Riding around the largest inland lake in the world is a trip of discovery & adventure |
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Superior
Biking
By Jeff M. Sambur
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There's something about water. We like to play in it, live near it and, for some, ride our bikes around it. As a self-proclaimed "map nerd," I am always searching for potential bicycle tours. My eyes were drawn to Lake Superior for its incredible size and its lack of cities upon its shores. This freshwater inland sea was just
screaming out for a bicycle tour.
With this in mind, I loaded my trusty 1981 Trek touring bike into my car and headed north to Duluth, Minn., for a starting point. I decided to ride around the lake clockwise, in order to be as close to it as possible. Route finding is the easy part – just follow the signs that read "Circle Tour: Lake Superior." I began the ride in a cold, driving rain.
Le Lac Superieur, the French called it, only for the reason that it lay above Lake Huron. Around 1622, a Frenchman named Brule was the first European to discover the lake. Exploration continued in the 1650-1660s by French fur traders and Jesuits. The Chippewa Indians knew of its vastness long before that, and named it "Kitchi-gummi," meaning Great-water or Great-lake. Logging, mining, fur trapping, fishing and
shipping occur in and along its shores. It's a place where, when a ship sinks, it's called "went missing."
Lake Superior facts and figures are awe-inspiring. It's the largest lake in the world, areawise. It contains one-eighth of all the fresh water in the world. It's 1,333 feet deep at its deepest point. Its average water temperature is a bone-chilling 34 degrees. Its waters would be able to cover both North and South America
in a layer one foot deep. It's fed by 200 rivers and thousands of streams, yet only has one outlet, Saint Mary's River, which connects it to Lake Huron. This Lake is truly a natural wonder.
And wonder is what I did in my first week of riding. I wondered if I would ever see the lake! A low pressure system was parked over me. Fog, thick as pea soup, and cold rain is what I experienced. Visibility
was limited. I began to ask the Canadians along the way, "Are you sure there's a Great Lake out there?"
I was limping my bike with its broken derailleur into White River, Ontario. There was the usual fast-tracking storm chasing me. The road went through a large burned-out forest where the trees were ghost-like in their silhouette. The rain clouds won the race and drenched me in bucketfuls of water. I squished into the Visitor
Center to ask about any bike mechanics in the area. The lights were out; the winds had knocked down the power lines. I was in luck; Steve on Superior Street fixed bikes on the side.
Steve looked at the bike and said "no problem." A neighbor and I swatted mosquitoes as we watched him make repairs. The neighbor mused, "only two seasons around here, snow flies and shooflies."
Steve asked me if I had noticed the burned-out forest. Sure, I had.
"I started that fire," he stated as a matter of fact. Steve, who works for the railroad, was out welding on the job and an accidental spark began a 30,000-acre fire. Only favorable winds stopped the fire from burning down White River (where the story of Winnie the Pooh began). Still the town was without power for two weeks while the fire was burning.
Three neighbors came and asked Steve what did he do this time. In exasperation, he showed them that he,
too, was without power. Must be tough for Steve to still live there. I paid him and retired to the comforts of a dry and dark hotel room.
It was in Lake Superior Provincial Park that I was able to actually see the lake. It did exist! What can you say about a body of water that you can't see across. Winds whipped the blue water into whitecaps. The sand on the beaches was clean and white. Rock outcrops and small islands dotted the lake. The whole
scene was something oceanlike, but yet this was fresh water. That evening, I finally got the opportunity to set up camp at Pancake Bay Provincial Park. I fell asleep while listening to the waves strike the shore. On days like this, riding was a pure joy.
A not so joyful time was riding over the International Bridge into Sault Ste Marie, Mich. I was being pummeled by 30 mph crosswinds. I wish I could have thanked the patient drivers behind me. I trudged into
a hotel to get out of the wind and walked to the Soo Locks. A must-see for this trip is witnessing the huge freighters go through the locks.
Lake Superior sits 21 feet above Lake Huron, and is connected by Saint Mary's Lake. There is a set of rapids between the lakes. In 1845, a steamer, the Independence from Chicago, was actually portaged around the rapids. People were a lot hardier in those days. Now, there are four locks to ease transit of
these behemoth freighters. The ships carry mostly taconite pellets, grain and western coal. They carry more tonnage each season than the combined tonnage of the Panama, Kiel and Suez canals.
The Soo Locks visitor center contains a wealth of information. A public address system announces the arriving ships' names, cargos and ultimate destinations. The locks are an engineering marvel.
The next day I headed for Paradise, Mich. How often can you say you spent a night in Paradise? The rains followed me there. I sought out company and some local color in the Yukon Bar. I bellied up to the bar for a beer. A large man smiled at me, a good sign. Woody turned out to be the fire chief of the local department. I, too, am in the fire service. After trading a few war stories, Woody introduced me to Richard, the local historian.
Richard's father was in the Coast Guard. I heard tales of old Coast Guard stations along the shore, of his father walking the beaches after a storm to see if the lake "had given up her dead." I heard Richard's opinion of the cause of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald (the ship plowed into a monstrous wave, and just kept going in). I walked back to my hotel room, thinking that I had learned a few things that weren't found in travel guides.
A few days later I got another taste of "Yooper" hospitality. I was riding up a steady hill in the town of Negaunee, Mich. There was a lot of noise from the Sunday traffic. I have been accused of having selective hearing before, but never was it so evident than at this time.
"Wanna beer?" is what I heard through the din. This was the best offer I had in a long time. I swung my steed around and met Keith, Anne, Goose and Mark. I received the promised beer, and about 10 minutes
later, I was staying the night.
Later on at a party, I began to better understand the ties that bond people to the U.P. Almost all the folks I spoke to said that yes, the winters were long and brutal, but no, they would never leave. There were three generations of Keith's family at this party. Keith's brother had just recently moved to Green Bay for a better job. He anxiously waited for the day he acquired enough money so he could return. I heard stories of
hunting, fishing and about the lake. One story was about a childhood friend who went fishing on the lake. He got caught in a storm on a small boat. This occurred over 20 years ago; he had not been on the lake since, but he still lived along its shore. I left early the next morning, with a smile, while my hosts slept.
I had an address of an old friend of a friend in my panniers from Hancock, Mich. I e-mailed John and
Jeannie prior to leaving to see if they would like a guest for a night or two. They said sure. I pulled up in front of a beautiful Victorian three-story home. The flower gardens were in full bloom. Jeannie gave me the grand tour. By the time I reached the third floor, I realized that Martha Stewart had taken lessons from Jeannie in restoring old homes. John returned from work later, and we figured out that we hadn't seen each
other in over 20 years. No matter. The conversations flowed like the nearby Portage River.
John and Jeannie told me stories about Hancock and its rich copper mining history, stories of mine shafts that burrow 9,000 feet below Hancock. I heard about the time they felt the earth quake from an old mine shaft that collapsed beneath their home. John gave me advice on where to go on my next day's ride to Copper Harbor, at the northern tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula.
That morning the sky was blue and the air, warm. I took the route he described through the towns of Lake Linden, to Gay (yes, there is a "Gay Bar") and Lac la Belle to Copper Harbor. Evidence of the old copper mines was still present in these towns. I was even getting views of the lake, and there was even a lighthouse or two along the way. I returned through the quaint towns of Eagle Harbor, Eagle River and Calumet. If you
are only going to ride one portion of Lake Superior, let it be the Keweenaw Peninsula. The next morning, at John and Jeannie's home, we took each other's pictures and said our goodbyes. It won't be another 20 years before I see them again.
I made plans with two Wisconsin biking friends of mine to meet in Ashland, Wis. They needed a weekend break and wanted to finish up the ride with me to Duluth. Having company for a few days would be a
welcome change. Calvin and Mike drove up and we met in a brew pub. While watching Lance Armstrong on ESPN, we decided to ride to the tiny town of Port Wing the next day.
We set out in very summery conditions. I had to keep reminding them that this wasn't my typical day of weather while riding around Lake Superior. We made stops along the way in Bayfield, and took a nice long break at the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore visitor center. We took lunch in Cornucopia. No one
could tell us how it got its name, although they knew that it was the most northern town in Wisconsin. In Port Wing we found the only combination hotel, restaurant, bar and campground. All of our needs in one place, and right on the lake, too. Over after-dinner beers, we watched freighters steaming into Duluth.
We woke up and rode 33 miles of Wisconsin lakeside absent of any towns or roadhouses. My
"cheesehead" buddies insisted that was a Wisconsin record. We crossed the bridge over the Saint Louis River into Duluth and found my car. Of course, it had begun to rain.
Earlier in the trip, I found myself on the beach on a balmy day at Silver City, Mich. I was "brown bagging" a few beers while looking out on the lake. I stepped into the icy, clean water up to my ankles. OH! Was that
cold! After another beer and picking a few souvenir rocks, the water temperature rose a bit. I dropped my watch on the sand and returned to immerse myself in Lake Superior. Invigorating would be an understatement. While drying off, I watched the now calm waters of the lake. I asked myself, "Would I ride around this lake again?"
"Ya, ya. You betcha," was the answer.
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