The Fredösphere

Michael Blowhard thinks Traverse City, Michigan is cool.  He is right.

If you don't know why, have a look at a map of Michigan.  First, observe there are two peninsulas, the Lower and the Upper Peninsula.  (Apparently there are a lot of people who don't know that.)  If you notice the Lower Peninsula is shaped like a mitten, you will not be the first.  Look at the pointy prominence to the upper-left -- call it the pinky.  That's the Leelanau Peninsula.  It's separated from the rest of the land mass by the Grand Traverse Bay.  Look closely and you will see the bay is divided into two arms by another thin peninsula -- call it the hangnail on the pinky.  That's the Old Mission Peninsula.

Traverse City sits at the base of the Grand Traverse Bay, and it is a wonderful place to vacation.  The wifeösphere and I biked the Old Mission Peninsula and discovered how gorgeous it is.  Never have I lusted after real estate as I did there.  As of about eight years ago, it still had an undeveloped feel to it:  cottages scattered around the edge, and orchards and vineyards in the middle, along with a few outstanding restaurants. Chateau Chantal is there, a winery with an inn built into it.  Dang.  Can I go back?  Please?

Michigan's west coast has lots more to offer.  North of the Grand Traverse Bay you will find the Little Traverse Bay.  The name is deceptive; I believe the bay contains the deepest anchorage in all the great lakes.  (Okay, okay, spare me your jokes about the highest mountain in Iowa.)  Seriously, you will find some impressive yachts here.  Some of the housing is not too shabby either.  Petoskey is the city next to the bay where the eponymous stones are found.  Next door is Bay View, a Chautauqua with classic Victorian cottages that ooze charm.  We spent a few days there in a friend's cottage; I'm still not exactly sure why I didn't barricade myself in there with a shotgun and refuse to leave.  The association that runs the place sponsors concerts, lectures and other uplifting, ennobling activities, all within a vaguely religious context -- with the emphasis on vaguely.  (Our friends reported that a requirement for membership was an agreement not to get into arguments over abortion.  Heh.)

Go north from the Little Traverse Bay and you come to the tiara of the state:  The Bridge.  If the Upper Peninsula (the "U.P." -- we call its residents "Yoopers", and they call us "trolls," because we live beneath the bridge) had been given to Wisconsin as would have only made sense (I won't take the time to describe the political -- and military! -- machinations that lead to Michigan getting the U.P. as a consolation prize, but at least one cow gave its life for the cause of freedom and justice) I doubt there would have been much urgency to build the Mackinac Bridge.  As it is, the bridge serves as an important political unifier.  It is such an important symbol when it was new that people of my parent's generation made the bridge a tourist destination all of its own.  I've always wondered if there is any other large bridge in the world located in such a remote area.  The cities it connects have only a few thousand residents each.  Look at a picture:  you'll see the bridge connects two vast forests.

Once I picked up one of those travel guide books written by lazy people who do all their "research" by collecting tourist brochures at highway rest stops.  It informed me that the Mackinac Bridge connects the mainland to Mackinac Island.  Residents of the region will know just how jaw-droppingly, gob-smackingly, dip-waddingly stoopid that mistake is.  Mackinac Island is a famous tourist destination where there are no automobiles.  "Once you've crossed the bridge,"  the book warned, "you'll have to abandon your car, because it is not allowed on the island."  Indeed.