Go North, young man
The weather could not have been any better today. A cool, 65 degrees with a light breeze and ample sunshine accompanied my walk to my fried rice appointment with Lisa. An hour prior to the lovely morning walk, she had given me directions to her place over the phone. I followed someone with a key into her building and called her to let her know I was downstairs. In less than a minute, she appeared at the lobby door and led me to her apartment. She and I discussed the status of my trip and what else I should do while she prepared the rice. I felt like I had already accomplished quite a bit, but still needed to get to Lincoln Park and Wrigley Field. That was on today’s agenda. We tossed ideas back and forth over the delicious, homemade fried rice and I came to terms with the fact that this city has way too much to be covered in a week. I’m not saying that I slacked off at all, but I definitely have some things that I would like to do on a return trip. Lisa was kind enough to navigate today’s trek to Lincoln Park, Wrigley Field, and a couple of different food options. Still feeling a bit under the weather, Lisa said that she was going to stay in but would try to take advantage of the weather at some point. At about 12:45, I thanked her for the rice and headed back downstairs.
I could not get over the weather. “Good day, sunshine” by the Beatles was appropriately on constant repeat in my head. I headed down 53rd to catch the #6 toward downtown. After a ten minute wait, my transport arrived. I boarded the bus and realized that, not only were the seats full, but half the passengers were standing in the aisle. “No big deal,” I thought, “I’ve been on crowded buses since I got here.” Ha! The next stop provided another dozen passengers to cram the aisle with us. This was the first time that I saw a bus driver cut off a line of awaiting riders. “Sorry, I just can’t take anymore,” said the driver to the ten or so remaining would-be patrons. Not only was the bus packed, but the Blues Festival was still going on and causing the “express” portion of the ride to be slowed significantly. By the time I reached Michigan and Wacker, it was 2 p.m.. The transfer to the 151 proved to be entertaining. The CTA has some buses that are, essentially, two buses joined by a bendable, accordion-like center. The drivers of these unusual vehicles really impress me. I don’t know how they do it. In addition to the bus’s unusual design, the two loud Bostonians behind me were pretty amusing. “Oh man, I had to sprint to catch this bus. Can you believe we already walked over here? Man, you would think we earned some pizza by that walk and bus catch.” ” Well, ” the other one replied, ” I gotta stationary bike at the house and I love that I can see the numba a calories when I ride. 100 calories and my face is pourin’ sweat. Do you know how much 100 calories is!? One freakin’ mini-maash-mallow. That’s it! Ridiculous. Oh, you should get one of these condos on the whata-front, their nice.” ”Oh yeah,” Bostonian Two agreed, ” let me just head over to the ATM…” I had my own private, bus riding “Click and Clack” discussing calorie burning and prime, Chicago real estate.
Thanks to the 151′s in-bus entertainment, my stop at Armitage arrived rather quickly. The park was alive with people walking, running, taking pictures, laying out in the sun, and trying to figure out, “how the heck to get into the zoo.” I snapped some pictures and followed the zoo fence until I came upon the entrance. The Lincoln Park Zoo is free to the public and open until 5 p.m.. The layout proved to be great for accommodating a large number of people. I remembered that I needed to call Mom back and I ended up speaking with her for about twenty minutes (yes, I did check my phone afterwards because I knew that I was rambling a bit). The zoo was not particularly spectacular. The displays and animal areas reminded me of the zoo in San Antonio. However, the freshly manicured grass, the impressively clean and organized animal houses, and the contagious energy of locals and tourists alike were things that are not rampant at the San Antonio Zoo (at least not in my experience). I made my rounds and then exited the zoo to check out the rest of Lincoln Park. Just outside the zoo gates was a large lawn with beautiful flower beds, fountains, and statues. In the open areas of this meadow-like area, children played soccer and threw footballs and frisbees (not all at once, mind you). I found a bench with a little room and asked the woman sitting if I could join her. “Go right ahead,” she smiled. I sat in the midst of all the activity and pulled out a book. What a beautiful day to relax on a park bench and read while the sounds of laughter and family fun surround you. Not wanting to limit my exploration time, I finished the chapter on which I was working and put the book back in my back. “Have a great day!” I told my friendly bench companion. To which she replied, “you do the same.” Fifty yards later I was at the entrance of the Lincoln Park Conservatory. I was actually surprised at how much I enjoyed walking through the various plant rooms. I was surrounded by beautiful palms, orchids and ferns. The trip through the different rooms was short, but sweet.
I roamed around the park taking in the scenery of so many people. It was refreshing, yet again, to see thousands of people out enjoying the beautiful weather on their weekend. I guess its easy to do with beautiful parks and wonderful weather. Apparently, it was over a hundred degrees in San Antonio again. “I’m so lucky to be here.” I thought. After walking through the park for awhile, I decided to head up to Wrigley Field. I bounded up to Clark Street with excitement. This was my first exploration of areas north of downtown. I was pretty far from my somewhat familiar territory. I caught the 22 and took in the scenery on the way up to Addison Street. This was the first hipster/Austin/Hollywood-ish section of town I had seen. Cool record stores, novelty shops, and booksellers lined both sides of the street. As I commented on this internally, I heard a voice from behind tell their companion, “yeah, Clark is the main shopping slash eating thoroughfare in the Lincoln Park area.” Weird. Addison came up and I pulled the string to signal that I was requesting the stop. The bus kept going passed the stadium and I assumed it was due to the game caused road closures and traffic cops. However, after another block I got suspicious. Thankfully, a small Asian man came to the rescue and yelled, “Hey, Stop!” to the driver. The bus stopped midway to the next block and let us both off.
The Sunday game had just ended and the sea of Cubs apparel clad Chicagoans seemed to be in high spirits. I was in the middle of an exodus from Wrigley Field, which resembled a huge block party. Everywhere people were laughing, yelling, dancing…it was incredible. I walked around the stadium twice and counted at least four paint bucket drum lines. Every group demonstrated a high level of energetic and hypnotic percussive prowess. Upon my second lap, between the stadium and the row-houses with bleachers on the roofs, I decided to turn down a random street and just walk around. Unlike my bus experience a few days back, this time I was determined to get lost. I walked a few blocks North and enjoyed watching people sweeping their stoops, throwing footballs, and sitting on their porches. The neighborhoods displayed a wonderful Sunday afternoon vitality. At about 5 or so, I was getting hungry and became determined to find Portillo’s in order to get the dipped, Italian Beef sandwich that Lisa raved about a few days ago. I knew it was on Ontario somewhere and that I was nowhere near it. Luckily after walking around Clark, Grace, and Irving Park, I happened upon the brown line. All trains connect to the downtown loop and I remembered seeing Ontario down there somewhere. I boarded the train, reviewed the “Not for tourists” Chicago guidebook that Elisa let me borrow, and figured out my route.
I jumped off the train at Merchandise Mart on the edge of downtown. After five minutes of cutting through, what looked like a mall/hotel/conference center, I was back on the downtown street. I walked in circles for about an hour and sent Lisa a text for the address of Portillo’s. A few minutes later, I was on my way to 100 Ontario Street. Portillo’s was bustling with activity and the mixed smell of amazing foods was just what I needed after walking all day. I was famished, but the wait would prove to be worth it in spades. The restaurant was set up with multiple lines of food – similar to a mall food court. I went to the sandwich/hot dog line and ordered my “dipped” italian beef with both sweet and hot peppers. Oh my God! The au jus soaked bread with the thinly sliced beef and various peppers was heaven in white and red wax paper. I sat at a table on the street and ate slowly and deliberately. I made a conscious effort to savor every element of this unbelievable sandwich. Finally being able to sit after hours of walking, watching pedestrians and traffic, and eating a marvelous italian beef on a sunday produces a feeling of enjoyment and relief that should be bottled, then prescribed to the throngs of stressed out, anxiety sufferers of the world. Too much stress in your life? Anxious? Over worked? You need the newest in stress relieving medicines – Happy, greasy bliss.
After the near religious food experience, I headed back into downtown and stopped at a Cold Stone Creamery for some frozen yogurt. The dessert was just ok, but I didn’t care. It was the perfect compliment to my previous meal. I threw my empty cup in a trash can somewhere on Michigan and headed to the bus stop. The sun was getting lower and taking my energy level with it. I was feeling drained as I boarded the 6 back to Hyde Park. Feeling like I needed a recharge, I exited the bus a few stops early and took a 15-20 minute stroll through Hyde Park as the sun went down completely. I called Rachael on the way and reveled in the moment with her on the telephone. It was beautiful. Nearing the apartment, I saw a young lady messing with her bike and thought, “I wonder if that’s Elisa.” It was. We high fived, hugged, then started swapping stories about our respective weekends. It sounded like she had a really great time in Louisville. Wiped out, I followed her into the house. “Hey, sometimes on Sundays we go to the Woodlawn Tap for Jazz and bar food. Do you want to go?” she asked. I was fighting exhaustion , but thought about it for a second and said, “what am I thinking? Of course, I would love to go!” The Woodlawn Tap, or Jimmy’s as it is called by the locals (Jimmy is the owner apparently), is about a block away. We met up with five members of Elisa’a crew and listened to an amazing jazz quartet that eventually turned into eight different guys taking turns jumping in and out of numbers to showcase their chops. I let the music and chilled out atmosphere of the dimly lit bar wash over me. I was so glad I decided to come out. The drummer was unbelievable. Good Jazz drummers always impress me, and this guy was no exception. After a couple of Diet Cokes and some really good music, we all decided to call it a night. I made plans to help everybody move Andrea to her new place in Lincoln Park the next day, then Elisa and I headed back to the apartment. I finished half of the blog update and then called it a night. The exertion of the full day of walking soaked in suddenly and sleep hit me before I hit the pillow.
