Scope of the Road
Hiawatha National Forest UPM
A Messenger in the Pines
Well… not a real one.
Or was it?
Angel means messenger — an agent sent to declare or offer a turning point. Scripture uses the word that way again and again: a messenger to Hagar in the wilderness, to Abraham on the mountain, to Mary in Nazareth.
If this is the definition, then yes, I met an angel. And I met him in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
Into the Sand and Pines
The Upper Peninsula of Michigan has beaches on the north and south sides. – Lake Michigan to the south and Lake Superior to the north. Between them are rural county and state roads, and, between those, from coast to coast, the ground is light-brown, packed sand.
The tall pines live throughout, planted in neat offset rows, a forest growing through the packed sand.
I was headed to Hiawatha National Forest for my first night of off-grid camping in my RV. Lyman Lake was my destination. There are 10 RV sites spread around the L-shaped lake, and I had gotten the last one.
The roads in the UP go from paved to packed gravel to packed sand as they disappear through the forest. Cell service can be spotty, so I had downloaded the maps for offline use.
My gps suggested I drive to a spot about a quarter mile from my site, park on the roadway, and hike from there. This was a drive-in site. I knew there must be a direct road.
The forest site map offered no help; it marked my site, but neglected to show how to get there.
I checked the satellite image. The picture showed a road about a quarter mile from my gps off-loading point, leading directly to my site.
I could see the path clearly through the tree cover. I still had 1.5 hours before sunset, so I took the unmarked forest road.
The Forsaken Road
The road began as packed gravel, then slowly gave way to packed sand. RV reviews had mentioned sandy sections, so I wasn’t worried—until I met a tree branch hanging less than ten feet overhead. Previous campers had noted that there was sufficient clearance. Perhaps it was new growth? I squeezed under it and kept going.
I continued till the now narrow road became marred with ATV Ruts a foot deep. They snaked from left to right, forming an S. Inclined banks stood defiantly on either side. Dark, soft sand, unstable even for a bike, displaced the lighter-packed sand. No RV could pass here. Certainly not mine — 9000lb and with only two wheel drive.
I got out and walked ahead to confirm. Impassible! It was not the road mentioned in the reviews. I would need to turn around.
Soils and brakes
The section where I stopped had a clearing to either side, covered by small grasses and ferns. It sat about 2 inches above the sand.
The road also widened and looped around a tree less than 50 feet behind me. I could back up, swing around the loop, and be on my way.
To where? I did not know.
Backing up was harder than it should have been due to an unknowingly rusted and partially engaged parking brake.
My first try, I went nowhere.
I tried again, but nothing!
A running start, still nothing.
Perhaps if I wiggled the wheel slightly, still nothing. I climbed out.
A root only an inch high held me fast. My effort had succeeded only in digging the wheels deeper into the now dark sand. Maybe if I go up on the berm and avoid the root. But the berm may as well have been a wall. I was stuck, and the sun was settling for the night.
My driver’s side mirror had grown dark. Someone was behind me. They were waiting in the loop, sitting under the tree. Now, I was not just stuck, I was also hindering another tourist from their destination.
I climbed out of my RV. Looked at my tire, hoping he would notice my predicament without thinking I was being rude.
The Machine
He came closer, got out of his UTV, and walked over.
“I’m going to need to back up and turn around,” I said.
“You trying to get to site #6?”
“Yes,” I affirmed.
“You’re almost there. It’s only about 50 yards past that bend. You can almost see it from here.”
At that moment, his confidence frowned upon my reasoning. Maybe I could make it. My site was just beyond the bend, less than 300 ft. Could I really walk there from here? I had not certified the depth of the sand, nor had I actually stood in the ruts; I had only observed them from a distance. Maybe a second look was warranted. I hesitated, not wanting to let fear guide me, “The road is too rutted ahead for me to navigate it. I said
He came closer, “You’re stuck.
Why was he stating the obvious?
Of course, I was stuck. We could both see that.
But his clean Wisconsin accent made me smile.
Yes I replied.
I need to turn around.
He thought for a moment, Well, I can put my machine over there (the clearing) and pull you out.
Great!
His UTV had only its built-in winch—he hadn’t transferred the rest of his rescue gear yet—but it was enough. He hooked the line to a loop on my trailer hitch, and slowly the machine pulled as I reversed.
After a little stubbornness. My back wheels crested the berm, and I was free.
Guided by a Stranger
“The road you’re looking for is about half a mile east,” he stated as he unhooked the winch. He offered more instructions, but turn , left, right tangled in my head.
Some of these ‘roads’ were just pickup truck paths running through dense brush. Few were marked.
I can take you there. I’m just out driving around.
He was “just out driving around?” From where had he come? I had seen no houses or homesteads for miles.
He led me out and past the way I had come in. We turned right, then right again, onto a road I had not seen on the satellite map. One more turn left, and we were at site #6. He circled once, then pointed to the best place to park.
Before he departed. I shook his hand firmly, intentionally. I knew I would see him no more, and gratitude needs to be demonstrated. “Thank you very much, I really appreciate it.
Then he drove away. Back into the forest on a road with no name.
A Messenger on the Road
The expansive site sat just 30 feet from the lake. It was surrounded by trees, wild edible mushrooms dotted the forest floor, and one large oak sat at its center. I even had a cell signal. As the sun grew dim. I stood at the lake shore and contemplated the moment.
Who was he?
Why was he out driving around the forest?
At the moment the road became impassible, when the light was failing, when I had no cell service and no one to call for help, and when I could not turn back. He was there . A messenger — an angel to show the way.
Surely, this was not a coincidence.
Not at this hour.
Not at the very moment I needed help.
In the morning, as I headed out, I came to a crossroad and could not remember which way to turn. Just then, a car appeared heading to the main road. I followed it till it disappeared.
