Ruthie the Rescue – Veness Travel Media

Beads, Boats, And Brilliant Birding

If you’ve seen the movie, The Big Year, you know how passionate birders can be about their hobby. We’re casual birders at best, but we do enjoy seeing wildlife we can’t see in Florida. While much of Texas is known for its exceptional birding, it turns out our next destination, Port Aransas, offers some of the best in the state.

We arrived on Fat Tuesday and were delighted to hear there would be a Padre Gras golf cart parade that afternoon, the island’s answer to Mardi Gras. Campers were lining their chairs up along the campground’s main streets, and we joined them.

We were all set for the fun of clapping and cheering as each cart went by, but hadn’t thought about the paraders throwing beads and candy. Ruthie got to wear the beads for a while, then we gave them to our neighbor’s granddaughter. We doled out the six or eight pieces of candy over the following few evenings and called them “dessert.”

A fair bit of our five-day stay was spent wandering around wetlands and reserves with our binoculars. Many of the birds that live here or migrate here for winter are familiar to us; ibis, certain kinds of ducks, herons, egrets, and some cranes, but we were excited to see some new ones, including Roseate Spoonbills and the endangered Whooping Crane.

*There was a big flock of Spoonbills here, too, but they were just too far for our camera to capture.*

Florida has plenty of pelicans along its shores, but we don’t see them inland, so they’re still special to us. Here, they have both Brown and White Pelicans.

This little fellow wasn’t reacting to people passing by, and within a short time two women from a rescue center showed up and carefully took him away. We hope he’s feeling much better now!

Gators are always a bit special, but we’re pretty used to seeing them. In this instance, the Leonabelle Turnbull Birding Center’s resident gator, called Boots by the locals, is a great huge whompin’ example of the species, measuring in at 14 feet. He’s a grumpy 50-year-old who chased away his only potential buddy, Stumpy, who was missing a leg. Stumpy got relocated, then relocated again, and is now living in Beaumont, our destination a few weeks from now.

*You could make a lot of boots out of Boots…if he didn’t kill you first.*

Ship-watching is practically a sport hereabouts, and we joined the locals at Roberts Point Park, where cargo ships enter the channel to pick up oil from the refineries and then head back out to sea to make their deliveries.

There is a pier not far from the park that gives you a view of the ships that’s so close you can almost see the faces of their crew members. It’s also a great spot for fishing, and we watched a man feeding the small fish he caught to a couple of pelicans. His wife told us the pelicans sometimes attack the man, but it never seemed to occur to them that it was the natural result of hand-feeding a wild animal. We sort of hoped some of the bites hurt.

We had planned to take a trip out to San Jose Island (a.k.a. St. Jo’s), a private island whose owner lets people visit the beach, but the weather was turning and the primary draws are fishing and swimming, so we made the round-trip without getting off the little ferry.

*This is pretty much all there is to do on the island. Probably wonderful in summer, but not so much in winter when it’s cold and wet.*

Ruthie was not impressed. At ALL. The vibration of the ferry totally unnerved her, and we could hear her thanking all the blessed angels in heaven when her feet were back on terra firma. That dog can pull – hard! – when she wants to go back to the car.

*Ruthie looks calm here, but she was shaking and panting and having a real fit for herself. One of the passengers on our return trip helped by petting her head while I patted her rear.*

The island is all chopped up in this area, and while there are bridges, it sometimes requires less milage to take the free car ferry from Port Aransas to Aransas Pass, and that would be our route when it was time to move on to Port Lavaca. But first, we wanted to give it a try in Nippy to be sure we knew how to do it in Fati.

*Loading and unloading area. The whole set-up was super efficient, and surprisingly quick.*

*We were directed into that spot to the right of the pickup truck. Score!*

We got an up-front view for our crossing, and were astonished at how totally without movement the journey felt. It was only by being able to see the shore that we knew we were moving at all.

Our final two days in the area were so rainy and windy we ended up staying home. Happily, Port Aransas is small, so we felt we got the best out of it that a wet winter could give.

Chillin’ on the Texas Riviera

Texas has two Rivieras. One is the conceptual “Riviera” claimed by towns along the Gulf Coast’s Padre and Mustang Islands, and the other is the actual burg of Riviera, our next destination as we started our eastward bounce along the coast toward Florida.

We chose Riviera purely because of its location, a half-way point on the drive from Donna to Corpus Christi. We’d have three days on the inlet to Baffin Bay, get our minds onto “island time,” and maybe take advantage of the campground’s activities.

All activities were cancelled during our stay because Covid, RSV, and flu were going around the campground, which is not what you want to hear, but one of the benefits of this lifestyle is that most socializing takes place outdoors. Most of the campers were seasonal “Winter Texans,” (like Florida’s “snowbirds,” who come from Northern states and spend the winter in a warmer climate), including our neighbors on both sides (Hi Linda and Erik and Linda!), and we enjoyed several happy chats with them, hearing about their travels and telling them about ours.

We also took advantage of the good (if chilly) weather and took Ruthie for a walk out the pier. Now, anyone who shares a home with a rescue dog probably has moments when they recognize their pup’s former life is showing up. For Ruthie, there seems to be something about being on a pier over salt water that gives her tremendous joy. She was found along Florida’s Gulf Coast, and our Riviera adventure must have felt like home to her. It was lovely to see her scamper and dance like a puppy!

If you’ve been following along on Facebook (SimonSusanVeness), you already know we had fun with “Caption This” for the following photo, and we had a good laugh about the fantastic captions people came up with.

The real story behind it is, when we arrived at the campground we were told the nearest grocery store was a 40-mile round-trip to Kingman (where we’d Wallydocked the night before we arrived in Donna ((Hi Karin and Darren! Hi Gary and Mary!))), or we could drive eight miles to the local Dollar General, which carried basic foodstuffs. We were happy with soup and a short drive, and I only took the photo to remind us that we actually shopped for comestibles at a Dollar store. Simon’s facial expression, though; priceless!

Anyway, our time in Riviera was short, so this blog will be short, too. We strolled the pier just outside the campground, did a little bit of writing, and enjoyed the fabulous view outside our front window, which included sightings of what we were told were Nilgai, the massive, pointy-horned animals that look like big-barreled deer but are really related to antelope.

They were brought to the area by King Ranch as game for the ranch’s hunting expeditions, but, happily, at least some of their descendants are living a free life. We were so thrilled by these unexpected sightings, and when our time in Riveria came to an end, we felt it had been something truly special.

Did Nothing. Ate Food.

Our 34-day break in Donna, Texas comes to an end on February 1, and we’re totally refreshed and ready to start touring again. First-draft of Susan’s new children’s book is done, Simon’s long road to finishing the Africa book is nearly done, and our old friend the Gulf Coast is calling!

The short version of our last couple of weeks is much like the first couple of weeks:

Did nothing.
Did nothing.
Did nothing.
Ate food.
Did nothing.

For the longer version, keep reading.

Obviously, the only interesting part of the last two weeks is the food, but it’s also worth noting that Simon got up early a couple of mornings to play pickleball with the residents of the resort, and on the fourth day he pulled a calf muscle. Badly. But you don’t want to see him with his leg on ice, so instead, here’s some food from the fabulous Teddy’s BBQ, a dive-style place in Weslaco, TX that everyone recommends, and for a good reason.

*Gotta love a place that stays open until they’re “Sold Out.” They know they’ll sell out!*

*Strips of red tape over the menu items let you know* what *has already sold out.*

*Happiness is what counts with husbands. Happiness, and harmony.*

El Plebe was our go-to for great tacos this week, and I think you can tell we didn’t enjoy it at all.

Susan was determined to make Posole soup, and, with a side of some sort of pillowy Mexican bread we found at a bakery, we’re here to tell you it’s worth the effort.

We also visited the Farmer’s Market that comes to the RV resort once a week. A pickup truck pulls up in the parking area not far from Fati, with a man and his wife who came to this country to work hard and provide something special for their adopted community, and we were delighted to be a part of that.

We did make a trip out to the Iwo Jima Monument in Harlingen, Texas, about half an hour away.

The little museum that interprets the site closed half an hour early, so we were sad, but we stopped for a coffee at a Pilot, where Mexican Hot Chocolate was on the menu. So we were happy again.

We each took a sip, and while we were still making “yummy” noises, the guy who rang up our purchase said, “You should make the real thing. Like Mexican grandmothers make!” He then gave us the recipe, which we now bestow upon you.

Mexican Hot Chocolate
In a saucepan over low heat, mix:
1 Nestle Abuelita Chocolate Tablet
12 oz. Nestle Carnation Evaporated Milk
20 oz. milk (any type)
1 Cinnamon Stick
Stir until it boils and the chocolate has fully melted. Serve hot.

(You’re welcome!)

It’s hard at times to remember we’re still in the U.S., with the huge Mexican cultural influence in the area. The border wall remains a constant, though here it’s just weird sections of wall with massive gaps in between, and one notable example in the middle of nowhere, well into the U.S., and you could walk from one end to the other in about two minutes. It’s also interesting to note that 17 cities and 3 counties here passed resolutions opposing the wall.

*Impressive, isn’t it? Yeah, well, this is literally the entire section of wall, and it’s a few miles inland from the border.*

In spite of how wonderfully quiet this past month-plus has been, there has been some excitement. Some good, some…well…not so great.

The good is, we have such lovely neighbors to our right, and our conversations with them have made us feel that sense of belonging RVers are so great at imparting. With so little time to get to know people in this nomadic life, everyone gets right down to the friendliness without any of the small talk relationships usually start with, and it makes you feel like you’re hanging out with the kind of family you can stand being with over dinner and the holidays.

The not-so-great part has been expected, but is still not so great. Our sweet Ruthie has a new reality, and we now own a large box of doggie tinkle pads, which are helping us all cope with her process of aging. Dignity intact!

A huge change in our touring will come when we head south on Feb. 1, as we start our bounce along the Gulf Coast, heading east for the next three months. And, without wishing a single day of that time away, we’ve got a VERY exciting finale in the works! We’ll let you guess what that might be.

A Year On The Road – The 8-Month Map

Here we are at the two-thirds mark of our grand ‘A Year On The Road’ RV adventure, and we have reached deep south Texas. We are currently in Donna, TX, and we have traveled a full 928 miles in the last month from our December base in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

Our route from Las Cruces took us down through El Paso to Van Horn, and then on to Alpine (for the magnificent Big Bend National Park), before heading further south to Del Rio and then Castroville for Christmas (just outside San Antonio). The New Year then took us southwest to Donna via Kingsville.

*All safely set up at our RV resort in Donna, Texas. We could end up being here a whole month!*

Our total RV mileage since we left home is now 8,242 and Texas is our 20th state (not counting Florida). That 928 miles probably doesn’t sound like much, but it is more than the total for months 6 and 7 combined, as we had started a significant slow-down in favor of being longer in one place and exploring further by car.

*The story so far. The full track of our trip in Fati is in yellow, and our multiple side-trips in Nippy are shown in pink. We still have another 1,500 miles or so to get home!*

Our little Ford Fiesta, Nippy, has put in an additional 1,558 miles in the past month, giving her a total to date of 19,708. Combined with Fati, we have driven a grand total of 27,825 miles, or basically enough to have gone right the way round the world, plus an extra 2,924 miles!

*We had to make sure we didn’t arrive too early at our Donna campground, so we paid a call to the local Post Office (which had a nice empty parking lot!)*

In all honesty, we are not looking to break any long-distance records at this stage. We knew we had to get some miles under our belt by January as the weather becomes a major factor at this time of year, and we need to stay as far south as possible. RVs are not built to travel far during the depths of winter and, even being this far south has had its challenges, with temps dropping below freezing several times this month. Including the wind-chill, we hit 15F/-9.5C at its coldest and, living in what amounts to a glorified tin can, that gets REALLY cold, really quickly!

Our route from here will hug the Texas coast all the way to Louisiana in March, and we should just be warming up again by then!

Simon, Susan & Ruthie

Merry Christmas! Enjoy The Gift!

Two things inspired us to make campground reservations more than a year in advance when we were planning our Year on the Road: popularity, and the holidays. Yellowstone wins for popularity, and Christmas wins for tough-to-get holiday reservations in warm climates, so those dates were at the top of our list, more than a year in advance.

Susan was up at midnight hitting “Reserve” the moment our dates for Yellowstone opened, and she got one of the last two available sites, just minutes after the booking window opened. She did the same for our Christmas 2023 campground in Castroville, Texas, just outside San Antonio. When our schedule changed after dropping Washington and Oregon, we re-worked it around that booking, and on December 23, 2023, we arrived at Alsatian RV Resort, 16 months after the reservation was made.

But first we Wallydocked in a Walmart parking lot just outside Amistad National Recreation Area in Del Rio, Texas on the way south, to break up the long journey. Evenings at Walmart are a spectator sport. Nights are a study in tiny-home living with no conveniences; no jacks down for stabilization, no slides out for a flat bed, no water from the faucets, and no heat. It got down to 34F that night.

*Simon can sleep anywhere, so it’s the sofa for him, wrapped up like a burrito.*

*Susan gets the folded-up bed, which sounds comfy but isn’t.* *Everything that rides on it during travel stays on it at night. There’s nowhere else for stuff to go.*

We had a supercharged itinerary during our stay in Castroville, thanks to Visit San Antonio, who searched out all the best things to do and places to eat in the city, with us and Ruthie in mind. Susan’s allergies were in high gear due to all the cedar pollen, but she chose to power through and venture out amongst the people. Allergies aren’t contagious.

*Simon’s Christmas decorating masterpiece.*

Christmas Eve morning, we were off to Pearl Farmer’s Market at San Antonio’s swish Pearl lifestyle center filled with shops and restaurants, where we could pick up loads of fresh produce for dinner that night and for Christmas Day.

But wait. This being Christmas Eve, the farmers were all home getting ready for friends and family, and didn’t show up. No market today. Still, we had a reservation for brunch at Southerleigh, with patio seating for maximum pre-holiday people watching.

Simon opted for a craft beer and the Southern Fried Chicken, featuring what looked like half a chicken nestled on the most pillowy, fluffy, feather-light biscuit you could imagine, and served with crispy potatoes. In our house, it would feed two. In San Antonio it fed one, with a few sad potatoes left straggling on the plate.

Susan went for a mimosa and the Heirloom Tomato Salad with fresh ricotta, basil oil, and sweet balsamic mustard seeds, which doesn’t sound like much but was pure magic when you’re craving vegetables.

The Alamo (yes, that Alamo) was on our schedule for later in the week, but with time to spare today, we headed a few blocks over for a visit. Now, if you’re like us, you picture the Alamo out in the boonies somewhere, far away from anyone who might have been able to come to the rescue of those poor Texas soldiers and save them from a thirteen-day siege and inevitable death at the hands of the Mexican army.

But boonies grow into towns, and towns grow into cities, and the former Spanish mission is now in the very heart of San Antonio. The Alamo is, obviously, on Texan land, having been surrendered by Mexico after further battles, bloodshed, and loss of lives. A courtyard remembers characters from that awful time, some of whom became legends in U.S. history.

*John William Smith, San Antonio’s first mayor, who fought in the Texas war for independence.*

*Emily West, a free woman of color who was kidnapped by the Mexican cavalry and later inspired the song, “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”*

*James Bowie, pioneer, land and slave speculator, best known for his distinctive “Bowie knife,” and not known enough for his “ownership” of human beings.*

*David “Davy” Crockett, legendary frontiersman and congressman who, as the song goes, “killed him a bar when he was only three.” He and Bowie both died at the Alamo.*

Christmas Day! A day to distract ourselves from being away from loved ones by having a movie marathon, opening our gifts to each other, and enjoying a lovely meal.

Christmas Eve dinner had been a snacky affair due to all that fried chicken Simon had for lunch, but today we were in for a treat.

Simon requested Beef Bourguignon, Texas has good steak, and we had that bottle of Lemon Olive Oil from our visit to Queen Creek Olive Mill in Mesa that would make a nice dressing for arugula salad with shaved parmesan. Score!

We gave each other new reusable thermal mugs to keep our coffee and tea hot on moving days, wrapped up so we felt special. Simon chose a box of Lindt chocolates while we were out shopping; Susan picked up a Whitman’s Sampler in memory of her childhood, when that was the “fancy candy;” and we threw in a candy cane we’d been given at a previous campground, all of which made us felt as right as we could about the day, given our unusual circumstances.

Ruthie’s digestive tract still wasn’t cooperating, and after several nights of very broken sleep for her and for us, it was time to get her in with a vet. We’d had no luck on Christmas Eve, Christmas day, or December 26, but the wonderful Alamo Area Veterinary Clinic had an opening on December 27, so we rescheduled our touring and got her sorted out. Three medications and 24 hours later, she made a miraculous recovery, so we considered her vet bill a Christmas gift.

*A little light reading while waiting for the vet.*

Dr. Baker-Arguelles spent a long time with us and Ruthie, listening to our concerns and explaining the process we’re now in with our pup. And while we expect her to have many more happy months of travel, we know our girl has beat the Labrador life-expectancy odds. Every day is a gift.

A Return to Ancestral Ground

The Land of Ten Thousand Lakes. Home to wolves, bobcat, coyote, bears, and, a long time ago, woolly mammoths, Minnesota is also the birthplace of Susan’s grandfather, a descendant of Slovenian immigrants seeking life and work in a place similar to home. And that means mining, a distinct accent, and winters harsh enough to freeze your bollocks off.

But our arrival was much more temperate, once we got past Duluth.

Those Steep Grade warnings on our GPS were the first test of our nerve before we head into mountain territory, and while Simon was eager to give it a try (with a healthy dose of respect), Susan was not so sure. Perhaps the person holding the steering wheel with their foot on the gas or the brake has a mental advantage over the helpless passenger.

Whatever the case, the downward grade proved to be a doddle. We’d had worse coming through the Appalachian foothills on our way up from Florida. The upward grade, however, would be a different matter.

Leaving Wisconsin meant crossing the St. Louis River into Duluth, where the unexpected sight of the John A. Blatnik Memorial Bridge brought on the heart-pounding terror of the Mackinaw Bridge crossing for one of us (Susan, obviously), with its massive rise and certain death by drowning if the rig went over.

In the end, it was butt-clenching but do-able, much more so than the Mighty Mack due to its higher sidewall and less visibility straight down to the river.

We could see the uphill Steep Grade we’d been warned about when we reached the end of the bridge. From there, it looked incredibly daunting – a nearly straight-up pitch with its full horror hidden by sweeping upward curves. Simon downshifted into second gear, checked that we were already in Tow Haul mode, and let Fati’s engine take the brunt of it.

We have no photos of it, of course, since Simon’s hands were gripping the wheel and Susan’s hands were gripping the armrests.

Our 11-ton rig performed magnificently, and once we were at the top of the hill we (and she) breathed a sigh of relief. The rest of the trip was pretty and uneventful, though we were immensely curious about the foggy pall that lay over Duluth, a meteorological phenomenon caused by air hitting the warm land after passing over Lake Superior’s deep, notoriously cold waters, which we’d encounter repeatedly over the next few days.

We were thrilled to be upgraded from a 30-amp back-in site to a 50-amp pull-thru when we checked in at Red Pine Campground in Saginaw, Minnesota, about 28 minutes north-west of Duluth. We parked between two fragrant pine trees with an Airstream RV on one side and nobody on the other, hooked up to water, electric, and sewer, then set off to see the sights.

Having learned our lesson with a tick scare on Ruthie after hiking in Michigan, the first order of business was to find some hiking clothes, ideally the kind that has tick and bug repellant built in. Menards – that vast warehouse of all things outdoors in Michigan – wasn’t far away. It also wasn’t anything like the ones in Michigan, and was really a gigantic Home Depot. Strike One. Walmart was Strike Two. In the land of outdoor adventure, either the locals never went outdoors, were far heartier than us, or already had hiking clothes.

Susan refused to go into any more stores that didn’t have the words Sporting Goods on them, and to our great joy we came upon Dick’s. But this wasn’t a big Dick’s. It was a little Dick’s. And no offense intended to anyone, but we were pretty sure we’d hate little Dick’s.

Simon waited in the car with Ruthie (again), while Susan dealt with the little Dick’s. Long story short, it wasn’t a little Dick’s, it was a big shopping mall with a little Dick’s. Apparently, women don’t hike, so half an hour later we both had a set of men’s hiking pants and shirts (and a massive cha-ching on our credit card), and we were off to the North Shore Scenic Drive with Gooseberry Falls as our turn-around point.

First up was a pull-off viewing area that led down to a small river that emptied into Lake Superior where, it seems, something spawns.

Roadside oddity Toms Logging Camp (no apostrophe needed, it seems) was our next discovery, and while they don’t allow dogs on the camp trail, we took a few minutes to explore the wacky gift shop and it’s homespun signs that explained the “décor” on the walls, from the type of timber used to build the shop to the mountain goat’s head and a grim description of how long it took to die after it was shot.

Simon in hat at Toms Logging Camp — *The most gorgeous cowboy in Minnesota!*

Susan had been hoping to find a small bag of long-grain wild rice, and we found it here, then we headed north again. Our packed-lunch stop was the lighthouse in Two Harbors, where the fog on Lake Superior was starting to roll in. We made it to the end and back, but during that walk the temperature dropped by about ten degrees, then rose again when we reached land.

Two Harbors Lighthouse — *You can see the fog in the background, which would be in the foreground soon.*

Even the over-achiever Canadian Goose couple with their 27 (!!) goslings were unimpressed.

Simon had too much blood in his caffeine stream, and we seriously needed warming up, so we popped in at Burlington Station, where he added eight hand-made truffles to the bill without asking how much they were. The total for the truffles and two mocha coffees came to $46, and the look on his face was priceless as he tried to hide his shock and horror.

In all fairness, they are absolutely scrummy, and we’re making them last as long as possible. But damn…that’s some serious cash for a couple of pounds of chocolate. You could buy a whole new check valve for your water pump for that price!

Gooseberry Falls was the most magnificent of all the falls we’d seen so far, so we’ll just let you enjoy them, as we did.

Fog followed us back along the coastline until we turned west and headed home again, where one of us flopped onto their bed, so exhausted by the day they couldn’t even close their mouth all the way before they fell into a deep, contented sleep.

Next up: A surprising and sentimental discovery!

Pure Michigan

Michigan is cold. It’s cold for about five months of the year, it’s cold at night and in the morning for longer than that, and it gets cold snaps in May, like it has for the last three days. Michigan is also one of the most beautiful states you’ll ever visit.

The mighty Mackinaw Bridge — Mackinaw Bridge, the “Mighty Mac”

“Pure Michigan” is one of the slogans for this nature-lover’s paradise, where four distinct seasons allow for everything from river tubing – affectionately called “rump bumping” – to skiing, snow shoeing, ice fishing, and snowmobiling. The state is crisscrossed by hiking trails through landscapes as varied as pine forests, sand dunes, and urban centers.

And it’s those heady, scented pine forests that take Susan straight back to her childhood (Michigan is her home state) and feel exotic to Simon, who marvels in the natural diversity of this massive country. When we hit the pine tree-lined stretches of Highway 127 and Interstate 75, the REAL adventure we’ve embarked upon began.

Michigan hike — Michigan has fabulous rest stops all the way up to the Bridge, this one with a hike to a scenic overlook.

Yes, we’ve had some setbacks and hurdles along the way, and we’ve booked a mobile RV repair service for a week from now (showers and shampoos with boiled water are our new friend!). With help on the way, eventually, we spent yesterday and today exploring Mackinaw City at the upper tip of the “Mitten” (referring to Michigan’s hand shape) and St. Ignace, just across the mighty Mackinaw Bridge.

We had planned to “boondock” for a day or two, finding parking places without any hookups, according to our whim, but a serious cold snap with threats of temperatures that could reach freezing forced us into a campground with 50amp power so we could run our heater and keep the plumbing from freezing.

With that in mind, we found the beautiful Mackinaw Mill Creek Campground and a cozy spot with pine trees on three sides, just a short stroll from Lake Michigan.

The downside was, it’s midge season. Those pesky, swarming, non-biting, gawd-awful bugs that absolutely invade every breath of air, especially along the shoreline. That cold snap and its gusty wind became our bug-busting friends, keeping these demons of the breezes to a low roar.

Midges and Mackinaw Bridge — Those things that look like helicopters are midges. They’re tiny, but they’re hellish in swarms!

Mackinaw City is touristy, but in a charming, midwestern way. Lots of little gift shops, fudge shops, and, in the past, mom-and-pop places serving up the area’s iconic pasties (pastry-enclosed individual meat and potato pies the miner’s took with them into the mines for meals). But we’d have to go into St. Ignace to find those delicious treats – a must-do on Susan’s long must-do list – as only one pasty shop remains in Mackinaw City, and it was closed.

Ruthie the Rescue goes shopping for sweets — Let’s go in THERE!

We spent yesterday watching the ferries go back and forth to Mackinaw Island (a place we know well, and decided not to visit this trip), taking a stroll along the main drag, and walking along a rocky beach with a view of the bridge.

View of Mackinaw Bridge from St. Ignace — This is actually looking back at the lower peninsula from St. Ignace, but it’s better than our rocky beach pics.

Today we crossed the bridge in our car, Nippy, with Susan doing a serious butt-clench the whole way, thinking about the comment our friend made (Hi, Janet!) about how the bridge was recently hit by a crane.

Crossing the Mackinaw Bridge — The butt-clench gets tighter when you have to drive over those grates.

Once safely on land again, we headed to Lehto’s Pasties to pick up lunch (beef, potato, and rutabaga ((swede in the UK)) for purist Susan, chicken and vegetables for sacrilegious Simon), then headed to the waterside for a view of Mackinaw Island and the ferries. A&W Root Beer and Michigan’s own Vernor’s Ginger Ale were our drinks of choice, and it was a truly picture-perfect experience. Just what we’d been hoping for.

After lunch we poodled around, looking for roadside stops where we could walk down to the water. At every turn, we found more and more gorgeous vistas. If not for the winters, we could move here.

View of Mackinaw Straits from St. Ignace — Beauty, everywhere.

The toilet seal was still leaking when we got back to Fati, and there’s no hot water unless we boil it, but we do love this life when we’re out exploring, and Michigan’s natural and human-made wonders lifted our spirits immensely.

Next…Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula!