#Detroit-Windsor Tunnel

[detroitlib]

View of passengers on bus in the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel. Wall sign shows Detroit and Windsor border. Stamped on back: "Joe Clark, H.B.S.S. 8775 West 9 Mile Rd., Oak Park, Mich. 48237, 399-448[?], pictures that tell [a story]."

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

[fatehbaz]

---

Native American tribes from Michigan, Wisconsin and Ontario have come together to call for an end to the Line 5 pipeline.

The Enbridge Line 5 crude oil pipeline, first constructed in 1953, stretches from Wisconsin through 645 miles of Michigan and ends in Sarnia, Ontario. Part of the pipeline travels underwater through the Straits of Mackinac.

In recent years, the pipeline's continued operation has become a source of controversy. Many tribal nations and communities claim that the pipeline goes through their traditional territories. The Straits area in particular is considered a place of significant cultural and historical importance to many native groups, including the Anishinaabe. According to tribal leaders, the pipeline poses a major and direct threat to the ecosystems along its path.

“The Straits of Mackinac are [...] sacred from both a cultural and historical perspective in the formation of the Anishinaabe people,” said Austin Lowes, chairperson of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, in a statement. “Protecting the Straits is also a matter of the utmost environmental and economic importance — both to our people and the state of Michigan.”

Tribal leaders and other environmental groups have publicly opposed the pipeline for many years and have called for the pipeline to be shut down.

Supporters of the pipeline point out that it transports 540,000 barrels of light crude oil and natural gas liquids through Line 5 on a daily basis. [...]

In an effort to address safety concerns, Enbridge has proposed an underwater tunnel to house the portion of Line 5 that runs under the Straits of Mackinac. [...] Critics of the tunnel project say no oil should be transported through the Straits at all, as a spill could have a devastating impact on more than 700 miles of Great Lakes shoreline. [...]

Previous attempts to shut down the pipeline have been stopped through various means, mostly the 1977 Transit Pipeline Treaty between Canada and the United States.

The latest attempt saw 51 tribal organizations from Wisconsin, Michigan and Ontario submit a report to the United Nations Human Rights Council. This report, dated April 4, claims that the Government of Canada is violating the human rights of Indigenous peoples through its continuous support for Line 5.

The report was submitted to be considered during Canada's upcoming Universal Periodic Review, conducted by the United Nations. As a United Nations member state, Canada is required to be evaluated for its human rights record on a regular basis.

Canada's Universal Periodic Review will take place this year on Nov. 6-17.

The 51 different tribal organizations that signed the report include: The Anishinabek Nation, which represents 39 First Nations throughout the province of Ontario, Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Bad River Band of the Lake Superior Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Bay Mills Indian Community, Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa & Chippewa Indians, Hannahville Indian Community, Lac Vieux Desert Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians, Little River Band of Ottawa Indians, Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indians, Match-e-be-nash-she-wish Band of Pottawatomi Indians, Nottawaseppi Huron Band of Potawatomi, Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe and Red Cliff Band of Lake Superior Chippewa.

---

Headline and text by: Brendan Wiesner. “Michigan, Wisconsin and Canadian tribes come together to fight Line 5.” Yahoo! News. 8 April 2023. Article originally appeared on The Sault News with the title “Great Lakes tribes send report to United Nations to fight Line 5.” [Some paragraph breaks and contractions added by me.]

Context:

Line 3 brings oil from Alberta to Lake Superior. Then, Line 5 brings the fossil fuel from the Duluth area to the Detroit/Windsor area in Ontario.

[20th-century-railroading]

CP 5000-942 031175

CP 5000-942 cresting the grade out of Penn Central's Detroit River Tunnel. Originating at the C&O's Rougemere Yard in Dearborn Michigan, they will take a circuitous route eastward along PC's Canada Division Mainline out to Pelton and then north on the C&O's Canadian Subdivision No. 1 before turning eastward on the CP's Windsor Sub at Walkerville Junction. March 11, 1975

[vaguehotels]

windsor east side marios / detroit olive garden . . . being normal .

if we both grab spoons right now we can make a tunnel between them and meet under the river

[hellssblog]

I've been taking the bus a lot this summer. This is the Tunnel Bus from Windsor to Detroit.

[hellfiremunsonn]

Wait wait wait !! You live in the country above me!! I literally have to go to Detroit, drive in the tunnel and then I'd be there !! Which means you top me 🥺🥺😘 gotta throw the old classic top thing in there because my gay self loves it !

OMG WERE SO CLOSE!!!! I’ve been to Windsor and stayed at a hotel that literally looked over Detroit across the water!!!!

[worldsandemanations]

Inside view of Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, no vehicles visible

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Fontaine Is Extradited,” Border Cities Star. June 7, 1932. Page 3. ---- Rushed From Sandwich Cell Into States By Secret Route ---- Will Face Trial ---- Suspected Brains of Jail Uprising Held In Wayne Jail ---- Snarling at his escort and reluctant to quit the comparative security of the Essex County Jail, Harold ‘the Monk’ Fontaine, crossed the international boundary at 10.30 o’clock this morning, en route for the United States penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. 

SECRET ROUTE Strict secrecy attended the removal of "the Monk,” who is wanted for alleged complicity in the break of seven dangerous felons from the Kansas prison last December. Handcuffed and manacled and accompanied by three United States marshals and a posse of other American secret service operatives, he traveled in an armored car, and while the route from Canada was not even disclosed to jail officials at Sandwich, it was understood the party rushed through the tunnel. 

“The Monk” is to be taken to the Kansas penitentiary as speedily as possible, it was learned, as the authentic! are not anxious to court any interference with their plans by gangsters with whom, they charge, Fontaine had been associated before and since the December break. 

Naturally enough, "the Monk” who, through his counsel, had put up a losing battle against extradition, was unwilling to leave the Essex County Jail today. He did not put up any physical resistance, however, nor did he protest. He seemed resigned. 

FEARS DEATH "The Monk’s” fear of death is shared by the American officers. Tha latter suspected an attempt by his former associates to "rub him out before he reaches the safety of tha Kansas jail, so that he could not ‘squawk’ about them at his trial. 

But "the Monk” feared gang vengeance for another and probably the true reason survivors of the band which broke out of Leavenworth claim he put them on the wrong course to be followed after their delivery, with the result that they took the wrong highway and were intercepted by a, posse which captured three of this party and cornered three others who killed themselves 

One of the septet, Steve Turrell, is still at liberty and U. S. secret service men say he Is leading a gang which, they suspect, may attempt to ambush the party somewhere between Detroit! and Kansas. 

WATER ROUTE HINTED There was a report this morning this American police would whisk Fontaine across the county to Kingsville or Leamington or another port and remove him by boat to Toledo or Cleveland, in an effort to outwit any band of desperadoes who may be planning rescue or a "bump-off” expedition. 

While Fontaine is charged with tha attempted murder of Warden T. D, White of Leavenworth prison, the U. S. authorities claim he arranged with other men for the shipment into tha penitentiary of guns and explosives which were afterwards used in the escape. Warden White was abducted, shot and left on the highway of the fleeing bandits. He lost an arm and will head the welcoming committee for Fontaine at Leavenworth if Fontaine gets there. 

Fontame w'as given a brief hearing by a board of special inquiry at the Detroit end of the Detroit-Windsor tunnel and then taken to the Wayne county jail.

[detroitlib]

Inside view of Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, no vehicles visible. Tiled walls; walkway along road. Printed on front: "4. Detroit-Windsor tunnel. 1A1172." Printed on back: "The Detroit-Windsor tunnel is 5,135 feet in length and cost $25,000,000. It required 2 1/2 years to complete same. The top of the tunnel is 45 feet and the roadway 75 feet underwater. It required 80,000 cubic feet of concrete, 11,000 tons of structural and 750 tons of reenforcing steel. 20,000 granite blocks were used in building the roadway. Capacity is 2000 cars per hour. C.T. American Art Colored. C.T. Co., Chicago."

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

[sunsetagain]

wip of DBH comic: Byzantine Generals

→ FINSHED COMIC HERE ←

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss: The road back is bound to be a crazy one

Having taken my leave of one Loopy De Loop back at his Eastern Townships sugar bush and retreat, yours truly proceeded back to the American Midwest about the fastest way possible driving: Having to go via the A30 autoroute to the south of Montreal, leading into Ontario's 401 freeway, second-longest such in all of North America (only the Texas segment of I-10 is longer) ... and even the bypass segment around Toronto can be bordering on madness unless you know where the thru lanes are, and likewise managed to fill up at the last service area possible (yet are satisfied in seeing Toronto as about halfway across southern Ontario on the 401, for that matter), yet still, you can't help but notice the odd quasi-American look of Southern Ontario, never mind its tourism slogan being "Yours to Discover."

And the final crossing back into America via the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel ... but not before a stop at a nearby duty-free outpost to fortify myself on especially Swiss chocolates. Once at the American border post in Beautiful Downtown Detroit, or reasonable facsimile thereof, yours truly had to explain that the Moxie in the cooler had already been purchased back in Maine, spending some time in Canada as well, and having purchased some chocolates at the duty-free shop in Windsor just before the tunnel (and getting the duty-free allowance besides), he needed directions to get to I-96 towards Muskegon and the Lake Express ferry.

Which, despite the requisite identity check, prompted the suggestion that I take Woodward Avenue to Grand River Avenue, which led into I-96 within due course (as in by Farmington Hills) ... and yet you wonder, having made it this far, how easy it would get through Lansing, Grand Rapids even, before reaching the ferry slip at Muskegon's lakeside. And yet you still need to remain alert, old boy, requiring the occasional sip of the old Moxie ... and some of Michigan's own Better Maid Potato Chips for comfort. But once in Muskegon, it turns out that the ferry has just made its last crossing of the day, requiring you to sleep it off in the night until the first crossing in the morning. Luckily, thanks to the seating arrangement allowing conversion of the front seat into bedding, I was able to get me a space in a downtown parking lot close to the ferry dock for the night.

Morning: Breakfast sandwich at a nearby convenience store, then to the ferry dock to get ready for the sailing over. And how was I to know there were no less than 15 other vehicles waiting as well for the crossing, not to mention a group of foreign visitors coming on same for the experience? Yet still, my inner child, the breeze off Lake Michigan manages to be rejuvenating....

So: Make a beeline to the nearest George Webb restaurant in Milwaukee, stoke myself up on one of their burgers ... and a long drive ahead on I-94 towards the Twin Cities, the Minnesota State Fair even ... meaning another interesting series of reports and observations from no less than The Great Minnesota Get-Together starting next week and continuing through its annual run, through Labour Day even....

[catgirltoes]

At the very least there's a bus service that goes through the Detroit-Windsor tunnel.

That runs once an hour.

With the last bus at 21:00.

And costs ten dollars.

One way.

Can you not walk between Detroit and Windsor.

[kaijuno]

Michigan Gothic Part 2

(Part 1)

You see the eye shine of the deer but you don’t think deer are supposed to have 3 eyes

“This isn’t as bad as the blizzard of ‘78!” People say. There’s 27 inches of snow on the ground and you wonder if the elders from the ‘78 blizzard are real people or ghosts

The storm is coming so you better pick up milk, bread, and eggs. Only there are none left on the shelves. How will you survive, you wonder.

The lighthouse on the bay is coated in several inches of ice. The light can no longer beckon to ships, yet they still keep away from the coast.

The Edmond Fitzgerald echos across Lake Superior and you swear you can see her outline in the mist, but that can’t be possible. She sank in ‘75. They say Lake Superior never gives up her dead.

What’s in the pasties? Some joke that it’s humans. You hear yelling from the back room of the bakery. You take a bite. “It’s a Michigan tradition!” you hear someone sing.

It’s November 15th, school is closed as are all the stores. You are warned to stay inside and keep the doors locked, you’re huddled close with your family far from the windows, the hunting season has begun. Do not look out the windows. Do not leave your homes.

The horses on Mackinac Island are the same ones that have been there since the beginning of time. Everyone talks about the Grand Hotel, but they’ve never been there. ‘It looks nice’ they say. It smells like fudge and rotting meat.

The people in the U.P. chuckle and tell tourists that trolls is just a nickname for the people who live in the lower peninsula. There is a hesitance, a fear in their eyes though. They cannot tell the truth, the peace treaty would be broken and they know they would not survive another war with the creatures under the bridge.

Thousands of cars line the highway, snaking down I-94, I-96, I-75. they are waiting for the dark man to return from Ohio. He will distribute the fireworks. They call him the Phantom. No one has ever seen his face.

Across the river from Detroit is Windsor. You get to Windsor by bridge or by tunnel. Oh, not now, you can’t go now. But someday, you’ll go to Windsor. Someday.

There’s a road up in the Porcupine Mountains that leads to the End of the World. There’s signs leading up to it, warning people of how close they are. Yet so many never return.

Petoskey stones are found on the beach each morning arranged in the shape of strange circular sigils. No one knows what happens if you step in the center, but the life-like garden sculptures sold at every small town art fair offer some clues. Their stone eyes plead for you to help them.

“Flint will come back” you’ve always heard. “Flint will be born again!” You watch out the window and see figures moving in the distance. You hear sirens echoing. You wonder if they know the difference between rebirth and reanimation.

[marcchurch]

Detroit Windsor Tunnel 1959

[beardedmrbean]

The busiest border crossing in North America was shut down as the Canadian truckers protesting their country's vaccine mandates made it to the Detroit-Windsor border, causing traffic on the highway to Detroit.

"It doesn’t make sense as they shouldn’t be blocking the borders or the roads," Canadian truck driver Nav Aulch told Click on Detroit.

Traffic began building on I-75 and the Ambassador Bridge around 3 p.m. Monday. Detroit officials said the Ambassador Bridge was closed at about 8 p.m., leaving thousands of truckers left stranded on Detroit roads, according to Fox 2 Detroit.

"Can’t get upset," one of the truckers told Click on Detroit. "I’m not the only guy stuck out here. Fortunately, I do have a sleeper cabin. I feel bad for those drivers that don’t have that option."

CANADIAN PROTESTERS SAY NO 'HATRED' OR VIOLENCE HERE, THEY'LL BE REPORTED TO POLICE: 'ALL ON SAME PAGE'

Officials are directing the travelers to use the Windsor-Detroit Tunnel or the Port Huron Blue Water Bridge instead of the Ambassador Bridge.

Business leaders also sounded off that closing the busiest international border crossing in the U.S. will create supply chain issues.

TRUDEAU TWEET SURFACES FROM EARLY 2020, SHOWS RADICAL FLIP IN ATTITUDE TOWARD TRUCKERS

"Any delay or disruption in the supply chain creates problems, not just for agriculture but the state economy," Chuck Lippstreu, president of the Michigan Agri-Business Association, told The Detroit News.

U.S. bound traffic on the bridge was reopened Tuesday morning, according to the Windsor Police Department.

The Freedom Convoy of truckers left Vancouver for Ottawa on Jan. 23 to protest the federal government’s vaccine mandates for cross-border truckers and is calling for an end to coronavirus restrictions. The convoy reached Ottawa last weekend, and protests have since spread to other areas of Canada

[lilaccatholic]

What is the most delicious thing you've had to eat in recent memory?

So there's this little restaurant in Windsor, Ontario, right? It's a hole-in-the-wall kinda place that's been there for decades solely because it's one of the few places Italian people trust to taste about as good as what they themselves cook. My mom and I were only in the area by happenstance. My sister was going to a concert in Detroit, and rather than drive all the way home only to come back a few hours later, we decided to take the tunnel across the border and grab something to eat.

As we drive there she's pointing out all the places she used to go, telling me the stories that that make up who she was in her teens and twenties and I'm just soaking it in, y'know? I love these kinds of conversations. They sit heavy in your gut like guilt and ache your bones like the cold sea breeze. It's like the memory of your grandma's cookies--full of warmth but so overshadowed by loss it's almost not worth thinking about--because it was great while it lasted but now it's gone.

Because, see, the area my mom grew up in isn't what it used to be. When the casino came in it brought all kinds of crime with it. The nice shops downtown are mostly gone; either they died during covid or the owners couldn't pay the rent when the casino's presence jacked up rent prices. But this one little restaurant is still around.

And look, this isn't just any restaurant. My parents got engaged here, we ate here after visiting my grandparents as a kid, it's who catered my grandfather's funeral (my grandfather, a poor kid from Nova Scotia who only learned to appreciate his Italian heritage when he was in his 60s and 70s, who loved his family but wasn't always good at showing it). This place is important to us.

So we get there and we settle down to eat. The waiter puts on that fake charm that Italian people use when they think you aren't Italian to get you to buy more in the name of hospitality. No judgement, I've done it myself.

(And I have another identity crisis. Because I'm not in the club again. Because other Italian people never see that I'm Italian. Because as the generations go on, we get less Italian and become more American and Canadian and because we don't know the language anymore--because that was the language the adults used to talk in secret, because they wanted to "fit in" with the Americans, because there was a time where just having a vowel at the end of your last name was enough of a reason to not give you a job and now I have a made up anglicized last name and no traditions and nothing cultural that isn't food).

And we talk more about all the things that are different. How the area that was Little Italy around here is becoming more and more other things, and how that's not BAD and how it's just a sign of changing immigration patterns but how the places and spaces that were familiar and comfortable are still GONE and there's still a loss there.

So when the bread comes and it's warm and there's these bits of roasted garlic on top that I spread all over mine it's miraculous and precious but I still feel like I'm choking a little while I eat it.

And look, I ordered the veal scallopini with fresh pasta and mushrooms, okay? I never order veal. I like meat but veal has always been one of those things that made me a little squeamish. But...it's different here. It's not a regular restaurant. It smells like my great-aunt's old house, which means it smells like visits and Christmas and being so little and uncomplicated and warm and loved still. And it's like this: for a moment, I can pretend I'm still that way. Unblemished and precious. No one is gone, nothing is gone, I'm not defining life by loss. So I order the veal. And it's delicious.

I mean, we're talking melt-in-your-mouth think about it for weeks delicious. Something's been sauted in butter, someone made this pasta by hand, someone cussed someone out to get the best, freshest mushrooms and all of it has contributed to this dish that is so delicious but so foreign all the same.

Because for me veal is a memory. We ate it more when I was a kid before it got too expensive and my grandmother switched to cooking with more chicken because it's better for you, anyway.

(She was a force of nature before the dementia. When a priest told her how bad the superstition of the evil eye was she stood up to all the men in the family and had them hand over their cornicelli, crushed them up, set them on fire, and buried the ashes in a coffee can somewhere to never be found. I hate superstition but sometimes it feels like all the last bits of Italian in us died with those little horns.)

We didn't linger after dinner like we used to over coffee and dessert. The restaurant was getting closer to closing and we didn't want to be those insufferable customers that delayed closing. Instead we walk around a little. She shows me the store her grandparents used to live above, the dress store where she bought her wedding dress, the bakery where her parents bought bread. It's nice.

But.

It still feels like it's all coming apart in my hands. Like I was supposed to hold the line and tow it for the next generation but it's all dirty and greasy and frayed and we need to repair it if we're going to continue to hold on but no one wants to slow down long enough to mend anything and at this point I'm wondering if it's worth it to try to find anything. Can we even hold on anymore? How far back did the tear start?

Later, when we've crossed the border again, it feels like leaving something behind. Like so long as we toured old haunts the ghosts of the past got to live again and by leaving we've condemned them back to the shadows. I feel like a murderer.

Because that's the thing, right? It's dead. It's all dead. The thriving immigrant cultures my parents and their parents would wax nostalgic for don't exist anymore. Sometimes, like when my cousin sends us pictures of him making and curing his own sausages and salami or canning sauce it seems like it could come back, but the thing about community is it can never be just one person. Once he gives up that last flickering lantern will be snuffed out and we'll be as American and Canadian as they wanted us to be when we first started coming over here. Or maybe not.

Maybe, the fact that people remember what's gone is a sign that things aren't too far gone.

See, I grew up near Detroit. I know what it looks like when something beautiful decays. I also know that what sticks around after massive decay are the most stubborn creatures around. Not that anyone cares, but Detroit is working really hard to come back, actually, and the organic beauty that's poked up through the rock like seedlings after a volcano will snatch your breath from you.

You'll say it's a coincidence--and cynically I'd say you're right--but not long after I got my updated 23andme results. Things mostly stayed the same. Well, except this time my mom couldn't tear her eyes away from it. Since then she's spent every spare minute researching for and adding to the family tree I have on Ancestry. There's talk of making foods from the old country for Thanksgiving and Christmas long ago abandoned as too complicated. And me, I've started learning Italian. Io sono Lilac.

That meal didn't so much touch something in us as it grabbed us by the guts and led us around with them like a leash until we faced up to the fact that we didn't know who we were anymore. But darn it all if we aren't trying to get back. Maybe it'll start something, maybe it won't. But maybe it will. That's enough for now, I think.

If nothing else I ate well.

I hope you do, too.