Being a novice dog owner, it never occurred to me that a canine could be car-averse. The classic image of a head hanging out the window, lips flapping, saliva streaming in the wind—left me unprepared for the hysterics that accompany even a short trip with our new furry friend. Months of work have yielded only limited progress, so we planned a weekend away, sans chein.

Sights were set on a last-chance spring ski extravaganza in northern Michigan. The itinerary called for an early morning departure, allowing ample time for an afternoon on the slopes, followed by a late check-in and well-deserved soak in our en suite jacuzzi.

The weather cooperated in a big way. Skies clear, temps moderate, we settled in for a familiar 4 hour drive north. My nostalgia for the road kicked in almost immediately. Sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for opportunity to unfurl, I was reminded of how much I loved the novelty of the unknown. During our vagabond year, stays were short, so everything was new all the time. Adventure awaited at every mini-mart.

Such was the case when we pulled into Cadillac, Michigan for a quick lunch. A sidewalk sandwich board beckoned and we found ourselves in one of those small-town-treasure sorts of places, where everything is made from scratch and wonderful. A glass bakery case held at least three varieties of homemade sourdough bread, for crying out loud! It was great, but we were eager to keep driving—so not exactly lingering when a party of two took the table adjacent. Our new neighbor introduced herself, asked where we were headed, recounted her most recent ski trip and then… kept going. From her, we learned that presidential candidate, Donald Trump was holding a rally right up the street. “Be careful driving through town,” chimed in her sister. “Oh, they’re giving out tickets,” confirmed her senior-citizen mother (who had joined the party about 5 minutes earlier). “I’m going to pray about him,” confided my neighbor in a stage-whisper, leaning toward me.

Well, I could have stayed for another 20 minutes at least, but with a supreme force of will, I pried myself away (purchasing some housemade granola on the way out the door). Less than 2 blocks up the road, a white sign read, “Welcome Donald Trump. No Parking.”

I'm not certain what I expected, but it wasn't half a dozen sign-bearing protestors chatting on the sidewalk. “Build bridges, not walls,” proclaimed one of the placards. Rounding the corner, we passed a police officer ticketing an unlucky motorist.

The skiing was great, BTW. It was sunny and warm (but not too warm) for two consecutive days. I missed Charlie, but our neighbor who was looking after him was kind enough to text photos of our dog, sprawled sleeping and content on a relative stranger’s rug. He’s not looking much like a traveller, I’m afraid.

Eat: “Housemade daytime fare & takeaway bakery treats are the draw at this charming, small chain outpost,” says Google of the Blue Heron Cafe, in Cadillac. Wait, there’s another location? In Traverse City? How did I miss this?