Michigan lakes are ALL SUPERIOR!

As we got closer to Michigan and began talking to friends from there, we learned about the mitten symbol that is used by most Michigan folks to mark which part of the state they're from.  Showing an outward open palm and pointing to the lower thumb joint  indicates that you are from Detroit; the lifeline underneath the baby finger is where Grand Rapids sits...above the middle finger is the Mackinac bridge..., and so on and so forth.   Pretty clever, I think!  The mitten is known as the lower peninsula and residents are called trolls, while in the upper peninsula north of Mackinac Island, they are called U-pers.   It is very fascinating and kinda fun; they sell a bumper sticker of an upright hand with a perpendicular sideways hand symbolizing the lower and upper peninsulas that Is sort of a stretch of the imagination, in my opinion.  I don't think that the UP looks like a mitten or even a hand , but since Michigan rocks in so many ways it's all good.

Why does Michigan rock, you ask? For one thing, the Great Lakes are here, there and everywhere!   The hues of the water are Caribbean blue and extremely clean and clear.  Superior is huge and often tumultuous like the ocean and is renowned for sudden changing currents resulting in shipwrecks throughout the area's maritime history.  Remember the song "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot?   Michigan and Huron are intersected by the 5-mile Mackinac Bridge which we were fortunate to view from below on the ferry then crossing it in the RV toward the quaint lakeside towns of Harbor Springs, Petoskey & Charlevoix.

It takes 8 years to paint the bridge;
and, when it's finished, they start
all over again!

Then there are the bike paths and harbor towns. You could spend a week shopping and eating around the streets of the triad, but we were more excited to get to Traverse City to meet family of Jose's for the first time. And...the ambitious and spontaneous Aries in me had a brilliant idea to bike a 26-mile trail from the first town to the third; she was ready to go, go, go!   Thankfully, that gung-ho gal is often somewhat ambiguous, and her indecisiveness led to biking a shorter distance of the second half - still 16 miles which she/I are damned proud of!  So long story short, the call of the trail and TC was louder than that of the shops...

Homemade pies and fudge are more reasons why this state rocks.   As soon as we left Montana,  Starbucks stores became fewer and farther between which has been sad but actually a good thing.  It provided the impetus to get moving and eat healthier.  All was going quite well; my pants were snapping more easily, my mood improved, I was on the upswing.  That was up until...the Murdick's fudge incident.   One large box; five slabs of buttery, sugary, granular deliciousness: maple pecan, chocolate cherry, peanut butter, chocolate toffee and chocolate espresso.  It was too sweet for Jose and he probably would have taken a month to eat it all.  So the fudge thought it was safe and sound individually wrapped in delicate tissue and nestled in its beautifully decorated box.  Little did it know that once the box was opened and the sweet, lingering scents wafted together to invade my senses, it had little chance of lasting 24 hours.  The battle lasted about 4 days as Jose feebly chunked away at one flavor with the mini plastic knife provided (what are they joking?) while I overwhelmed and devastated the box, slicing chunks off of all 5 at least twice a day.   I couldn't stand the box just sitting there without sampling throughout the day until I ultimately polished off its bulk.  I will never forget you,  Murdick's fudge - ever.

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