Corey and I bolted off the train so fast we almost didn’t get a chance to say good bye. We were four; Corey and I plus two ladies set to see their loved ones in Ann Arbor. We don’t always make friends on the train but sometimes we do and it really makes it, the delays, the lousy food, someone’s iPad playing a cartoon too loud, almost worth it. But then in Battle Creek the train stopped and didn’t start again. Amtrak provided four busses to finish the journey but only one was direct to Detroit. So we said a quick goodbye then trudged off into the cold night not sure of what to expect.

Sometimes Corey and I play a game called “Who Else Would Think This Is Fun?” We played this game while walking a mile through deep snow down Michigan Avenue. Feet never felt so cold. We would have played it on the bus but the game isn’t as much fun to play when you’re not having that great a time either. 

It might not always be the best of times but the only thing I love more than traveling with Corey is Corey herself.

We were walking towards Third Man Records from the Detroit Institute of Arts (must see, one of the great art museums) when we stopped for coffee inside a Wayne State building. Turns out it was their auditorium. And there were dozens of high school kids and parents and adults all milling around. A little coffee, a few questions and we spent the next forty-five minutes watching a small high school production of some bizarre absurdist tale. It was actually a lot of fun. The kind of fun though that you had to be there to understand. And that’s how we roll.

A pleasant stroll along the lake led us to the Lagoon Cafe. A small, one man operation running out of a small field house like building just south of Northwestern, the place is all about location. To the east lie the retreating glaciers, an impressive mess of upturned ice fated to be yet another victim of global warming. Looking north is the University and immediately to the south a frozen lagoon that makes for a perfect skating rink. You could sip your cappuccino inside but with the sun shining and the wind still it’s hard to understand why.

Less than a week after Trump swept all seven of the swing states and I feel …not great. But beginning to feel whole. Also grateful. For friends and family. And America; which I will hold tight no matter what threatens to tear it apart.

So we regrouped a bit in Oak Park with like minded friends. And then headed to George’s Family House (there just are not enough diners in the world like this one) before checking into The Coffee Shop next door where time just kind of stopped. Sometimes the wind outside would pick up and the door would open just a bit before slamming shut. We wanted a Jetsons type future  but instead ended up in a Blade Runner kind of world. It all is a bit hard to digest. Honestly might need something a bit stronger than coffee.

Working out my anxieties this election day and to be honest I am a bit out of words. No really. I got maybe three hundred fifty to share with you. Actually now just three hundred forty one. Damn. Now it’s less.

Oh for the days of principle conservatives who were wrong on most things but embraced democracy. Who would have ever thought Dick Cheney would someday endorse a liberal senator from California for president. Country over party. Always.

We will survive. Maybe bruised. Maybe better focused. Definitely realigned.

Or maybe we will triumph. Maybe this will be the last election where democracy is on the ballot. I cannot manifest the future. Nothing left to do but wait.

On our possibly second to last weekend before Trump again takes the reigns of America (oh good and merciful G-d, please do not let that be!), we took the train to Red Wing, MN.

Our interest in Red Wing begins with the majestic bluff viewed fleetingly from our countless train trips to and from St. Paul. It tightly hugs the Mississippi. Sometimes there is an eagle circling the summit. The town looks nice too although from the train it’s hard to get a grasp of what it offers.

So a friend from work dropped us off at the Glenview train depot (thanks Julie!) and in just six and a half hours we were stumbling about the deserted town with our backpacks heavy and our stomachs growling.

The first thing we learned about Red Wing is that the one kitchen in the town center closes before ten. So we trekked a bit to a not so great taqueria before making our way to our weekend home. Nice place, lousy bed and, from the Trump Vance sign out front, worse politics.

There ain’t no escaping the coming election. The west side of Red Wing has bigger homes with fresher paint. From the lawn signs it seems to be squarely on the side of democracy. The east side leading into the trail head is mostly MAGA world with just a few dashes of sanity thrown in between the giant blow up of a defiant mug shot and signs seemingly written for a kindergarten (“Trump Safety Kamala Crime”). And again, just like two weekends prior, the folks behind these signs, the ones who care about democracy and also the ones willing to watch it burn, are both equally nice.

It’s now a bit past noon and we are on the “commuter train” back to Chicago. It was another great weekend spent with my best friend in the whole wide world. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Fozzie patiently waits for his train. Above the old and the new train stations.

I learned a lot of new things from our epic long weekend in the U.P. For example, I learned that while I may be an XL, maybe even an XXL in Chicago, I’m more like a Wisconsin large (Mars Cheese Shop T-shirt selection). But mostly I re-learned that nature is good and so are most people. Like there was this couple in the camper who saw Corey and I make coffee in the rain and insisted we finish doing so under their awning.  Or the other older couple who set us right on our hiking plans and also welcomed Corey inside their camper so that she could check out their kitchen (come to think of it, could they have really been trying to kidnap her?). No politics were discussed, but this was all in a part of the country where Trump flags outnumbered Harris signs 2 to 1. We like to think these folks were the exception, but sometimes their red MAGA hats gave away their point of view.

Really though, should we be surprised that nice people sometimes support bad politicians? My bet is that there were lots of nice people who  attended the Nazi rallies. I can imagine them packing up their families, stopping to have a lovely picnic at the banks of the Spree River then saluting the fuhrer as he drove by. Sorry if this offends you, but I think Vance got it right when he called Trump “America’s Hitler.” Don’t believe us? Just take one second to really listen to what the mad man has to say about immigrants. And what he plans on doing to cleanse America. It’s a scary thing our country is flirting with.

Maybe everything has actually already happened and we are all living through some Schroeder’s cat moment ahead of the election. If so then I like to think that everything came out OK. The right person won and we as a nation moved on. And if that isn’t how it turned out, well then Corey and I will always have the Northern Lights under a U.P. sky in October.

The calm and gentle seeming border agent lost his patience with us after we remembered a few more prohibited items (I get you can’t bring back fruit, but an egg too?). So we found ourselves in a waiting room pressed by an incredibly nice and personable agent. She was just so gosh darn sweet. In-between questions she mentioned her own future road trip. And for each question asked we had an answer. Usually it was Corey who started the answer with me then clarifying before Corey interrupted again to add just a little more detail. What did we see in Canada? Oh let us tell you. And then she left us to search our car. When she came back we remembered one more item to declare (seeds from Butchart Garden packaged, incorrectly it turns out, to avoid being seized by the government). The final hurdle was me opening up the rooftop cab. She didn’t exactly praise us for our packing prowess, but I can tell she was impressed.

Border crossings aside, it was incredibly nice being back in Canada. We love Canada despite its tendency to exaggerate (big difference between 110 KPH and 110 MPH). This exaggeration was especially evident in pricing with a Canadian dollar now worth about 72 cents. It is quite sobering to know now that my $20 bison burger was, in fact, $20.

We are back. Right now in Grand Rapids, MN. Another tiny house tomorrow and then four days with Henna in St. Paul. Home is wherever the three of us are so this summer it will be there.

The bottom fell out at Waterton. It was a frosted mug. Corey and I were celebrating our last night in the park when suddenly the frosted mug lost its bottom and an entire beer spilled on my lap. The waiter did not seem to care. His manager did not care. Not even a little. I asked to speak to him and only did so after the waiter told me that the best they could do was not charge me for the beer (the one on my lap) so long as I ordered another one. I may have used foul language. I may have lost my temper. Five plus weeks on the road and this was the first time I did so.

We were also almost eaten by a bear. Or at least we were within a few feet of one on the Bertha Lake Trail. Bad service and carnivores aside, our stay at Waterton Lakes Park has been a good one. Lots of memories here. Our first one was in 1999 when we stumbled upon the park on our first epic summer trip. Then there was the time with little Henna. And in 2016 when I assured many people Trump would never be elected. Then in 2019 after the big fire which nearly wiped out the Town Site. For this trip it was finding out Biden had dropped out just before entering the park and then speculating on his possible replacement that night with a lovely couple from Edmonton. It was also listening to several Albertans complain about having to pay the full fee to enter their park. Meanwhile the smoke blew in from BC but only got bad on our last night which is tonight (a few stars are out but the smoke is getting thick).

It’s windy too. Strong hot gusts that shake our tent. They will blow us out of here tomorrow and then likely chase us across Canada all the way down to Minnesota and then home. We miss the trip already but are excited to be coming home.

You probably know about the Americano but the Canadiano? Shot of espresso in a cup of coffee. They don’t play up here in the north.

They don’t serve a Canadiano over at Red’s. The coffee menu is actually quite tight but they make up for it in tasty pastries, breads and made to order sandwiches. It follows quite well a morning soak at the Ainsworth Hot Springs/gentle ferry ride over a calm lake.

We spent three glorious nights outside of Nelson. On the first night there was a distant storm. A few lightning bolts, some low rumbles and a little drizzle. The next morning we saw the smoke. White clouds extending straight up from the earth. Within hours the clouds flattened. Everything was contained around Nelson rather quickly but the smoke lingered within the valley and was especially thick on the lake. There was more smoke heading into Cranbrook and then less so at Fernie (where we are now) until the night when it began filling in the spaces between the peeks. Infernos rage more in the interior. This smoke will likely soon blanket most of BC and then follow us east as we make our way home. We wish for nothing more than the safety of those near the flames.