Hellhole Ride

We took our chances today in the "hellhole," as Illinois governor candidate Darren "Downstate Dumbass" Bailey (R) calls my hometown of Chicago. To prepare, Mary holstered her mild-mannered Glock-19. I carried my personal favorite, a plain S&W 1911 E-series. I prefer .45 ACP, despite the kick that tends to throw my aim off; those big, tumbling bullets have the knockdown power to take out Chicago's hardened gang leaders, carjackers and bribe-crazed alderpersons. We donned our IIA bullet-resistant vests, reviewed our zig-zag driving pattern to confuse snipers, and headed into the Hiroshima-level wasteland that used to be a city before Antifa and Kim Fox arrived via caravan from Mexico.

/political sarcasm

Actually, our weapons of choice were two bicycles equipped with water bottles, face masks and a Kind bar just in case of the munchies.

I'd wanted to ride the new-ish "312 River Run" for a while, ever since reading about the bridge that was built along and over the north branch of the Chicago River. 

We parked the truck close to the southern end of the trail, right behind Lane Tech High School, a huge, striking brick structure ranked number 3 in Illinois Middle Schools. On the grounds is Kerry Wood Cubs Field, a $5 million baseball stadium funded by the Chicago Cubs, Chicago Cubs Charities, and the Wood Family Foundation. Kerry Wood, for those of you who are not from around here, is a former Cubs pitcher who tied the major-league record of 20 strikeouts in a 1998 game against the freakin' Astros (remember the murderer's row of Biggio, Bagwell, Alou?). A hometown hero.

Anyway. 

Such breathtaking beauty. Also, the river and stuff.

We started off north along the route and soon came to the amazing bridge over, along and across the Chicago River's north branch. 

When I was a youngin', you didn't dare get wet in the Chicago River -- if you did, you went to the hospital for a preventive course of antifungals and anti-bacterial medications. God help you if you'd actually ingested any of it. There were clots of toilet paper and god-knows-what ever-so-slowly working its way down toward the drinking-water intakes of every town south of Lemont.

We have come so far, ecologically, thanks to the Environmental Protection Agency (enacted by Richard Nixon! Thank you, Tricky Dick!) and an overall general awareness of things natural. One of the few positive outcomes of the 1970s.

Now look at this river: canoes and kayaks and fish jumping. Yeah, you can smell the river, and it's ... meh ... but trust me, on a warm day in August 1975, you would have gagged and possibly vomited being that close to the river for as long as we were today.

The 312 trail isn't very long, just a couple of miles, but that was OK because a mile or so east along bicycle-friendly Chicago streets brought us to Gene's Sausage Shop and Restaurant, a three-story deli, food store and rooftop biergarten. Mary had a Reuben and a rosé spritzer, while I had a Thuringer sausage with sauerkraut and a Paulanger Pils. We both ordered the red cabbage side, which turned out to be generous and we brought half home. We sat at big communal picnic tables in the shade of big umbrellas enjoying a cool breeze.

Gene's rooftop had a great view of the huge smoking crater that used to be Chicago because of the riots that took place on about one square block two years ago, but managed to level the entire city from Waukegan to Gary. Darn those BLM protesters and their nuclear weapons!

Mary was a trooper and assented to continuing the ride, so we headed a bit west to the North Branch Trail, which follows the Chicago River through the northside neighborhoods. Joining us on the trail were moms with strollers, Lance Armstrong wannabes, puffing joggers, just plain people of every stripe, number and color. The pavement was a bit rough in spots and could use some attention. But it's a great ride, zooming underneath major streets to avoid the traffic, and featuring a linear sculpture park from Lincolnwood on north.

Somewhere along the way, I looked back at Mary and saw "that look": time to turn around. We stopped at a shady park bench for a break, then headed south. With a tailwind, and no side-trip for sausages and rotkkohl, we arrived back at the truck in just under half an hour.

It would have been a wonderful, relaxed day, in an inviting bicycle-friendly urban landscape with diverse options for dining, living and transportation. Instead, we cowered in a radioactive, bullet-spattered hellhole, fighting and fearing for our lives! But vote for Darren Bailey, because he'll fix everything because he's so smrt smart.

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Fox River redux, only this time south

Took a spin down the Fox River Trail toward the south on a lovely late June day. Started from my usual spot near the Hollywood Casino in downtown Aurora.

Here's a look back toward downtown Aurora. There were some fish below the bridge here, languidly poised in the slow current and pointed upstream. I'm guessing they were redhorse; that would be good news since that species is pretty sensitive to pollutants. Indicates that the Fox is in pretty good shape.

Not a lot of competition for space on the trail on a Thursday. Nodded to a few fellow cyclists and walkers, who appeared to be mostly retirees like myself.

It's about 7 miles to the trail's end in the town of Oswego. A bit too early for lunch, so I headed back north. Stopped for a few minutes to enjoy the view from the Veteran's Serenity Park. This is really nicely done: a place to pause and reflect.

I was feeling frisky on the way back, so I decided to tack on a few more miles. The Virgil Gilman Trail connects to the Fox River Trail just south of downtown Aurora, so I headed west.

On the first of a series of bridges near the start of the trail, a long train of tankers carrying sludgy oil-shale crude raped from the pristine Alberta wilderness thundered overhead. Soon that oil will be converted into kilotons of carbon dioxide and pumped directly into our already tortured atmosphere.

Anyway, the Gilman is another smooth, paved trail heading west out of Aurora into the exurbs. It starts off unpromisingly, with a short stretch through an industrial truck-marshalling yard, but soon quiets down and turns into another gem. These amazing trails are a real asset to the Chicago area and don't get the attention they deserve.

This local gendarme enjoys the trail's seclusion and quiet beauty as he takes a well-deserved nap after a grueling morning of writing a speeding ticket.

Well, the old clock in the sky said it was time to be getting home after a relaxed 20-mile ride. Also it was getting sticky hot.

Just signed up for the North Shore Century, which takes place Sept. 18, so I need to pick up the pace on these rides.

I want to do at least the 62-mile "metric century (100 kilometers)," but would really like to shoot for the 75-miler. Gonna take a lot of riding 'twixt now and then to shake off these pandemic pounds and get my stamina up.

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Fox River ride, the first of (I hope) many

Too pretty a day to stay inside. Headed west to one of my  favorite rides, the Fox River Trail.

As usual, I started from downtown Aurora, just east of The Casino That Will Save The City and of course Did Not. Nice huge empty parking lots for us bike riders, anyway.

You could not have ordered a nicer day for a bicycle ride. Upper 60s rising into the lower 70s, low humidity, light wind from the west-northwest.

Lilacs in bloom, trees just beginning to leaf out, brilliant blue sky, I mean, seriously, heartbreakingly, beautiful.

It's pollen in my eye, swear to god. Pollen.

This little lighthouse was built by industrialist George Fabyan on his estate around 1905.

Fabyan supported the Baconian theory, popular at the time, that Shakespeare's plays were written by Francis Bacon.

Rich people: they're just like us, only dumber.

In 1914 the Fabyan purchased and had moved a Dutch-style windmill built c. 1870 from its original farm site in York Center, Illinois, to his estate.

Known as the Fabyan Windmill, this five-story grist mill was restored to working order in 2004. It is known by Shakespeare scholars as "Idiot's Windmill."

I was surprised and delighted by a short train popping up along the east side of the river on the way home. I am a male person, so trains make me happy for some reason.

Then the dappled path back to the car, and (sigh) home. Total was 19.88 miles, according to Cyclemeter. 

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Welcome spring!

I led the Sanctuary Bicycle Group on its first long ride of the season. Wonderful turnout today, 16 riders, which we attributed to pent-up demand. Previous rides were canceled because of the horrible weather we've been experiencing here in the Chicago area. This was the first sunny day in more than a month!

We headed south from downtown Naperville along the DuPage River Trail to Knoch Knolls Park. There, we took the newly extended trail west to 95th Street. A mile or two on quiet suburban side streets later, we entered Springbrook Prairie Forest Preserve.

After the six-mile Springbrook Prairie loop, we rode south on Southern DuPage County Regional Trail, along 75th Street, cutting a bit short along Modaff Road north to Bailey, and back to downtown Naperville.

Apré Bike, delightful conversation and companionship at Hizeman's Bar and Grill. Highly recommend the pork & pineapple tacos.

Distance: 21 miles, with a mix of paved trail, limestone, and side street.

Add 10 miles for me, because I rode from the starting point in downtown Naperville and back.

I'm seriously wheezy tonight — overdid it too early in the season.

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Savannah, Ga., March 21-28, 2022

Georgia Queen, Savannah riverfront

We brought our bicycles – that’s the best way to do that town (heck, pretty much any town). 

Traffic in Savannah’s historic district is low and slow, thanks to Mr. Oglethorpe’s 24 squares, and the most dangerous things we had to dodge were the damned horse carriages.

We saw all the houses and mansions mentioned in The Good Book (MITGOGAE), and many that weren’t. I highly recommend the Telfair Museum if you haven’t been there, especially the “sculpture garden” in the basement.

Mary in front of the Mercer House

We also visited the lovely town of Beaufort, which the Washington Post advertised as “Charleston without all the tourists and less damned horse carriages.”

It was that, surely, but since it was much smaller and didn’t have nearly the number of quaint restaurants per square inch as Savannah, Mary wasn’t impressed. I did some fly-fishing in the local waterway; caught nothing but enjoyed it immensely. We bicycled the “Spanish Moss Bicycle Trail,” which is as cool as it sounds and more than I could have hoped for. Here we are enjoying the warm sunshine, which they have in abundance in places

THAT AREN’T CHICAGO

(Sorry, did I scream that out loud in despair.)

Happy Dave. Bike. Warm. Happy.

At the end of the trail we met a guy in a golf cart who invited us to follow him to “The Sands.” We shrugged and said “sure!” which is a good way to a find a really cool local place or end up in an ax-murderer’s dungeon.

Port Royal observation tower,
with lovely woman observing.

We followed him to the little town of Port Royal, which had a sandy beach (hence the name), a fantastic wooden boardwalk over the water, and a cool timber observation tower. (We are apparently not dungeon fodder.)

Tiny dancer, tiny alligator

In a park in the middle of town there was a pond with alligators and interesting birds galore. We watched the mating dance of the Anhingas, which I highly recommend as a mildly erotic form of birdwatching

Rusty shrimper. Good name
for a southern rock band.

Later we had dinner at an excellent restaurant on the water called Fishcamp, and watched the sun set over a pier full of shrimp boats.

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