Though my first real vacation from work in nearly a decade doesn't start for another three weeks, the promise of a clear, sunny day on Sunday (coupled with Sarah needing to use my car all day on Monday) presented an opportunity to do some local photography that was too good to pass up.
I slept in a bit later than I'd have liked (forgot to set the clock for 10 AM instead of 10 PM), but I was still able to take full advantage of the weather and arrived downtown at the old municipal parking lot on the south side of the Shoreway just after 1 PM and set about wandering the area, eventually heading over to Burke Lakefront Airport, the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame, the U.S.S. Cod, the Great Lakes Science Center, and the William G. Mather, taking pictures of whatever caught my eye.
While relaxing for a few moments at the end of a long brick walkway that juts out into North Coast Harbor from behind the Rock Hall, a much larger vessel appeared from behind the William G. Mather and approached the inlet. It was the Goodtime III, which I had glimpsed occasionally over the years while gallivanting around the Flats, but had never seen this close-up. I also didn't know that its mooring was directly behind the Rock Hall, across that little man made bay from where I was sitting. Since I was going to be walking underneath the Rock Hall and down the brick pier at the end of E 9th Street anyway, I decided to investigate the ship's fares and tour schedule up close, and when I realized that another two-hour cruise would be departing in a half hour, made a snap decision to go along for the ride.
Once out of North Coast Harbor, the Goodtime III hugs the Cleveland shoreline for a mile or so before entering the Cuyahoga River and cruising six winding miles upstream under countless bridges and between dozens of old factories, warehouses and supply dumps. Upon reaching the gigantic Mittal Steel Mill just south of Interstate 490 (whose riverfront is apparently the hangout for every seagull in the Northeast Ohio area), the Goodtime III executes a 180 and retraces its path to the mouth of the Cuyahoga. From there, the ship cruises straight out past the breakwaters and into Lake Erie proper, where it then describes a long, slow, circle, allowing sight seers a half hour of amazing panoramic views of downtown Cleveland (not to mention miles of shoreline to either side) before finally returning to its home port.
Incidentally, I had heard that The Flats were being redeveloped over the years, but I was utterly gobsmacked when we steamed past what was left of the East Bank. Granted, I had not been down in this area at all since the fall of 2000 (and not regularly since maybe 1998 or so), it has been razed almost completely flat and looks as depopulated and forbidding as a weapons testing area. The old Watermark seemed intact, though it looked to be abandoned or in disrepair. The West Bank, on the other hand, looked pretty much the same as I remembered, though the Plain Dealer Pavilion (formerly Scene Pavilion, and before that, Nautica) looked significantly more "tarted-up" than it had been since my last concert experience there a decade earlier. It was difficult to ascertain from my angle looking in if the old clubs and restaurants (Metropolis/Trilogy, The Spaghetti Warehouse) I used to frequent in my mid-twenties were still around behind Tangiers and the Powerhouse: that might have to be an excursion for a future date.
Having expected nothing more than a pleasant ride around the harbor, I was completely awestruck by the number and massive scale of the structures that lined the once-thriving Cuyahoga River. It was also fascinating to see areas of the Flats I had only previously glimpsed while driving around aimlessly in the middle of the night a decade and change before, and taking in the shoreline and skyline from an unobstructed, peaceful vantage point a couple of miles offshore was fantastic.
Full disclosure to those with a propensity for motion sickness: it was only towards the end of the ride when we were heading out onto Lake Erie proper that I started feeling a bit off-balance. My camera battery had just run out, and while replacing it with the backup (and changing out the memory stick for safety's sake), I suddenly realized that it was taking a conscious effort for me to sit up straight. Puzzled, I leaned back into the chair I was sitting in, sitting myself straight up and feeling a strange sensation like some invisible force was pulling my body a few degrees towards the right and I had been subtly leaning to my left to counter it. I stood up and a slight wave of wobbliness pass through my legs.
At no time during the voyage on the Goodtime III did I ever felt outright seasick, but I definitely experienced a mild dizziness that kept at me until I was on walking on land about an hour later. Having been aboard a few high-speed ferries bouncing happily across the Straits Of Mackinac as a kid, I know what true seasickness feels like, and this was certainly nowhere near that level of nausea or imbalance, but it is something a few people might want to keep in mind before climbing aboard.
Thoroughly blown away with the trip and elated at the pictures I had taken so far, I drove back home in a lighter mental state than I had felt in weeks. My day wasn't quite done yet, however: part of my original plan had been to locate a place I had come across a few years before in order to get a picture of Lake Erie from one of the highest elevations in the area just a few miles inland. After a stopover at the condo to let Sarah know I was still alive, I set off into Concord Township: the premier district in all of Lake County for people who want to live in fenced-off monster homes that scream "get the hell off my lawn and leave me the fuck alone."
At first, my destination eluded me: I knew it was on King Memorial Road somewhere south of Little Mountain, but a few rolling miles of southbound travel brought me to the border of Chardon Township with no evidence of the view I had been looking for. Mystified, I turned around and retraced my route backwards, wondering if I might have forgotten an important turn or landmark. As I climbed the last rise before the Little Mountain Road intersection, right at the entrance to the Lake County Historical Society and I suddenly found the view and nearly drove off the road in surprise. Sadly, by that time, the sun was too low in the sky for the image I wanted to obtain, and the glare off the water largely obscured the intended effect of the shot, but at least I know where to go when I return in a few weeks for a better-composed second chance.
I had promised Sarah I wouldn't be more than an hour and change when I left the condo around 1:30, but now the sun was setting and it seemed suddenly obvious that the best way to end the day would be with a lot of sky/sun pictures from the beach as well (there had also been a striking crescent moon over the last few days as well, which factored into my desire for some additional captures). My obvious choice from where I was would have been Mentor Headlands State Park, but I decided to stop home first, see if Sarah wanted to come along, and then go to Willoughby Lakefront Lodge instead. Since Sarah wasn't feeling well, I headed up alone and managed to get some pretty good images of the day's end, along with a few of what I call "texture" shots of sand, rocks, waves, water, and the like. It sounds a bit silly, perhaps, but I felt honestly drugged as I headed back to the car a short while later: it was a beautiful, serene end to another perfect summer's day.
For those who have never done so (and don't have an aversion to being afloat for a couple of hours), I highly recommend an afternoon trip on the Goodtime III: without question the highlight of a leisurely, gorgeous, breezy sunny day that did wonders for the soul. I really needed this ...
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