19 August 2007
King Copper Motel
Copper Harbor, Michigan
Why solo? Why the whole trip? In this moment I don’t know. The breezes are fresh and the ferry is delayed in her return. The sun is bright but not warm. I’ve noticed color in the leaves of the trees beside the narrow road from Houghton to this tip of the Keneewa Pennisula. Have I missed weather warm and stable enough to allow me to do this trip? People seem wider here, carrying an extra layer of fat. It may be too late for a trip to the island with my thin Texas blood. A dump in this wind would be cold and dangerous.
I am filled with doubts and tempted to give up the trip before I’ve begun. In my mind I review my equipment. A couple of my systems are not redundant. I’ve only one bottle of cooking fuel. Should I spill it, the island itself must become my backup. I could cook with wood. And I’ve only one fountain pen and bottle of ink.
Tonight I will carry my gear from the car into my room, review and repack. My ears ring with the stillness of this small community after three days of driving. My feet barely connect with the earth.
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