Alfred Timothy

My mom used to make 2 types of ground ham salad sandwich; one with pickle relish and one without. The one without was especially for me. I had this thing about foreign matter in my sandwiches, mostly having to do with green things and crunchiness. The only time she ever made these were when we went on trips. Those long, long trips up North. We'd stop at some rest area by Grayling or Gaylord or someplace beginning with a G and have a picnic. And that was kinda fun but I was 12 years old or so, so it wasn't like 7 or 8 year old kinda fun. I was more concerned about looking uncool, being seen with my parents in front of...you know... perfect strangers.
What I was excited about was seeing my brothers who were 10 and 12 years older than me.
After they left for college and I was no longer their punching bag, I actually worked up a little loneliness for em. I'm only now able to recognize their holding me down and cuffing me repeatedly across the face as endearing and will forever cherish those moments.
We finished the picnic and made for Mackinaw City and then onto Mackinac Island where my brothers were employed as carriage tour drivers over summer break.
When on the Island, I always thought of myself as a more seasoned traveler that had a step up on your average, every day brand of Island tourist. Justified by the fact that my brothers actually WORKED there and KNEW OTHER PEOPLE that actually WORKED there.
To further this feeling of self-imposed entitlement, my older brother Tim, who just entered med school, hooked up with a girl who's family owned the Iroquois Hotel. Now whether my dad was practicing solidarity or my brother happened to get him a nice discount, The Iroquois soon became my folks Inn of choice.
During the Summer breaks ahead - carriage tours turned into odd jobs - odd jobs turned into a bartending gig at the hotel for my brother and before anybody knew it, there was a wedding on the horizon.

Yes, there's more where this came from.

Photo from stayonthelake.com

Dinner Set

That emasculating term is bar-band parlance for allowing diners to digest their Nachos Grande in peace. I'm pretty sure Clem Burke never had to put up with this.
It was a rare booking coup that I wrangled us a back to back 6 nighter on Rikers...er Mackinac Island with Sunday off. This, during the Fall off-season when folks were still coming across for bicycle rides and carriage tours around the island to take in the color change.
I recall rainy mornings sitting at the cafe window watching a town bustle in yellow rain slickers and Top Siders, while we consumed the first lattes brought stateside. I stubbornly still refer them as just coffee and Baileys.
That Sunday, Don had to run back downstate for something. Jack and I went too just to kiss the earth and get the hell off for 48 hours. We got back to the Shepler's dock just in time to see the ass-end of the last ferry headin' north just beyond the breakwater. Half laughing half skeert we weren't gonna make it back by 9 (I live for these adrenilin filled moments).
We exhausted all the other ferry docks untill someone suggested the airport in St. Ignace.
We haul booty across the bridge. Finding the airport was one thing, finding a pilot that hadn't already clocked out for the day was another. Someone was looking down on us cuz we found both. Now the only remaining dilema was if we could cough up enough jack. We were pretty well schooled in whine and dance as the bush pilot took pity on us and we were off.
A little sphinctor puckering went on in this tiny little Cessna as we flew out over the Straits close to sunset. The Island looks pretty cool from 4,000 feet.
We land, unload and hoof it the mile or so back into town. Just in time for the Dinner Set.

Photo from epa.gov

The Mack Island Carnys

We emptied the van and trudged the equipment to the dock to await the next ferry. Parents quietly cautioning their children to take a step back...away...away from these...these people.
Our ship finally arrives amid a flurry of seagulls and diesel fumes. Guitars, amps, drums, keyboards, sound and lighting now gets tossed onto the ferry. Then once we dock at the island, loaded off then loaded back on to a horse powered drey to be paraded thru town to the French Outpost where we unload and heft into the bar, banging equipment against the heads of golfers not willing to move aside. "Ahoy there mates, make way, for its a new set of carnys comin' thru."
We reveled in it.
Not the easiest gig in the world, but we are a creative people, we've done this a gazillion times, we have ways to adapt.
After we set up we have our own baggage to take care of (absolutely no pun intended). Huffing up the rickety one story, outside set of stairs, above the bike shop to the Band's Quarters. Sounds official don't it? It ain't. Whoops - I guess housekeeping hasn't quite made their way here yet. I try to locate an unspoiled square of real estate to set my bags down on.
We make do cuz it's free
More later...


Photo from lavernestravel.com
(I don't know the folks pictured, I've got a hunch one of them is Laverne, but the guy in the blue plaid shirt looks like he may have sauntered up and just wanted to be a part of it all.