Travel Reference
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the sun came out, tentatively at first, like a shy guest, and then stayed on, giving the lake
bright patches of silver and blue. Far out over the water, perhaps twenty miles away, dark
clouds dumped rain on the lake. It fell in a pale gray curtain. And high above a faint rain-
bow reached across the sky. It was inexpressibly beautiful. I drove transfixed.
In the early evening I reached Mackinaw City, on the tip of the oven mitt, the point where
the shorelines of southern and northern Michigan pinch together to form the Straits of
Mackinac, which separate Lake Michigan from Lake Huron. A suspension bridge, five
miles long, spans the gap. Mackinaw City-they are fairly casual about how they spell the
word up this way-was a scattered and unsightly little town, full of gift shops, motels, ice
cream parlors, pizzerias, parking lots and firms operating ferries to Mackinac Island. Al-
most every place of business, including the motels, was boarded up for the winter. The
Holiday Motel, on the shore of Lake Huron, seemed to be open so I went inside and rang
thedeskbell.Theyoungguywhocameoutlookedsurprisedtohaveacustomer.“Wewere
just about to close up for the season,” he said. “In fact, everybody's gone out to dinner to
celebrate. But we've got rooms if you want one.”
“How much?” I asked.
He seemed to snatch a figure from the air. “Twenty dollars?” he said.
“Soundsgoodtome,”Isaidandsignedin.Theroomwassmallbutniceandithadheating,
which was a good thing. I went out and had a walk around, to look for something to eat. It
was only a little after seven, but it was dark already and the chill air felt more like Decem-
ber than October. I could see my breath. It was odd to be in a place so full of buildings and
yetsodead.EventheMcDonald'swasclosed,withasigninthewindowtellingmetohave
a good winter.
I walked down to the Shepler's Ferry terminal-really just a big parking lot with a shed-to
seewhattimetheferrytoMackinacIslandwoulddepartinthemorning.Thatwasmyreas-
on for being here. There was one at eleven. I stood beside the pier, facing into the wind,
and gazed fora long time out across Lake Huron. Mackinac Island was berthed a couple of
milesoutinthelakelikeaglitteringcruiseship.Nearby,evenlargerbutwithnolights,was
Bois Blanc Island, dark and round. Off to the left, Mackinac Bridge, lit up like a Christmas
decoration, spanned the strait. Everywhere the lights shimmered on the water. It was odd
that such a nothing little town could have such a wonderful view.
I ate dinner in a practically empty restaurant and then had some beers in a practically
empty bar. Both places had turned on the heating. It felt good, cozy. Outside the wind beat
against the plate-glass windows, making a woppa-woppa sound. I liked the quiet bar. Most
