In the spring of 2022, I ticked an item off my bucket list: taking a circle tour around Lake Superior—the wildest, most remote of the Great Lakes. I started my trip in Houghton, Michigan, and drove westward in a clockwise circle.

After crossing the border to Ontario, my trip took an unexpected turn. I got some unwelcome news from home on Friday night, and a chilly rain settled over Thunder Bay on Saturday morning. Much to my regret, I wasn’t able to explore the area. Nonetheless, I was grateful for the timing. My previous stops in Minnesota and Wisconsin had been off-grid, and having wifi, a hot shower, and laundry was a welcome comfort.

I left on Sunday and headed toward Marathon, Ontario, having done what I could to address the situation at home and grateful to be back on the road again.

I made my first stop at the Terry Fox memorial just outside the city. The monument is four kilometers from where Terry ended his Marathon of Hope across Canada in 1980 and a fittingly beautiful spot for his achievement.

I continued on to Sleeping Giant Provincial Park as the sky began to cloud up again. I welcomed the solace and quiet after the bustle of the Terry Fox memorial.

To my regret, I only got a small taste of what Sleeping Giant Provincial Park has to offer. I took this trip very much by the seat of my pants, without a clear idea of what I would find along the way. This kind of travel certainly has its allure—and its limitations.

Limitations such as me arriving at a 244-square-kilometer provincial park without a clear idea of what I would see or do, improperly provisioned for any lengthy hiking, and heading into a remote stretch of highway with limited services.

On the other hand, showing up without a plan means that you can be open to some magnificent detours along the way, as I would discover later that afternoon.

While I craved solitude, I am not sure that I was quite ready for just how alone I was in the park. There were a few other cars in the parking lot as I headed down the Sea Lion trail, named after a unique rock formation that Lake Superior has been busily eroding in the time since Europeans named it.

Imagine my surprise when I got to the lakefront and discovered a cruise ship anchored off shore. I would have sooner expected a bear, frankly. Many of the ship’s passengers were skirting the shoreline’s gorgeous rock formations in kayaks. Others had disembarked on the coast and were being shown some of the geological and other natural features by a tour guide.

After checking out the Sea Lion Rock, I walked a bit of the Kabeyun Trail. Again, I didn’t plan my day out and only got a taste of what the trail had to offer before deciding I should turn around and get back on the road.

Before leaving the provincial park, I made a quick detour to Silver Islet and the remains of the 19th century silver mining exploits. The general store is a little bare, but the drive along the coast is nothing short of stunning.

I left the park a little disappointed. Not in the park, but in my poor planning.

But I was about to experience the other side of traveling where the wind blows.

Driving east toward Marathon, I saw a sign on the side of the road for Ouimet Canyon. On an impulse, I turned left for a new adventure and, in the space of a few minutes, found myself transported—quite literally—1,000 kilometers north.

The canyon floor possesses a unique microclimate akin to the sub-arctic tundra along the Hudson Bay. Because the microclimate is delicate, the park has limited access to the canyon ridge. For any Millennials who remember the children’s series, it felt a bit like taking a peek into The Land Before Time.

At the bottom, you could still see some snow and ice clinging on despite it being nearly June. The view is spectacular and the experience humbling; it inspires imagination at all the secrets the canyon floor must hold.

I was heading into increasingly remote areas of Ontario, but the Trans Canada Highway has a consistent and interesting assortment of cross-country traffic as long-haul truckers and U-Haul vans and trailers with far away license plates keep company with locals across what would otherwise be lonely miles of open freeway.

At Ouimet Canyon, I found the precise experience of solitude and wonder I had been craving. The news from home no longer mattered. I was just a humble traveler on life’s journey, in grateful communion with an ancient world and all the travelers before and all those yet to come.