There’s no denying that humans transform the natural landscape. We dig, build, and shape our environments into places that conform to our abundant needs. We drain water and bury waterways to create more land for development, often causing long-term environmental issues such as flooding. Detroit’s eastside is no stranger to this. Flood-prone neighborhoods on the eastside may attribute their challenges to crumbling infrastructure, though understanding how land, and the water that runs through it, was altered may expand the source of our problems to decades of modification - changes that have pushed us to the ledge we teeter on today. 

Ride With Purpose #4 sought to explore the altering of Detroit’s old waterways by following the course of Fox Creek. This ride was in partnership with and inspired by Jo Coutts. Jo has been traversing city streets, greenways, and neighborhoods through the lens of water. She examines historical maps and uses GPS to trace the path of buried creeks by bike. Her project, “Mapping Detroit’s Buried Waterways”, combines her skills as an artist, cartographer, and activist. We met on Wednesday, October 25th, at Mariner Park to learn from Jo, and from each other, about the complex life of flowing water. 

The chill of fall could not stop 9 individuals from bundling up and meeting at the mouth of Fox Creek, at the place where it meets the Detroit River. Jo, Andy, and I were there as hosts. Four local residents joined us. As did Arena with the Eastside Community Network, and a friend of Jo’s. We introduced ourselves, then heard about Jo’s project and the purpose for our ride and volunteer effort. Our goal was to help maintain Mariner Park by picking up litter strewn around it, near the river and the mouth of the creek, and in the trees nearby. We were instructed to save pieces of litter that could be used for a “trash map” making art project later in the week. 

Five large bags of trash later, we re-grouped waterside and talked about our ride. Our route would be determined as we rode. We’d use an app called Gaia to trace the old path of Fox Creek away from the river. We’d follow the creek and one of its tributaries to an end, then return to the park. While leading a group of people without a planned route frightened me, I leaned into the unknown and started pedaling. We turned on our headlamps and bike lights, then rode through grass along the edge of the creek. As the sun set and the trees cast shadows on the road, I tried to picture the land before it had been modified. I would later research its history. 

Fox Creek was named in the early 1700s after the French massacred hundreds of Native Americans there, where the creek flowed into the river. Many of the Native people were from the Meskwaki Tribe, whom Europeans referred to as Fox Indians. The Meskwaki, along with Mascoutin and other tribes, had besieged Fort Pontchartrain, Detroit, in an effort to preserve their homelands. They were killed or forced westward. Once Europeans had control of the land, it began its journey to the place we recognize today. In the mid-1800s, the Grand Marais (Great Swamp) to the east of the creek was drained to create more land area for what we now call Grosse Pointe Park. Then in the late-1800s, Fox Creek was dug wider into a canal that could support boats traveling inland. 

We rode north on Alter Rd, the Fox Creek Canal beside us, the dim light of houses surrounding us. Many of the houses with direct access to the creek had boats pulled next to them, or garages which opened into the water for their boats to pull inside. Bridges over the creek allowed traffic to cross from the neighborhoods on Alter’s west and east. To the east, into Grosse Pointe Park, houses seemed to grow into mansions. To the west, modest homes along the creek battled floods with the construction of seawalls. We continued, stopping at Jefferson Ave where the creek disappears beneath the street into a sewer system which runs below the city. Gates were built there, at the base of Ashland St, to manage the flow of water into and out of the sewer. We crossed Jefferson and began to follow the invisible, the ghost of a creek that once flowed from further north and east.

If we could have traveled along St Paul St, we would have been closer to this buried waterway, though to the east of Alter Rd, residential streets are barricaded with wooden walls. This we recognize as one of the widest gaps of wealth in the country, the income and property values on the east and west sides of Alter Rd. The walls were built by residents to the east to keep their poorer neighbors off “their” streets - an appalling controversy. We continued on Alter to Kercheval, where the blockade was removed so that Detroit traffic could access the city of Grosse Pointe Park, more so that residents there could more easily access Detroit. We reconvened at the corner of a quaint GPP city street to check how close we were to the old creek. 

The creek was to the south, running parallel to Kercheval. Further east, it curved north. We followed, taking side streets until we were able to cross I-94. There, Fox Creek split and curved back towards us as a tributary. We chose another side street to follow to Denby High School, where a mural of boats and sea creatures reminded us of the presence of water. As we continued northwest, a light rain pat our heads. I looked up at the dark sky, turned gray by city lights, and felt the water slide across my mind. Ahead, the bike tires of my newfound neighbors created small wakes in puddles, splashes in the shadows. A deer darted across someone’s lawn. Members of our group excitedly pointed her out to each other. After another mile, we landed at an intersection in the Mapleridge neighborhood of Detroit.

“Here it is,” exclaimed Jo, “the end of the creek.” A dog barked at us from a nearby backyard. Rain fell heavier. We released a collective sigh. A 7-mile bike ride into the unknown and the known, the hidden and the visible - what we were familiar with and could see, in search of what once was and what now lies beneath concrete. We headed home. Our eastside neighbors split from the group at various places, goodbyes drifting with their fading voices. A few of us rode back to our starting point, to the site where Meskwaki warriors lost their lives - to the precipice of development, for better and for worse. Back at the park, our faces were illuminated by streetlights and emotion. My heart felt like it was on fire - energized by the spirit of others and charred by the combustion of change. Andy and I rode home - our passion stoking the flame of hope we had for a better world. 

Thanks to everyone that joined us on our adventure!

Here in Detroit, we are guided by water.

Let’s continue to listen to their wisdom.

A special thank you to Jo for helping me see my home more fully.

My bike rides through the city will forever be in memory of land before streets.