June 23, 2024
Making Marquette's Natural Beauty All About ME
Presque Isle City Park and Sugarloaf Mountain
Yesterday's post looked more like a Marquette advertisement in a travel magazine than a serious work of cycle touring journalism. I know that, and don't think I'm not embarrassed about it. I come off sounding like a cross between a Chamber of Commerce Marketing Director and a sad man desperate for attention. I mean, what kind of Pulitzer Prize candidate shamelessly inserts personal stories from one's college days into a bike tripping journal? And why would he think anybody else is interested?
Yeah, I'm embarrassed, but not too embarrassed to refrain from doing it again today. In my defense, I did provide a warning. That was the part at the end of yesterday's post where I wrote that I planned to ride to two of my most special places.
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It turned out to be a pretty nice day. The rain had ended sometime in the early morning, and by the time I got dressed and had coffee, there were little peeks of sunshine poking through the clouds. The temperature was up to 60-degrees too, but the tradeoff was a cool breeze coming from the northeast. There is a Lake Superior version of a nor'easter, but this wasn't that.
At the beginning of my ride, I specifically sought out the Sixth Street hill. I've had a few close calls on my bike over the years, but it was on that hill that I came the closest to actually getting killed to death (sic). A picture of the hill comes next, followed by my best recollection about what happened 43-years ago.
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I had already graduated from NMU and was riding my bike to my low-paid interim job, as I did most days. (Sometimes I walked.) Usually when I rode down that hill, or even the Fourth, Fifth, & Seventh Street hills, I'd squeeze my brakes at the midpoint of the last block. That would ensure I was going slow enough to come to a complete stop at the stop lights--if necessary--and turn left onto Marquette's main drag, Washington Avenue. But on that particular day, it was raining. And my wet rim brakes failed in the most disastrous way. Basically, they hardly slowed me down at all, and Washington Street was busy with morning traffic. Still at high speed while squeezing my brakes, I basically prepared to get hit when I got to the bottom of the hill. I ran right through the red light and, somehow, I barely swerved between cars coming from both directions. And I mean BARELY--like by a matter of a few feet.
I thought about riding back down the hill today for old time's sake, but that would be too easy on a drier day with Son of Bing Bong's disc brakes. Also, I'm smart enough to know that I'd have to ride back up when I was done with my reenactment.
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Perhaps you've been curious about the gigantic dock that extends into Lake Superior in some of my pictures over the last couple days. Well, Marquette was, and still is, a major port for shipping all of the iron ore mined west of the city.
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Moving on from the ore dock, it was only a short distance to the best city park in the world--at least in the limited sphere of Greg-World. Presque Isle Park has so much natural beauty that I couldn't possibly limit myself to one or two pictures and stories. Just be thankful that I did manage enough self-restraint to only include one award winning short film.
[AN ASIDE: A famous writer once said something like, "if you have doubts about whether or not something you've written belongs in your story, don't hesitate--edit it out." I seem to have no ability to heed that advice. I often wonder how much of my bike touring days should go into my journal. I can tell you I've included some stories in past journals that seemed worthy at the time, but upon future readings, turned out to be pretty boring.
"If they're boring to me, I can only imagine how boring they are to readers who aren't me." Thus spoke Greggarceau.
Honestly, this entire aside is probably something I should have edited out of today's post. But I didn't.]
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2 months ago
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By the way, Presque Isle isn't really an island. If it was, I wouldn't be able to ride my bike there. I'd have to take a ferry or hire a boat captain. Presque Isle should be called Presque Peninsula because it is actually connected to the mainland by a very narrow isthmus.
After my hike on the break wall, I got back on my bike to ride on the road that circles the park's outer perimeter. There are several pull-outs with scenic views.
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You might not believe what I write in this paragraph, but I swear it's true. When I took the above photo of G-2 gawking at the view-blockers, I did not notice the deer in the background.
Being an astute observer of animals, I did see the deer when I reviewed the picture I had just taken. "What the heck," I questioned? I looked up from my phone and the deer was still there. Here is a close up of the little guy or gal.
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Oh yes, in the last post I promised another story of derring-do involving me and my daughter. As I said, she was up for any challenge. I showed her a place on Presque Isle called "The Cove." It's a pretty spot in its own right, but there is also a fifteen-foot cliff from which some people like to jump into the cold waters of Lake Superior.
On that particular day about ten years ago, there were quite a few young people jumping off the cliff. Kaylo was intrigued.
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A decade ago, we both psyched ourselves up to do the jump. I was proud to do it as the oldest guy there, and I was proud of Kaylo for being the youngest gal to do it. (That was the same day we almost got arrested for swimming out to Picnic Rocks.)
I must point out another thing. If you look at the Cycleblaze page with all the bike touring journals, you'll see a picture on my journal of a guy jumping off that cliff. That guy is me, and the picture was taken by The Feeshko. I was proud of her for snapping the picture at just the right time. Here is a reminder of that picture so you don't have to click away from this riveting page.
My next stop included a jaunt on the area known as the Black Rocks. The Black Rocks look more like brown rocks to me, but that never detracted from my enjoyment of the place. Hopping across those rocks brought back more memories, but this will be one case where I'll edit my ramblings.
There are a couple places that make good beer in Marquette. One of them is called Black Rocks Brewery. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess the brewers are appreciators of Presque Isle's black rocks.
I know, I took an awful lot of pictures in a span of only a few miles. But that just shows how great Presque Isle Park is. I said it before, and I'll say it again, this is the greatest city park in all of Greg-World.
As if that wasn't enough, the next segment will showcase the beauty of Greg-World's other special place. The Sugarloaf Mountain Natural Area is about three miles out of Marquette, but it's still in Marquette County. Today I learned Marquette County is bigger than the State of Rhode Island.
Today I also learned the Sugarloaf Mountain Natural area is WAY more developed than it was in the 1970s.
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I spent quite a long time at the top enjoying the beauty of the greatest lake in the world. When I got my fill of beauty, I raced back down the stairs and trail to see if my bike was still in its secret hiding place. My bike lock was in my pannier, which I didn't bring today, so I had to hide Son of Bing Bong in the woods.
I was glad to find my bike where I left it, which gave me another reason to grudgingly appreciate view-blockers.
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That is the end of my bike tour. I have to take a one-way U-Haul van back to my car which I left in Ironwood, then drive back to Minnesota, then head back to Iowa for another medical appointment with my dad. The only thing I have left to do is write my Grand Sweeping Conclusion. There will be some noteworthy stuff in the conclusion, including a pasty review, and a few thoughts from my trip that I didn't have time to include in my day-to-day narrative.
Today's ride: 22 miles (35 km)
Total: 363 miles (584 km)
Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 8 |
Comment on this entry | Comment | 7 |
uh, err,....I don't know (said with an embarrassed face), but I've been guilty of such journalistic faux pas myself (that's faux pas plural, which is pronounced differently than faux pas singular). I'm not going to stop inserting tales of my olden days in my journals, and I hope you don't either. Keep 'em coming, I like them - and the more astute younger folks can certainly learn from them. Looking forward to the grand conclusion.
2 months ago
Besides, we all have some memories here and there, don't we?
2 months ago
Good trip! Thanks for posting.
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