But, you miss things when you’re a fair-weather rider. The sun breaking the horizon when the ground is covered with frost, the crispness of the cold air, the smell of a fireplace warming a quaint little farmhouse, not to mention the fact that the big air-cooled v-twins just run great when it’s cooler. The look of a grove of birch trees, snow still covering the ground, and the contrast of the deep blue of open water of Lake Huron against the pure white of the edges of the ice attempting to encase it. The isolation of the near-abandoned harbor towns, with the A&W’s, mini golf, and beachcomber motels all boarded up still waiting for warmer weather and the tourist dollars that come with it.
It was a cold, crisp 27 degrees when I started gearing up to take the first real ride of the season. I had watched the weather carefully for several days preceding, and as it evolved, I had determined by Friday night that Sunday was the day. The dawn broke clear and blue, and promised a beautiful day of early Spring riding.
My route began by weaving my way through the woods, barren corn fields and horse farms of northern Macomb and St. Clair counties until I made it to I-94, the northern-most east-west interstate, connecting points as far west as Seattle with Toronto via its border crossing at Port Huron’s Blue Water Bridge. My journey was staying domestic this time, so I jumped off the e-way on the last exit before the border, and cruised throughout the Port Huron “suburb” of Fort Gratiot to make my way north on M-25.
As anyone from Michigan knows, it is perfectly acceptable to use your hand as an impromptu map, since the state is shaped eerily similar to a mitten. For those reading this who are not familiar with the geography of Michigan, and have not yet discovered Google Maps, allow me to explain. Hold out your left hand as if you’re telling someone to stop. This is your map. See where your thumb connects to the rest of your hand? That’s Detroit. The knuckle on said thumb? That’s Port Huron, where the bridge crosses over to Sarnia, Ontario. (That’s Canada, eh?) If you keep following up your thumb to the very tip, Port Austin. Make your way down to the webbing skin reconnecting to your hand: you’ve now traversed the shoreline of Saginaw Bay and made it to Bay City. And the road that follows the shoreline and connects these points is M-25, which was my route.
It really is a beautiful run. Very little traffic, nice views of Lake Huron. However, a more intelligent person probably would have considered the fact that Lake Huron is still covered in ice. Let me take this opportunity to explain my very limited understanding of
Lake Huron at Port Austin
thermodynamics. Air seeks to create an equilibrium. It will flow from an area of high pressure (cold) to low pressure (warm). This means that if you have a giant block of ice (Lake Huron) and a warmER body of land (say, M-25), that cold-ass ice chilled air is going to blow onto my face when I’m trying to enjoy my early Spring motorcycle ride. I didn’t bother to look at the temps. My fingers were too cold when I stopped to get out the phone. The notoriously inaccurate gauge on the bike said 20.
After a quick fuel stop near Lexington, my face was good and numb and I was rolling pretty well. I made my way north through the little town of Harbor Beach, and as I rolled on the throttle, the road gently curved and the trees made their way back closer to the shoulders, enough so that it had almost a tunnel effect, even though the trees were bare. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of white above me. I looked up to see a bald eagle in full flight! He swooped down into the tunnel, diving down over the road from left to right, and settled into a majestic glide at about 2 o’clock, maybe 20 feet in the air. I backed off the throttle and coasted until I was just underneath him. As I moved just ahead, he turned his head upwards and he was gone, a brief, graceful winged escort to wish me well on my journey.
Nice!