A lovelier mid-March day there cannot be. It's 75 degrees under cloudless blue skies at the Mini. Navy Pier is bathed in afternoon sunlight and there is not a trace of ice to be seen on the lake. It was a great afternoon for a run so Babs and I ventured into the great outdoors, that is the lakefront in Chicago.
Along the way from our front door, albeit revolving as it is, we encoutered not one, but two weary pilgrims seeking entrance to the promised land that is the lakefront running path. That is to say that two dudes, one business guy from Southern California, and another from Vancouver, Canuckland were marveling at how lovely it can be in Chicago and wanted to know how in the heck to get across to the other side of Lake Shore Drive. Trying to get across eight lanes of traffic at highway speeds during rush hour can, after all, be a bit dicey.
Babs and I, in all our leading the pilgrims to the promised land glory, said a few incantations, and gestured to the heavens (Must please the gods of sunny day running, mustn't we?), and told them "Come with us. That's where we're going." I began to feel a bit like Dorothy collecting lions, tin men, and scarecrows at some point. Every few feet it seemed like we picked up a new member of the crew. Sadly no Toto, but then there were no witches either, good or wicked.
One traffic light and one tunnel under the drive later we arrived at the promised land. It was a great evening on the path, with runners, bikers, and roller bladers by the dozens? scores? hundreds? Who the heck knows? There were a bunch of people out there. There were people at the beach with their dogs. There were the nerdy hacky sack guys, who look like University of Chicago students trying to be cool. The jugglers were there with their balls, and whatever you call those things that look like bowling pins that they juggle. Better yet, the TV crews were there in their trucks with the big antennae on the top. "Hey dude. Where do you think we can find some news in this big honking mobile unit?"..."Duh, at the beach. Let's go."
Usually at this time of year, the only place a runner can get some drinking water is at what, in Chicago running, is known as the "Horse Trough." It used to be an actual horse trough, but since virtually no actual horses are found in Lincoln Park these days, it serves as a year round source of running water for exercise junkies. They took out the original horse trough and the Chicago Area Runners Association put in one that looks like a horse trough for the runners, along with a statue of a foot next to it. Anyway, for some reason the Chicago Park District has seen fit to turn on the water fountains early this year, abeit running constantly so they don't freeze up overnight when the temperature dips. Then they have also opened the restrooms at the North Ave. Boathouse surprisingly. I've seen years when they didn't do that until Memorial Day.
Anyway, it's March. The sun is shining. It's 75 degrees (Fahrenheit). The water is on. The restrooms are open. The TV crews, and runners and bikers, and roller bladers and assorted hanger outers are all at the lake. Life is good in the promised land today.
In the cold weather months there are always people at the lake, crazy suckers that they are, but in much smaller numbers. The wind blows off the lake and you start to wonder why it is that you live in this city, in this locale. Then a day like today comes along and it all comes back to you. There's no other place quite like Chicago. Somewhere back there in the late 19th and early 20th century the city fathers decided not to allow commercial development along the lakefront. It's all park land from Rogers Park on the North to Hyde Park in the South. When the weather is right, the water is beautiful, and the lakefront is the city's playground. Rich and poor and in between, we live here, we share the lakefront, the great equalizer, the jewel of the City of Chicago.
I live on the lakefront in downtown, so I see a lot of out of towners, from all over the country, from all over the world. An awful lot of them want to know how to get to the promised land, and I'm always happy to show them the way to the lake. I especially feel pride when those out of towners are from places people regularly covet, Southern California, or even Vancouver, British Columbia. When I show them what this city has to offer and they are wowed, I feel a sense of pride. I know I found the promised land when I landed here. I am awed still, after 23 years.
No comments:
Post a Comment