The North Shore of Lake Superior, and particularly the quaint towns and unrivaled trails of the North Woods, begin roughly 170 miles Northeast of Minneapolis, Minnesota. On a day like last Saturday, clear of traffic and snow, that’s a three hour drive to the coast. I say coast because of the open-sea grandeur that Lake Superior boasts. Operating the
Equipped with 17 bed and bath guest rooms—literally two lines of retired boxcars converted into cozy hotel rooms —the Northern Rail Traincar Inn is what the Today show’s Peter Greenberg justifiably calls “one of the World’s Top 10 Most Unusual Hotels.” A domed hallway decorated with wall memorabilia from the Northern Rail’s operational heyday connects the two separate lines under one roof.
Coming to Two Harbors with a general Google-imaged idea of wh
at it looked like and the destinations such as Split Rock and Goosebury State Park, and, of course, Lake Superior, I can thank the staff at the Northern Rail for informing my that I hadn’t arrived to Two Harbors on just any old weekend (really? It’s kinda quiet around here.). As a matter of fact, the following morning would be the start of the annual Beargrease Sled Dog race, and if I was in town there’d be no way I could miss the attraction of watching the race’s launch at 10 a.m.
Apparently this was a special year, as, for the first time since the early beginnings of the 32-year tradition, the race would be held in Two Harbors instead of Duluth (“It used to start in Two Harbors,” said one barista and TH native at a downtown café. “Duluth stole it.”)
Knowing how to get to the starting line speaks wonders about the people of Lake County. Nothing
have been simpler. I had to make a right at the first light in town, follow county road 2 for eight miles and I couldn’t miss it. Tips from the locals will always be a blessing. Good faith in people replaces GPS, Google searches, and fear of what’s unknown. A mile of parked cars led the way to the entrance, and I hiked it along the highway until I reached the high-pitched barking of
dogs waiting to depart on the marathon to come. Dogs leaped with fervor, born to race, incapable of holding still while the cues were given for the next pack to part. Having at some point taken a safer decision to stagger start times and avoid the chaotic gunshot start of all competitors at once, it didn’t much matter when you arrived. 400 sled dogs and their mushers would be racing the 383 miles from Two Harbors to Grand Portage and back, and the best time upon their return a few days later would be victorious. It was a highlight, expecting nothing and winding up with this specimen of North Country culture.
Now, you might be curious about the peculiar name this racing competition bears. Why Beargrease. In the late 19th century, John Beargrease was the legendary mailman who gave his life’s work to the U.S. Postal Service, delivering the mail to residents under all conditions. His was the route covering the North Shore from Two Harbors to Grand Portage, and harsh winters led him to forge a lakeside path that he traveled by dogsled to deliver the mail. Beargrease’s humble, sled-trodden path is now U.S. Highway 61. (At my place of work, our mailman doesn’t even walk up the stairs anymore, but that’s another story for another day.)
Speaking of directions, being directed by a local to “travel North” means to head into the woods, not 
further along the lake.
The bend of Superior makes driving gives its bordering Highway 61 a Southwest-to-Northeast curvature when traveling upward toward Canada. Glancing at Two Harbors from Duluth, one
can see that traveling due North would be quite the reroute! Luckily the lake and utter lack of other routes of travel makes it rather simple to keep one’s bearings.
Within 25 miles of Two Harbors lie both Split Rock Lighthouse State Park and Gooseberry Falls State Park. One $25-dollar pass gets you access to all Minnesota State Parks, which is well worth it for residents and, frankly, weekenders too given that the going rate for day passes is already a third of that cost. Gooseberry Falls climbs to a tall overlook , and acts a major intersection for major trails (Superior Hiking Trail) and more than 18 miles of local trails (Fifth Falls, Gitchi Gummi). Dozens of bridges and shelters and even a castle in the park remain from the work of Civilian Conservation Corps throughout the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. Looking out at Lake Superior from the highest point above Fifth Falls, it is obvious why when first arriving vikings and early settlers mistook it for the sea. The water behaves like a sea, with treacherous waves rising to many feet. The wind behaves like a coastal breeze, and, in most places, land cannot be spotted on the opposite end of the shore. In winter, the lake does not freeze (or at least not anymore), though a dip in the water would almost surely be fatal. The only thing that may give it away as land-locked is the flora, a thicket of white birch and cedar trees stretching across the shoreline. On a boat setting sail from the shores of Superior, one must not have known to what length the next voyage would take him. One must have embarked as most sea voyageurs did: ready to be away for a long, long while…
A final memorable part of the journey Northeast for the weekend is the towns haven’t changed a great deal since the 1950s, and no one seems too bothered by it. Walking into roadside diner Betty’s Pies is a time portal, bearing every conceivable connection to the good-life-America of the 1950s. Blue and white checkered floors, vinyl booths, and a front counter for diners gives it the charming decor, and bay windows overlook Lake Superior from each table. Walls are covered in artifacts from the diner’s early years—retired rolling pins, tin signs, and even assumedly Betty’s Minnesota license plat reading: PIELADY. Scrawled across the face of a mutilated pie plate: “Retired after 26 years of hard labor!”
“The Pretender” by Jackson Browne follows “White Horses” by the Stones on the overhead speakers, which easily makes up for the missing jukeboxes at each booth. Betty’s specialties are meat-filled pasties, milkshakes, and as the name might suggest, pie. The completion of every diner’s meal must be followed by the waitresses’ same, wholesome line: “Did you save room for some pie?” Even if I hadn’t, this waitress effortlessly convinced me that pie was altogether necessary. This time, for the sake of the novelty of it, I went with a pie shake (yep, it’s exactly what you think it is). Bumbleberry (no, I have no idea what it is).
Notes from a Strange Place 