Road To Wolverine - Day 2 Detroit
Morning came quietly at Arete. Lizzie and I gathered our things in the Cloud Suite, carried everything downstairs, and said goodbye to Johnny and Salsa. Fox could not be bothered with goodbyes. Then we packed the Mustang, our increasingly accomplished luggage puzzle, and returned to the road.
Our first fuel stop was a tiny West Virginia Exxon tucked between green hills. The woman behind the counter was kind and determined to sell us pepperoni rolls. We declined, a decision that I grew to regret more as the day went on. Soon the mountain roads widened, the pavement smoothed, and West Virginia sent us north beneath a blue sky.
Then came Ohio.
For long stretches, half the interstate had been removed, leaving every car crowded onto the surviving side. The road rattled beneath us until a Love’s truck stop appeared like a red-and-yellow promise of fuel, restrooms, but alas no pepperoni rolls.
Outside Toledo, daylight vanished. A dark shelf of clouds swallowed the horizon, then rain struck so hard that traffic slowed to thirty miles per hour. Emergency flashers blinked through the downpour, hundreds of tiny lights saying, “I cannot see either, but we are all trying.”
Across the Michigan line, the rain softened and the world brightened. We reached Hostel Detroit, checked into Room 204, and dropped our bags beside a small bed that was exactly enough. It was modest, colorful, and entirely ours tonight.
At Grandma Bob’s, Detroit pizza and old friends were waiting. Alan, Ken, and Scott made six hundred miles feel like an imaginary number. We talked and laughed as if no time had passed.
We continued at The Sugar House, sharing cocktails and cookies on the garden patio while a huge spider built her web nearby. She spun silk; we spun new memories. Eventually, tomorrow’s miles called us back to the hostel. Wolverine was waiting, but Detroit had already made the day worthwhile.
