If they ever wrote a children's book about our day yesterday it would be titled Baby's First Driving Experience in Chicago. Our plan was simple: drive to a restaurant in downtown Chicago, eat lunch, then venture to the lakeshore to visit a couple parks and the zoo. Things started okay enough. We got from the southern burbs up to downtown. I even managed to park securely in a ramp on my first try, something I can never seem to do in Minneapolis even. We walked down and ate at Pizzeria Uno, a restaurant recommended to me by a native Chicagoan. The pizza was delicious and super filling. After snapping a few photos I urged us to get going, as few things in the world make me more apprehensive than city driving. Especially when you're driving what is essentially the largest domestic passenger sedan on the market.
We hit the freeway once again but due to a couple of navigational errors made by my helmswoman in the passenger seat, we wound up in the wrong place. A very, very wrong place. For all my apprehension driving downtown, I soon remembered the kind of apprehension I like even less: city driving in horrendous neighborhoods. Urban decay of every variety, open containers of booze being drunk in the streets. Panhandlers walking through rows of cars asking for change. Groups of young men in those dress-size white T's standing on the corner, perhaps sitting on a package. Rows of boarded up low-rises surrounding weedy courtyards. Perhaps if I were Jimmy McNulty I wouldn't have been quite so smacked by the whole affair, but as it was, I wanted to get the fuck out of there and fast.
Luckily we found our way eventually and headed up the lake shore on US Highway 41. It took us a long time, and forced us through many traffic snarls but we made it up to Lincoln Park. By the time we got there the zoo was closed. Rush hour traffic had ensnared the city like a swarm of god damn fire ants and the trip back began absolutely horribly. Short version is that we wound up on some kind of detour through Lower Wacker Dr. and stuck in rush hour traffic right in the damn middle of Chicago at 5:30 PM. At that point I decided I'd had enough for the day. I had to be man enough to know when to throw the towel in and live to fight another day.
Suffice to say it was some time before I managed to get out of there, no closer to the freeway I sought. The only way I managed to get out was to go back the way I came on 41, retracing my whole entire route back to the hotel. By the time we got there I felt horrible; my stomach rolling and turning from the cumulative effects of the day's food. But, the other member of my party was hungry, so we went to a local Greek place (staffed entirely by Mexicans...strange) and got some dinner. It warmed my heart that WWE Raw was on the TV and all the employees were studiously watching it. The guy cleaning the floors literally would watch and only do his work during commercials.
The food was fantastic but I couldn't even eat my Gyro (which the woman ordering in front of us annoyingly called a "guy-row") because I felt like such shit. We had to go to the local Target to get some drinks and supplies afterwards, and finally I was able to lie down at the hotel. I put my Gyro on the nightstand and vowed to eat it soon. After lying down for a while I felt better and managed to put it away. It was astoundingly good. There was more meat on the sonofabitch than there was pita to encircle it. Once I'd finished it though, it was time for sleep.
Now we're gearing up to head out of here. We're going back to Madison, staying one additional night there, and then going home Wednesday. I remain optimistic despite my Chicago fail yesterday. Next time I will be more prepared. Actually next time I'll take the fucking train.
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