The Upper Peninsula of Michigan is remote, flat, and serene—instantly different from the world you just came from. The trees change, the air cools, and signs of human life become fewer and farther between. It’s exactly what I imagined it would be, even though neither Gary nor I had ever been here before. The adrenaline kicked in as soon as we passed the sign for Saginaw (any Simon & Garfunkel fans catch that reference?).
Arriving in Mackinac City, we spotted the towering Mackinac Bridge—that massive stretch of green, yellow, and white steel—long before we got close. What we didn’t expect was the sheer number of fudge shops lining Main Street. No fewer than twenty! Toss in just as many ice cream stands and souvenir shops, and it’s clear: this is a summer town. But the fudge would have to wait a day or two.
Our base was a pristine KOA campground, located about a mile and a half from downtown. One morning, Gary finally got me to ride bikes into town. We pedaled through back roads, logging about four or five miles total. That’s no small feat for me—and yes, my rear end was sore, but the bigger struggle was the carpal tunnel in my hand, which went numb halfway through. Riding one-handed for that long? Color me impressed with myself!
The real highlight of Mackinac is a ferry ride over to Mackinac Island—a fast boat that skims across Lake Huron and curves just enough to straddle Lake Michigan, offering stunning views under the Mackinac Bridge. Before this trip, neither Gary nor I had ever laid eyes on Lake Huron. Honestly… do you know anyone who’s been to Huron? But it was beautiful—surprisingly sandy, with a shoreline that glowed greenish-blue from the light reflecting off the pale lakebed, giving it an almost tropical hue. Almost. You’re still only a stone’s throw from Canada, after all.
Disembarking on Mackinac Island is like stepping into a pastel-colored postcard. Clapboard cottages painted in soft sherbet shades are trimmed with white picket fences and draped in overflowing flower baskets and lush garden beds—lilacs, roses, hyacinths, sunflowers… it’s a riot of color and scent. The air is a cocktail of sand, sunscreen, lake water, horse, and yes—fudge.
The island proudly hosts the largest carriage horse population in the world, with over 500 horses during peak season. Their presence is impossible to miss—visually and olfactorily. The town oozes history, from its War of 1812 fort on the hill to historic plaques dotting the streets. And then there’s the legendary Grand Hotel, with its massive green roof, rows of windows, and prime lakefront location—a perfect perch for people watching.
Walking around town (watch your step—horse poop is real) feels like stepping back a century. There are no cars on the island—just carriages, bicycles, and hoards of fudge-toting tourists. We browsed shops selling pasties—not the burlesque kind, but meat pies with origins dating back to the 1700s fur trade. They’re hearty, nostalgic, and delicious.
Back in Mackinac City, we wrapped up the day at the Dixie Saloon, a timber-framed lodge of a place perched right on the lake. With live music playing and local brews in hand, we asked our jovial bartender about the fudge phenomenon. Had Mackinac invented fudge? “Nope,” he said with a smile. “Someone made it once, then someone else did too, and then… well, here we are.” Fudge futures indeed.
We also asked about winters in the UP. He showed us a picture on his phone of Lake Huron frozen solid just months ago—hard to imagine on such a hot, blue-skied day. But that’s Michigan for you. Contrasts. Stories. Beauty everywhere.