It's a brisk 9 °F (-13 °C) in Iron Mountain tonight - cold enough that being outside kinda hurts. It's a good hurt, though.
The drive through Wisconsin brought back a lot of memories about how surpassingly weird that state is: too-small lettering on their roadsigns, hard liquor for sale in the gas stations, taverns whose front doors are practically on the shoulder of the roads, at least twenty dead deer, gorgeous tree-lined highways, gas a full forty cents higher than home, Packer logos everywhere. Quite a place, in short.
The U.P. is very upper peninsula, so far. I haven't seen much of it yet, but tomorrow I'll be venturing a few miles up the road to Channing for my grandmother's visitation, funeral, and burial.