SAUGATUCK

SAUGATUCK

By Duncan 

I have had the pleasure of Saugatuck’s hospitality before. Saugatuck is a small town of eight hundred and eighty (880) residents on the west coast of Michigan, just south of Holland. I discovered Saugatuck twenty years ago while riding a motorcycle. Real motorcyclists face challenges in certain areas of the country. One of those challenges is riding the Mackinaw Bridge. 

On a Labor Day weekend, I was going alone. I would straddle my wineberry-colored Honda 1500 Gold Wing for seven hours, traverse to the top of Michigan, and concur the famous five-mile-long Mackinaw Bridge. This road trip was dedicated to the pursuit of riding the bridge. That was it! There were no other expectations. 

The more experienced riders cautioned me that I should always have another motorcyclist on a long trip in case of an accident or mechanical breakdown. Still, I was not inclined to burden myself with another soul wanting to stop here or stop there. I wanted the option to choose my own Dive Bars and inexpensive motels. I believe the word that comes to mind is “Freedom,” or is it “Control.”

It was a chilly weekend. I had my boots, chaps, leather gloves, jacket,  helmet, and six gallons of petrol. I was set, and nothing would stop me. I was out the door and on my way north. 

The bridge is five miles long; the metal road surface is corrugated steel. I didn’t realize you could look down the two hundred feet through the pavement to the water below. A little unsettling at first. 

I reached the north side of the bridge and found myself in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The town on the north side of the bridge is called St Ignace. It has hotels, motels, and assorted tourist shops.  I talked with shopkeepers, who told me they shut down during the winter. Tourists are few and far between during UP’s Michigan winters.  

I looked for a place to stay, but the accommodations were full. I didn’t do my homework. I didn’t realize they have an annual five-mile walk across the bridge during Labor Day weekend. And it’s very well attended. I even called The Grand Hotel on Mackinaw Island to see if they had a room. The rooms that were still available were out of my budget for this road trip. I had no choice; I had to turn around and head home. 

It was late afternoon when I pointed my bike south, across the bridge again. I had two choices. I could travel straight south through the middle of Michigan or turn west and follow the roads next to Lake Michigan. As I exited the bridge, I had to make a decision. 

The middle of Michigan might be a few degrees warmer than the highway next to Lake Michigan. I calculated that I could be home in seven hours. I had set my expectations that I could be in my own bed before midnight. 

I was cold and hungry. I wanted to stop somewhere and get a bite to eat. I noticed the signs for Holland, Michigan. I didn’t have a strong urge to pull off the exit ramp. I waited for the next big green highway sign. Saugatuck was next. I decided this was it. I have no idea why I chose Saugatuck; my need for substance seemed greater than trying to set a speed record back to the house. 

I waited in anticipation for the next exit. I pulled off the interstate and headed to the town of Saugatuck. I weaved through two-lane roads until I came to a four-way stoplight. 

Is this all there is in the way of a traffic light in this town? Two uniformed policemen stood in the middle of the intersection. I pulled my GoldWing up to the policemen. 

“Where is a wild and crazy guy like myself from Indianapolis going to find food in this small town?” 

Both policemen smiled, which surprised me. They seemed to enjoy their jobs. They both moved their arms in unison in a big circle and pointed down the street as if they were announcing my arrival on stage to thundering applause. 

“Billy’s Boat House, wild and crazy guy!” 

“Thank you, gentleman!” 

I kicked the Bike into first gear, released the clutch, and rode down the street slowly, looking at all the buildings for Billy’s Boat House. It wasn’t hard to find. The rock and roll music on my right was mind-numbing loud. This must be Billy’s. I pulled the clutch and came to a stop. I looked for a name on the building. Yep, this is Billy’s Boat House. Wow, this is a head-banging bar, to be sure. 

The windows faced the street, which allowed me to see silhouettes of people dancing to the music. Again, the music was loud. 

I pulled into a small space under a street light. I pushed the kickstand down, ensuring the bike was in gear so it wouldn’t roll into the curb. I dismounted, removed my helmet, looked in my rearview mirror, and finger-combed my hair. I looked at my bike and thought, What the hell? I removed my chaps and my heavy jacket. I placed them in my saddle bags and was ready to enter the valley of the shadow of … good or would this be bad? Hello Billy’s. 

I pulled on the heavy wooden door, and the sound coming from inside just about knocked me over. Holy Smokes, the band was loud. I walked a few feet and realized the place was packed—standing room only. Wow, this may not be the best place to get something to eat. I weaved past the bar, people standing three deep, waiting for service. In the men’s room, I found a rather primitive decor. The steel plate on the wall was used as a mirror. The only sink in the room was utilitarian.

I approached the wall and heard the men’s room door open. I realized a man was standing against the other wall, looking at me. I turned and looked at him. He was in his late 50s, a little overweight, with white hair, and nervous. He was of a size that made me feel I might be challenged if things became ugly. I looked for something to hold in my hand, like a galvanized pipe. There was nothing. Be nice was my next thought: just get out of this room alive and be with the other people.  

“Can I talk with you?”

Now, I was freaked out. Saugatuck leans into the Gay Life Style. A community of artists and artistic types. I had forgotten I had heard this before I rolled into town. I thought, am I in the wrong place at the wrong time?  

“Can you give me a minute here?” 

I moved to the steel plate hanging over the wash basin. I watched him in the reflection as I washed my hands. 

“What is it you want to talk with me about?” 

“Well, my group noticed you when you came in, and we would like to know if you would join our table.” 

“And why would I do that? I’m a guy who comes out of nowhere, walks into this bar for a bite to eat or a drink, and then I’m on my way. Why would I join your table?” 

“Well, all I ask is that you come to our table, look at us, and decide. We would like you to join us, and I can get you something to eat very quickly. So what do ya say? Just follow me out, and if you don’t want to stay, you could leave the building or go to a different table. Just come and look us over.”

I was “Gob Stuck.” What are the odds I ride into a resort town and get hit on by a gay guy? I needed to exit the men’s room first and be closer to the front door. Moving left or right out there in the middle of people would be easier than standing in this stink hole alone with him. 

I reluctantly moved through the standing-room-only crowd, following the man, keeping an eye on how far the front door would be from the table he was taking me to. The place was packed. People were dancing on the dance floor. Men held women, which was an encouraging sign to me. We arrived at the table. 

Billy’s was a big open room that extended from one end of the building to the other. The band was on the opposite end, playing on a small stage. A small dance floor was in the middle of the room. I stood looking at a big round table. I was somewhat surprised to see that men and women were sitting at the table. 

The man from the restroom started the introductions. My name is Art, and this is my wife, Sugar. He went around the table, introducing the couples to me, except one woman. She was sitting alone on the table's far side with an empty chair next to her. 

Sugar, Art’s wife, insisted that I join the group. Sugar extended her arm to suggest where I should sit. Of course, it was next to the woman with the empty chair. 

All of the faces were expecting me to join them. Like little puppy dogs all smiling at me with wagging tails. I looked at the woman; she had guarddog eyes. She was less enthusiastic than the rest of the table.  I could understand why. They were setting her up, and I’m not sure she wanted to be “set up.” We locked eyes; she offered no emotion one way or the other. I leaned forward and asked the woman if she would mind if I sat beside her. She slowly turned and pulled the chair from under the table as if my cue was to join her.  

The night went rather well, considering I didn’t know anyone, and they didn’t know me. They asked many questions and asked why I was in Saugatuck tonight. I explained the run to the Mackinaw Bridge and was returning home to Indianapolis, where I live. I simply stopped to grab a bite to eat, and I would be on my way.  

My stop at Billy’s Boat House ended at one o'clock. I had to leave, mount my steed, and be on my way. I still had four or five hours to pull to get home. 

Art and Sugar accompanied me out of the building. We stood on the sidewalk, looking at my Bike across the street under the street lamp. I thanked them for the evening and was about to walk across the street to my motorcycle.  

Art stopped me and suggested I stay the night. I explained that it was a Labor Day weekend, and no rooms were available. Art suggested he had a place I could stay for the night. This was when the hair on the back of my neck started to tingle. Living in New York and attending drama school for a couple of years, I have been hit on many times by lots of men. I could see the setup coming and wanted no part of this sham. 

I went into a small tantrum. “Art, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I'm not gay; I’m a straight white man. I don’t do drugs and don’t smoke, and I don’t know what your agenda is. But past experiences tell me it is not a good idea for me to go anywhere with you at one in the morning to a “location” unknown to me and stay the night. So with that, I will thank you again and tell you I'm returning home.”

I walked across the street to my waiting motorcycle. I tossed my leg across the seat, and Sugar stood beside the bike. 

“I understand that you needed to set the record straight. I get it. But your comments are also in line with our lifestyle. We are straight, white, and conservative. We don’t believe in drugs, either. Here is the deal: we are having a family affair tomorrow and going out on the boat to spend the day on Lake Michigan. We think having you join us on our family day would be fun. Art has a safe place for you to stay the night. Do me a favor and, at least, look where you could stay the night. If you are still worried, then go home. Follow our car and at least look.”

I knew I should leave—I just knew it! I mounted my bike and followed them through backwater roads, the further we got into smaller and smaller roads the more I worried about an escape route. They finally came to a stop. I was looking for a way to turn around and leave, an exit. If I needed to gun the bike's accelerator and escape. They both got out of the car and walked toward me. They both stood several feet away from me. It was dark, it was chilly, I was scared. 

“Walk with us down this hill. And see if this won’t work for you tonight.” 

I turned off the engine. The night air surrounded me and made me feel claustrophobic. I felt uneasy as I followed them down a series of dark steps to a boat dock. Sitting in the boat dock was a forty-two-foot motor yacht. Art climbed aboard as I waited on the dock. He took the keys out of his pocket and opened the sliding door to the yacht.  

He invited me in. I stepped into the yacht, and Art said, this is the boat we will be taking to Lake Michigan tomorrow; you can stay here tonight, lock yourself in, and I will give you the keys. We will be back tomorrow at about eleven; it will be fun for us, and you will have a good time, too.  

With that, he put the keys in my hand, and Sugar and Art said good night and walked back up the hill. I waited a while, then returned up the hill and parked my bike in a little area that looked safe for the night.  

As expected, the yacht was boarded by a hoard of family members the next morning. The food was good, the drinks were plentiful, and the company was comfortable. I’ve never experienced a day like that one on Lake Michigan before or since. 

Art and Sugar became two of my very best friends. They joined me in Indianapolis for my special moments, and I joined them for birthdays and Holidays. Both of my dear friends have passed. 

Art and Sugar

So, it was with anticipation that I returned to Saugatuck to remember two wonderful friends. All I needed to do was walk the boardwalk, look at the boats, have lunch, enjoy the weather, and remember. Saugatuck is a special place because two extraordinary people said, “Please join our table.”