My apologies to S&G readers for the prolonged silence whilst I was on vacation. It seems that wi-fi availability in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is even spottier than I feared (although it makes a good excuse to head down to Culver’s for a “butter burger” and the best frozen custard this side of Las Vegas). Of course it’s nonexistent out in the woods, where we were bivouacked most of the time.
That being said, the bucolic U.P. has managed to experience most of the advantages of progress and relatively few of its drawbacks. (Las Vegas reverses the equation.) Thus, you will often feel like you’ve stepped back into the late Sixties or early Seventies, when people still stayed at “motor courts,” just yards from the lakefront.
Tribal casinos, while relatively numerous, are pretty discreet. Objibwa Marquette is well off the main highway (at least far enough to be invisible). By contrast, the Kewadin chain of casinos tends to be easily accessible but low-key. Both the Manistique and Christmas ones are smack-dab on the highway but could easily be mistaken for an extra-large Elks Lodge or steakhouse. Since we were usually either racing from pillar to post or had small fry in tow, we didn’t stop into any of them, although I suggested doing a head count of Star Trek slots at one of the Kewadin properties. (If they had any, it’d probably be more than you could find at a Harrah’s Entertainment casino on the Strip.)
Michigan was marvelous but all hell broke loose on the return trip. At Detroit, we had to literally run from one end of the enormous Z-shaped terminal to the other to make our Vegas connection, thanks to some Delta Airlines lollygagging on the way down from Marquette. Upon our return home, we were confronted with an invasion of ants. They’ve been routed for the nonce, thanks to some DIY extermination, but not before they left several nasty bites on my ankles, which continue to chafe.
While I was gone, another casino passed into the history books. The President, a 16-year fixture of the St. Louis waterfront-casino scene, didn’t even make it to its July 1 shutdown. Floodwaters put paid to business operations aboard the venerable Admiral on June 18, ignominiously finishing the career of a casino that had seen more downs than ups in its lifetime.
That being said, owner Pinnacle Entertainment and thinking people have a right to know by what logic Missouri clings to the ludicrous, risky and anti-business “boats in moats” regime whereby gambling is OK so long as it’s conducted within a condom of water.
