Progress to date: 12 days, 551 miles

Michigan. One state, two peninsulas, two different worlds.

Cycling the western coast of Michigan's lower peninsula was scenic, populated, and let's face it, wealthy. Pristine villages with tidy homes, stately mansions and manicured gardens. The better the view, the bigger the homes. In between, the shores of Lake Michigan were dotted with lake places. From small cottages owned by generations to large new log homes with soaring windows.

One of my favorite areas was cycling through the “Tunnel of Trees” on the last bump before reaching Mackinaw City. The road was narrow and lacked not only shoulders but a center line. Traffic was light and we had almost constant views of the lake and towering trees overhead. A cyclist's haven.

Once we crossed the Straits of Mackinac, all that changed. Here in the UP, wilderness prevails. Population has dropped dramatically. We can cycle for miles and miles with no towns, no services and few cars. Traveling the upper shore of Lake Huron, all was quiet. A stop in Hessel took us to a small marina. We were in the region known as Les Cheneaux, for the narrow channels between the cluster of offshore islands.

Camping at nearby Loon Point Campground allowed us to enjoy these new environs and the peaceful lakeshore.

Our next destination was Drummond Island. That stretch of cycling afforded us more views of the lake and we were surprised to find that even where there was open water, the shoreline still harbored marshy wetlands. Perfect area for attracting birds and wildlife. And cyclists like us.

Drummond Island is home to only about 1,000 full time residents, which swells to nearly double that number in the summer. Unlike other northern islands, their ferry runs year round. Its hourly trips and the current of the St. Mary's River keep the passage open. It is a beautifully wooded island, with limited roads and only one small village. But its residents are fiercely loyal and love it there. Established in a modest room right on the water, we were perfectly situated to sit out the showers that broke out in the afternoon, and enjoy the faint rainbow afterwards.

Rich even caught the Northern Lights that night just outside our room. That's how you know you are in a remote spot. Firmly entrenched in the Upper Peninsula.

I mount my bike in the near darkness, illuminated by the faint moonlight. In reality, it's probably the glow of the nearby streetlight, but I like the idea of the moon better. And it's clearly visible amid the deep blue of the sky overhead.

We are headed for the ferry landing. We have started cycling earlier than our 6:40 start this morning, but never this late in the year. It is still 40 minutes until sunrise. I can just barely make out the pavement ahead of me. The headlights of the approaching cars blind me. Blinky lights on the front and rear of my bike seem a feeble attempt to be seen. And they do nothing for my own vision. I am thankful, remembering the good smooth pavement on these roads.

The approaching sunrise lifts the darkness surprisingly quickly. Cycling west, I can see its glow in my rear view mirror. There is a pink cast at the horizon in all directions, topped by pastel blue as the world gently shifts toward daylight. Barely a car passes us on the main road. The gradually waking morning is ours alone.

The chilly air penetrates as I speed through it, fully awakening all my senses. Occasional rises bring blasts of warmer air. I welcome the warmth that envelopes me, however briefly. The wind is absent and glimpses of shoreline reveal calm water reflecting the morning's colors. Cycling seems effortless and 10 miles pass quickly.

We over-achieve and reach the ferry landing long before the boat's 8:00am departure. We could have left a good half hour later and still made it. And avoided that pre-dawn cycling. But I'm glad we didn't. It was a memorable ride. A good morning on Drummond Island.

Some of the best finds are the ones that appear spontaneously by the side of the road. They aren't in any tourist guides. They don't show up on Google Maps. They have no feedback ratings. They are just there, and we are in the right place at the right time. On our bikes.

It's not surprising that these stands frequently involve food. Any touring cyclist is a hungry cyclist, and particularly vulnerable to such offerings. And we are no exception. We have availed ourselves of a number of worthy delicacies through our journey along Michigan's west coast.

Farmers Markets are always a favorite of mine. The brilliantly colored fresh veggies in their attractive displays are like eye candy. And I always keep an eye out for the bakery booths, for a treat. When we happened on the market in Harbor Springs we were already well sated after a good breakfast, so it was the flowers that drew my attention. Realizing I couldn't purchase a bouquet, the vendor tucked a vivid pink chrysanthemum in my handlebar bag, where it remained to brighten the remainder of my day!

On a smaller scale, roadside stalls are just as fruitful. Along with the usual assortment of farm stands and orchard sales, I discovered another variety. Coasting through the town of Empire looking for a good resting stop, I spied a tent in a front yard. Closer inspection revealed a treasure trove of home baked goodies. It was tough to make a selection, but that lemon ginger scone was a winner.

Taking it one step smaller, we aren't immune from picking directly from Mother Nature. Apples were in abundance throughout the area, and we claimed a few that grew right on the bike trail. Attempts to scavenge crab apples were less successful, as Rich learned through several mouth puckering attempts.

Some folks simply cater directly to passing cyclists. We particularly appreciated these two humanitarian services, which need no further explanation.

We thought we'd seen it all until we reached the Straits of Mackinac. There we stumbled on the annual Truck Show. With Main Street in St. Ignace lined with hundreds of semis, we could ogle the macho machines as we cycled. But that was only the beginning. Around 9:30 that evening, those same behemoths thundered past our motel, on their way to drive over the Mackinac Bridge. Multi-note air horns blaring, engines revving and decked out in garish colored lights, they roared by one after another, and another and another… And naturally we were out there to witness this astonishing display of Americana. Just another roadside delight.

Bike touring is all about getting from point A to point B. It is the journey. We see the countryside intensively, at a slow pace. But only right along our route. Despite our best intentions to live in the moment, we often find ourselves focused more on getting to our next destination. On this trip, and in particular in the last few days, we have endeavored to break that mold.

We had a hunch that the western side of Michigan would hold some of the best scenery, so our goal was to prevent rushing through this area. Our intentions have been assisted by the existence of small roads right along the coast that allow us to meander and linger. Peninsulas in particular offer perfect opportunities to practice this approach. It would be easy to cut across the bottom. But we have resisted the temptation.

The Leelanau Peninsula impressed us with its coastal parks and prosperous towns. The fine sand beaches and tall dunes were such a contrast to the rocky shores of Lake Superior that are more familiar to us. And we continued to be amazed to see frequent lakes and bays so close to the big lake. We were as likely to have water views inland as we were on the coast side of the road.

We ventured up the peninsula to Northport before turning down the opposite shore. Had we not done so, we would have missed a surprisingly tasty breakfast stop. Dining on eggs with a Mexican flair surrounded by a vivid yellow décor was a day brightener. Resuming cycling, we were bathed in equally brilliant sunshine sparkling on the waters of Lake Michigan. That carried us all the way down the eastern side, passing vineyards and orchards.

Old Mission Peninsula was far more of a whim. Smaller, narrower and with almost no towns, we had little reason to go there. I had to cajole Rich into doing it. And it was the best morning of cycling yet.

Under a cloudless blue sky, we headed up the east side of the peninsula. We traveled small local roads, with barely a car in sight. Crisp cool air flowed over us and the low sun was only just beginning to provide its welcome warmth. But it's golden rays illuminated the blue of the water, the dark brown tree trunks and the rich green grass. It was an ambiance that not only encouraged loitering but demanded it.

There is no denying that this was a wealthy area. We enjoyed gawking at the sprawling mansions with immaculate landscaping. There was an impressive array of water toys adorning the long docks that jutted out into the lake. Beautiful beach-side patios hosted colorful collections of Adirondack chairs. And bountiful fall flowers bloomed in the carefully tended gardens. Even a bald eagle graced the tall trees and obliged Rich by lingering long enough for a photo.

Crossing over the peninsula we found orchards, colorful farm markets and tidy vineyards. A picturesque marina greeted us on the other side. By then the sun was high enough to stream through the trees and reach us on the opposite side. It was the kind of morning that we wanted to last forever.

By the time we finished our loop, we had traveled 27 miles but progressed only one mile toward our destination for the day. And yet we had just taken in tantalizingly beautiful scenery. Proving it was worth it to go the long way around.