A Superior coast

Sunset from the break wall

 If your trip end two hours north of Minneapolis, you could be forgiven for considering Minnesota flat as a washboard. Farm country sprawls to each horizon, broken by overpasses, thatches of forest and the occasional lazy river.

In the 20 miles before Duluth, the change arrived. Flat land undulated and wrinkled into ridges of low mountains, the great lake hidden behind its bulk.

From a thumb drive stocked with random albums, I cued the obvious - Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited. By the time we reach downtown Duluth, the title song’s slide whistle propels us toward the interstate’s end and the North Shore’s beginning.

This was Dylan’s highway, which runs from the Canadian border through Dylan’s birthplace of Duluth all the way to New Orleans, connecting various touchstone towns of the blues. North of Duluth, U.S. 61 is now Minnesota Route 61, the North Shore Scenic Drive. Dylan’s autobiography unveils how he thought of the road as his tie to the blues tradition.

As it always does, the album culminated with Desolation Row. For some reason, Desolation Row’s barrage of imagery felt crisper and nearer – or maybe this trip excited me. In the course of the song, Duluth’s well-kept homes disappeared into forest.

Of course, no one would consider MN-61 desolate - the topography keeps every mile interesting, as does a lake holding 10 percent of the world’s freshwater. The sheer blue lake glimmered in the sun. 

Silver Creek Cliff Tunnel

The North Shore highway runs 149 miles to the Canadian border at the Pigeon River. Between those markers, only a few marks of industry touch the shore - a few factories and power plants. Cyclists and walkers crossed Gitchi -Gami Trail, a path that when completed will tie Two Harbors to Grand Marais. Traversing the forested hills, occasional tunnels and lighthouses, the shore threatened to overload the senses.

We cruised up the 35 miles to Two Harbors, where the late afternoon traffic crawled southbound. North of Two Harbors, our first mandatory stop arrived. North Shore institution Betty’s Pies buzzed with weekends and tourists. Far from a rustic pie stand, Betty’s has an old-school diner and massive lot for the hordes of tourists craving famous desserts.

Here I nearly gave myself a heart attack, but not from the pie. When we left the counter with our slices, I noticed our trunk was open. My unfamiliarity with the key fobs led to accidentally popping the trunk when I expected to lock the doors. With our cameras, computers and other valuables wedged into the trunk, I could have made a disastrous mistake. Fortunately the open trunk went ignored by everyone but us.

I have no problem with touristy places that deliver the promised goods, and Betty’s clearly sliced exemplary pie. The choices were hard, Nancy going with raspberry rhubarb, which she rated better than the strawberry-rhubarb found everywhere. I went with blackberry peach and enjoyed every de-stressed bite.

Happiness at Betty's Pies

The air cooled more than 10 degrees from Minneapolis – which already cut the sauna humidity we departed in Nashville that morning. Aside from a single power plant, industry evaporated and the woods enveloped us.

Along the coast we crossed over dozens of rivers and creeks, some just feet from where their mouths emptied into Lake Superior. Those rivers often enter the lake tumbling down from the mountains as waterfalls. Among the most dramatic is Gooseberry Falls, protected in a state park. At every bridge, the North Shore made it worthwhile to glance west and catch water streaming over.

Split Rock Lighthouse

The few towns along the coast were small outposts with lodges, resorts, small shops and gas stations. Long gaps of wilderness spanned them. Inland to our west sat millions of protected acres, part of the Superior National Forest, numerous state forests and the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, a roadless expanse with interconnected rivers, streams and lakes.

In the quiet space south of Grand Marias, ominous clouds crept across Lake Superior. Sitting on the storm’s edge presented a rainbow the rest of the drive. Two hours from Duluth, the highway entered a gradual descend to Lake Superior, Grand Marias visible at the bottom.

Grand Marais was the last town of any size before the border, and our home for two nights. As we discovered in trip planning, it’s almost the northernmost place with any decent supply of lodging. The small town felt relaxed despite the mob of summer tourists. Away from the rows of hotels and restaurants, residential neighborhoods rose into the foothills.

When I saw “no vacancy” sign on the 10-room Mangy Moose Hotel, I was relieved that I booked our room in April. I felt more relief when seeing the room, which had a king-sized bed in the front room and a quiet sitting room down a short hallway.

At sunset and twilight, there’s no debate about Grand Marais’s top attraction. Hypnotically we parked and walked past the Coast Guard station to Artist Point, the small peninsula jutting into the lake. People swarmed to the break wall and flattened rocks near a squat lighthouse and a forested peninsula. Flying insects swarmed into columns 20 feet high. An expected onslaught of mosquitoes never arrived.

We walked along the narrow break wall, which cut among some chunks of rocky shore. The wall widened and slanted gently to provide ample seating for the sunset.

The sunset’s colors embellished the pools on Artist Point in reds and purples. A female duckling and a lone chick chirped from a rock-hemmed pool, cutting dark figures against the vibrant twilight. As the sun withdrew behind the Sawtooth Mountains, the colors followed, then swarming people fled the little peninsula.

With the road behind us for the night, we stopped at Voyageurs Brewing Company to unwind over a beer. We fell hard for Boundary Waters Brunette, a punchy American Brown ale made with Minnesota wild rice. Also worth imbibing was Devil’s Kettle IPA, which uses Ahtanum, Galena, Rakau and Waimea hops.

Fly shop in Grand Marais

Restaurants closed early in Grand Marais, and we ingested only snacks, pie and beer since early that morning. We resorted to fast food, which we took at the Mangy Moose’s small courtyard looking onto MN-61. Traffic had winnowed to nothing northbound and a handful of cars scooting down 61. But having the night to ourselves came with advantages. We plotted our steps on the next day and let any tension from the day dissipate.

Between the scenery and affable people we encountered, even I relaxed for once. The North Shore was still new, fresh ground – and water – to explore. The air cooled softly, and we bunked down, ready to sleep with the windows open, a rare thought at home. All I could picture was the darkened landscape around us.

Mountains to the west, Great Lake to the right – with two favorite landscapes on either side of us, the North Shore quickly turned into comfortable terrain.

One last look across the bay