Northern hospitality

We hoofed it through some lovely trails, until we came across this monstrosity in the middle of the woods.


Hey, uh, Ray, what kind of estimate do you give to a rig of this condition?




We also found someone's study — a chair and bookshelf.


They also left behind some jars. I wonder what they contained.


So we kept on, following a map to some sort of fire tower. It was a perfect day, which was not the case the day before or the day after. Luckily, we had one good one, weather-wise.

We found the tower, after some brief confabbing by these two.

We finished our hike and headed to Bellaire. Casey and Mary knew of a brewpub there they wanted to check out, so we grabbed a coupla fine beers there.


We made our way back to the house for dinner preparations. We had some garlic mashed potatoes, sauteed green beans, Michigan salad, and Matt threw down some serious beef tenderloin with a horseradish cream sauce.

The rest of the night was equal parts debauchery and hedonism, but with a serious touch of disappointment. The Tigers got paddled in Game 1, but we still had ourselves quite a time yukking it up. The dogs ran around.


We lounged by the fire.

And otherwise relaxed and decompressed, reveling in that sort of organic goodness that comes from being around people for which you care, respect and admire.

Of course, though, you can never have it that good for long. Driving back in the cold, windy rain on Sunday, Kerry's car started making a funny noise, like it was getting a flat tire. I pulled over. No flat. I kept driving and it was as if the rear driver's side wheel was about to fall off. I pulled over again and pulled on that wheel. Yes, it was a little loose, despite the lugnuts being firmly secured. Just then a cop pulled up and offered help, which I thought was excellent timing and a classic display what the fucking police are there for in the first place. I removed the wheel and even he noticed the drum/rotor had a little too much give in it. He called for us a wrecker from a reliable shop in nearby Roscommon, about four hours away from our home. He loaded up the car and took it to his shop to reveal that yes, the bearing inside the housing there had gaulded itself to the blabbity blah.

Luckily, Matt and Kate had yet to leave Torch Lake. Everyone else was gone. We had to leave the car in Roscommon (where it still is now), while they swooped through and drove us home, with a Jeep full of their bags, two dogs and four humans. We left Torch at noon and got back home at 8:30. It thoroughly sucked.

We had to leave Lamont in the back of the car at the shop, while Matt and Kate made their way to us, maybe about 45 minutes. Our really friendly tow truck driver/mechanic, Derek, dropped us off at local bar where Kerry and I tried to soothe ourselves with vodka and sandwiches. It was tough, knowing Lamont was back in the car by himself (we couldn't hang out at the shop, they were closed; and we surely couldn't take him with us). But I didn't worry as much. He's a good dog and a brave fucker at that, and I knew he would just knuckle down and ride it out, which he did, like a fucking pro I might add.

Driving home wasn't as easy, at least not for me. While sitting in the backseat playing along with conversation, I keep thinking over and over what would've happened had we lost that wheel at 80 miles an hour, with steady traffic behind us. The car would've probably flipped. I don't know, I just keep looking at Kerry and Lamont on the way home, trying to hold myself together at the thought of anything happening to them, that I've made this unstoppable, leviathan-in-scope committment to the two of them and should anything happen, well, I don't know, I tried not think about it, but it's really fucking hard when you have an active imagination like I do.

The thought of her not in my life makes me want to fucking throw up everything in my body, everything between my toes and my neck. But, as I'm sure you're thinking at this point (if you're still with me, you're a punishment glutton if you are; but I quietly thank you), it didn't happen. Nothing bad happened and that's what Kerry pointed out on the side of the freeway. We were safe and that's what mattered.

It seems like a lot of shit is coming with a price these days, at least for me personally. A blissed out, kind of selfish weekend of fun, laughter, imbibing and eating, is punctuated with a brutal little lesson for The Chicken and a triple-shot of scary reality.

I'll take it, though. I'm better for it today.