A speck of old Iceland in ice-cold Lake Michigan

Five hours after leaving Chicago, we ran out of pavement. At the tip of the Door Peninsula in northeastern Wisconsin, the ice cream parlors disappeared. The wine shops and art galleries, too. Just a simple tollbooth, and the breakwaters beyond, and a small archipelago gathered like clouds on the horizon. A grinning crewman waved us aboard a 92-ton ferry, and before my wife, Mel, and I could exit our car, the Arni J. Richter was plowing through Lake Michigan. Like us, it seemed eager to flee the crowds.

See the original article at: Honolulu Star-Advertiser