Harbor Springs is a small resort town on the north shore of Little Traverse Bay, in the top left corner of Michigan's mitten, and it has one of the nicest natural harbors on the Great Lakes. The bay is long and deep, sheltered from the big waves of Lake Michigan, and the town curves along its edge, with sailboats at anchor in the harbor and handsome summer houses on the hills. The area's Native name, Waganakising, meaning crooked tree, is still used by the Odawa people, whose community remains strong here.
The reason riders come is M-119, the Tunnel of Trees, a narrow, twisting road that runs north along the bluffs above Lake Michigan toward Cross Village. For most of its length the road is roofed by branches, with beech, maple and birch crowding the pavement, and on a sunny afternoon the light flickers through the leaves like a film projector. The road is posted slow, with good reason: it is narrow, with tight bends, little shoulder and sudden breaks in the trees where the lake appears far below. In October the color is overwhelming, and the road is crowded, so go early.
Cross Village at the north end has an unusual landmark in Legs Inn, a restaurant built by a Polish immigrant out of driftwood and stone, with roots and chair legs forming its decorative facade, and a menu that leans on Polish dishes. South of Harbor Springs, Petoskey is a bigger town with a lively downtown. The beaches here yield Petoskey stones, pieces of fossil coral that are Michigan's state stone, which look like gray pebbles until they are wet. Ernest Hemingway spent boyhood summers on Walloon Lake nearby, and his early stories draw on northern Michigan.
Harbor Springs has fuel, a few places to eat and a handful of inns, but Petoskey, a short ride away, has the larger supermarkets and stations. The best times are June and September, when the weather is mild and the traffic light, and the first half of October for color. July and August are busy but beautiful. Winter brings heavy snow, and the Tunnel of Trees is not a winter road. Deer, often in groups, cross at dusk, so a slow pace is the sensible choice.