Mission to Mackinac

July 16th, 2021: Mackinac Island, Michigan—America’s summer place sits between sunshine and the turquoise freshwater of Lake Huron.

I was worried as hell about getting to Mackinac Island. This picturesque little isle that floats between Michigan's Upper and Lower Peninsula is only reachable by ferry. It's roughly a 20-minute ride—nothing crazy, but since I get motion sick in everything from rocking chairs to planes, even a 20-minute ferry ride on a lake had the potential for intestinal mayhem.

I thought about taking Dramamine, but by the time it kicked in, the ride would have been over, and then I'd be groggy in a place I'd want to be giddy. So, I decided to brave the nautical journey armed only with my anti-motion-sickness wristbands, that sort of help sometimes, maybe.

Nobody wants to feel sick in any scenario, but for someone whose worst nightmare is losing their lunch—especially when I'm far from home—the pukey possibilities of a little boat ride in the middle of my 3,885-mile road trip around the Midwest were making me very anxious. But I was determined to do it. I had to get to Mackinac Island.

The only motor vehicles allowed on the island are one or two ambulances and one firetruck. Legend has it that there was a car on the island at one time, and it spooked the horses, so no more cars were allowed on Mackinac Island. It's about eight miles in circumference and 3.8 square miles. Your modes of transportation are your feet, bicycles, tricycles, and calling a horse-drawn "taxi."

And that's just one piece of what keeps this place frozen in time. Once you step off that boat, you've officially departed the present-day and entered a portal to yesteryear. You're greeted by turn-of-the-century charm at every turn in this simpler-time place filled with Victorian homes and old-fashioned sweet shops. It's classic Americana—Main Street U.S.A. as it was once upon a time—and it was calling me direct, Lakeside 4-1189.

I drove the rental car I had grown attached to into the overnight parking lot at the Shepler's Ferry dock in Mackinaw City, Michigan. My heart raced, and my head tried to slow it. I had planned to leave my gigantic suitcase in the car's trunk overnight and take only my backpack containing exactly what I'd need for one night. Since I was headed to an island where I'd be doing a lot of riding and walking, I wanted to have the absolute bare minimum to carry on my back. Backpacking in the U.S.A. is really what it was, except instead of a hostel or campsite to crash at for the night, I had a lovely hotel booked for the evening.

I had initially booked a B&B that was right by the dock so I wouldn't have far to go, but a couple of weeks before my trip, the innkeeper reached out saying that they had accidentally overbooked and needed to move me to their sister hotel which just so happened to be a major upgrade from the initial room I had booked. The only flaw was that it was a considerably further trek from where the ferries docked.

Back at Shepler's, I purchased my roundtrip ferry ticket and an overnight permit for my car, and then I was ready to be on my way. I stalled for as long as I could under the ticket-purchase tent. I asked the cashier as many menial questions as possible to delay boarding. Once a line started forming behind me, I stopped holding it up and headed for the departing dock.

I was excited, nervous, and already nauseous, but I kept myself as calm as I could while waiting at the end of a long line of ferry-goers. Circling the line's parameters was a man dressed in black, wearing sunglasses and occasionally talking into a walkie-talkie. He wasn't dressed the way all other Shepler's workers were—this guy seemed more like a boss man—someone who could probably answer the questions I was too embarrassed to ask the nice lady selling ferry tickets inside.

All I really wanted to know was: where do you think the sturdiest place to sit on the boat is, and do you think I'm going to throw up and die? Seemed pretty reasonable. So as he made his way passed my place in line, I flipped my shades up to make eye contact, "Hi. How are you?" I asked, hoping not to be a bother. The men-in-black Shepler's man replied, "Good morning. I'm doing well. How 'bout yourself?" I confessed, "Well, I'm a little nervous. You see, I suffer from extreme motion sickness, and I'm sure I'll be fine since it's a quick ride and the water looks calm, but I'm just—a little nervous." 

I didn't even have to ask any of my questions. Dan knew exactly the information I needed. He told me the ferry would take approximately 16 minutes today because it was so clear, and he told me exactly where I should sit—top deck, all the way at the back and to the right. I was thrilled that the ETA had been shortened by a few minutes, but I was skeptical of the location he recommended. It went against my instincts and my initial ill-informed game plan. "Really? The back of the boat? And up top? Not down below? I would've thought maybe the middle of the ship or way up front so I could see clearly where we're going?" I explained how I do best in cars when I can see clearly out the front window.

But Dan didn't waver. He knew exactly what he was talking about, and he was 100% certain of it—not a doubt in his mind. "Trust me, you want the back of the boat. This is the sturdiest seat in the house." Using a bit of nautical terminology, he explained things my mind didn't fully comprehend or retain, but his confidence sold me. I knew I had to have one of those seats. I thanked him for his advice, he assured me I would be fine, and then I went back to waiting in line, and he went back to surveying the land and walkie-talking important business with colleagues.

One of Shepler's beautiful big ferries made its way to the dock, and my heart pounded like a tennis ball in a dryer. I walked the plank to the ferry, following the leader. I was starting to sweat. I made it just far enough up the ramp to notice that the exact seat Dan had told me to take had already been taken—no doubt by another puke-risk passenger. Oh, what a shame—guess I'll have to procrastinate this voyage a bit longer. I said to myself as I scurried back down the boat ramp, relieved it wasn't my time to test the waters.

There was no way I wasn't taking Dan's recommendation, and I was more than happy to delay the inevitable just a little longer. I'd have a good 15-20 minutes before the next ferry arrived. So, I got right back in line and hoped everyone would get to board so I'd be first up for the next ferry. I ended up being about seventh for the next ferry because not everyone could get on. No big deal, I thought—if they take my seat on the next ferry, I'll wait for another one. I'd wait all day for my best shot at not feeling sick on that ferry.

After a few minutes, Dan made his way back around and spotted me still on Michigan's mainland and not on the ferry where I was supposed to be. "What happened?" He asked with concern on his face. I explained what happened with the seats and how I wanted to be sure I got the seat he described. He gave a profound nod, "Ok, next one." I could sense the deep understanding in his demeanor. He walked away, talking into his walkie-talkie, then came back to the front of the line to chat with the fella in charge of opening and closing the gate for everyone to load onto the boat.

I gripped my backpack straps tightly as the next ferry floated toward the dock. This was most likely my ride arriving. Ok, Laur, this is it. I'm doing it. It's ok. I'm gonna be ok. I talked myself into the best headspace I could find, and once the gate was up, all bets were off. Panic rose in my throat like a fire-breathing dragon. I was dizzy and a little shaky, but I was putting one foot in front of the other and making my way onto that ferry—I had to get to Mackinac Island.

Walking up the stairs to the ferry's top deck, I saw a body in the seat I wanted. Goddamnit! I was only the seventh person on this boat—this must really be a hot seat. But as I got a little closer, I realized that it was Dan holding the seat he told me I needed. He scooted in to make room for me and said, "Welcome aboard," as he patted the seat next to him, inviting me to sit.

"Oh my god, Dan! You saved this seat for me!" The panic in me had transmogrified into elation. I was suddenly on top of the world, on top of the boat, and in the seat I belonged in. I thanked Dan profusely for doing that for me, and he made it seem like it was no big gesture. He explained, "I'm the Chief Security Officer, so it's my job to make sure everyone's feeling safe and secure." Regardless of whether it was his job, I was so moved by his gesture. And once I learned that he was taking the ferry ride all the way to Mackinac Island with me just to make sure I felt ok about it, I was over the moon with joy.

"Are you serious?! Dan, oh my god! I can't believe you're making the trip just for me!" I was holding tears back—I was just so blown away by what he was doing for me. And even if the motion of Lake Huron was going to rock me to sickness, it would've happened with or without Dan next to me, his presence on that ride truly made all the difference in the world. Without him there, I would've started that ride already nauseous because I was so nervous, but because he was there, I was setting sail feeling like it was my birthday. Having Dan next to me defined my entire experience that day.

More passengers boarded Shepler's Ferry, and a nice couple sat in front of us. They said, "Oh, you've got the good seats! We always try to get those because they're the sturdiest and the least windy." Dan looked at me as if to say—see, I told ya. I laughed and told them nothing was stopping me from getting these seats. Dan chimed in, and we explained our story. The husband in front of me asked me to aim the other way if I needed to yack. We all laughed. They were in good spirits, and so was I.

The four of us chatted the whole way—exchanged travel tips and stories. They gave me a few restaurant recommendations for the island since I was a first-timer, and they were pretty much all-timers. I ran the rest of my Michigan travel plans by Dan, a native Michigander, and he approved every one of them. We were all very much on board with the notion that there is just so much to see right here in the good old U.S of A.

I never expected to have such good company or conversation on my ride. I never expected to feel well enough to let my eyes wander away from the horizon line dead ahead. But there I was, taking pictures, marveling over the turquoise water surrounding us and the Mighty Mac Bridge next to us, stretching as far as my eyes could see.

The further we got from the mainland, the closer we got to that tree-lined island and its Grand Hotel with its grand porch. As soon as the boat stopped, I thanked Dan for the millionth time, and for the millionth time, he told me it was a pleasure. Then, I bolted off the boat feeling like a kid in Disney World for the first time. I was on cloud nine in America's summer place, and I had the time of my life for one day and one night on that island. Next time, I'll stay longer.

A word from the wise: wear sunscreen! It's easy to underestimate how much you'll be under the sun when you're riding an adult tricycle from one end of the island to the other.