SS Badger

The phone wasn't ringing today, and nobody was coming in for me to check their student loans. So, before I knew it, my mind was drifting back to almost two months ago, as I stood on the deck of the S.S. Badger, watching Manitowoc, Wisconsin drift away in the distance. Below me, in a hold that once held railcars full of cargo trying to dodge a freight bottleneck in Chicago, the truck and trailer rested peacefully, smelling faintly of the 15-hour drive and 4-hour nap I'd had. The blue waters of Lake Michigan looked almost midnight blue, and cold, not unlike the air on the deck. The wind was fierce, and the ferry was sailing into it.
I spent a lot of time standing around, feeling a little tired, and more than a little lonely. I'd just left Karen in Winnipeg about 19 hours ago, but again I was regretting not bringing a co-pilot on this transcontinental trip. But I found ways to amuse myself. Unintentionally, I'd dressed as a security guard--I had a black ballcap on, black shorts, a black, collared golf shirt, and a blue Wackenhut Security jacket on. Just standing and looking at someone was reason enough to make them squirm in the lovely post-9/11 environment. Up on the foredeck, A mother saw me, and threatened her young son: "If you don't behave, that guy is going to take you!" she warned, as I stood there, struggling with my digital camera. During the boarding, at least half the passengers, milling around, waiting for the boat to leave, joked with me, saying "what would you do if I tried to get on the boat right now?" They'd just look confused when I'd tell them I didn't care what they did.
So anyway, after 15 hours of driving, I needed a beer. I didn't, really, but in America, it's cheaper than pop, especially on this floating tourist trap. I paid almost $12 for macaroni and cheese, some sickening shaved meat sandwich, and something vaguely green. The beer was only $2. The dogfood was $10. Beer was actually a bad idea, though. I hadn't eaten in hours. So what was fatigue turned to seasick fatigue. I might as well have been drunk, because I went straight from sober to spins, with a little bit of gag reflex.
But that was boring, so I went to the museum onboard the ship. Despite the fact that there were spelling errors all over every display, it was enlightening. The ship was really old--like 50 years or something. It's the last coal-fired ferry in North America. It's actually an icebreaker, so, if we decided to, we could go full steam and carve a channel straight through northern Michican into Lake Superior. It didn't say that, but it should have. Sometimes, the truth is a little dull.
In the theatre room, or whatever you want to call it, they were playing the second Pirates of the Caribbean. This was surprisingly appropriate, and perfectly loud and flashy. I fell asleep through almost the whole thing, and woke only when I realized my bowels were emitting a green, glowing gas because of my horrible meal. I withdrew to the upper deck again.
Once up there, I watched the coast of Michigan approach. If not for all the other fat tourists, I could amost imagine that this is what the first pioneers from Europe saw (not this coast, but the same effect) as they approached the new world. The land went from a tiny brown strip on the horizon, to a series of white bumps and green dips. Slowly, buildings and a lighthouse came into view. And I was as curious as they might have been. This was all undiscovered territory for me, so I imagined having to clear a patch of land to build a cabin on, and farming and living off the land. But as I got closer, I realized none of this would be necessary in Ludington. This place had gone from some sort of industry town, to some sort of ghost town, and was entering its third incarnation as a crappy coast town with ugly condos all over the place. As I disembarked onto this disappointing new land, I wondered what time it was, and what there was to see around here.
Once the gangly teenager rolled my truck off the ferry, I wandered on wheels around the little town, noticing the contrast between the coast condos and the empty storefronts jus a block away. A policeman was blocking off a street; I asked him what was going on.
"Pet parade."
It was as though a light that only shone on shorn poodles and rabbit cages in wagons was suddenly, brilliantly lighted. Dogs with clothes on. Dogs with flags. Dogs squatting thoughtlessly as coils of steaming dog joy crept from their bodies. Rabbits. Cats struggling on leashes. Parakeets making that hellish sound they make.
Like myself, God, once again, was not pleased. He opened the skies, and let forth a deluge the likes of which Fluffykins and Barky had never seen, washing them away, back to their hellish suburban domeciles.
I, likewise, was washed north of town, where it stopped raining, right when I reached Ludington State Park. The whole point of the park was to protect the massive white hills I'd seen from the ferry. And they were massive. And beautiful. Sprigs of marine-looking grasses popped up where they hadn't been too trampled by humans, and other coastal-looking leafy plants popped up here and there. Lake Michigan stretched off as far as the eye could see, as black clouds loomed above. I looked at my camera.
It said I had one bar of batteries left. I couldn't see how; I hadn't actually taken that many photos. I took one of the lake. The camera shut off after that. I shuffled the batteries into a different order, and took one more. Then it shut off again. I waited a few minutes and took one last photo--by mistake--of the roof of the truck, once I got back inside. The rain had started again, and though I wanted to stay in this lovely place, I was lonely and wet and decided that the sooner I got out of the USA, the sooner I'd be seeing someone I knew.