Great Westward Push Day 3 (Saturday, Sept. 21, 2002 — Ann Arbor, Mich., to Madison, Wis.): Plosky 1, Chicago 0
Brunched with Julia at an Ann Arbor dining establishment. Did I mention that last night, on our walking tour of downtown, I learned that the Ann Arbor way to say “diner” is “Coney Island”? That’s right — not Joe’s Diner, but Joe’s Coney Island. Very bizarrely, a place we passed had in its window a sign declaring that in 2002 it was voted “Best Coney Island.” Weird.
Julia took me to downtown, briefly, so I could look for a shirt that says “I (heart) Detroit,” which my friend Lisa has challenged me to buy her. Of course, I can’t find one.
Departed Ann Arbor at about 12:30; stopped for soda in Michigan. When I crossed the Indiana border, into the Central time zone, my cell phone automatically adjusted its time. Gnarly!
991 miles into the trip, I stop for gas. I clean off all the bug crap from the windshield. This really is disgusting — frequently, something whacks into the windshield as I drive and automatically liquefies. I have not had this experience before, really, but bugs seem more prevalent in the Midwest than in the Northeast. Gross.
I pass one thousand miles.
The weather is gorgeous and helps me to decide to make my first visit to a national park unit, to Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore. I had spoken with my project manager about making an official visit here, and indeed I have Volpe Center information in the back of the car, but when I finalized my itinerary I realized I would be here on a Saturday, so I’m just here as a tourist.
I drive up Indiana 49 and then to the park’s visitor center; I then drive to the central beach. It is an astonishing day to be on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan — a bit brisk, but a brilliant, cloudless day. The lake is like an ocean — no shores are visible. Through the smog, though, just at the limit of my vision, I can see the faint outlines of the Chicago skyline. To the west and east, on either side of the beach, are huge, belching smokestacks, which is an odd sight from a beach. Nonetheless, this is an amazing experience and I am enormously glad I came. Too bad I don’t have time to hike any of the woodland trails. Perhaps one day I’ll do some DOT work with Indiana Dunes.
Back driving toward Chicago, I have a choice of the free I-94 or the tolled I-90. Reasoning that, especially on a Saturday, traffic on the tolled road is likely to be much less, I opt for I-90.
As I drive toward Chicago, I pass a huge industrial complex, which actually has a functioning flame tower, the first I’ve ever seen. I wonder if these are the same smokestacks I saw from Indiana Dunes.
I have a dramatic introduction to Chicago via the huge bridge from I-90 and the Chicago Skyway. No clouds have appeared; the day is gorgeous, the skyline magnificent. I put on Frank Sinatra’s “Chicago” as I drive through the city.
It occurs to me for the first time that I am very far — over a thousand miles — from home. The only previous time I was in Chicago, I flew here. I had to plan, pack, go to the airport, get on a plane, etc., and when I arrived I had only a suitcase and was relatively helpless. Now, though, although I feel very far from home, I feel powerful, energized. I’ve got my car and a full load of my stuff with me — I’m prepared for anything. I think that this is how Patton must have felt as he rolled into a city surrounded by his huge armies.
Traffic is horrendous. A CTA Blue Line, in the highway median, rattles past me on its way to O’Hare Airport; several trains pass me going in the other direction. It occurs to me that whereas these Blue Line trains hurtle past, rattling and shaking and giving the appearance of being possessed, the Blue Line trains of the Boston T give the appearance of being aphasic, autistic, or stoned, moving with no great authority or hurry.
This traffic should be appalling, I think as I sit in it, but it really isn’t. It’s sunny, it’s a Saturday, we are moving a little bit, I have John Coltrane on — and this is Chicago, not depressing Detroit, where lighter traffic felt much heavier. What Detroit can’t get away with, Chicago can.
Traffic the other way is at a dead stop for miles, thousands of cars; it could be the worst traffic I’ve ever seen.
I drive up the Illinois Tollway toward Madison, Wisconsin, where I am going to spend the night. Julia was going to come to Chicago with me, and I would have stayed at her parents’ house in La Grange, a suburb, but she changed her mind, claiming that she had lots to do. So I will go all the way to Madison so that I have more time the next day to visit with my friend Jessica in Minneapolis.
I must stop 10 times to pay tolls of 15, 30, 40, 50 cents. Ridiculous. I even paid one or two of these when I first entered Illinois. On Day 2, although I didn’t write this at the time, I realize that the E-Zpass toll tag is a great, great, great thing, as I don’t have to stop once for tolls until I get to Illinois. I do wonder how much the bill will be, though, for crossing all of Massachusetts and all of New York.
I am also very grateful for cruise control, which is a godsend.
The sun is fading as I drive north. To the right is a beautiful yellow biplane executing aerobatics — slow, looping turns. Lovely.
I arrive in Madison as it’s getting dark — not downtown, but just off I-90, a disfigured mess in which is present a representative, it seems, of every American restaurant and retail chain. Bleah. My lodgings, reserved that morning from Julia’s, will be the Select Inn, a passable establishment (with a king-size bed!). Exhausted, I have a quick dinner at the adjacent Perkins (a sort of Friendly’s clone), and go to sleep, deciding not to visit downtown (partly as a result of a conversation with my friend Susan, who spent one term doing Ph.D. work at the University of Wisconsin (Madison) before dropping out in disgust in part because Madison was hopelessly boring).
At Perkins a lot of people are wearing “Wisconsin” and “Badgers” attire. Football is big in the Midwest, as Julia was telling me this morning, discussing the same phenomenon vis-à-vis Michigan. Whatever.
Miles today: 398.5
Total miles: 1202.9
Noteworthy CDs: Frank Sinatra (esp. “Chicago”)