Niagara-on-the-Lake to Detroit to South Bend

I left Niagara-on-the-Lake around eight-thirty in the morning.  Learning that the Falls now has a $20 parking fee, and having seen them many times, I decided to pass on this nearby wonder in favor of sites unseen which would renew the automotive theme of my journey.  So to Detroit!  I took a path on the freeway through sunny Ontario to Windsor, Canada, stopping for lunch at the clean and efficient ONRoute highway rest stop, featuring WiFi and fresh sandwiches.  Mine was turkey on multigrain bread.   

The freeway ends in Windsor, and you begin to see some badly decaying infrastructure.  I made for the Ambassador Bridge, which is in the news lately. The lines for entry to the US are long, and the construction has the appearance of never ending. The present bridge is privately owned and is a gold mine for its monopolistic owners (maybe biopoly because there's also a tunnel). The Canadians want to  pay for a new bridge to compete and have struck a deal with Michigan's new governor. But the owners of the Ambassador Bridge are fighting like Wolverines to protect their interests, at least according to the radio reports I hear. What I can attest to is that the roads around both parts of the bridge are in terrible shape.

After crossing the bridge, I made for the Detroit Institute of the Arts, about one mile west of downtown on Detroit's main street, Woodward Avenue, on the Wayne State campus, on a museum complex. Detroit's museum complex is certainly bigger than Flint's, but Flint's is better cared for.  There's no way around it:  there's a lot of decay in the center of Detroit, even among its cultural gems.  The roads are pocked; the traffic signals are spotty and often don't have left turn signals on the most busy of roads.  Tough housing abuts fine buildings, and I did not get a sense of health from the city.  

The Institute of Art itself is pictured below with its Rodin in the front.  

Construction is everywhere around the museum, and parking is spotty.  One cannot use the front entrance, and the back entrance is not well maintained.  There were a lot of people at the museum, and there was a lot to see.  The collection itself is a fine one, befitting of a great city.  But it is obvious they are renting out space to make money.  In fact the best space was occupied by some sort of fashion shoot.  The information desk people were helpful and showed evidence of an active guild of volunteers.  They were so happy a recent tax increase passed to support the museum, which they said was doing bake sales to make money.  

The shining stars of the museum are its "Detroit Industry Murals" done by Diego Rivera in 1932-33 at the behest of Edsel Ford, which depict a complicated vision of the River Rouge complex.  I've included some shots below.  It really is a dense and grand work, like nothing I've seen before.

Some more ordinary pieces are shown below.

 

I then drove down Woodward Avenue straight to downtown.  Took a long time to turn left without the aid of a traffic light, but I made it.  Drove through some rough housing projects, then came straight upon the brand new stadium of the Detroit Tigers:  Comercia Park.  It's beautiful and close to the new football stadium, Ford Field.  Driving on, I came to the Renaissance Center, then made for the exits, taking I-75 south, a route I had never taken before.

This is some road. It soon hugs Lake Erie on its way to Toledo, and it is the road of big modern factories, especially auto assembly plants. I certainly saw a Mazda-Ford behemoth, Auto Alliance International, re-opened in 1987, as well as a giant Chrysler factory, Toledo Supplier Park, opened in 2007 to make the Jeep Wrangler. Approaching Toledo, I saw the remains of the old Jeep factory, which opened before WWI and only recently closed. I stopped for gas just ahead of I-80 at a BP station. There was a steady stream of working men coming in loading up on twelve-packs of Michelob Lite and some hefty 24 oz. beer cans.  The business was efficient and friendly enough.  I stopped next door at the McDonald's, which had to be the saddest McDonald's I've ever been in. The workers were young, glum, wearing their own free-style non-standard "uniforms", had a heavy dose of tattoos and did not look to be in the best of health.  The interior had the charm of a 1985 McDonald's with cracked cushy vinyl seats.  Everything was moving slowly, and my confidence in the health standards was waning.  I made for the exit before ordering and moved onto I-80.  Ohio's crisp, clean, and modern rest stops brought culinary respite at the Burger King, where a Whopper with sweet potato fries made for dinner.  I drove through the early evening, past the again active, large RV factories and warehouses of Elkhart, Indiana, and made my way back to home in South Bend.