the darkness behind me. I did pass a tow truck with a lot of extra running lights on it. I flipped on by blue LEDs and he flashed all his lights in response. I imagined he was going to pick up the remains of somebody’s Saturday night.

As I passed Bay City (remember the Bay City Rollers?) the temp dropped from 61 to 52 in the space of about ¼ mile. I was already wearing all the clothes I brought so it was time to shiver for a while. The tension was causing pain in my shoulders and I had to concentrate on relaxing, if such a thing is possible. Saginaw Bay was a couple of miles off to my right and I knew the temperature might drop, but I hadn’t anticipated how much.

Eventually, the sun decided to slowly peel back one edge of the night sky. The change was visible to the east as the horizon let in the slightest hint of daylight. Then the sky turned a different shade almost every minute with purple, pink, and finally every shade of blue imaginable, then at last the bright yellow sun with its warmth which I anxiously anticipated.

Now, in the daylight, my anxiety about stray deer began to subside and I started thinking about sleep. About then, I crossed the mythical 45th parallel for the first time today. As soon as I saw the sign, I was hit with the aroma of fresh sawdust. There must be a lumber mill nearby. It reminded me of my youth in Alaska. I was raised on a homestead in the woods and my father was constantly building, repairing, or creating something made of wood. He left piles of wood scraps and sawdust in his wake and it usually fell to me to sweep it up. I hated sawdust at the time but now it seems like an old friend I haven’t seen for a while.

I stuck to the freeway all the way to Mackinaw City and rode directly down to the Straits below the fabled “Mighty Mac,” bridge to the Upper Peninsula. I took a few snapshots while a seagull took the opportunity to leave his calling card on my back seat. If that was an intentional shot, we could use him on our side.

That reminded me of an old joke about the bald guy who had a seagull take a dump on his head. His buddy asked “Do you want me to get you some toilet paper?” the bald guy replies “Nah, that seagull will be long gone before you could get back.”

I decided to let it air dry and remove it later. As it turned out, I didn’t have to. I forgot and laid my jacket on it when I stopped at the Big Boy for coffee and that pretty much took care of it.

Prior to stopping for coffee, I took a turn around the town and ran across a group of travelers on Goldwings getting ready to hit the road. They were from New York or New Jersey and were heading to the Badlands. Some of them were members of gl1800riders.com but I didn’t get their handles. I couldn’t quite make out what they said due to several hours of XM set at 20 on the way up.

I got general directions for Route 119 from the waitress at the little restaurant and headed west. I should have brought a map. I considered crossing the Mac but figured – been there, done that.
The directions took me into a snooty neighborhood with lots of signs saying “local traffic only.” I decided to follow my infallible instincts and was soon at the end of a dirt road somewhere along the east shore of Lake Michigan. The water puddles and greasy mud from the previous night’s rain made for an interesting turn-around.

After finding pavement again, I kept taking right turns until I found a sign that said 119. This is the road CJS mentioned a while back. He found it on his way back from the Midnight Ride to St. Ignore. His description of the area intrigued me. It turned out to be just as he had described.

I expected to see tons of bikes since it was a beautiful Sunday. Not a single one. I did see a bunch parked at a little inn called Legs which features genuine Polish fare. See http://www.legsinn.com/news_hunts1.html for some interesting background on this place.

I forgot to mention there were Corvettes all over the place in Mackinaw City. Must have been some kind of car show or swap meet. When I got there, Corvettes were heading out in all directions. I came across a blue one while traveling south on 119 and we swapped positions several times, as I stopped often to take pictures.

I don’t know if there is an official start to 119 but if there is, it is probably Cross Village. As soon as you leave town, the road narrows and trees form a canopy over miles of winding road. I use the term road loosely. The trail is wider than most bike paths, but not much. Large and small trees line both sides of the lane, some dangerously close to the pavement. There is no paint on the centerline, or shoulders. Approaching cars slow and pull to the right. I doubt if some portions of the road are wider than 18 feet.

All along the way, you are treated to views of the deep blue Lake Michigan waters. Where the water is shallow, a green color takes over. The road winds in and out along bluffs, maybe 100 feet above the water line. Most of the way is buffered from the cliff by an assortment of trees. There are many varieties of firs as well as birch, poplar, willow, various oaks, maples and others too numerous to mention. There are many places to pull onto the grass unless you’re in a car. In a car, your best bet is to stop along one of the short straight-aways for photos.

When riding the trail, watch for debris on the corners. Just when you think you have the rhythm figured out, a tight corner appears that is covered in sand. The whole area is sand just beneath a thin layer of topsoil. The other surprise is the couple of creeks you encounter. With the tunnel effect and the constant turns, it’s hard to see very far ahead. Entering one left-hander, I found a tighter than anticipated rising, then falling turn. Of course the apex contained an oncoming nine passenger van. The road suddenly dropped away to the bottom of a little draw with a hairpin turn at the bottom and a series of quick twists up the other side.

The encounter with the van was exciting, given the width of the road and fact that a hard turning Goldwing takes up a lot of width already. I’d estimate my windshield and left grip were well within two feet of the van. At the time it felt like two inches. I got a chance to practice changing my line, mid-turn. The divot I took out of the macadam was rivaled by the one left in the seat. Back to acting my age I guess.

The road is fun to ride but should be considered a scenic ride as opposed to “spirited.” Too many driveways, bicycles, and blind corners to get carried away.

Once you think you have seen all the beautiful vistas you can stand, you arrive at Harbor Springs with its stately old houses, church steeples and its port, filled with sailboats and other yachts.

A little farther south, you pass through Petosky with its lakefront park and more grand old houses. Route 119 is gone and a modern but still scenic stretch of road leads south past countless little stands where locals sell cherries and all manner of fresh produce. Charlevoix, Eastport, and Elk Rapids all display attractive roadside conveniences designed to separate the traveler from his funds. I managed the trip without purchasing a single piece of driftwood.

The scenic drive ended in Traverse City and it was time to slog back through oceans of corn and soy bean fields. I was back in the Michigan I know. I angled southeast on 115 for a while, then cut south. I was tempted to stop at the casino in Mt. Pleasant, but soldiered on. I made good time all the way to Lansing, in spite of heavy traffic. I-96 was a piece of cake until everything came to a stop. A couple of miles at a crawl and I got to look at a SUV and its upside down trailer in a ditch. Nothing obstructing anything on the roadway, but my fellow travelers couldn’t bear to miss the free show. Back under way, I took a shortcut through Pinckney and Hell and snuck back into the garage before 5:00 pm with an extra 837 miles on the clock.

I sure wish Route 119 was a little closer. Don’t miss it if you’re ever in the neighborhood.

17 minute wait for U.S. Customs

Forest, Ontario

It was a great day to be riding in Ontario. Eight of us on 7 bikes got through Customs at the Blue Water Bridge with very little delay. Pete took the lead since he: A-is a transplanted Canadian, and B-seemed to know which way to go to get to Stefanik's house. This turned out to be not entirely accurate, as he homed in on the wrong address when we were within a few blocks of our goal.

The confusion was short-lived as Mike L. came to the rescue. He and his wife zoomed ahead with the rest of us following. Mike turned confidently into Don's yard and around some silos where he parked. A while later we found out he was just looking for a wide spot to turn around when he spotted Don's Amsoil sign.

I have come to expect this sort of behavior among bikers. It used to be called falling in it and coming up smelling like a rose. Any way you look at it, we looked good thanks to Mike, and that's all that counts.

Don came out to greet us and one by one, his family joined us. I got out my note pad and dutifully wrote down everyone's name as they arrived, along with their screen name and home town. I maintained this log through out the day since I have been so bad at remembering names in previous blog entries. Needless to say, I made it to my garage before realizing I had left the note pad on one of the picnic tables.

I mentioned the Stefanik family's hospitality in an earlier entry but I'll say thanks again here in case they are reading this. They have a lot of good friends, but with a family like theirs the friends are just a bonus.

As the day wore on, more and more people arrived. At about 3:00 or so Bulldog and Meesh rolled in along with Wild Bill Moore and his wife (whose name is on the note pad - sorry). Before them, Doug Holman who goes by Tenpinarm came in from Rochester. We had one attendee from Dallas; Peter who goes by Slovak on the boards. Peter didn't ride as far as it seems. He has been working in Lansing and had a fairly short jaunt to meet us. Interestingly, he couldn't stay for dinner, as he is leaving for Anchorage on Sunday. The guy gets around.

The motorcycle group and the non-cyclists were cordial and even friendly. There were even a few worthwhile conversations. But inevitably, the groups sort of settled in among their peers and enjoyed the company and conversations unique to their experience.

Polecat and I planned ahead and started putting a dent in the beer supply early in the day. I was at a disadvantage, planning to return home that evening. Steve was better prepared than I. He took over the LaBatt duties since he intended to camp out on the farm.

Everybody had a great time. Don was spread pretty thin with so many guests to attend to. But now he is retired, maybe he can make more of the events. Accessories were assessed, tires were critiqued, lies were told, tentative plans for the next meet were laid. In short, it was a perfect Saturday. To top it all off, two catering trucks full of goodies arrived and everyone had a feast that rivaled a Thanksgiving dinner at the in-laws.

All good things must come to a middle, then end. CJS was the first to voice what we all knew had to happen. It was time to go. One by one others saddled up. Like a dustbunny, our little group grew until five bikes were ready to head west into the sunset.

Now I like Canadians, usually better than U.S. people. But I have to wonder about some of their traffic engineers. On the way back, we took a side road south. As we approached 402, there was a sign directing us to turn left before we reached the highway in order to head west. Huh? I always thought the "Michigan U-turns" were inspired by Satan. This is the craziest way to enter a highway I've seen yet. To quote my old friend Bill Dennis: "I been to 14 axle greasins, four goat ropes, and a County Fair, but I ain't never seen nuthin like that!"

The rest of the trip to Sarnia was uneventful. It cost us 50 cents more to leave Canada than to get in. We waited in line 17 minutes for the privelege. Orange Crush was still leading and paid for everybody when he went through. So all we had to do was convince the guard we weren't terrorists or carrying any Bing cherries. That reminds me. I owe Pete $2.00. Pete, if you're reading this, remind me when you see me!

Once back in the States, the trip was almost over. Frank and I kept going south on 94 while Orange Crush, CJS, and Mike L. headed west on 69. Frank and I kicked it up a notch on the way south. 80 to 85 and still getting passed from time to time. We took 696 west and Frank dropped off at I-75 to head back north to his place. I ratcheted it up a little more to play tag with a Porsche Carrera and later, some type of sport bike whose rider gave me a thumbs up when I broke off for my exit to M-14.

After skirting a the edges of a few rain clouds I made it home and began searching for my carefully compiled name list. When that was over, I was welcomed home by my beautiful wife. the end to a perfect day for a Gold Wing rider.

Don Stefanik's BBQ

Friday the 13th came on a Saturday this month. It was also the date chosen to celebrate Don Stefanik’s retirement.

Don and his wife Carole invited friends, family, business associates and members of the motorcycle community to join them in Forest, Ontario to kick off the next career move.

Don is a guy who prepares for the future. All this time, while growing food in Canada’s banana belt, he was building an Amsoil business on the side. Like Bulldog, his southern neighbor, Don plans to run a business from home and let others pick up the stresses of cultivating the land.

From my perspective, Don’s transition from farming gave me an opportunity to explore some new roads on the Goldwing, meet up with fellow riders, including Don, and let’s not forget – free food!

The farm on Fuller Road is a modern operation with acres of Soy Beans maturing in the fields along with the associated equipment and storage facilities. I’m agriculturally challenged, but to me this year’s crop looked healthy and substantial.

In speaking with Don’s son-in-law I learned a little about how much land it takes to produce a load of soy beans. When you add in fickle weather and other variables I am amazed anyone is willing to grow crops for a living. The Stefanik family seems to have mastered the technique and I’m sure will be sorely missed in the market.

Speaking of the Stefanik family, a nicer group of folks would be hard to find. I had the privilege of meeting three generations and they all were gracious and hospitable. Even little Joshua (maybe 1 year old?) did his part by smiling through the entire event. He didn’t have much to add by way of conversation, but contributed to the spirits of all he encountered.

On the way up to Forest I caught up with six other riders at the McDonalds in Port Huron. After the usual road construction and detours in downtown Detroit I was running a little late and was glad to see Polecat arrive about five minutes after me. Come to think of it he was running late the last time I met up with him in Dayton Ohio en route to Tennessee.

The Michigan contingent consisted of Mike L. and his wife Sherry, Orange Crush, HiYoSilver, Slovak, CJS, and me. With Polecat in tow, we headed for the border.

I managed to snap a few other pictures and will post a few more here when I have time.

Goodbye Columbus!

Ohio curves...who knew?

The last weekend of July was the Honda Homecoming near Marysville. The hotel rooms in the immediate area were spoken for and as a notorious last minute planner, I wound up staying on the west side of Columbus.

When I checked in to the Fairfield Inn, I met Bernie Keller, a H-D dealer from Gaithersburg, MD. He had athe biker's tan that I recongnized when I saw him in the lobby. He was on his way home from a business trip that had taken him to the Black Hills area. He had put in some long hours crossing the country on his Harley the last few days. He invited me to visit Rockville Harley-Davidson if I was in the area. Nice guy. I'll keep his card in case I get over that way.

The Marysville factory turns into Mecca for Honda motorcycles for a few days, accompanied by the red carpet treatment from surrounding towns. The crowds and organized events are great. Meeting old friends and making new ones is always fun too. The part I have passed up in previous years is exploring the countryside nearby.

Until last week, my picture of Ohio has been one of cornfields and more cornfields. Roads laid out along ancient section lines. Roads with as much character as oatmeal. On this trip though, I actually consulted the handout material from Honda and set out to see what was there.

I had the best intentions of getting up early Saturday and going on the Ride For Kids but that didn't quite work out. I did see Bernie again. He and his girlfriend were heading across the parking to to the Cracker Barrel. We wished each other good riding and parted ways.

I dug the map out of the trunk and found the route with the most wiggly lines. The route was marked in gold highlighter and was located about 45 mile east of me, straight across Columbus.

Saturday morning, the traffic was light and the weather was in the mid 70s. I headed east on 70 and was admiring the dozen or so skyscrapers off to my left when someone in the exit lane changed his mind. He suddenly crossed the solid white line into my lane. Discretion being the better part of valor, I nailed the gas and swerved left, then back right, using all the power and handling the Wing is known for to avoid a shoving match with a Ford Explorer. Then I resumed the speed limit (or just a little over) and watched my mirrors as the careless driver slunk farther back to avoid my gaze.

I had skipped coffee this morning, but now, fully awake, I began to more fully appreciate my surroundings.

About the time I started thinking I had missed my exit, the turnoff for Thornville appeared. As soon as I started south past Buckeye Lake, the road actually dipped down into a swale. I was so suprised, I stopped for a picture. The road curved down around to the right, then straightened and flattened again. "That didn't last long" I thought.

I got to the first turn at 204, and instead of going east, turned west to visit the little town of Thornville. Very picturesque. A quiet little town on a hill surrounded by rich green farmland.

After retracing my track, I headed east on 204. Another suprise. The road was like a roller coaster. I could feel the suspension stretching to the limits at each crest. I also learned to approach these hills with caution because of the immediate turn on the other side. Another interesting observation is how much undercarriage on an approaching pickup is visible when you both arrive on top at about the same time.

My third surprise followed quickly. Just as I rounded off a hard right hand corner, I noticed an old lady walking a dog in a field to my left. She raised her hand and waved a friendly greeting. It wasn't the only wave of the day. I was amazed at the friendliness of the people in the area.

I followed the backroads, generally east through tiny towns, past farms and woodlands, even to an Industrial Sand mine probably from the Paleozoic Period. (The sand, not the mine). I had just cleared a series of twisties and headed for a straight stretch when I noticed big rusty buckets traveling back and forth on cables above the road. I made a turn into a driveway which was covered with powdery sand. Very slick. After wallowing back to pavement I snapped a picture of the operation and what passes for a town in the background.

Back on track, I passed several interesting sideroads that beckoned with tree tunnels and sharply rising turns. I figured with my E-Trex for a guide, and none of the roads showing, I should keep following the signposts and stay on the gold highlighted trail.

I am lucky in that all my life I have wanted to know what lies around the next corner. The course laid out by Honda didn't dissappoint. Dozens of blind hills and turns kept me guessing and kept my speed in check as well.

Finally I reached a crossroads somewhere south of Zanesville and stopped to refer to the map. A fellow who had been sitting on his porch came trotting up to make sure I found the right road. I was starting to get used to Buckeye hospitality. After assurances the unmarked road heading north was highway 22, I was off again.

Zanesville got in my way for a while. I was looking for 146 east and after a few tries, returned south to where I had passed a couple of hundred bikers milling around a blocked off street. I drove the only Honda in sight into the middle of the event and asked what was up. It turned out to be a Viet Nam Veteran's ride. I fit the participation requirements, but didn't feel like my current "uniform" fit in. There were enough "do-rags" present to build a weeks worth of RoseAnne Barr's drawers.

I finally found someone who knew the area and headed out once again. Up to this point, the only bikes I had seen were Harleys and a couple of sports bikes of undetermined origin. I kind of thought I'd be wagging my clutch hand at Wingers all day. As it turned out, a little over 300 miles and the only Wings I saw were westbound on I-70 near Columbus.

Anyway, I headed east on 146, then 313, then angled up toward Plainfield on 83 and 93. These little backroads were fun and almost totally traffic free. It was a good thing too, due to the sneaky corners and blind hillcrests. A couple of times, I turned around for a second run at a chicane once I had it sorted out.

Stopping frequently to make sure I was still on the "gold route," I meanderedup to Coshocton and finally headed west on 541. This section of road was still curvy but obviously was designed for something faster than an Amish buggy. You could actually see into the corners and the hillcrests were not backloaded with switchbacks.














I made good time heading down to Newark and found my way to west 16. I wanted to get back to Marysville in time to claim the free motorcycle they were giving away, so I pulled over one more time to consult my trusty souvenier map.

I was on 16 near 37, stopped alongside a road sign. A guy on a Harley pulled up along side me facing against traffic and asked if I needed help. We had a nice conversation about area roads and the relative merits of various bikes. Randy Kinzel is a K-9 officer with Columbus PD. He noticed my Blue Knights windshield sticker and we exchanged thoughts on retirement and how the world changes after you hang up your "shootin' irons." After pointing me in the right direction, we went on our ways; me west, Randy east. You meet the nicest people on a Har... I mean Honda.

About this time, Ohio started looking like it used to and I started remembering I hadn't had breakfast yet. The Tumbleweed in Bellefontaine was good. Why not? I made a bee-line for the dining room. It was about 3:00 pm and I had been listening to '60s music on the XM for 6 hours. Time for a snack and a little down time before the big Gold Wing give-away.

The chimichanga hit the spot and I returned to the Honda factory to join thousands of bikers holding our collective breath so as not to miss the magic moment. The announcer strung us along for a while with "important announcements" then finally said something about Michigan. Then I really started paying attention. "The winner of the brand new GL1800 Gold Wing is... David Palmer of Berien, Michigan!"

Bummer - maybe next year. If not the free bike, I have a feeling I'll at least go for the red route. I hope a few folks will read this and decide to tag along.