(N 42°12.455', W085°53.534', elev: 774 feet)
Distance traveled on leg 4: 359.2 miles
Total distance traveled: 1384.1 miles
Expedition Outlook: Anticipatory
Day 4: Still not king.
Hello dear readers. i sit before Jameson, the flashing cursor taunting me. I am struggling with the best way to describe the visceral and dynamic responses of today's adventure with you. Best to jump in with both feet and hope for the best I think.
When last we left our intrepid adventurers, they had bunked up in the Frankenmuth Motel. Frankenmuth, also known as Michigan's Little Bavaria, was an unexpected surprise. When we rolled into the town late Wednesday evening, we were shocked to discover buildings dripping with bright colors and a year's worth of fretting and tooling by a horde of hiccuping wood workers, fountains, covered bridges, establishments like Zehnder's (world famous for its family style chicken), the Schnitzelbank, the Fischer Platz, the Marv Herzog Hotel, strange churches and spires, odd looking industrial towers, even a river boat. We went off to sleep utterly flabbergasted by our unintentional discovery, and awoke determined to explore this new environ we found ourselves in.
We awoke, this time like civilized beings, in time to access the motel's free breakfast. When we emerged into the world, it was to reassure ourselves that our antics of the previous night were not some fever dream, but actual reality. We were not disappointed. Into town we headed, loaded for (and with, in the case of Hannibal) bear. Even the threat of rain could not mute the brightness of the architecture or the vibrant demeanor of the town. We bounced from shop to boutique to shop again. Even the people were friendly, a phenomenon we are not terribly used to as dwellers in the northeast. Hannibal was a whirlwind of debauchery, charming no less than five women in town. Janel, if you're reading this, Hannibal wanted me to let you know you were his favorite.
With daylight came some clarity, the eerily lit tower was part of the local brewery, for example, however it also revealed other curious things as well. An infestation of Big People, as we've come call them; Those strangely proportioned and charmingly grotesque sculptures of human like animals, cigar store Indians, and other curiosities. They loomed on buildings and corners, hid in nooks and spied down upon us from roofs. The phenomenon has struck such an intense chord within us that we are biding our time and gathering data with the intent of logging a treatise later on during the expedition.
Another curious note about fair Frankenmuth concerns its civil servants. The DPW staff responsible for the town's vast array of gardens an flora appears to be comprised entirely of comely young ladies in tiny shorts and chartreuse vests. Just another touch of unreality to cause us to wonder just where upon the knife edge of sanity and delusion we currently tread.
Our excursion in Frankenmuth did not end with downtown, fair readers, not by a long shot. No in order to reach that conclusion we needed to visit Bronner's CHRISTmas Wonderland. Sprawling over 150 yards, Bronner's is the largest Christmas specialty shop in the world. After crossing the threshold, there was no doubt as to where we stood on the line of sanity. I am at a loss to adequately describe this place. It is full of colors and lights and set up with a disorienting layout. It was actually very similar to a casino game floor in that regard. There was no attempt at subtlety, the store came at you with an air hammer between the eyes and the intent of gutting your wallet and hanging you from an ornamental hook.
And while we thought downtown was laden with Big People, it did not hold a yule candle to Bronner's. No circus sideshow was ever this in your face or bizarre. We stopped counting nativity scenes after we found over 12 in a single wing. We didn't even try counting Santa's or the creepy, freaky gremlins they called elves.
The photos we took do not provide the proper atmosphere, and for that I apologize. Though we spent only twenty minutes within its walls, that place will be lodged within the walls of our minds until we no longer walk the earth. We actually fled, as if pursued. Corona welcomed us with warmth, and Hannibal comforted poor Edison with a damp kerchief to his fevered brow. Shaken, but not broken, we planned out next stop.
For no reason other than to say we'd been, we charted a course for Bad Axe, MI. Yes dear readers, you are not mistaken. Bad Axe is a small town in the middle of a vast network of farms. It had a single main thoroughfare, a movie theater, a school, and little else. We were not expecting Frankenmuth, but deep down, I think we had built the place up to more than it was.
After no more than a brief struggle with Eloise, we set out to finally meet Lake Huron and continue on our quest. Thunderheads loomed ominously, chiding us. We found Port Austin and Lake Huron with little difficulty. The waterfront was under construction so we headed west until we could find a place to make lake fall. Unlike the majesty of Ontario, or the proliferation of visits to Erie, we encountered Huron on a small narrow stretch of beach and dune grass with no name. It was imply referred to as 'roadside park.' Huron had its own character, sure as its siblings did. Mayhap it was the weather, but it felt more sullen and dreary. It sported a vast shallow basin where we were at that reduced wave activity to functional nonexistence. The beach was closer to what someone from northeast coast would expect for an Atlantic Ocean shore: coarse, but not rough sand, shells, stones, and a jetsam of vegetation and wood. Edison honed his stone skipping skills whilst I explored. Once we were satisfied with Huron, we returned to Corona, held an expedition vote, and opted to back track a little and continue with the Chicago route.
The weather finished marshaling itself and came howling and screaming at our heels, chasing us south through the state. With each gnash of its teeth, lighting arced over head. Running on the edge of the storm was exhilarating. However, when we changed directions and began moving west, the storm caught us. For all that we could see what was going on, we may as well have been underwater. I'm almost certain Noah passed us and flashed a grin and a rude gesture as his ark sailed by. Though tedious, we made steady progress, and finally alighted here at Paw Paw, within an hour of Chicago and the next leg of the expedition.
Edison was fairly bubbling today, so I apologize in advance for whatever it is he is about to set upon you;
[Notes from Edison:
Bubbling. Hah! I scoff. My ebullience is merely the product of short nights and long days over the course of a few days. And no sane person visiting the spectacle that is Frankenmuth could walk away unchanged. An apocalyptic precursor of the end days, or a pleasant stay in a foreign hostel? Who can say.
Say one thing for the deluge, I believe we have lost our Batlabian pursuers for good. As well, the zombies from the farm are probably so waterlogged that it will take them weeks to unbloat and follow us again. On the other hand, the Big People are becoming a serious issue. They seem to have preceded us and set up ambushes should we grow unwary. Fortunately, our wills are strong, and our senses alert. Perhaps preternaturally.
We argued many courses for the next day, a pleasant fellow in a jewelry shop suggesting a more northern route through Mackinaw, while my pater- and materfamilias voted for southerly views near Madison. We have followed that advice, and tomorrow will go to see an extremely strange grouping of architecture if all goes well.
I leave you with this: In the time of the Roman Empire, when Julius Caesar was determining whether or not to revolt against his increasingly erratic 'superiors', Caesar had to cross the Rubicon river, which divided his territory from central Rome. He supposedly hesitated at that crossing to ponder his options, and finally said to his closest aide 'Alea iacta est' and continued on to take control of the empire. In english that was 'The die is already cast.'
For ourselves, and our trip; 'dovi'andi se tovya sagain'. Now it's time to roll the dice, or in the words of the prophet, "So get out there and rock, and roll the bones!."
Bongiorno, and bon chance.]
I feel as if we are playing some sort game of catch as catch can with the sun: We chase it west below the world and it rises again in the east to chase us off to sleep. Thank you, America, and good night. This is the Nickness, signing off:
Thank you for tuning in! On our next episode: What, Is It Morning Already?, Paging Harry Dresden, The Evolution Of A Plan, Are You Thinking What I'm Thinking, Pinky?
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