Page II - The U.P. on Two Wheels

An Introduction to the Joys (and pit-falls) of Adventure Riding

Inspired by Prof. Hardy

Written by Cadet-extraodinaire Reyers

How it all started

This adventure was a long time in the making, starting with the sharing of a photo by my childhood best friend, Randoculies Hardificlies. This is what he sent:

 

very small picture, very vague, but full of mystery and potential

For some reason, during longer or more boring meetings at 3M, it captured my imagination. To say it led from one thing to another would be an understatement.

1. A 650cc Kawasaki KLR Dual Sport Motorcycle
2. A motorcycle license endorsement, with corresponding classes and training
3. A Jeep Wrangler Unlimited
4. A motorcycle trailer
5. Motorcycle clothing

What started with a simple idea and relatively low budget.... well... so much for the budget.

But I wanted to go explore areas that would be off the beaten path, with some historical interest, and with some mystery. Since the photo was from the U.P. of Michigan, and the area had lots of ghost towns, abandoned mines, and a rich mining history, it seemed to qualify. In addition, I had enjoyed the area from the water (Lake Superior), always wondering what lay beyond the shore.

Always Rely on an Expert

To look at him, you wouldn't know that my guide is well experienced in motorcycle riding, and in exploring the area. (The look is creatively established by holding two mints over your front teeth - apparently an effort to establish an image that defies his nearly six decades of age).

Upon arriving with my cycle, having transported it in a trailer from the Twin Cities to avoid the hazards of the interstate and high traffic areas, we calculated we had enough time left in the day to travel into the workzone. We left Cornucopia at around 1:30 heading for the final destination of Mass City, Michigan - which has neither mass nor is it a city.

On the way, we stopped through Ontonagon, which was a common stop-off point for the Loosdrecht (family sailboat) on the way to the Keweenah by water. The White Pine Mine was the last copper mine to close, in 1995, and is located near Ontonagon, so it was an appropriate start to our rummage of copper mining history in the U.P..

The water front looked the same as I remembered it from more than 30 years ago. Minus the paper mill that loomed over the town, of course, and the hundreds of jobs it represented.

A Bygone Era - Mining in Michigan

Between Ontonagon and our destination, we stopped by the Victoria Mine, just outside of Rockland. This was our first close-up view of mine ruins. The superintendent's house remains well preserved and lived in, but the shaft house remains only as a foundation with engine and equipment mounts still in view. What made this mine unique was it's power and propulsion system. It was driven by hydraulically compressed air - an invention called the Taylor compressor. River water was routed through three man-made vertical shafts five feet in diameter by 334 feet in depth. They led to a compression chamber, also man-made in the rock, 18 feet wide by 170 feet long, shaped 20 feet deep on one end, and 25 feet deep on the other end. The air brought down by the water discharged into a large diameter pipe that provided air at 117 p.s.i. to all the operations of the mine, in place of electricity. Virtually free power, making the mine economically viable. That has since been converted to a still operating traditional hydraulic electric power plant using a newer dam. That dam, and the reservoir above it belies it's purpose, providing tranquil and serene scenery.

To finish the day, we ended at the Adventure Motel in Mass City. It's called the Adventure Motel because it's next to the Adventure Mine. The town, while inhabited, is stripped of any visible means of an economy. You can see where the old grocery store was, where several bars used to be, an empty hardware store, and other former businesses. Aside from the motel, which has been put up for sale by its elderly owners for a couple of years now, the only operating establishment we could find was a single bar two blocks down the road. We were the only patrons when we ordered pizza and a beer from the single bartender/cook/hostess/maintenance person. A quick tour of the town revealed any number of residences in various states of disrepair, homes that have been there for quite a while.

The next day, Saturday, we set out in search of breakfast. Starting with the Bill Nicholls trail, a repurposed railroad bed stretching North and South across the U.P., we came upon three (gorgeous) bridge trestles spanning three gorge's from the same river.

After a few miles of this well-groomed trail, we finally came upon the Parkview Lodge and Grill just in time to avoid a light rain that developed. We were rewarded for our patience with a fantastic breakfast that would last us the rest of the day.

The target for the day was to get into the Keweenaw peninsula, north of Houghton/Hancock by the end of the day. After passing the Atlantic Mine, we turned to a road that would take us to Freda, Michigan, located on the shore of Lake Superior.  It's called the covered road for reasons that can be seen in this photo. Several miles of forest that typifies some of the remote beauty that can be found in the Keweenaw outback, compliments of years of industry in its history.

Freda is known for its stamp mill that was located at the bottom of a cliff along the lakeshore. It used water from the lake for operation, running from 1901 until finally closing in 1958. The mill was the sole reason for the town located "at the end of the road," with the remaining foundation of the mill giving all kinds of clues to it's function, but without any detail to use in putting it together in your mind. Many of the buildings in town remain, most for recreational purposes, with improvements and some new construction making for a seemingly pleasant community. Any visit is necessarily deliberate, however, given it's remoteness. 

Working back to the Keweenaw peninsula, we crossed the Portage River bridge in Houghton, bringing back memories of passing underneath with a sailboat, both as a crew member and as skipper with Eric's friends. I remember looking up, holding my breath, thinking we were just barely clearing the bridge with our mast. Now, looking down, it seemed to me we could have passed underneath with a tall-masted ship. The marina I remembered looked exactly the same, situated next to the bridge. The waterfront seemed largely unchanged as well. I didn't remember the ATV/Motorcycle dealer located across from the marina, but it became relevant then as I looked for replacement bolts for my flopping license plate bracket. Which they had, even providing tools with which to re-install it.

The weather was looking ominous, so we pulled off into the lot of the Trailside Lodge, a newly and attractively refurbished motel just north of Calumet. It became our headquarters as we ventured between rain drops the rest of the day. (Notice the small Ski-Doo on top of the sign - same as "Baby," though Bonnie clarifies that it's one year newer.)

First to the two mining museums in Calument, with its own deep history in mining (resting on top of a mother lode called the Calument Conglomerate), where we kept dry for a couple of hours learning about and seeing the implements of Michigan mining history. Downtown Calumet has retained a fair amount of its architectural heritage, warranting a tour of the main drag and the side streets.

 After a full dinner at the Hut, a unique local restaurant, we decided to make the most of the improved weather by taking a tour in the direction of Eagle Harbor. On the way we passed by the Cliffs Mine, the first profitable mine in the U.P.. It reminded us that the mining fury actually began in the mid-1800's, and was pretty much petered out by the 1920's. The history we were viewing and exploring was at least 100 years old. That could explain why so many of the towns looked so run down. Some mining activity continued, along with some lumber and paper industry, but otherwise there was little to sustain an economy required to maintain or grow the infrastructure created during this time.

The Cliff Mine was created, as with so many of the mines, on a cliff that was clearly visible alongside the highway. It went on for a few miles. We turned off that highway to go through Central Mine, which is on the way to Eagle Harbor. Several houses have been or are being preserved by a local historical society. Some of those houses are owner occupied, including the one just next to the old mineshaft house foundation, so we didn't intrude on their porch patrol.

Instead, we went over the top of the hill, making our  down the backside of the mountain to Lake Superior.

A turn at the lakeside led to a small path Randy had seen on Google Earth leading to a blocked mineshaft entry. We hiked in the woods, almost ready to give up, when it revealed itself through a metal plate fixed in the hillside. Taking a picture through a small slat in that plate showed water covering the shaft itself. Who knows how far down that shaft went. Judging by the limited poor-rock found around the shaft, it must have been an exploratory shaft from another broken dream trying to follow what was thought to be a copper vein.

Taken by blindly sticking my camera
in the window slat and using flash in the darkness.

The return trip along the coast back to Calumet was equally beautiful, with winding and hilly but well maintained roads providing dreamlike conditions for motorcycling.

The Outback

The next morning we packed for our most adventurous itinerary yet. Passing through Eagle Harbor and following the Brockway Mountain Drive to Copper Harbor, we were aiming for the tip of the Keweenaw, High Rock Bay. I say adventurous itinerary because most of it would be over forest road - with road being a generous term to describe a wide path through the woods with boulders and pot holes that make for a great obstacle course. Not to say it can't be navigated by a good four wheel drive vehicle, but you wouldn't want to risk a road bike or sedan. That road begins at the beginning (or end, depending on your perspective) of highway 41, which starts its journey to Miami, Florida just north of Copper Harbor. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We first revisited Eagle Harbor, which I have never visited before this trip, but had heard about in our sailing days. Nice protection (from wind and weather), but darned difficult to access. Two markers, one on shore and one in the lake, show the specific course line you need to navigate around the reefs and rocks. It sure is beautiful once in, however. And the town is very cute and well maintained.

Eagle Harbor Light House

Brockway Mountain Overlook

Copper Harbor, a major jumping off point for Isle Royale, was overrun by tourists taking in a local art fair, so we didn't hang around. Instead, we went directly for High Rock Bay. I have to admit, after 10 or so miles winding through potholes with water deep enough to make my feet wet standing on the pegs, and navigating tractionless boulders that stretched across the whole road, I would have thought we'd be mostly alone by the time we reached the shore. However, when we finally parked close to the sand beach, we found families camping, couples rock-hounding, and kids chasing dogs in an area with no facilities or infrastructure, but that was obviously known to many. While I felt we'd conquered the baja, they in their pick up trucks and ATV's showed it was actually just a Sunday walk in the park. No need to even put it into four wheel drive. A bit deflating, frankly.

However, the continuation of what is known as Mandan road would prove more off-roadish and manly. Steeper hills, even deeper potholes, with an occasional sand trap would challenge my still neophyte status as a biker. It was a blast. Toward the end of the roughest part, we crossed a river bridge that provided sights and sounds that would soothe a Tasmanian Devil. I show it here not because you can get that feeling from pictures, but because it looked very much like the bridge we crossed just prior to ending our excursion prematurely.

The End (for now)

 In fact, as you look how Randy's bike is parked, that's exactly how my mishap began. I pulled over in the same way, but found the vegetation on the right was not founded on solid ground. In fact, it hid a ditch into which my foot descended, with my bike following along. Wouldn't have been a problem, except for the steel pole that was waiting for me as a climatic end to the arc of my fall.

So this is the steel sculpture that was waiting for me in the brush. I landed with my back on that horizontal piece sticking out at the bottom. Needless to say, it took my breath away in a manner not at all similar to the creek moments before.

After checking myself out, and concluding that my skin had not been penetrated and that I could indeed move, we remounted for the last 23 miles back to Calumet. Fortunately the paved and smooth road was located only one mile from this point.


I'd really rather not end on that image, choosing to remember the pure joy of everything leading up to that point. We will resume the trip, perhaps next spring. There's much more to explore.