That’s a billboard at the western end of the Indiana Tollroad. In Gary, to be a little more precise. We saw it as we drove east from Chicago to Geneva on the Lake, Ohio. It’s a hard-looking little town east of Cleveland that bills itself as Ohio’s first Lake Erie resort. The shore is lined with summer cottages, old travel courts, and some newer, swankier buildings that look like they could be time-share condos. There’s a strip where bars, cheap eats, arcades, and souvenir shops dominate. So do bikers, on the weekends. The weekdays and nights are pretty quiet. Walking down the main street last night at 1a.m., there were a few drinkers traipsing from bar to bar looking for a last round. A woman called to us as we passed a winery, “Excuse me! Excuse me, sir! Is that winery open?” I heard the same woman call across the street to a couple of guys a few minutes, “Hey, I’ve got drinks over here!”). It’s friendly enough here, anyway. (Below: Eddie’s walk-up Dairy Queen and hamburger stand.)
Road to Vacationville
That’s a billboard at the western end of the Indiana Tollroad. In Gary, to be a little more precise. We saw it as we drove east from Chicago to Geneva on the Lake, Ohio. It’s a hard-looking little town east of Cleveland that bills itself as Ohio’s first Lake Erie resort. The shore is lined with summer cottages, old travel courts, and some newer, swankier buildings that look like they could be time-share condos. There’s a strip where bars, cheap eats, arcades, and souvenir shops dominate. So do bikers, on the weekends. The weekdays and nights are pretty quiet. Walking down the main street last night at 1a.m., there were a few drinkers traipsing from bar to bar looking for a last round. A woman called to us as we passed a winery, “Excuse me! Excuse me, sir! Is that winery open?” I heard the same woman call across the street to a couple of guys a few minutes, “Hey, I’ve got drinks over here!”). It’s friendly enough here, anyway. (Below: Eddie’s walk-up Dairy Queen and hamburger stand.)
Lake Night
In the Bay Area this summer, everyone has bemoaned the prolonged presence of the thick marine overcast that keeps the coastal locales cool. And it does seem to have been a little cooler than normal if you’re anywhere along the bayside (inland’s another story). Chicago, too, has had a relatively cool summer; it’s been six weeks or so since the last official 90-degree reading. That will change today — it’s before noon and the temperature is already pushing 90. The weather service has issued heat advisories from Chicago south and severe thunderstorm warnings from Chicago north.
Though it didn’t officially hit 90 yesterday, the day did feature the high humidity that makes Chicago great. It creates a heat that seems to envelop you, then go through you. I spent most of the day in the North Side Brekke place, comfortably air-conditioned. I did take a short midday walk up Western Avenue, though, and then after dinner walked the mile and a half over to the lake. I got there about 10 o’clock, and there were lots of people hanging out on the beach, the one cool spot in the city. Fireworks were going off to the south somewhere; to the northeast, lighting flashed through the clouds. (The shot above was on the shore where Columbia Avenue ends. )
Lake Night
In the Bay Area this summer, everyone has bemoaned the prolonged presence of the thick marine overcast that keeps the coastal locales cool. And it does seem to have been a little cooler than normal if you’re anywhere along the bayside (inland’s another story). Chicago, too, has had a relatively cool summer; it’s been six weeks or so since the last official 90-degree reading. That will change today — it’s before noon and the temperature is already pushing 90. The weather service has issued heat advisories from Chicago south and severe thunderstorm warnings from Chicago north.
Though it didn’t officially hit 90 yesterday, the day did feature the high humidity that makes Chicago great. It creates a heat that seems to envelop you, then go through you. I spent most of the day in the North Side Brekke place, comfortably air-conditioned. I did take a short midday walk up Western Avenue, though, and then after dinner walked the mile and a half over to the lake. I got there about 10 o’clock, and there were lots of people hanging out on the beach, the one cool spot in the city. Fireworks were going off to the south somewhere; to the northeast, lighting flashed through the clouds. (The shot above was on the shore where Columbia Avenue ends. )
Leaving Denver
After the flight from Oakland and the layover (above), we flew on to Chicago. The plane left about 7, which meant an evening light had fallen across the planes and silhouetted the Rockies in the distance.
Landing in Denver
I once did a bike ride that started northwest of Denver and headed east into the high Plains. We started at 3 a.m. An hour or so into the ride, we crossed under the flight path into Denver's airport, in the middle of the farms and ranches that stretch from the city pretty much clear across to Kansas City. I rode along in the dark, watching the progression of the planes approaching from the north, each with landing lights on, each seeming to move so slowly they appeared suspended in the predawn sky, each silent until they were almost overhead, but even then the roar of the jet engines seemed muffled by the dark and the prairie.
You get another version of the same experience landing here: a long approach with the farms and ranches interrupted by just a few new developments flung out from the city. We approached from the north, the afternoon sun shadowing us on the fields below, right up to the edge of the runway.
Guest Observation: ‘On the Road Again’
A Tom Rush song for which I can’t find the lyrics online. If memory serves, it starts like this:
“Well, I locked my door as the sun went down
And I said goodbye to Boston town,
Took the Mass Turnpike down to Route 15,
That’ll take me on down to the New York scene.
Humming of the tires sure is pretty,
Think about the women in New York City,
On the road again.
Take the Harlem turn to the Jersey pike
And you roll through Philly in the middle of the night,
On the road again. …”
Me? I’m flying to the Midwest and then making stops along Lake Erie and points east. See you out there.
Chenoa, Illinois
Chenoa’s a town about 25 miles north-northeast of Bloomington and sits at the junction of U.S. 24, which runs east-west, and Interstate 55 (and old U.S. 66). We drove through town in mid-April, headed west on 24 to pick up 55 on our way from Chicago to Berkeley. We detoured through the old downtown business district, a handful of handsome and under-used old brick buildings surrounded by low frame and pre-fab buildings. The sign was no doubt touched up or repainted altogether, since the Chicago-based Selz shoe concern apparently went out of business about 60 years ago. (Here’s a post from a blog on faded signs that talks about the company and has a few examples of old Selz signs.)
Friday Night Ferry
My significant spouse couldn’t make it to the ferry last night for our usual Friday night ride, so I went it alone. Left the office exactly an hour before the 8:25 p.m. sailing time of the day’s last boat, usually plenty of time to make the three-mile hike from the western slope of Potrero Hill to the Ferry Building. But in the interest of trying new routes, I wandered through the UC-San Francisco Mission Bay campus and then along the outside of the right-field stands at Phone Company Park and added about two-thirds of a mile extra to the trip, stopped to take a picture or two, and wound up having to run (or power-shuffle, as a casual observer might have called it) up the Embarcadero to the ferry slip. I made the boat with five minutes to spare.
The usual routine is to buy a glass (plastic, actually) of white wine for my shipmate and a beer for myself and sit under the heaters on the second deck. But the boat bar is cash only, so I climbed to the top deck, stood in the lee of the pilothouse, and watched the trip go by sans beverage. The light was striking, as always, with the low evening cloud cover moving in off the ocean and a much higher layer of clouds catching the last of the sun; the tide was ebbing in the Oakland estuary, moving so fast that it looked like a river current, though not as extreme as the flow you see in New York’s East River.
Places on a Map
Mexican Hat, Utah: “To start a trip at Mexican Hat, Utah, is to start off into empty space from the end of the world. The space that surrounds Mexican Hat is filled only with what the natives describe as ‘a lot of rocks, a lot of sand, more rocks, more sand, and wind enough to blow it away.’ “
–Wallace Stegner, from “The Sound of Mountain Water,” 1969