The Water Itself — a stop on M-22 North.
Let me say something about the lake on your left, because people from the coasts underestimate it badly.
Lake Michigan holds around thirteen hundred cubic miles of fresh water. It's over nine hundred feet deep in places. It has waves, currents, and a horizon with nothing on it — visitors regularly assume they're looking at an ocean and are surprised when they taste it.
Two things it does that catch people out. First, it is COLD. Even in August the water off this shore can be in the fifties, because wind blowing offshore drags the warm surface layer away and cold water rises up to replace it — an upwelling. A beach that was pleasant yesterday can be shocking today.
Second, and more serious: rip currents and structural currents. On a day with a good onshore wind, water piles up on the beach and has to escape somewhere, and it does that in fast narrow channels heading straight out. People drown in the Great Lakes every summer this way, most often near piers, where the current runs along the structure like a conveyor. If you're ever caught in one, don't fight it — swim parallel to shore until you're out of it, then come in.
Watch for the flag system at the guarded beaches. And treat this water with the respect you'd give the ocean, because in every way that matters to a swimmer, it is one.