Page 41 of My Fearless Fake Fling

What made the bridge sing were the grates instead of pavement. That allowed the wind to move through so the road didn’t crack. You could see the water down below. It was so cool, but some people got scared and preferred the paved side.

I videoed us going up and over. For people who hadn’t been, it was hard to describe how breathtakingly beautiful the view. Once we reached the other side, we stopped at the toll to pay and continued on through. St. Ignace, the first city we traveled through on our way inland, owned the distinction of being the second oldest European settled city in Michigan.

That fact fascinated me for some reason.

The change in the land from one side of the straights to the other came on immediately. From rolling hills, maples, and birch to rocky terrain with conifers like spruce.

“Keep your eye out for a moose,” I said.

“Say again?”

“A moose. They have them up here and I want to see one. So keep your eyes open.”

“Who’s my fearless girl, wanting to see wild animals.”

“Not wild animals, just a moose. It’s not like I’m actively seeking out a mountain lion.”

“Would you prefer I not point out a mountain lion if I see one?”

I thought about it. “Well, no. If you see a mountain lion, you’re morally obliged to point it out.”

“Right. Look for moose. Point out mountain lions. Anything else?”

“Well… if you’re going to point out a lion, you might as well point out a bear. Or a wolf.”

“Got it,” he said. “Oh, if you see a deer, point it out for me, okay?”

“Um… sure. But we have deer back home.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to hit one there either.”

Cheeky.

Well, as it turned out, we didn’t see any cool wild animals. Actually, the only ones we saw were mangled remains of roadkill. Some deer carcasses, but mostly that of racoons, skunk, muskrat, and opossums.

Long stretches of barren land on each side of us made me think that there’d been a pretty significant forest fire not too far in the past. Maybe a couple of years judging from the new growth.

It was getting late by the time we hit the outskirts of Marquette county. Up here, late meant dark. Way dark. Len decided to find us a hotel for the night and we’d set off for our camping adventure in the morning.

What a difference it made to hit the city of Marquette. Lights lit up the front of us, while blackness swallowed up the road behind. Marquette, being home to a pretty large university, had everything anyone would need, but with that downhome feel from being tucked away in crook of Lake Superior’s shoreline.

He found us a nice hotel and checked us in. I didn’t want to retire to our room just yet. We walked around. Took in the remains of a festival happening down by the marina, then walked to dinner.

We stopped at a delicious little sushi joint. Yes, I know, sushi in the upper peninsula of Michigan? Well, Lake Superior had lots of fish and even if they flew it in frozen, it tasted freaking fantastic.

After dinner, we strolled to a little bar that was having an open mic night. I sipped on a rum and diet coke while he drank a beer. Three singers later, we decided to check out the other nightlife, eventually making our way into a dive where a spoken-word poetry contest put on by the university was being held. Len and I stayed to the end of the contest to see who’d been picked the winner—a woman who used a sinking ship as a metaphor for her life after she started seeing her boyfriend, who’d turned violently abusive.

She deserved to win for what she’d lived through, though she was also the best in my opinion, and that was saying something.

After, with his arm slung around my waist, and my head on his shoulder, we slowly made our way back to the hotel, where I may or may not have gotten a little frisky with Len. And may or may not have taken advantage of him orally while he returned the favor.

Our intensions of getting up bright and early went out the window as we stayed up later than intended—eh-hem—entertaining each other and thus checkout happened at about eleven. Still, we had plenty of time to drive up into the mountains and find our camping spot.

Len pretty well knew where he wanted us to go. I forgot Michigan had mountains, living my life in the lower peninsula. Sure, they weren’t as tall as those out west or down south, but they were still good-sized mountains.

Today I wore socks and hiking boots. Good thing, as there came a point where he had to park the truck because he couldn’t drive any farther. We loaded up our backpacks and this little camping wagon with a handle that hooked around Len’s waist so he could pull it behind him. The wheels, big enough to move easily over mountain terrain, made hiking with camping gear a piece of cake. At least Len made it look like a piece of cake.

Before we left, he wrote on a piece of paper:Camping. Truck not abandoned.

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