Sleeping Bear Dunes Escape

I was slow getting out of bed after my long ride yesterday — I didn’t sleep well, and it showed.

Coffee at Mundow 305 café

I grabbed coffee at Mundos 305 Café in Traverse City. I arrived at 7:30, just as someone was walking out. He told me they didn’t open until 8 a.m., so I took a seat at one of the tables out front, basking in the early sun. I watched people rush off to work and felt a familiar pang for those days of teaming up to finish a big project.

They opened promptly at 8. Despite the morning rush — people eager to hit the office or get kids to camp — they all let the old man enter first. I enjoyed a warm latte and a chocolate butter croissant.

Library Visit

Afterward, I wandered around town with no real plan. It was one of those beautiful days: not too hot, with a gentle breeze. I ducked into the library to take care of some things online, but my mind was elsewhere. I looked at my itinerary and realized I hadn’t yet visited Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. The idea of catching some sunset photos there felt like salvation — I needed to save my sanity from the festival crowds.

Avoiding Chrerry Festival Parade

I plugged the Dunes into Google Maps — big mistake. It routed me straight into a section of town where everyone else was desperate to park for the Cherry Festival parade. This would be the first of many challenges escaping Traverse City.

Imagine this: four streets converging at one hopeless intersection. Cars were illegally parked, pinching one street into a single lane. The other three streets were gridlocked — each trying to flee while one lone street kept feeding more cars into the jam. There was literally nowhere to go. It felt like a real-life game of bumper car chess — and nobody was winning.

I was stuck there for more than ten minutes, engines idling, tempers simmering. Finally, the guy in front of me — piloting a giant Chevy truck — jumped out like an urban traffic diplomat. He managed to coax the three incoming cars to back up (a minor miracle), giving the rest of us a fighting chance to break free. He looked like Moses parting the Red Sea, except instead of water, it was a tide of frazzled festival-goers and honking SUVs.

Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore

Dunes Trail to Lake Michigan

When I finally made it to the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore park, I had my pick of hikes, bike trails, and overlooks. I opted for the classic Dunes Trail to Lake Michigan. I hadn’t read any details — I figured I’d scramble up the sandy ridge and be rewarded with a postcard view of Lake Michigan.

As I wandered, the landscape shifted with every step — a living canvas constantly repainted by the dance of light and shadow. One moment, the sun slipped behind a curtain of clouds, washing the sand and sky in muted pastels; the next, it broke free, igniting the dunes in bold, shimmering hues. As the sun sank lower and golden hour arrived, the sand transformed again — rippling waves of orange, pale tan, and brilliant white, each grain catching the last rays like flecks of fire.

Off to my left, a band of guys were proving their machismo by launching themselves off a steep sand cliff — a father-figure was cheering them on while the grandfather half-heartedly called for restraint. The longest jump was thirty feet, the shortest five, and each landing drew whoops or laughter.

Enough of that circus. I noticed most people following a path farther down, so I wandered over and finally found the real trailhead. By then, it was 7 p.m. I stopped hikers heading back to ask how far it was to the lake. The trail was marked by numbered posts: 1 at the start, 27 at the end.

Some folks were encouraging. Others looked at me like I’d asked for a lift back to civilization. Nobody got the distance right. One person said there were a total of 18 markers , another 29. Not one got the 27 correct. A young guy told me the markers were every quarter mile. I did some quick math: at marker 10, with 8 markers left, that’s two miles. He frowned as if I’d just tried to divide by zero. “Really?” he asked. His girlfriend patted my arm and said, “You’ve got this — you’re so close!”

I pressed on. When I finally crested that last dune and saw Lake Michigan — there wasn’t a soul in sight. No boats, no footprints, just the hush of water lapping at the sand. A few hidden birds chirped softly in the brush behind me. The world felt still, like I’d found a pocket of heaven.

The hike back was easier. Knowing exactly how many markers I had left made it feel shorter. I chuckled each time someone asked me how far to the end — at least I could give them an honest answer.

By the time I reached the van, my feet were starting to cramp from more than four miles of barefoot dune trekking. I made a simple dinner in the parking lot and sat at a picnic table watching people silhouetted on the giant dune at sunset — tiny shapes against the flaming sky.

It was past 10 p.m. when I finally left. As I neared Traverse City, I could see fireworks blooming in the distance — another day of the Cherry Festival closing out, a parade’s worth of noise and crowds behind me. I was more than happy to slip back to my quiet Cracker Barrel parking lot for the night.