Grand Island Bike Loop

When you travel as I do, locals love giving you a “you should really try this…” tip. A few days back, my Pictured Rocks kayak guide pointed across the water: “That’s Grand Island — do the big loop on your bike. It’s a challenge and beautiful..” Challenge accepted.

I left my boondock site in the deep hush of Hiawatha National Forest, packed food, water, tools — the works — and rolled down to the Grand Island ferry dock. Got there early, grabbed my ticket and a map at the National Forest Service shack, and chatted up the ranger. He looked at me like he wasn’t sure I’d make it. “There’s mud, rocks, and some washout,” he said, with a worried look. He wasn’t wrong.

Williams Landing & Warm-Up Along the Lake

After the ten-minute solo ferry ride, I wheeled off onto the island’s south shore. I immediatly took a wrong turn and rode a mile up a sandy road. I turned around and found the western side of the loop. Initially, the trail is deceptively gentle: hugging the Lake Superior shoreline, wide enough to relax into the ride. Two woman were approaching, one in a wheelchair with multiple support devices. It looked as if she had muscular issue. They were extremely friendly. I slowed and said, “How are you doing?” and the woman in the wheelchair smiled and said “Fantastic, the weather is amazing today.” I agreed and avoide the little dog they had on a leash. I thought it was great that she could get out on such a trail and enjoy the island.

Soft pine needles padded the track, the lake breeze felt cool and calm — a perfect warm-up for what was waiting ahead.

Mather Lodge

Rolling past the Mather Lodge — once a grand summer escape for resort guests — I got my first hint of what was coming. Built in the early 1900s by William G. Mather, the influential president of Cleveland-Cliffs Iron Company, the lodge was the centerpiece of his private retreat on Grand Island. Designed in a rustic Adirondack camp style, it welcomed company executives, friends, and special guests who came here to fish, hunt, and unwind with sweeping views of Lake Superior.

Unlike many historic structures that have vanished, the lodge still stands today, carefully maintained and occasionally rented out for private functions and events. The area around it shifts from easy flats to subtle rolling hills, the forest thickens with big pines and sugar maples, and the crunch of hidden roots under my wheels reminded me that this island has always been a blend of luxury and raw wilderness.

Bench Mark Overlook & West Overlook — The Tough Miles

Around mile 5, things get real. From Bench Mark Overlook to West Overlook, the trail rears up into rocky, rutted climbs. This section is a pure challenge — big embedded stones, root tangles, and patches of shifting sand that grab your tires. Every break in the trees gives you a killer view west across Superior — a shimmering blue expanse with whitecaps rolling in. It’s the kind of scenery that dares you to stop, especially when your legs are burning.

Gull Point & Preservation Point — Breathtaking Views

Past those climbs, the trail finally rewards you. The terrain levels out and opens into spectacular lookouts: Gull Point Overlook first, with its panoramic sweep of Superior, then Gull Point itself — a rocky outcrop where the lake feels endless. A bit further on is Preservation Point, a peaceful pocket where you can stand at the cliff’s edge, look out across the North Beach far below, and feel that quiet island magic sink in. I stopped here more than once, just to watch the water crash and the seagulls hover in the updrafts.

North Beach Views & That Surprise Drop

The trail teases you with glimpses of North Beach far below — turquoise shallows meeting pine forests right at the water’s edge. Just when you’re lulled by the views, you hit a steep, sudden descent — it comes up quick, so I braced my hands on the bars and hoped for the best.

North Light Creek & Historic Bridge

At the bottom, the trail lands you at North Light Creek. This spot feels like stepping back in time. The historic North Light Creek Bridge, built around 1907, was part of the Grand Island Resort era when wealthy guests came here to fish and hunt in style. The bridge carried horse-drawn wagons loaded with supplies and people up to the old North Light Station. Back then, the entire north end was dotted with small cabins and a lighthouse that guided ships safely past the island’s treacherous shores. The creek itself is crystal clear, fed by cold island springs. Standing there, I could see straight to the bottom — the water so pure it looked like a window into the island’s past.

Northeast Point Overlook — A High Climb

Crossing the creek, I geared down and pushed up again toward Northeast Point Overlook. This stretch was one long grind, but the reward at the top is that sweeping view of the island’s raw north end — deep forest on one side, Superior on the other, shimmering all the way to the horizon.

The Mud March — Five Miles of Swampy Mayhem

From Northeast Point onward, it’s all about mud. For the next five miles, the trail threw every possible bog and puddle my way. I learned fast: carry speed, keep the pedals turning, and don’t stop in the middle. Some spots were too deep to risk, so I dismounted, scrambled into the woods, and found ways around. My bike looked like it had survived a swamp monster.

Along the way, I would come across the most amazing mushrooms popping up beside the bike path. They were huge.

Trout Bay Overlook — Gentle Roll into the Access Road

Finally, the trail swings south toward Trout Bay Overlook. Here, the terrain opens up — the dense forest gives way to a wide, compacted access road made of stone and sand. The ruts and roots mostly disappear. Trout Bay itself is stunning: a huge horseshoe of bright blue, with pale sandy beaches, scattered driftwood, and the ghostly rumor of old schooner wrecks under the water’s surface. It’s the best place to catch your breath, wash some mud off your legs, and feel like you earned the view.

Wildflower Meadow — A Colorful Surprise

Riding on, the access road surprised me with one last gem: a massive field of wildflowers. It felt like an island prairie, buzzing with bees, monarchs, and every color you can imagine. The air smelled sweet, the sun hit just right, and for a second, I almost forgot my legs were shot.

The Final Push & Ferry Escape

The last three miles were a blur — my legs screaming, gears clicking, mud flinging off the tires. I dropped into my granny gear, head down, hoping to beat the clock.

Just as I rolled up, Lonnie and Amy from Arkansas waved: “You’re just in time!” The ferry was drifting in, my rescue back to the mainland. We swapped stories about Arkansa and the Ozarks and they tipped me off about the old Quincy Mine up in the Keweenaw — another place for my ever-growing Michigan list.

Aftermath — Mud, Pizza, and Wim Hof Vibes

Back on shore, I spent a solid hour hosing grit and grime out of the cassette, derailleur, and chain — clumps of island clinging to every crevice. My shoes alone felt like I’d brought half the trail home with me.

I limped into Main Street Pizza in Munising for a 9” “Street Special” — basically a fridge raid on crust. Not gourmet, but it hit the spot.

Back at my Hiawatha forest hideout, I braved a freezing outdoor shower, mosquitoes swirling but weirdly leaving me alone while I pulled my best Wim Hof (Everest in Shorts) impression under the icy water. The van felt like a palace after that. I was asleep five minutes into some movie I’ll never remember.