After a night of sleeping on an amazingly comfortable dirt mound on the west side of the town, I needed to get to the far north end where the first actual beach would be. This gave a great change, granted it was at 7am, to explore the town of Port Huron before setting out on my adventure. The fact that I lost my wallet in the first three hours of the day would mean I would get to roll back through once more, but in my newly destitute state I was a little less interested in the incredibly charming sights.
So, like, bike adventures aside, this is just one example of a small town the train can take you to. On the border with Canada, Port Huron is full of the old shipping world’s eccentricities. You can tell by the prominent architecture that whatever real money the town had did the same mid-century dry up that happened to so many parts of the country. In a way, this place is now a time capsule in culture and aesthetics.
If you manage to find my wallet buried in the sand or along some street, enjoy the $40.