Travels with a Grand Prix in Search of America, part 1

August, 2000

One of my favorite books is “Travels with Charley in Search of America” by John Steinbeck.  American writers have penned some fantastic books devoted to hitting the open road, but there is something about Steinbeck’s travels that struck a chord.  Most of the great road trip stories have an ulterior motive of hedonism – let’s see how much drugs I can ingest and how many chicks I can nail in as many states as possible.  But Steinbeck was at the point in his life where he just wanted to see what normal, everyday Americans were all about.  So he hopped in an RV with his poodle Charley riding shotgun, and just drove.

In between my junior and senior years in college, I decided that sounded like a fantastic idea.  Just hop in the car, drive from Michigan to Montana and back, and see what would transpire.  (It was probably about this time in my life that my Mom stopped splitting her time between praying for me and trying to reason with me, and just decided to devote her full time to praying for me.)

Before I begin, a word about my travelling accommodations:  You can take your Japanese auto quality and reliability of the 1990s and shove it, because I’m taking a Detroit engine every day of the week and twice on Sunday.  Continuing in Detroit’s fine tradition of comfortable beasts with big engines, my ride of choice was a 1997 black V-6 Pontiac Grand Prix, complete with gold rims and an upgraded stereo system.  And to top it off, this hog actually got a legit 30 mpg on the highway.  Perfection for a college student on a budget. 

The basic itinerary was to head north from West Michigan into the Upper Peninsula and then take a northern route to Glacier National Park in Western Montana (i.e., the lyrics to a Bob Seeger song).  The goal was to never stop at any Generica establishments (McDonalds, WalMart, etc.) the entire trip, with the only exception being nights in a Super 8 if I wasn’t near a hostel or camping.

Day 1 – Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Last week, I was in Chicago at the downtown Orvis store and picked up a book titled: “1,000 places to see before you die.”  I immediately started flipping through it to find the Michigan entries.  There was only one: Mackinac Island’s Grand Hotel.  I quickly put the book down and continued shopping, because the editor was clearly an idiot.  Situated on the southern shores of Lake Superior in between Munising and Grand Marais, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore is a natural gem that 100% belongs in that book.  [Don’t believe me?  Click here.  See, I told you.]

The itinerary for day one was to hike a few miles to the shoreline at Chapel Rock and set up camp for the night.  Somewhere in the woods between the trail head and the camp site, I was ambushed by a flock of drunk old ladies.  This is not an exaggeration.  I was minding my own business enjoying the scenery, when out of the woods appeared 3 blue-haired grandmas.  One was holding a box of Franzia, with all 3 sporting full wine glasses.  The oldest of the bunch was sidled up next to me before I could blink and was getting a little too “handsy” with me and my water bottle.  Drunk Grandma:  “What ya got in there, sonny?  Vodka.”  Me:  “Uh, what?”  Drunk Grandma:  “Vodka.  It’s vodka, isn’t it?”  Me:  “Ma’am, I assure you that is water and not vodka.”  Drunk Grandma:  “That’s a shame.”  After dismissing me as no use to them, we chatted for awhile and parted ways.  Little did I know at the time, that odd encounter in the woods was just an appetizer for the randomness that would follow throughout my journey. 

After setting up camp on a cliff above the shoreline, I was treated to one of the top 5 sunsets I have ever seen in my life.  It had been overcast with light sprinkles throughout the day, but just as the sun was setting the horizon cleared and threw off the most amazing oranges and purples and reds onto the clouds.  (I still have a picture of this sunset hanging on the wall in my house.)  As the sun sank below the still, cold waters of Lake Superior, I knew this was going to be a good trip.

I don’t care who you are, when you are sleeping by yourself in the middle of woods, every noise takes on a different intensity.  While you may be asleep, part of your brain is still on high alert in fight or flight mode.  So when I was startled awake the next morning by something raising holy hell outside my tent, I was convinced either: 1) the old ladies were back and about to abduct me, or 2) a moose was about to give birth on top of my tent.  After my adrenal gland made sure I was way too awake for only being first light, I mustered the courage to unzip my tent – figuring I might as well see what was about to kill me.  No joke, not 50 feet away from my tent were 2 squirrels clinging to the side of a tree getting it on.  With my life safe for the moment, day 2 was off to a good, random start.

to be continued…

How "The Big House" got even bigger.

November 22, 1997

Have you ever wondered how it is that the attendance numbers at a major college football game can be thousands of people over the stated capacity of the stadium?  For example, the stated capacity of Michigan Stadium was 102,501 in 1997, yet the reported attendance for the Michigan v. Ohio State game that year was 106,982.  Well, here’s a story of how that happens…

First, a little background:  Tom Goss was the embattled UMich Athletic Director from 1997-2000, and was heavily criticized for a number of decisions during his short tenure.  To me, the dumbest move he made was allowing to stand the decision that incoming freshman in 1997 would receive a split-season ticket package, meaning half of the freshman class would not be allowed to buy tickets to the Michigan v. Ohio State game.  Because apparently, when you have a limited capacity of 102,501 seats to fill, rewarding old alumni who don’t know how to cheer is more important than pissing off a couple of thousand tuition-paying students.  [Historical Note:  Split-season student tickets had never happened before, and there was such a backlash against the decision that it will never happen again.]

Of course, guess who was lucky enough to receive the half-season ticket package that did not include the Ohio State game.  And to throw salt on an open wound, Michigan had to go out and win every game leading up to the Ohio State that season and be ranked #1 in the nation.  Thankfully, someone in the athletic department realized the week of the game that there were a lot of freshman student-athletes who did not have tickets to what would be the biggest game of their entire college career.  Word was quickly spread around the athletic teams that any freshman who did not have tickets to the game could show up early on Saturday and receive a free pass to the game in exchange of putting pom-poms on all of the seats in the student section (I’m not sure who authorized that deal, but there is special place in heaven reserved for that person.)

Fortunately, my roommate was in the same boat as me, so we could make sure we actually got out of bed on Saturday.  I remember that it had snowed overnight and it was butt cold when we got up at the crack of dawn to trudge down to the stadium.  When we got to the stadium, there was a lady standing at the gate and she told us to come back when we done to pick up our game pass.  After our fingers and nose had turned a sufficient amount of black from the frostbite, we were finally done.  When we got back to the entrance gate, there was a stack of what must have been over a hundred passes – but nobody in sight.  After waiting a few minutes, we came to the conclusion that the person must have also gotten frostbite and said “Screw it, I’m outta here.”  Naturally, we did what any poor, starving college student would do when faced with the situation – took a handful and started selling them to people on the street for $50 a pop.  (Why $50, when real tickets were selling for $100s?  Because we decided the passes didn’t look very official and $50 was all people would be willing to pay for a chance we were scam artists.  It’s called real life supply and demand in a free market economy, and part of the reason I could pass Econ 101 a few years later without ever going to class.)

And the rest, as they say, is history.  The passes were general admission, so I squeezed my way in about 20 rows up at the 50-yard line, watched Charles Woodson and David Boston start punching each other right in front of me, watched Charles Woodson run a punt back and 106,000 people turn into pure electricity, watched the guy who lived across the hall get maced by a cop when he ran onto the field after a 21-14 Michigan win, watched a dude fall 20-feet out of a tree and crack his skull open during the impromptu rally on the university president’s front yard after the game.  You know, a typical Saturday for a college student.