August Camping Adventures, Part 3: Marvelous Mackinac

August was extraordinarily mild this year; September is giving it its vengeance.  As I sit gazing at my brown, crusty lawn and the baking concrete of the street in early September, I dream of our August in northern Michigan.  This was my third trip to Mackinac Island.  I had wanted to see the Grand Hotel since I saw the ghostly Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeve wander the halls of it in Somewhere In Time.  An island with a strong Native American history, some mystery, and no cars appealed enormously to my inner 17-year-old.  Plus, I adore red geraniums, the symbol of the island.

I finally got the chance to go when I worked for a bus tour company out of Chicago.  I was the junior/assistant/flunkie-in-training to the experienced tour director, and it was on the moonlit, rocky beach on Mackinac that the poor woman broke the news that perhaps my lazy-assed 22-year-old self was not well-suited for the grueling half-circus clown/half-adult babysitter job of tour director.  I swallowed the news with little remorse, but forever grateful that Mackinac Island was my last stop.  We stayed at the gorgeous Mission Point resort and had high tea at the Grand Hotel.  I was in heaven.  A friend of mine has since told me that she was one of the very few lucky people to have gone to college at Mackinac College during the three years it was open, the site of which became Mission Point.  When the college closed its doors and students had to enroll elsewhere, my friend had to prepare with a mid-winter standardized test in neighboring St. Ignace.  She had to get there by snowmobile!

My second trip to Mackinac was a couple of years ago, when my in-laws were visiting the U.S., and we did the Lake Michigan Circle Tour.  Severe tendinitis in my foot had left me in a surgical boot for most of the summer, so Mackinac Island was a long sit-down on a bench admiring Lake Huron while everyone else explored the island on bicycles or shopped the port area on foot.  Although I was envious, we still somehow managed to sneak by the $10 charge to climb onto the longest porch in the world at the Grand Hotel, and we enjoyed seeing the Wheelmen, a group of Victorian-era bicycle riders, and a 19^th century baseball game was in progress in the park as we strolled/limped by.

So, for the third time, I climbed onto the ferry and into the glorious sunshine that always seems to pour onto Mackinac Island.  I tried to explain to my niece why Mackinaw City was spelled with a “w” and Mackinac Island was with a “c”, but they were pronounced the same way.  I thought that a French speaker would understand a silent “c” at the end, but she still seemed a bit confused.  No matter, today we would conquer the island on bicycle, survive the August throngs of tourists, load up on fudge and ice cream calories, and enjoy the views from every angle.

We bypassed the horse-drawn carriage tour (it’s informative about the history of the island and fun, but all in English, which might be a bit challenging for someone just learning the language), found a hole-in-the-wall hamburger place for lunch, then set off to rent bikes.  The route around the island was surprisingly easy until we branched off to bike up to the center.  My legs and hips screamed in agony, and I walked my bike part of the way up, but I made it!  The hill down was a bit scary, but I felt like a kid again with the wind in my hair, dodging piles of horse manure and wayward tourists.

As we headed for the ferry at the end of the day, the skies opened up and it began to rain.  Mackinac is even charming in the rain, and our ferry ride went under the Mackinac Bridge to cross from Lake Huron to Lake Michigan on its way back to the mainland.