Gills Rock is where Door County runs out of road, almost. It is a small fishing village at the northern tip of the peninsula, with a cluster of docks, a few weathered buildings and a view across the narrow strait to Washington Island. The strait itself, known as Death's Door, is notorious for its rough water and strong currents, and over the centuries it has swallowed many ships, from Native American canoes to nineteenth-century schooners. The French name Porte des Morts was the origin of the county's name.
The community here has a distinctly Norwegian heritage, and for generations its men made a living from commercial fishing, setting nets for whitefish and trout in the cold waters of the lake. A small maritime museum remembers the trade, with boats, nets and the stories of storm and rescue. You can still buy smoked fish at a few places nearby, and the smell of woodsmoke and fish is one of the characteristic scents of the village.
The riding here is the best of the peninsula in one respect: the farther north you go, the quieter the road becomes. Highway 42 narrows and runs through dense forest, with only a few houses and little traffic outside summer. The curves are gentle, but the canopy of trees gives the road a tunnel-like feel, and in autumn the colours form a bright roof. The surface is generally good, though frost heaves can appear after a hard winter.
Services are very limited. There is no reliable fuel in the village, so fill the tank in Sister Bay before you come, and carry food and water if you plan a long day. The ferry to Washington Island leaves from nearby Northport, a short distance east, and takes about thirty minutes, with vehicles carried on the deck. It makes a good excursion if you want to extend the ride.
Come on a still morning if you can. The water in the strait is flat as glass, the gulls are loud, and the fishing boats go out at first light. In the evening, the sun sinks behind the trees and the whole peninsula goes quiet. Weather can turn cold and foggy even in summer, so bring a warm layer, and in late autumn the northern tip is empty, with a wild feel that the busy summer villages lack.