Hell Hounds

It's Birthday Time in Hell! Karen is 35, and we celebrated in Hell, Michigan. After spending a night with some of her very kind (and very dog-tolerant) friends, we headed for home, via Hell.


Hell isn't even really a wide spot in the road. There are just a couple of buildings, with lots of room for the bikers to park. There are no public toilets in Hell.


But there is an ice-cream store, Screams. The entrance to this delicious underworld and its accompanying gift shop is well-guarded, even if we're one head short.


While the dogs made Hell their own territory in the traditional doggie way, the sock posed for a picture with the self-proclaimed mayor of Hell. He's building a miniature golf course, although right now he's fighting the objections of the demon-filled town council. They say there's no zoning for family entertainment in Hell. Apparently there's a bureaucracy, but who's surprised by that?


Since it was Karen's birthday, we got an official tour of the golf course in progress. It's going to be really neat when it's finished. The mayor is doing the work himself, using recycled materials - including coal slag (which will be significant later), and old cemetery fences.


So we all had ice cream, posed for goofy pictures, and visited the general store (where they sell liquor and t-shirts). Then Karen suggested we check out one of the nearby small lakes, so as to see the pretty parts of Hell. The dogs helpfully ran through the brimstone-scented coal slag to get there.


And then they dove in. Max has never really liked the water much. But maybe the local water isn't green and slimy enough, because here they went swimming. And scampering around in the weeds and algae. And rolling around in the grass.


So the rest of Karen's birthday was spent in a car with two wet dogs. Remember that $42 I spent on Tuesday to have them groomed? It's forgotten now. It's a good thing she's dog-tolerant too.


We made it home about 10:00 at night, all of us dog-tired. No yarn, no coins, but here's my haul from the Johnson Estates. Impressive, eh? Karen's already planning next year's trip. I wonder if there are yarn stores on Route 66?