The Tunnel of Trees Collapse Must Be Fixed by Summer

Cross Village — As of early Monday morning, part of Michigan’s most iconic road has collapsed and fallen into the earth, severing the picturesque strip of concrete that leads to the Legs Inn. The road in question is M-119, the Tunnel of Trees.

This beautiful road runs along the lakeshore, high above leafy bluffs, connecting Harbor Springs at its southern point to Cross Village at its northern end. It’s a tight two lanes with no paint in the middle separating lane from lane. You slow down when another comes your way, and you speed up once the road is clear. It tracks through beautiful woods with tall trees on all sides. Tight turns, lots of hills, and postcard scenes. It’s heaven in the summer driving while the windows are down and a dream in the autumn when the colors are changing overhead.

But now M-119 is entirely impassable north of Good Hart.

The biblical devastation occurred just south of Division Road, about two and half miles south of Cross Village. There’s a little creek of no discernible name that trickles from Gully Road in the east over to the big lake in the west. Weaving through the woods, for years this little creek ran under M-119 quietly and calmly. But over the weekend, the small creek turned into a much bigger river.

With far too much water flowing through the metal pipe that worked for decades, the strip of concrete passing over the creek south of Division turned from a picturesque road into an impromptu dam, and that dam broke quickly.

I was at the site of the collapse late Monday afternoon and spoke with a bicyclist who had rode up to take a look at the concrete carnage. He told me he was just there a day prior before the road broke and that the water on the east side must have been at least 8 feet deep. That’s quite an increase for a creek that can’t be much more more than 2 feet deep. By the time I was there, the water had calmed. It was no longer waiting to break through the sandy soil, but the damage had been done.

The rapid increase in water levels at the site of the M-119 collapse can be explained primarily by three factors: melting snow, heavy rain, and high water levels.

In the middle of March, Northern Michigan endured a historic blizzard. Most places north of Traverse City and south of the bridge received between 15 and 30 inches. As someone who lives here, I can only describe it as cruel and unusual punishment. Right as we thought winter was ending, we were mercilessly destroyed by a tremendous amount of snow.

It was a terrible time: Snowblowers broke, plows were overwhelmed, and spiritually it was a punch in the gut when we thought spring was arriving, and that that incredible amount snow melted insanely fast because spring decided to come in quickly. Finally, adding onto the quickly melting snow were heavy rainstorms that added only more fuel to the fire and water to the river.

The collapse of the Tunnel of Trees reminds me a little of last year’s ice storm. Of course, the break in the road is not as physically devastating as the ice across the whole tip of the Mitten, but there is a similar principle or sentiment. Right when we think we are finally done with winter, when it seems spring is finally coming, when our hopes are high, when we think we have made it out of the woods without any disaster, something happens. It’s like getting kicked when you are down.

That’s how it felt in 2025 with the ice storm knocking out power for a week and murdering the beautiful birches all over town, and that’s how it feels with M-119 collapsing. That last blizzard in March was demoralizing, but the sun was out now and the snow was melting. Finally things were getting better. And then, the most beautiful road in the most beautiful place collapses. Gut punch, rug pull.

When I was at the site of the collapse, about 10 others came and went, taking turns looking at what had happened. Some came from the south, joining me peering into the crevasse at the running water below. Others from the north, standing on the other side of the newly formed gulch, looking over the edge of suspended guardrails, taking photos with their phones. All were locals, of course—there are no tourists here now. If you live up here in a small town, there isn’t much going on, and so if something happens—if anything happens!—you go and take a look for yourself. Taking a trip with the kids down to see the mangled road is off-season entertainment Up North.

Everyone who came said the same thing. “I can’t believe it.” “This is crazy.” “We drive this road all the time.” “Well, at least the snow is gone.” I asked an older guy how long he thought it would take to fix it. He told me that he thought it could take years. I couldn’t believe that timeframe when he said it. How in the world could it take years to fix this road? We live in a first-world country. People live right on either side. It’s an insane hazard as it is. It’s arguably the most iconic road in Michigan. People visit just to drive it. It should be fixed by summer, no questions asked.

But then I remembered the quality of governance in our lovely state, and the laziness of the road commission, the guys that always just seem to be standing around doing nothing, how nothing gets done right or quick, and then I started to wonder and worry if that guy was right, if it it could actually take years, and I started to get depressed.

Perhaps someone with some say in the state government of Michigan will do something decent for once and put some pressure on the lackadaisical politicians, managers, bureaucrats, workers, and generally dysfunctional system that we pay for but never seems to pay off for us, and inspire whoever it is that needs to get this done.

The Tunnel of Trees must be fixed by summer.