Hilary and Theresa's Road to Nowhere: October 2010

Friday, October 29, 2010

From Asbury Park to the Promised Land

After four days of glorious weather in Chicago, we left town just as the tornadoes started to drop. We arrived in Cleveland and checked into the worst Motel 6 yet. But we have decided that the secret to happiness in life is to constantly lower our standards (perhaps this explains the success of our 34 year marriage.) Accordingly, our motto has become "if it doesn't have bed-bugs - it's okay by us." I have gotten into the habit of obsessively googling reviews, which can be frightening, but also hilarious. Some of my favorites report the findings of bloodstains in motel bathrooms. I am almost positive there is this one guy out there who finds bloodstains on the bathroom door of every motel he stays at; the reviews read exactly the same. Another favorite started out with "If you value your life you might want to pay a little more and stay somewhere else..." But google I must because the bed-bug hysteria continues to pick up steam as we approach the east coast, and it has taken it's toll on my mental health. If you believe the prognosticators, the country will soon be irreparably infested and in order to remain safe we must immediately return to our houses and never leave them again. So I screen out the motels with bed-bug reviews, even though I don't believe a lot of them. Then, the first thing we do when we walk into a motel room is pull down the sheets and look under the mattress. If the coast is clear, we stay. It was late, there were no bed bugs, so we checked into the Motel 6 just outside of Cleveland.

Had they actually served Indian food at this motel, the smell at 7:00 a.m. when I straggled int the lobby for coffee might not have been so disagreeable. And if I still did drugs, the obvious dealing in the parking lot might have been convenient. And if I enjoyed the sounds of other people... Never mind. Just know that the walls were very thin. BUT, there were no bed-bugs so Shangri-La would do.

It wouldn't be fair to Cleveland to compare it to Chicago. That would be like comparing Oakland to San Francisco. But Cleveland did actually remind me a lot of Oakland. Enormous cultural diversity. Struggles with poverty and violent crime. Huge sports arenas for teams in need of life-support... But there was a palpable depression in Cleveland that I never felt in Oakland. Heavily invested in the steel and auto industry, Cleveland has taken some of the country's biggest economic hits in recent decades. Disappearing jobs and "white-flight" continue to be responsible for the decaying infrastructure and impoverished underclass that you can't help but notice in this city. One local told us that Cleveland's main problem is that it's population peaked 60 years ago. This explained the boarded up schools and churches with for-sale signs. Then Lebron left town. No wonder he is the "Anti-Christ" in these parts.

Making matters worse, getting around the greater Cleveland area was difficult because our Navigators were completely unreliable during this leg of our journey, routinely giving us us ridiculous information. When I asked for directions to the Medina Recreation and Swimming Center, for example, it wanted to know if I meant the "Vagina Recreation Center." Actually, that would have been interesting. Ultimately, we were forced to (gasp) ask for directions. Well, there is this thing called "human error" and every single time we left Shagri-La, we got hopelessly lost. Only it wasn't fun like in Chicago and we ended up in some neighborhoods that were very sketchy to say the least. The road signs were no help at all. Our favorite was "Yield to Blind Pedestrians." Thank you for that reminder Cleveland.

The highlight, of course, was the reason we were there to begin with - Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And our concerns about the sad state of affairs in the city and the world were temporarily assuaged by the special Bruce Springsteen exhibit called "From Asbury Park to the Promised Land." Two floors of all things Bruce. Home movies. Clips of the early bands that he played with - "The Castiles," "Earth" and "Steel Mill" - on his rise to super-stardom. Grammies, photos with the likes of Barack Obama, who upon presenting him with a recent award said "I may be the President, but he's the Boss."

We were not the only people in Ohio with a passion for Springsteen. Bruce holds a special place in the hearts of many Ohioans and was even given a key to the nearby city of Youngstown for his tribute to that town in a song by the same name. The song told the story of an unemployed steel worker and was part of a concept album, "Ghost of Tom Joad," timely still for it's theme of divisions between the wealthy and the working class. Depressing themes for depressing times. Yet these songs were also a clarion call to fight the power and rise above the pain. And as we wandered around the Hall of Fame listening to Springsteen's anthems of love and faith and hope, we started to feel a little better. About the state of affairs in Cleveland and about the state of affairs in America. A fitting testament to the transformative power of rock and roll.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

In the Promised Land

Giving Cleveland's Skyline a Little Help

I Call This One "John-John"

Sunset Over Lake Erie

Fall in Ohio - in the morning

and the afternoon

great colors

Getting Artsy

On the Road

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Chicagoland

We were "long time listeners and first time callers" to Chicagoland, the name given to the city itself as well as the seven counties that make up the greater Chicago metropolitan area. After spending time in the hinterland, any city would have been a breath of fresh air to us slickers. But this city really stood out (and up) in the crowd. We heard the raves about the architecture and the food. So we quickly switched gears, now determined to stalk cool buildings and great food instead of wild animals and hidden hot springs.

Looking for tall buildings was not as challenging as stalking grizzlies and wolves. But it was still fun to recognize the famous ones. Sears Tower, now called Willis Tower,was not hard to find. Checking in at 1451 feet, it is still the tallest building in North America. The Donald's shiny silver spectacle was obvious as well. Garish at first, Trump Tower grew on me and became one of my favorites. The Aon Center and the John Hancock building were also easy to spot on the famous skyline. But in my opinion, the coolest (and most menacing) landmarks in town were the giant gargoyles on the top of the old Downtown Library - I wouldn't have wanted to meet them in a dark ally.

The Art Institute was beautiful in a serene and quite way. Unfortunately, we made it to the door minutes after it had closed for the day. The bad news is that even with very little to be responsible for on this trip, we continue to be chronically late for just about everything that we do. The good news is, so what? We strolled around the Art Institute's beautiful gardens and wandered over to Millennium Park, where we were very politely asked to leave (Layla can be a real buzz-kill at times.) We were asked to leave a second time, not so politely, after I insisted that Hilary take Layla back for a picture in front of the "giant bean." Still such outlaws...

Getting lost in the city was a great way to get a feel for some of the neighborhoods. While looking for "Lou Malnati's" (best deep-dish in town,) we fell in love with the area around Lincoln Park and Sheffield/DePaul where we were reminded of the lower villages of Manhattan. While trying to find Mother-Hubbard's (great River North sports bar,) we cruised around the Gold Coast which had more of an upper west side flavor with its gorgeous brownstones and trendy bars and restaurants. We got turned around in The Loop several times and were reminded of Wall Street's long dark corridors where only small patches of sky were visible.

A very "east coast sensibility" was palpable in Chicago. They say "youse guys" and call people "Joe" and "Moe." And at times we noticed a kind of brashness that was very New York. When we wore our Giants shirts, for example, people would shout "Hey San Francisco" and then proceed to ask us this, that or the other thing. And an old lady in the locker room of one of the pools, pointed to the scar on my leg and said "What happened to you? I usually see scars like that on the big fat ones." Actually, that one was pure Jersey.

Just when we thought the two cities were alike, though, we'd notice something that reminded us that Chicago was not New York - buildings that looked a little newer, people that seemed a little friendlier maybe. It was hard to put my finger on the exact differences, but Chicago was definitely it's own city.

The people of Chicago know this well and they love their city with a passion. They love their sports. They love their food - the best in all of the world according to our cab driver, "Rain Man." This guy knew about the food in the city. But he knew other stuff as well. He asked us to tell him our birth dates. Within seconds, he accurately told us the day of the week we were born. When we asked how he figured this out, he spent the rest of our 15 minute cab ride explaining his mathematical theory in a monotone that lulled us into a trance as we drove from Grant Park to Wrigleyville. And yes, he was an excellent driver.

We were a bit surprised by the exclusivity of many of the outlying communities. We stayed in Glenview, a suburb about 20 minutes north of the city and quickly found out that most of the community recreation facilities had strict "members only" policies. So we knew they discriminated against human outsiders. We were still unprepared for the shock of finding out that the dog park too had a "members only" policy. Layla looked at us as if to say "you've got to be fucking kidding me." We knew exactly how she felt. But it was no joke - the "Glenview Bohemian Club" was off limits to poor Layla. We put our collective tails between our legs, slunk back to our Motel 6, and got directions to a beach along Lake Michigan - where even the riff raff (human and canine) were allowed to run free.

Speaking of Lake Michigan, are we sure its not an ocean? It looked like an ocean; we could see for miles in all directions. It sounded like an ocean; there were waves even. And apparently, it's dangerous like an ocean. The sign on the white sand beach at Evanston, home to Northwestern University, said "Swimming In Lake Michigan May Cause Grave Injury Or DEATH." Yikes. It was too cold for us but Layla disregarded the warning and took her chances. She managed to survive and as we walked around the campus of Northwestern University, watching the fall colors explode before our eyes, I understood why so many people chose this part of the country as their home. Still, they all seemed to dream about one day moving to San Francisco...

Welcome to Chicago

It's all about the buildings here - the biggest is Sears (now Willis)

H & L in front of Trump Tower

Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park - Can you tell it's windy?

Hilary points out famous buildings to Layla

The old Downtown Library was my favorite

We were late and didn't get inside the Art Institute

Layla unsuccessfully looked for another way in

So we walked around the gardens

They were quite lovely

And across the street from the Symphony Hall

The bean - worth getting busted?

My favorite city shot

Lou's won the prize for best deep-dish

Evanston won for best houses on the lake

Trees at Northwestern University, Evanston

Where they have quite a view of the city

Life is good when you stop to smell the roses

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The Badlands Are Treating Us Good

We ain't in California anymore! We got our first taste of culture shock in Jackson, Wyoming, where people who actually looked like Wild Bill Hickock roamed the streets. I guess I thought "cowboy" was just a motif. But they had real, live cowboys there. They wore cowboy boots and cowboy hats. They wore those kerchiefs like in the movies. And they had the cowboy drawls. Alongside the real cowboys, however, were a very wealthy and sophisticated set, many, transplants from California, including the likes of Harrison Ford and other Hollywood stars. So Jackson Hole, as the area around the town of Jackson was called, was hardly considered Wyoming to most Wyomingites. Yet it was very clear to us that we were in the Midwest. There were the "God Bless America" bumper stickers. And there was the fascination with hunting, the national past-time in the Midwest. We saw antlers everywhere we went. And not just on the dead animals nailed to the walls of every establishment in town. They were also in places you wouldn't expect them. Like the arches we walked through to get into the town square - made entirely of elk antlers. Oh, and "camouflage" is the new black this fall. Yep, we ain't in California anymore.

We used Jackson Hole as a base from which we continued to explore the Grand Tetons, hereinafter "the most beautiful place on the planet." With no foothills to obstruct the view, the Tetons rose dramatically from Jackson Hole valley and the distinctive jagged peaks reflected into the lakes below and could be seen from everywhere in the valley. Lodge pole pine forests surrounded the willow flats and wetlands - home to the moose we were determined to find. Wild-life sightings require patience and perseverance and once again, we had to work hard for our adventure. We finally hit the moose mother-lode when we followed a tip that took us to the small neighboring town of Wilson, where the girls at the Bagel shop gave us another tip that directed us to Trail Creek

The girls told us that the bull was often seen hanging around the lake, but we'd have to hike to get there. Damn. Another test. Were we real enthusiasts or just posers? We got out of the car and started walking. We saw several females and a young male moose on our way up the trail. But it wasn't until an hour and a half later when we reached the lake that we saw the bull. There he was, in all his cartoonish and majestic glory. Seven feet at his shoulders, and with antlers that were about 5 feet across, he probably weighed 1500 lbs. Awesome. We watched him until he wandered back into the woods and then we high fived each other. Now we could leave for Rapid City.

We hoped to make it to Rapid City before midnight. We cried "uncle" at 1:30 am, when we had only made it as far as Gillette, Wyoming. But we were on our way to the Badlands, and we found it prescient when we turned on the TV and Bruce Springsteen was on a new HBO special talking about making "Darkness on the Edge of Town." The Boss was talking about "Badlands" as we were on the doorstep of the Badlands. The forces of the Universe were telling us that we were exactly where we were supposed to be.

That was it for highlights from Gillette, an arm-pit of a city that supposedly produces "clean coal" (fewer BTUs.) You wouldn't know that by the thin film of coal dust that seemed to cover everything. It was hard to believe that the most beautiful place on the planet was only a few hours away. Wyomingites later told us that Gillette had no business being a part of Wyoming. So stay away from Gillette. Unless, that is, you are still a smoker. Then you might want to consider Gillette for your next vacation. Everyone is still allowed to smoke in Gillette. And they do - in restaurants, in laundromats, even in the bank! We, cough, cough, left as soon as possible.

Our friends in Rapid City always seemed to apologize for living there. They had no reason to. The Badlands! Mount Rushmore! The Black Hills! What more could you ask for? Of course it can be 40 below in the winter and my friend Loren told me that her nostrils froze together last winter. Ouch. And I must say, with the exception of the aforementioned wonders, the area was PFF ("pretty fucking flat".) Even Rapid City looked like a big lit up pancake in the dark. They don't call them the Great Plains for nothing.

The Black Hills are literally an island in the Plains. The name stems from their dark appearance on the horizon that comes from the pine trees blanketing the range. These hills are the sacred grounds of the Lakota Indians, who to this day are still trying to reclaim their land. Needles Highway runs through the hills where we saw postcard lakes and crazy rock castles, many that we were able to walk and drive through. Bighorn sheep wandered onto the roads and four very prominent presidents were carved into the side of one of the mountains. Lincoln was my favorite. No surprise I guess; Lincoln was also the favorite of Gutzoc Borglum, the architect of Rushmore.

The Badlands were an even bigger treat. I had no idea of what to expect. I'd never seen a picture of the Badlands and I didn't even know that it was one of our National Parks. Honestly, I really just wanted Hilary to take pictures of me standing next to things saying "Badlands" because I love Springsteen and I think "Badlands" is one of the greatest songs ever written. I was totally blown away when I actually saw them. They are like pink and yellow striped sand castles dripping into something that looks like the grand canyon. The bison and the prairie dogs and the bighorn sheep were fun to watch. But the the rocks were the real stars at this National Park. That's right, they were rockstars! We stayed until sunset when the colors on the landscape just jumped out at us. The brochure told us the colors were "other-worldly." I agreed. It was like being on another, very cool planet.

We stayed in Rapid City long enough to don our fake beards and watch the Giants BEAT THE PHILLIES in Game 1 of the NLCS. We then said goodbye to our gracious hosts, William and Loren and Oliver, and headed off to Minnesota for Game 2 (I don't want to talk about it.) But not before stopping at Cabela's to look for a spotting scope. You might want to run in the opposite direction is you ever happen upon a Cabela's. We were clearly the only people in Cabela's interested in looking at animals. Everyone else wanted to do other things to them. It wasn't just the hunting mania that creeped me out - the hundreds of stuffed buffalo (not just the heads, the entire buffaloes were stuffed) and the gazillian rifles. What scared me most were the enormous safes that they sold. I'm not exactly sure why, but I think it had to do with my vision of the entire Midwest hoarding their guns and their gold while planning for Armageddon (or a second Obama term, which ever came first.) It was time to go to Chicago.