Road trip today, fish tomorrow

TRAVERSE CITY, Mich. – Tonight, I’m staying at a hotel about a half hour from our cottage on Glen Lake.  Tomorrow, starting at 6:45 a.m., I head there to try my hand at ice fishing.

I’m no fisherman.  The last fish I caught was a bluegill from the North Pond at my grandfather’s farm.  I think I was maybe 8 years old. I didn’t even know how to get it off the hook. Still don’t.

But I’m chronicling the last year in the life of our cottage, month by month, so I needed a focus for February.  Ice fishing seemed a natural.  I’d been curious to know what goes on in the fishing shanties that dot Michigan’s many frozen lakes ever since we ventured up here one February to see winter’s effect.  We saw a mess of huts just beyond our family’s shoreline.

So, thanks to the Lewis family, I’m headed to the Lewis shanty on Little Glen Lake, shown above. (That’s Don Lewis, who built it.)  Even in February, a bit of heaven. More on how that goes in later posts.

Right now, though, I want to talk about the drive up.   First off, a road trip is always good for the soul … a great respite from the demands of daily work life. You’re on your own clock; you can head down this road or that.  You can play the music loud, or play no music at all.

But what’s been most fun on this trip is thinking back to the many times we’ve made this trek before, although always in summer.

All of the sibling families have their own tales, of course.  But the one my family remembers best is what we now call, “The Road Trip from Hell.”

Seriously.

It started as all of our Michigan trips started.  We had the minivan, of course.  And we’d stuffed it, and the car-top carrier, as full as a polish sausage.  Oh, and then we threw in the dogs.

The kids were young -- Meghan maybe 13, Zach only 10.  We stopped at McDonalds to grab some breakfast, then headed east along Interstate 70, eventually through St. Louis.

This portion of the trip was uneventful, though I’d decided to get an extra-large coffee at Mac’s.  Not unusual, really, though I’d been trying to cut back on caffeine ever since a cup of joe sent my heart racing while in San Francisco on business. A long story, but the doc eventually blamed dehydration plus caffeine as the culprits.  (Both, as you’ll see, are pertinent to this story.)

All was fine.  We decided to take Interstate 70 east to Effingham, Illinois, then up to Champaign, where we’d stay the night.  We stopped for gas before we hit Effingham.  I got another large cup of coffee.

We turned north onto Interstate 57. No big deal.  I’d make this trip many times as a student at University of Illinois.  But just as we turned, the radio barked out a warning: “The National Weather Service has issued a tornado watch for the following counties.” 

The message proceeded to mention all of the affected counties, most of which paralleled I-57.

And sure enough, as we headed north, the storm clouds gathered to the west.  We kept the radio in tune. I didn’t mention it to the others, but I was concerned.  Tornados can be treacherous in central Illinois … a land so flat that tornados skip across it like a flat stone on a river.

Now, one thing I didn’t consider was the effect of the radio’s warnings on my children.  We all know how the screech of the nation’s emergency alert system on the radio rubs us raw. Well, couple that with the gray-green storm clouds mounting to the left, and you get a volatile mix.

Oh my, was it!  In came more news … a tornado was sighted, just a few miles up the road.

And now, the rain and winds were heavy. Thunder on the roof! Plus real thunder and massive flashes of lightning. I could barely see the road. Meanwhile, not only was I already on edge, but the extra caffeine seemed to be pumping into me by the second, causing an extra boost of angst.

Worse, the two dogs grew restless, now wide eyed, squirmy and worried. 

As the tornado reports continued to spill out, Zach, now panicked, summed up the situation.

“We’re going to die! We’re going to die!  We’re going to die!!”

Of course, I had no intention of us dying. But the combination of the heavy caffeine dose, the heavy rains, thunder and lightning now crashing all around, the radio screeching its warnings, Zach predicting our demise and the dogs responding as if it was the last reckoning, sent my heart racing … faster than Sea Biscuit’s or Secretariat’s on the cusp of victory.

Of course, the family didn’t know this.  Until I said, somewhat meekly, “Uh, Cindy, I think I need to pull over.  My heart’s doing weird things.”

Cindy, already tested by the shouts and ruckus in the back seat, kept calm.  She remembered that dehydration was part of the San Francisco problem.

She shoved a bottle of water in my hand.

“Drink!!” she commanded.

Which I did. A lot.  Not that I felt dehydrated.  But it seemed a politic thing to do.

I also found a highway exit, pulled over, stopped the car, and then took a deep breath.  A deep, deep breath. And with that breath, my heart slowed to normal … just like that.

Weird.

By that time, the storms had flown by, across I-57.  The winds had slowed, the rains lessened.

All was calm.  Or at least calmer. 

“I think I’m okay now,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”

And we did.

Now, there’s more to this tale.  Sometime I’ll share it.  It includes a backed up toilet, Zach’s experience with an exploding Big Kahuna drink, and when I went the wrong way on a one-way street at one point.  Truly, a hellish trip, at least through Illinois and Indiana.  But we survived.

And there were lessons learned.  For one, I now avoid caffeine … at least in big doses.  I also drink a lot of water and breathe deeply. Second, Zach realized that weather is not to be feared, and storm clouds don’t necessarily mean instant death.

And third, finally, that adversity is the glue that often holds us together.  Our family was stronger for having braved this journey.

So take that, you dark prince. You thought you’d ride shotgun on this trip.  Hardly.

Sure, we had to get past Indiana with you on board.  But we left you in the dust … at the Michigan state line.