She looked at that buck and said “I would love to shoot you,” and, you know, he looked back at her like he understood. —Conversation overheard this morning Char’s Café, Bruce’s Crossing, Michigan
Leaving New York in the darkness, the quiet morning streets of my neighborhood are like that frayed old blanket that you love for its warmth and comfort. The flight gets off late, but travels fast through a morning sky of dirty clouds. Smoky hobgoblins hang in the distant gray. Chicago bristles in the gloom, the dark buildings flipping me off as I fly past.
Connection made in time for the short hop back over the Lake and into the sun. Lunch with my brother and we hit the road. The first gas station we stop at has a live bait refrigerator. Michigan.
Nine miles into the U.P. we hit a long stretch of route 2 along the northern edge of Lake Michigan and pull over so I can wade into the water. I climb back into the car and mom pulls back into traffic, the wind hitting my arms, the sand on my feet not yet dry.
Joyously empty roads and a sun that doesn’t want to set, the U.P. is magic. Like stepping back in time to when there weren’t so many of us, and the world not quite so damaged. Mom and Pop motels and motor courts abound. Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert could be just around the next bend in the road.
Diner Breakfast, followed by a completely unnecessary bakery stop. Cinnamon rolls and Blueberry turnovers.
Judy Garland’s birthplace, just because.
Abandoned liquor store in Crookston, Minnesota. At the other end of town mom sees a house from a dream. “I kept trying to buy it” she says.
And there’s talk, lots of talk. More in the morning when we’re fresh, less as we grow tired. But these conversations are marked by their ease, for at this point the road seems long, and our time together endless.
And now I must sleep, for tomorrow we cross North Dakota and on into eastern Montana and Mom wants to be on the road by 6:00am. Luckily, I’ve booked us into a lodge with a bar. I can already taste the beer.
..
Playing in the City with Trains 
Amazing connection. I love the picture of Barb in Wakefield at Randell’s. That’s the town Karin was born in. Not just any bakery, they make the best pasties’s in the UP!
Ha! Love it. I bet it hasn’t changed since Karin was a child. Good cinnamon rolls.