It's the middle of July, we're a long way from the San Francisco bay area, and what do I not expect to see as we prepare to leave Minnesota? Fog, yet fog is what we have and the cooler temperatures that go with it. We head north towards the U.S./Canadian border in a cool, damp, wispy, foggy morning trying to get a peek at Lake Superior between the trees. The thick growth of aspen and fir block most of the view but from time to time we can see the lake. The fog makes it impossible to see more than a hundred yards from the water's edge. The distant shore of Lake Superior may be right on the other side of that fog bank, we would never know.

Some might call today's ride, routine. I thought of it that way myself, since we were going from point A to point B through scenery that we've seen many times before; forest and trees. But that would be deceptive because little is routine on these trips, there's always something different from the day before or the day that follows, today it was the fog and later, the rain.

We reached the border and answered the series of questions put to us by a courteous young Canadian Custom's Agent. We were allowed to enter and stopped at the Visitor's Center for a map (photos 1 & 2). Here we encountered a couple of Canadians who were interested in where we had come from and where we were going, not unusual anymore, and then the wife proceeded to give us some bum information.

The lady, who may have been drinking a little, told us with great confidence that there were no places to stay the night after we left Thunder Bay. Well, she said, none that we would want to stay at. This, of course, gave us pause. It's an eight-hour ride from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste Marie on the other end of the lake. I did not relish an eight-hour ride this late in the trip. We followed them into Thunder Bay and stopped at a motel they had suggested for lunch, which turned out to be quite nice. Then we got out the map.

If we stopped now, we would have only been on the road for a couple of hours and tomorrows ride would be huge if we tried to do it nonstop. If we didn't stop now, and the lady was correct, we might not have a place to stay the night and would have a ten-hour day to the other side, driving late into the evening. What to do?

None of the other motorcyclist I had talked to about this ride mentioned having a problem finding a place to stay. We finally concluded that this lady, however well intentioned, either didn't know, was wrong, or had way higher standards for motels than we do. We headed out towards the North Shore.

About two hours into our trip, we started to catch glimpses of the islands of Lake Superior through the trees. Finally the road opens in front of us and we can see several heavily wooded islands off to our right, and what a sight they are. In some small way, because of their size and frequency, they remind us of the San Juan's. The highway takes you up and over and inland for awhile, then brings you back to the shoreline for another look, just enough to wet your appetite for more.

The clouds are getting darker now so we stop to put on our rain gear. Sure enough we get a little further up the road when it starts to rain on us, heavily for a short time, and then its over. The problem is, you're never sure it's over, or for how long. At the time, I had the windshield adjusted to its highest level to give us more wind protection. During heavy rain, it becomes hard to see through because it's covered with raindrops. I had to stop and lower it. Fortunately, the rain didn't last for long but it's getting late in the afternoon and time to stop.

We reach the little town of Rossport, population 130, and find a "cabin" at the Rossport Inn, a quaint little place first built as a hotel in 1884. This place is loaded with nostalgia, ambiance, and character; you name it, it's got it (photos 3 & 4). I have to take the bike up a heavily graveled road and park it beside the cabin. I stay on the hardpack next to the road and manage the trick.

The cabin is small and old, but clean and functional (photo 5), and it has a really nice view (photos 6 &7). Linda likes the flowers in the window box (photos 8 & 9). She notices the railroad tracks not 50 yards away and asks if any trains come by here? Sheila, one of the owners, laughs and says yes, about four times a night. Actually, if you include the two between 6:45 and 7:10 in the morning, it's six.

What a great place. We sit inside the cabin door and watch the rain falling softly on the trees and lake in front of us and just enjoy a quiet moment before dinner; off the bike, out of the rain, warm and comfortable. And this is considered a "routine" day?

Since this is a small place and they only have about three people doing everything that needs to be done, we are required to "reserve" dinner if we want to eat at the Inn, and we are given a 7:00 o'clock time, which is just fine. We both have the Hemmingway Trout that turns out to be great. By the way, did I tell you that there's no place to stay between Thunder Bay and Sault Ste Marie. If I had gotten that lady's name, I would have recommended the Rossport Inn (photos 10, 11, & 12).

After dinner we took a walk around town to see what there was to see, which truthfully, wasn't much, but it is a nice little town. I had to laugh though, since there are only about six streets in the whole town. One of the two main streets is named Boon and the other is named Dock. Now being such a small little town, located in the middle of nowhere, I enjoy the sense of humor shown by the city founders who named their two main streets Boon & Dock. There's a not so subtle message there, I believe.

As we're heading back to the Inn, we're passed several times by a young man on a Honda 50cc motor scooter. He's zipping all around the little town streets just having a great time. I think to myself, be careful young man, that's how it all starts. If you're not careful you end up years later riding in the rain on something much bigger. Oh, well.

Later that night, about two in the morning I believe, the first of the four night trains comes roaring through. I wake, listen, roll over and go back to sleep. Nice place.