Taste of Chicago

We left our motel in South Iowa yesterday morning and arrived in Chicago in the afternoon. After driving the past two days through green hills of farmland, it was a shock to be in such a huge city full of aggressive traffic. I love big cities though, and our host, my good friend Jordan, has shown us a great time here. He lives on the 44^th floor of a new highrise in the Loop neighborhood of the financial district, in close proximity to Union Station, water taxis, and the Sears Tower. You can even see Lake Michigan from the balcony.

Soon after we arrived, another friend of mine (Sean) rode the train in from a nearby suburb. It was so great to see some familiar faces again. We are lucky that the weather in Chicago is sunny right now after a stormy last week. We walked around a little with Penny and stopped for a sub at a place called Potbelly’s. I got the A Wreck, which had I think four different meats on it, cheese, hot peppers, etc. Best sandwich ever! We headed to the Taste of Chicago, the famous food festival aptly nicknamed the “Waste of Chicago.” Finding there were no pets allowed, we started back toward our host’s building to drop Penny off. On the way there we randomly bumped into Jordan’s roommate, Ashley, decked out in Cubs gear on her way to Wrigley Field. I guess even a big city can sometimes feel like a small town.

Here are some pictures of us at the Taste of Chicago:

And in front of the bean:

Our Lucky Home

Last night in the northwest corner of Texas, sky fire-orange, we drove parallel to a well-used railroad along Interstate 54 in search of a place to sleep. With small raindrops glinting through the windshield, we turned West onto what I can most closely describe as a private residential highway with a four-digit numerical name. We continued for about 20 minutes, passing several small branches in the road apparently leading to private ranches.

On an ill-conceived whim I turned onto one such dirt road. I got just far enough to roll my back tires off the gravelly paved way, and feeling an unmistakable drag, I realized we were sinking in mud. I put the car in reverse but it was largely unresponsive except to flash at me the double-triangular symbol on the dash suggesting I alert others to our emergency. Somerset proposed rocking the car out of its tracks and volunteered to get out and push from the front while I backed out. The small alleviation of weight and my turning of the wheel were just enough to allow my car to power its way back up onto the gravel and out of a possible disaster.

So with rain falling and light fading, we turned back to the 54 and soon found a square turnoff such as you might see at the top of a scenic cliff, but without the elevation or view. Between two clusters of trees a tiny driveway led to a flat, pebbly patch next to the railroad tracks, our lucky home for the night. It was sprinkling now and dark all around except a slight orange glow to the West beyond the tracks, so Somerset and I set up quickly and efficiently by headlight. Finding no tarp to cover the mesh windows on top of the dome, we pieced together about five garbage bags from my large stash to serve the purpose, remarking how proud Dad would be of this mechanism. It was about this time that the rain miraculously, completely stopped. We were quite warm in the tent and our only discomfort was auditory – a two-way parade of unbelievably loud trains, one every 45 minutes I’d guess. Some plodded passively, deliberately along while the thunder of others inspired visions of derailment directly onto the vulnerable capsule where slept three little lives unheard of and unloved by anyone within a hundred long miles.

The Adventure Begins

I just woke up for day two of six on Somerset's and my way to Pittsburgh. Day one was kind of a bust. It was fun and it was great to get started, but we didn't leave Phoenix until mid-afternoon and since I pulled an all-nighter packing the night before, I was happy to stop the first night in Flagstaff for a comfortable hotel stay in the last familiar town I will see for awhile. Yesterday in Phoenix was a hot one, and I enthusiastically told Somerset on our way out of town that there was no better time to leave than the middle of the summer. We reached Flagstaff by 5:30, parked the car downtown and set off to find a place to stay for the night (The elusive Hotel Monte Vista was booked - this happens every time I come here). As many times as I've been to Flagstaff, we seemed to be walking in an unfamiliar and particularly ghetto part of town, and for the first time I began to feel a little sad about leaving everything I have and love at home. After settling in to our hotel I took Penny on a bike ride uphill through the neighborhood. It was getting dark and even a little chilly, which I appreciated. I spotted an adorable restaurant called Josephine's that reminded me of Tricks, three flagstone steps leading up to a lush patio with a converted residential house behind. After I got back to our room, Somerset and I walked back over there for a late dinner before turning in for the night. Today we'll head East through Gallup, Albuquerque, and hopefully camp near Wichita.