I arrived at three-thirty in the morning. I'd prided myself for having the foresight to book myself accommodation ahead of time. I imagined stumbling from bus seat, past the reception desk and into bed. This didn't happen. Though the Travelodge had been described as "just in front of" the station, it was, apparently, a good mile down an unlighted road. Sure you could walk, I had been told. (Not the fault of the hotel--they were really helpful in drawing me maps for around town later.) I pride myself in being determined, but we were in the middle of the woods. Did I mention that our country is vast? The very nice young man manning the station drove me there in his pickup truck. Thanks!
Where can you find people reading? I'd asked him on the ride down and he suggested going to the fishing tournament instead. This was actually a good tip. I found wives reading while their husbands fished!
The pitiful expression on my face? My fish didn't weigh in as well as the others. At the tournament, I over heard the announcer: The debate goes on, what’s stronger and harder to catch—bass or walleye? ...I don't know what kind of fish I'm posing with. (It's actually a concrete piece of art I found on the side of the road.)
The downtown was deserted--was everyone fishing? I did find a hot spot--the Eighth Street Café, which seemed to be a haven for live music and visual artists as well. I met muralist, Jim Finlan, who created this backhoe-in-wolf's-eye on Thirteenth and Main Street. He works construction and is at heart an environmentalist.
2 comments:
You made it to Escanaba! It looks nice! Would you recommend it?
Nice hat!
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