Skip to: Site menu | Main content

snippet 4

2007-03-01

I’d left home at six a.m. and it was now after two. I’d driven straight to the property for a few minutes to make sure I could find it, and then had circled back to Marquette. I was tired of driving and I was hungry.

The reason I went back to Marquette was to see if and old favorite restaurant from my canoeing days was still around. It wasn’t, but up the street I saw a sign for a pasty place and there I enjoyed a veggie version of one of the Cornish meat pies I’d grown up eating at my Grandmother’s. It was remarkably flavorful and I was tempted to ask for the recipe, but thought better of it. I decided that one question from a stranger was about all they’d want to be bothered with, and my other one was more important.

“Know a good place to stay up the coast a few miles?”

“East or West?” Asked the woman at the cash register as she made change for me.

“West. Preferably a clean but fairly inexpensive place.”

“Cheap.”

“Preferably,” I agreed.

She yelled toward the kitchen. “Ernie, is the Pine Bluff still open?”

“The Motel?” Came a voice from back there somewhere.

“No Ernie, The stock exchange. Yes, the Motel.” She looked at me apologetically, raising her eyes and shaking her head, sorry that I’d been forced to endure even the slightest peripheral dealing with her idiot cook; something, her look implied, that was her personal hell all day every day, but one she preferred to keep as a private burden.

‘As far as I know it is. Why? You moving out? Finally?”

I laughed realizing that their feigned animosity was a two way affair. “Your husband?” I asked, cocking my head toward the kitchen as I put a five back into my wallet. She nodded and in spite of herself, she too started to smile.

“Unfortunately. Thirty-eight years of living hell.”

“I’ll bet. So will I see this place along the shore?”

“Other side of the road. About ten miles. Big sign. You won’t miss it.”

“Thanks. The Pine Bluff.” I repeated the name and gave a little wave of thanks.

“Thanks for stopping in.”

That was nice, I thought as I hopped in my car.

The coastline along the Southern edge of Lake Superior isn’t inviting; it’s imposing, daring people to venture out into the greatest of the Great Lake’s ocean depths and unpredictable waters. This isn’t to say it isn’t beautiful, because it surely is, but to me, it’s more awesomely breathtaking than genuinely picturesque.

Boulders, cliffs and rocky beaches don’t exactly scream “come swim, relax, enjoy,” to me, and as I drove North and West, I was reminded of my first few glimpses of Superior many years before during those canoe trips, when the very sight of the thing gave me chills. What I’d thought to be my considerable experience spending time along the protected Thunder Bay portion of Lake Huron in no way prepared me to stick even my baby toes into this enormous cold swirling graveyard for ships.

Within minutes I found the motel, just as the pasty lady had said I would. It was perched up on a hill across the road from the coast. White aluminum siding covered the entirety of the exposed surfaces of the ten or twelve rooms. The office; set in the middle of the row; had a covered parking area to be used by customers checking in, but there were two cars parked underneath it so I pulled up into a random empty space a few doors down and made my way into the office.

A woman came to the desk a few seconds after I’d rung the little chrome bell. She was older than I was, but how much older I had no idea. Her face was one of those that precluded a fair guess at her age; enough lines to give her face the sort of character attained by women over forty but I couldn’t tell whether she was forty-five, fifty-five, or even sixty. One thing though, her face didn’t look like that of someone who’d enjoyed life much. She smiled a tired smile and greeted me. I didn’t think she was all that happy to see me, customer or not.

“Hi.” I said. “The folks at the Angela’s Pasty shop suggested this place. Any rooms available for the next few days?”

“Are you planning on staying for the weekend?” she asked me.

“As of now, I don’t plan on it; hopefully two or three nights.”

“Okay, we’ve got plenty of rooms till Thursday night, but we’re pretty booked up starting Friday through the weekend. If you’re going to need a room for the weekend, you’d best let me know as soon as you can.”

I thanked her. She asked me where my car was and then assigned me the room directly in front of my parking space. I paid for two nights in advance and promised to let her know as soon as possible if I’d be staying longer than I’d planned.

My room, number 9, was four down from the office. I assume the even numbered rooms were on the other side of the office since the rooms either side of mine were 7 and 11. I checked the john and shower for cleanliness, unpacked a few things, then grabbed the reports I had on the factory property and laid down on the bed to read until I feel asleep. I wanted a nap and I knew it wouldn’t take long for these dryer than sun-baked silica reports to put me out. I knew all the pertinent stuff anyway, as I’d already read through them thoroughly enough to have written a lengthy report on what I’d found. Perfect, I decided; better than a pill. I was asleep within seconds.

Link to This | Back to top

surrogate (2007-03-02)
Thanks for reading.

Barnabus (2007-03-01)
Love the humor!!! Nice piece of writing!

[ Back to top ]

Created with ShoutPost