Free Telemachus Rising by Pierce Youatt Page A

the trees that lined the road outside the sweep of our headlights.  My passenger shifted positions, sat up, stretched.
    “Good morning.”
    “What time is it?”
    “About five in the morning.  We've still got a couple hours to drive, give or take.”
    “When is the sun supposed to come up?”
    “I don't know.  Around eight?  I assume we'll see it when it does.”
    We drove the rest of the way without talking much.  The sky grew lighter.  I got a little bit lost around Houghton, but we made it to Copper Harbor before sunrise.  I think we both noticed the color of the sky as the moment drew closer, but neither of us said anything.  I'd been so wrapped up in my spontaneity, I was so excited to see the sun come up from the northernmost part of Michigan, I hadn't even bothered to check the weather.  It was going to be an overcast day.
    She was a good sport about it.  I don't think seeing the sunrise meant as much to her as it did to me.  I hate to say it, but I was disappointed.  Still, the colors of the leaves were spectacular.  We made it to a high point where we could look out over the woods and the lake.  It was nice.  We tooled around the area for a bit.  We splashed in some freezing cold water on a rocky beach.  I don't think Lake Superior ever gets warm, and I doubt it's ever been less than bone rattling in October.  We found some little waterfalls tucked in and around the scenic spots that made for good pictures.  It wasn't what I'd left East Lansing to find, but it was still good.  We managed to lose a couple hours enjoying the morning.  The trip didn't feel like a waste.  I only had a little regret left by the time we got back in the car and I realized I was about to repeat the entire drive in the opposite direction.  Neither of us would have minded sharing the driving responsibilities, but she didn't know how to operate a stick shift and we had to get back on schedule.  Fortunately, the return trip was immediately more pleasant.  With the sun up, even behind the clouds, we got to take in the scenery.
    After the tenth sign advertising them, she finally asked.
    “What are pay-sties?”
    “Not pay-sties.  Past-ies.  You wouldn't want to eat a pay-sty.”
    “Fine, what's a pasty?”
    She pronounced it correctly that time.
    “They're sort of a yooper thing.  You know, come to think of it, they're actually a lot like potstickers, except they're bigger and an entire meal.  The outside is like pie crust, and they're filled with meat and potatoes and all kinds of vegetables.  Good stuff.”
    “I want one!”
    We'd only been back on the road for an hour, but we stopped and got pasties for lunch.  I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd had one.  Even with a schedule to keep, I didn't feel the same sense of urgency to get home that I'd felt to get out of town.  In the light of day, the woods seemed prettier and less ominous.  I didn't once think about the car breaking down or running out of gas.  Instead, I enjoyed spending the afternoon with the girl next to me.  Sometimes we talked, but the silences weren't uncomfortable.  Unfortunately, I started to feel the effects of having stayed up all night as the afternoon dragged on.
    I knew we were more than halfway home when we got back to the bridge.  It felt like it'd been days since I'd seen it lit up the night before.  It was fun watching her reaction as we crossed.  She wouldn't look out the window while we were over the water.  I only teased her a little before we were safely on the other side.  We stopped in Mackinaw City for dinner and fudge.  The sun was nearly down again when we got back in the car.  The last three hours of the drive, at the least, would be in the dark.
    We'd exhausted most of our conversation and traffic was light.  There are more people in the lower peninsula, even up north, than in the upper peninsula.  Still, the towns we passed weren't just small, they were few and far between as I drove.  I