Was I wrong! For the two days I was there, I was the only ambassador of our breed here as far as I could see. This is a heavy-iron showcase, and even the families with kids riding together showed up on Harleys.
I packed up my Forza with all the usual accessories: 50 lbs of electronics, a sandwich bag of cashews, a change of socks, a bottle of Jack, and I was ready to go. I have been on the slabs a bit lately, but really wanted to see the center of the state so I picked a new GPS route that didn't include freeways. Back roads are beautiful and plentiful here, and surprisingly- nearly deserted. On some of the routes I only saw two cars within an hour. This was on a Saturday, so I would have expected that more people would be out, but maybe the wind kept them inside. Should have kept me inside, but I'm crazy.
The route took me into a velvety green world that rapidly evolved from pastoral farmland scenes into a heavily wooded landscape. Other than plowing, paved roads here are poorly maintained, and a watchful eye is needed to keep from becoming a statistic. I read this morning that the only fatality of the three-day outing took place on the opening day of the event, when some unfortunate rider hit a pothole and crashed. Really sad.
On thing about Michigan, and GPS. You never know when you are going to leave paved highway. This is the only time I wished for different tires (or 'tyres' for across the ponders) on the scoot. The beautifully smooth grippers that the bike glides around on on-pavement become a set of skiis on gravel, and the normally steady-as-she-goes traction turns into a wild ride on a marshmallow. Even a lot of dirt experience doesn't help when turning the bars doesn't guarantee a change of direction of the bike. My forward velocity dropped to a steady 40mph through this section, which seemed as if it would never end. My GoPro didn't fall off once, but the quality of the video looks like I had handheld the camera after polishing off the Jack. Regardless, some editing, and I should have 10 or 15 good minutes of the two-hour section.
Stupid aside, even these farm-trails were excellent, leading to a lot of stopping for photo-ops. Turns out the biggest challenge I had for the entire weekend was trying to find a small subset of pictures to post. As a result, I will post some here, and soon, will load my website of more, plus video for those wanting to explore more.
The route took me past a lot of lakes, with the road crossing peninsulas between bodies of water, and at other times, past ponds and lakes on both sides.
I kept stopping to snap some pictures and grab my nuts. Uh, cashews. The back-roads kept getting deeper and deeper into deserted territory, so I eventually bailed on the route I was going, found a paved road, and headed west to try to find a faster way north. As I approached a ridge where I suspected 37 North would be, I was confronted by a rumble through my helmet. Harleys. Once I crossed the ridge, I no longer needed a map. All roads went one place.
My original goal was to find lodging in Big Rapids, a small town 35 miles from the event (Baldwin was booked solid for a year), but my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to drop into the flow of bikes, head up to Baldwin first, then circle back around later in the evening.
Scooter Surprise
This bike surprised me, and does better than I thought it would. I guess I just don't push it much. It effortlessly slid to the frantic pace of the bikes which quickly closed in on both the forward and rear positions. At no time did I feel I was holding anyone up, and the only time one would jet past me was when they realized what I was riding, and they didn't want to be next to me in case someone saw them! Regardless, the sea of motorcycles filled the air with their throats, and it wasn't long that I saw locals on positions on top of ridges on both sides of the road. A single glance to them promoted a wave from them, and a wave back unleashed an air full of smiles, raised glasses of beer, and cheering to the bikes. It was like coming home to a place I had never been before...John Denver would be proud.
The town
The stream began to slow, and spaces became tighter as we approached the town. This was getting good. We were even greeted by smiles on the law enforcement officials that were watching the stream from the banks of the river of bikes. First, there were ten or more bikes parked side by side, then 50, then a steady stream of chrome and custom paint lined the streets. Everywhere I looked, vendors had set up shop, hawking leathers, bandanas, Harley jewelry, and custom chrome. Streams of bikes lined the streets, and a flurry of cycles zipped in every direction, in a din that announced we were here.
Wheelies and morons were dealt with swiftly and skillfully. A rare flashing light would appear and abruptly disappear, but there were no altercations or tension. Everywhere you looked were smiles, and loud voices proclaiming 'I am having a good time'. I quickly found a spot to park and disembark for a tour of the spirit that was everwhere.
Customs
Like any large bike show, this place had some amazing wheels. It didn't take much of a stroll to run across some gem, parked next to a gem, parked next to a...etc. One way to bring about a smile from complete strangers is to whip out a Nikon, kneel next to their amazing bike, and grab a shot. When I looked up, there would be the beaming owner, knowing he, or she, did good. When a particularly nice bike would roll up near me, I had to get in, grab the shot, and be out before the crowd closed in to stare.
Case in point: BossHoss. This trike was a particularly nice build, and the owner knew it. I was sandwiched up in a 'red-zone', when this rolled up.
Eye candy was everywhere, and time flew by until I realized I need a place to stay, but it was 35 miles away. Deer are abundant here, so I opted to find my way back to the room before dusk at 8:00pm. The ride soon became peaceful, and uneventful. I would return the next morning.
The next day offered even more eye candy, and eventually the procession began the crawl to the airport where the blessing was to be held. The field was beginning to fill, and the procession of bikes coming to the entry gate stretched as far as the eye could see into the woods.
I know what it is like to stay to the end of the event, and it isn't pretty. It mostly is like idling in place for an hour or two, while everybody sits in gridlock. Turns out I haven't ridden to 'The Lake' at Luddington yet, and there are photo ops galore waiting west of here, so I bailed out for the big water. Back on the road, bikers were found in pockets at rest stops, gas stations, and campgrounds across the next 10 miles, but the stream thinned. I soon found myself back in the wind, by myself.
Luddington turned out to be an amazing place, and I got to tour some state parks and grabbed some great shots before heading the 100 miles back home on the slab.
All in all, a great weekend, and now to get back to work for some well-deserved rest. After all, next weekend is Memorial day.
Break out the map.
Safe and Sound 
I didn't dig the potholes either. But, Ya done good Mitch! 
Hope you are back on 2 soon. What kind of scoot you thinking about? Not to be disloyal to the Forza, but the BV350 is sure a looker...