There were about three hours remaining before Andy and I needed to go back to Keweenaw Mountain Lodge to finalise our clandestine room arrangements. With a sharp eye on the time, we hiked a little way though the woods and climbed down to a cluster of large rocks protruding steeply from the waters of Lake Superior. The toe-numbing temperature of the lake helped us to keep our minds off of the potential disaster that could still ensue regarding our lodging. The sun-warmed rocks were incredibly comfortable by contrast, and we took some time to let the stress of the search evaporate by lying about on them.
But the tension didn't entirely dissipate, and we allowed a significant amount of time to travel back to the car and up the hill to the lodge. We arrived in the parking lot at 8.40, surprisingly nervous. We discussed what our plan would be should our receptionist connection be unable to give us the room she'd promised. Given the unrewarding day we'd spent pursuing a place to sleep and our unwillingness to increase the Sunday drive home by venturing further East, we decided to leave the UP regardless of how we fared at Keweenaw. Duluth sounded alluring, so we set our sights on that for the next day. But we needed to resolve situation at hand before making further plans.
At 8.45, we walked into the reception area. Our receptionist was still there, and she seemed to recognise us. As soon as she was through helping the person who'd been in front of her when we entered, she executed a covert look around the area to make sure her flouting of the rules would not be discovered. She needed no reintroduction to us or our situation. She immediately set a registration card before us, quickly eliminating our fears that something had gone awry in our conspirational plans. When I handed back the completed card, she noted that my name was Nicole and said that was her name, too. "Do you go by Nicole or Nikki?" she asked. I revealed that I went by Nikki, and she exclaimed, "Me, too! How do you spell it?"
"N-I-K-K-I," I recited.
"Me too!" she cried, even more excited. "I'm going to be geeking out about that all night!"
We then made our way to our hard-won lodgings. Despite Nikki's apologetic warning that it was a smoking room, nothing but the ash tray on the dresser hinted at the truth of her statement. We detected only the scent of new carpeting when we went in to dump our belongings. Our investigation of the room's lingering smells was not very thorough, though. We desperately wanted ice cream, and the stated closing time of the place where we'd intended to buy it was fast approaching. As we made our way back to Andy's Subaru, we crossed paths with a woman heading the opposite direction. She must have been able to detect that we were no longer desperate room seekers because she greeted us with a warm smile and friendly hello. Our stigma had vanished. We returned her greeting, but I couldn't help thinking, Where were you three hours ago when all we wanted was someone to be nice to us?
When we came upon a line of cars newly parked along the hill leading to town, we decided to preempt what we guessed would have turned into an intensive search for parking by joining it. "How do you feel about a short jog?" Andy asked when we realised how little time we had to make it to the ice cream shop. We sprinted. It was, thankfully, mostly downhill. A woman coming from the direction of the shop recognised our urgency and guessed our destination. "Going for ice cream?" she called. Our breathless nods prompted her to warn us that it would be at least a twenty minute wait. As the shop came into sight, we saw that she was right and that our effort had been expended needlessly. A line extended beyond the door of the tiny building and well out into the lawn. But we would not be deterred.
We joined the queue, panting. It was a beautiful night, and the only thing that would ruin it for us was if, after spending a prolonged period in line, the shop closed just as we reached the threshold of the entrance. No-one seemed to mind the wait. The promise of sweet, delicious ice cream kept everyone in good spirits, and the atmosphere amongst the queuers was jovial. It seemed a major accomplishment when we finally advanced as far as the wooden porch that extended about 10 feet in front of the entrance. I jumped onto the slightly elevated surface as triumphantly as if I'd just conquered a new land. As we drew ever nearer to the door, I tried to peek through the windows of the shop, now lighted against the dusk, to discern what the promised 36 flavours were and which I would possibly choose. It was an easy decision in the end. Amaretto Cherry Mackinac Island Fudge.
It was well past the closing time chalked on a blackboard outside the establishment, but the proprietors didn't seem to mind in the slightest. They were an elderly couple both dressed in stars-and-stripes themed shirts, and they smiled and chatted happily with the eager ice cream loving hordes as they laboured over their scoops and tills. "This is the busiest we've been all year," the woman said. Despite my worries, Andy and I both had double scoop waffle cones securely in hand long before the shop finally decided to end their impromptu extended hours. And it was well worth the wait. It was, with no exaggeration, the best ice cream I have ever had the fortune to lick. That includes the pieces of chocolate embedded in it. They were not the stale, wax-coated pieces of chocolate that I'm used to finding in ice cream, but chewy, bittersweet chunks.
I was completely absorbed in the delicious endeavor of catching the streaks of melted ice cream dribbling down the cone as we walked to the site of the legendary fireworks that were soon to begin. The charmed nature of the day held out, and we found ample space on a dock that extended into the lake directly across from where the fireworks were to be launched. As we were waiting for it to start, Andy began to muse about how the officials of the UP had spread the word about the expanded fireworks display. They would have needed to be careful not to incite undue commotion amongst the residents of Copper Harbor. A code was essential for seeding the information amongst key members of the hospitality industry, who could discreetly spread the word as they saw fit. Andy recited what he imagined the Copper Harbor code had been: "Albatross is bringing a bigger sandwich this year! Pastrami on rye. With mustard on one side. OK, maybe two sides. But don't say anything."
After much anticipation, the first rocket whistled into the air and exploded into arms of light and colour that radiated outward in bright shimmers. Sharp cracks and deep booms shook the air, and I could feel the sonic reverberations in the deck beneath me. Copper Harbor had a right to be proud of the show they produced. The display drew collective shouts and sounds of awed wonder from the gathered crowd. And it was a crowd. We were certain that the population of the town had at least quadrupled that day. The thunderous finale drew an equally noisy response of applause and cheers from the ground as everyone demonstrated their appreciation for this even longer celebration of the country's independence.
But as soon as the fireworks ended, so did the festive atmosphere. Whereas before everyone had enjoyed sharing the collective experience of watching the fireworks, families quickly turned against each other as they turned their attentions to reaching their cars before everyone else. Spectators folded up their canvas camping chairs with an efficient and hurried snap. Parents herded and towed their children in the necessary direction. The dock emptied within minutes. Andy and I watched. We were in no hurry. With our tummies full of ice cream and a room secured and waiting for us, nothing could bother us. We definitely didn't win the race back to our vehicle and faced some traffic as a consequence. But we made it back eventually, extremely content with the outcome of the day and excited to see what the next would hold for us in Duluth.
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