Ed's Big Adventure

In a perfect world, I might have hiked to Canada on the Superior Hiking Trail by now. Distractions are legion.

Spring and Summer were devoted to staining this fence and virtually every piece of bare wood on the property:

Fall was devoted (and devotion is still the operating concept) to picking up the pieces of my Mom’s life, although you might say this picked up in earnest during the heat of summer after my final visit with her:

Need I write another word about my obsession with chasing and promoting beauty?

Tossing and turning in the wee hours, I realized my last opportunity to bite off a chunk of the trail in 2025 was occurring in just 36 hours. Manically, I charged through 90% of farm chores meant for the following day, though it was Sunday. It was worth it.

The trail did not disappoint on the following day.

It was eight miles of views like this strung together like pearls.

Even in what would otherwise become miles of green tunnel during the warmer and buggier months, Lake Superior was visible through the tree trunks 90% of the time. I took no photos from the incredible Fantasia overlook (it’s just a mile in from the trailhead so you should check it out), because I was receiving vital news about selling Mom’s house for her estate:

This stretch from Highway 1 to County Road 6 offers much of the best hiking on the entire North Shore.

By the time I reached this point, however, my legs were relieved to hear a car horn in the distance.

I’m not sure of the biking distance back to the car, but I doubt it was more than 10 or 12 miles. The mountain bike felt like pedaling a dune buggy up and over Finland’s hills, however, so it required a good 75 minutes of slow work. Near the end I passed a bar and grill reminiscent of the hillbilly bar in the old Dukes of Hazard (complete with an old man wearing unbuttoned overalls and a fleet of side-by-side ATV’s). Out front was a simple sign:

F

O

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D

I always wondered who fell for such simple advertising. Now I know.

I pedaled on regardless. Forgetting to plant four trays of microgreens the day before, I reserved the closing minutes of daylight for that task.

Ironically, I hiked the preceding 11-mile section from Silver Bay to Tettegouche State Park exactly 365 days earlier. Apparently 2024 had its own distractions.