You'll find it tubing on a spring-fed river, such as the South Branch of the Root River, which takes a short cut through Mystery Caverns and heads toward Lanesboro chilled to 48 degrees.

This northern Iowa lake town, midway between the Twin Cities and Des Moines, swells with vacationers in summer but retains the laid-back, carefree air of decades past.

On the shores of the lake, classic cars cruise around pocket-sized City Park, fuzzy pink dice dangling from mirrors. Every Saturday and Sunday, the municipal band plays in the bandshell. The Lions Club grills chicken and sweet corn, and a paddlewheeler takes tourists on cruises.

We have thousands of lakes, plus inland seas on shoreline that often is called the Fourth Coast. Lake Michigan's shores are a veritable Riviera, and even rocky Superior has some noteworthy stretches of sand.

You could throw a dart at the map and come up with a good beach. Or you could take a cue from names of state parks — Point Beach and Harrington Beach in Wisconsin, McCarthy Beach in Minnesota, Orchard Beach in Michigan.

It’s hemmed in by tall limestone bluffs, circled by a spring-fed trout stream and bisected by one of the nation’s best bicycle trails. Eagles, herons and egrets cruise along the scenic river just to the north, alongside canoeists and kayakers.

For a long time, people in Superior observed mostly Scandinavian traditions. And then the dragons arrived.

In China, the works of poet Qu Yuan inspired dragon-boat races, which are held worldwide and have been popular in Canada for many years.

Superior got the idea from Thunder Bay, and it hosted its first Lake Superior Dragon Boat Festival in 2002. It was a roaring success, and other cities have followed suit. Now, the races are one of the fastest-growing water sports.

In Wisconsin, people talk the same way about Door County. Those places are busy, all right. They’re busy because plenty of people like that kind of atmosphere — the restaurants, the golf, the shopping, the fancy condo resorts.

Tubing the Rum River on an oppressively hot afternoon, I was amazed to see goose flesh rise on my legs when a breeze sprang up and a cloud crossed the sun. We’d entered a microclimate that seemed to exist only along the river’s surface.

I don't own it, and I never will. But for a week in July, it's mine.

Only a generation ago, most middle-class folks in this area could think of nothing better than renting a little housekeeping cabin on a lake.

"In the glory years, gosh, it seemed every Minnesotan vacationed at a Minnesota resort," says Dave Siegel, vice president of the Minnesota Resort and Campground Association.

Lazy afternoons on the beach, boat rides, marshmallow roasts, catching strings of sunnies — it's pure essence of summer.

But summer — or vacation, anyway — doesn't last long. And while there's nothing better than a week on a lake, a few days can be just as good.

Near Willmar, a lobe of the last glacier came to a grinding halt 12,000 years ago, dumping massive blocks of ice that made big dents in the ground.

Now, they're lakes, popping up like mirages at the edge of soybean fields, behind screens of ash and cottonwoods. Farther north, they're hidden amid rocky meadows and rolling hillocks full of glacial rubble.

No, I can’t. Only you and your therapist know what you consider a good lake resort.

Staying at a Minnesota lake resort is not like staying at a Marriott. There may be chipmunks living under your cabin, and fish that nibble your legs when you wade. Squealing children may run past your window while you’re trying to read.