I have a round trip ticket but I only want to use the first two legs of the journey, the first to Boyne Falls and then onward to St. Ignace. It is no disgrace to bus it to St. Ignace. Instead, the journey by any means is an act of grace, a pilgrimage to the peerless pere's final resting place, Pere Marquette. I protest I am not having a Catholic meltdown in my middle age. I feel a tantamount impulse when searching for the shrine of any enlightened human. I am thinking of when I stumbled upon the Inn of the Seventh Ray, once the retreat of Aimee Semple McPherson, founder of the Four Square Church, and the mass media minister who pioneered the way for Billy Graham. That's up in the arroyos of Topanga Canyon. I made the journey to the birth homes of the two greats of American Midwest poetry, the literary lions of Illinois, Vachal Lindsey and Carl Sandburg. That required two hours of road south from Peoria to Springfield and one hour west of Peoria to Galesburg. While I was at it, I picked up the Ronald Reagan Museum on the grounds of Eureka College and the final resting place of Abraham Lincoln, proving myself bipartisan and interested in Republicans.
A nice looking young man sat beside me and asked, "Does this bus go to Rivertown?" That's in Grandville. He got off as the bus driver announced over the intercom, "Some body has gotten on who didn't give me a ticket". I talk so that others will not suffer the effects of miscommunication. The twins in the row before me were glad I told them about the power plugs and wifi.