Chapter three
Chapter Three- Jazz and liquor.
9:30 p.m.
“ Stop the car, I have to vomit!” I spoke the words with an amazing calmness, or so I was later told, I was too busy trying not to be sick at the time. Outside I was a rock, Inside, my stomach churned like an overly expensive truck stop washing machine. Mr. T pulled the car over to the hard shoulder, and I jumped out, my calm exterior shattering. I proceeded to decorate the bland hard shoulder of interstate route 80 in a pleasant multicoloured motif. Mr. T took a photograph, and then we were off.
The plan was to drive up to Chicago and spend the day in the city before getting back on the road again for a solid evening’s traveling. The road into the city was what you would expect from such a bustling metropolis, but no less shocking when experienced first hand. Every lane was jam packed with vast American machines, from the smallest, tank like SUV to the largest Behemoth trucks. This called for some expert driving. So it was lucky that my wrist was still healing, and that Mr. S was still asleep. Mr. T nudged and budged his way through the throng like a highly efficient German machine, or even an impatient, rude and arrogant New York taxi driver. After 20 minutes or so we were clean through, and into the city that gave us liquor and Jazz in copious amounts, and the original high-rise skyline. We had reached the Windy City. What did we expect? If I’m being honest, expectations were not particularly high. I had nightmarish visions of trash ridden streets, filthy bars with corrupt bouncers, even more trash, and trash covered corrupt bouncers. Chicago, Illinois was none of the above.
12:00 p.m.
The first call of business, after parking our car at an inner city car lot for a reasonable price, was sustenance. All were in favour of pizza we agreed. Surprisingly one of the few times in the entire trip where that would happen. We strolled around the corner, directly into little Italy, the hub of Italiana in Chicago, so that was a stroke of luck. Surprisingly one of the few times in the entire trip where that would happen. We quickly found a restaurant, as is invariably the case in a “little Italy” in the United States, and we walked in. We all stood for a few minutes, eyeing the menu with a sense of want. Not wanting the menu you understand, but merely what was advertised upon it. We all looked incredibly tourist like, with back-packs, and cameras adorning our Anglo-Saxon figures, standing in the middle of the room, deciding on our preferred choice of topping until,
“I’ll take that one please” I said, pointing at the menu, “Not the menu you understand, but merely what is advertised upon it” I clarified.
“ Sorry boys, we don’t-a sell-a pizza here-a. Go a couple-a blocks down-a and then one-a right.” Explained Luigi infuriatingly.
Of course they did not sell pizza here. How foolish of us to assume that an Italian restaurant, in the district designated as little Italy, with the word Pizza, written in medium to large lettering upon their main billboard, would sell pizza. We all stood, disgusted, and very unhappy, telling the manager in no uncertain terms what we thought of his establishment. After we had muttered this under our breaths, we turned around and walked out of the building. After 15 minutes of stupidly following the exact directions given to us by Mario, we stopped to re-group and ask for fresh directions, now bordering on the point of starvation, and bordering on the point of Chinatown.
“ Gino gave us bad directions guys.” I stated quite matter of factly, “We just need to stop the next person we see and ask for a decent restaurant that sells pizza.”
After a further 15 minutes of hiking in the sweltering Chicago heat we came upon a pizza joint. Despite the price and the awful mock Italian décor, the food was absolutely delicious, almost worth the wait. I only wish I remembered the name for the purpose of recommending it to people. Once we had finished our meals, which could easily have fed an entire village in the Sudan, we refilled our refillable soda cups and left to explore the city.
2:30 p.m.
The next stop would be, as in any area of civilisation, the public library, to take advantage of the free internet access. The Chicago library was certainly big and respectably clean. The escalators that adorned the centre of each level, kept the human traffic chugging along at a good pace. While internet ready computers were readily available on each floor, there tended to be large queues, so our group ventured up to the ninth floor and signed in with a reasonable waiting time of 20 minutes. Perfect. Plenty of time to take advantage of the conveniently placed conveniences. While road-tripping in the United States, one key piece of advice from a seasoned pro (Myself) would be to work out fast which bathrooms to use and which to avoid. So now, I present to you my patented (well, not quite patented, but the office said…Well not actually, the stamp cost too much, but don’t steal it you animals!) bathroom guide of America. To avoid Gonorrhea, tapeworm or any other waterborne or airborne diseases that devour your intestinal tracts and bowels, or any such illnesses easily contracted in public facilities, follow these handy tips. Write them on a piece of paper and stick them in your pocket, or even rip this page out. Write it on your hand, I really don’t care, as long as you make sure you wash them once you have used the bathroom!
Bathroom Guide of America. Version 1.1.
Tip One: If a disposable seat cover is provided, use it, and then dispose of it. Do not take it with you for use in the next restroom in some hair-brained scheme to save a bit of money. It won’t work, you’ll contract Amoebic Dysentery.
Tip Two: If there is no toilet paper, do not use the restroom. An obvious tip you may be murmuring to yourself, but in desperate situations, you go a bit crazy okay? Stop harassing me there was no other choice!
Tip Three: Avoid bathrooms in second rate gas stations, especially those requiring a key. Although the key gives an illusion of cleanliness, it is false. They are generally Shitty.
Tip Four: Fast food restaurants provide the best sanitary service in general, being cleaned every hour or so. But you should always be careful.
Tip Five: Public Libraries are also generally very sanitary.
Tip Six: Come to think of it, so are book shops and large record stores.
Tip Seven: Bars and pubs, as a rule of thumb, are pissy, shitty, arse festivals that should be avoided at all cost! Yes, even those in swanky rich districts, the walls are still covered in piss, just the by-product of high priced champagne rather than cheep plonk.
Tip Eight: When nature calls in nature, go as far away from people and water sources as possible out of respect for fellow travelers. That means you Mr. Shit, who took a shit right next to the river in the Grand Teton mountains when you thought no-one was watching.
Tip Nine: Always keep clear of perverted Germans with Cameras.
3:30 p.m.
After our emailing sessions were finished, Thomas split from the rest of the group to seek a building he had seen in a postcard. Once. Everybody else went in search of culture, and the Buckingham fountains. My expectations of lake Michigan had been high. I expected an expansive view of beautiful, glittering, unspoiled waters. What I got was a limited view, a lake full of boats that obscured, and copious amounts of bird shit. I am sure that lake Michigan is beautiful, when viewed at the right time, and from the right place, but I did not have that luxury. Lake Michigan was my first and only disappointment with Chicago.
Millennium park. It is an absolute joy to walk through. Perhaps people who have not seen it or a single minded nature freak would condemn it as a monstrosity or an eyesore. I could not dare to be so arrogant. Millennium park was the highlight of my visit to Chicago. A triumph of modern architecture, that bolsters Chicago’s position as a cultural leader in the U.S. Huge metallic bridges span the area, and large ambitious sculptures surround, but do not choke. The water fountain and video screens are incredibly interesting for adults, while entertaining the children like Ronald Macdonald only wishes he could do. The cherry on top of Millennium parks icing is the huge stage and concert area. A vast, shining cocoon, that delicately surrounds the audience, and winds down towards the acoustically designed, aesthetically pleasing stage area. A well rigged PA system and a beautiful lawn ensure maximum enjoyment for the audience. My lasting impression of Chicago will be these huge adventurous steel creations, the cleanliness of the streets and the friendliness of the people. I loved Chicago and I thoroughly recommend it.
5:25 p.m.
By five O’ clock we were on our way out of Chicago and back on the road. We drove for a couple of hours on route 80, once again heading West toward the mountains, the lights of Vegas and the streets of San Francisco.
7:30 p.m.
The evening came around, and men being men, we were all hungry, and decided against every fibre of our beings to forgo the fast food for a night. Mr. C cooked up some of the pasta we appropriated from our village, and heated up a lovely Tomato sauce. The meal was not special but it was delicious and we enjoyed it under the steadily setting sun at a large service station, built to cater for large truck drivers with their large trucks. TV, showers, Launderette and Internet, a type of facility we would be thankful for on the rest of our trip. Before we left again, there were a few van- related errands we needed to run. We needed propane for the cooker and gasoline for the Behemoth. Both needs were catered for by the flying J service station. The gas attendant who was given the task of feeding our baby was a real character. He told us a great story about a truck driver the previous week who was driven out of the station by a posse of angry drivers, for peering under the stalls in the ladies bathrooms. That wasn’t all the fun we had from our new friend. While he and myself were filling up the propane tank, a huge Winnebago pulled in next to us, and he spotted what he thought was a beautiful young lady. He proceeded to make all manner of facial expressions and signals designed to alert me (a fellow male) to the presence of a beauty. Well, she was young alright, about 14 years young, by my reckoning. I barely concealed a laugh while the poor gas attendant turned a bright red and walked off muttering.
2:30 a.m.
The sun had finished its late evening task, blotting out the remaining landscape and forcing us to regroup in the van. We left the flying J station with high spirits and full stomachs, and we drove well into the night before finally stopping at a gas station to sleep.
9:30 p.m.
“ Stop the car, I have to vomit!” I spoke the words with an amazing calmness, or so I was later told, I was too busy trying not to be sick at the time. Outside I was a rock, Inside, my stomach churned like an overly expensive truck stop washing machine. Mr. T pulled the car over to the hard shoulder, and I jumped out, my calm exterior shattering. I proceeded to decorate the bland hard shoulder of interstate route 80 in a pleasant multicoloured motif. Mr. T took a photograph, and then we were off.
The plan was to drive up to Chicago and spend the day in the city before getting back on the road again for a solid evening’s traveling. The road into the city was what you would expect from such a bustling metropolis, but no less shocking when experienced first hand. Every lane was jam packed with vast American machines, from the smallest, tank like SUV to the largest Behemoth trucks. This called for some expert driving. So it was lucky that my wrist was still healing, and that Mr. S was still asleep. Mr. T nudged and budged his way through the throng like a highly efficient German machine, or even an impatient, rude and arrogant New York taxi driver. After 20 minutes or so we were clean through, and into the city that gave us liquor and Jazz in copious amounts, and the original high-rise skyline. We had reached the Windy City. What did we expect? If I’m being honest, expectations were not particularly high. I had nightmarish visions of trash ridden streets, filthy bars with corrupt bouncers, even more trash, and trash covered corrupt bouncers. Chicago, Illinois was none of the above.
12:00 p.m.
The first call of business, after parking our car at an inner city car lot for a reasonable price, was sustenance. All were in favour of pizza we agreed. Surprisingly one of the few times in the entire trip where that would happen. We strolled around the corner, directly into little Italy, the hub of Italiana in Chicago, so that was a stroke of luck. Surprisingly one of the few times in the entire trip where that would happen. We quickly found a restaurant, as is invariably the case in a “little Italy” in the United States, and we walked in. We all stood for a few minutes, eyeing the menu with a sense of want. Not wanting the menu you understand, but merely what was advertised upon it. We all looked incredibly tourist like, with back-packs, and cameras adorning our Anglo-Saxon figures, standing in the middle of the room, deciding on our preferred choice of topping until,
“I’ll take that one please” I said, pointing at the menu, “Not the menu you understand, but merely what is advertised upon it” I clarified.
“ Sorry boys, we don’t-a sell-a pizza here-a. Go a couple-a blocks down-a and then one-a right.” Explained Luigi infuriatingly.
Of course they did not sell pizza here. How foolish of us to assume that an Italian restaurant, in the district designated as little Italy, with the word Pizza, written in medium to large lettering upon their main billboard, would sell pizza. We all stood, disgusted, and very unhappy, telling the manager in no uncertain terms what we thought of his establishment. After we had muttered this under our breaths, we turned around and walked out of the building. After 15 minutes of stupidly following the exact directions given to us by Mario, we stopped to re-group and ask for fresh directions, now bordering on the point of starvation, and bordering on the point of Chinatown.
“ Gino gave us bad directions guys.” I stated quite matter of factly, “We just need to stop the next person we see and ask for a decent restaurant that sells pizza.”
After a further 15 minutes of hiking in the sweltering Chicago heat we came upon a pizza joint. Despite the price and the awful mock Italian décor, the food was absolutely delicious, almost worth the wait. I only wish I remembered the name for the purpose of recommending it to people. Once we had finished our meals, which could easily have fed an entire village in the Sudan, we refilled our refillable soda cups and left to explore the city.
2:30 p.m.
The next stop would be, as in any area of civilisation, the public library, to take advantage of the free internet access. The Chicago library was certainly big and respectably clean. The escalators that adorned the centre of each level, kept the human traffic chugging along at a good pace. While internet ready computers were readily available on each floor, there tended to be large queues, so our group ventured up to the ninth floor and signed in with a reasonable waiting time of 20 minutes. Perfect. Plenty of time to take advantage of the conveniently placed conveniences. While road-tripping in the United States, one key piece of advice from a seasoned pro (Myself) would be to work out fast which bathrooms to use and which to avoid. So now, I present to you my patented (well, not quite patented, but the office said…Well not actually, the stamp cost too much, but don’t steal it you animals!) bathroom guide of America. To avoid Gonorrhea, tapeworm or any other waterborne or airborne diseases that devour your intestinal tracts and bowels, or any such illnesses easily contracted in public facilities, follow these handy tips. Write them on a piece of paper and stick them in your pocket, or even rip this page out. Write it on your hand, I really don’t care, as long as you make sure you wash them once you have used the bathroom!
Bathroom Guide of America. Version 1.1.
Tip One: If a disposable seat cover is provided, use it, and then dispose of it. Do not take it with you for use in the next restroom in some hair-brained scheme to save a bit of money. It won’t work, you’ll contract Amoebic Dysentery.
Tip Two: If there is no toilet paper, do not use the restroom. An obvious tip you may be murmuring to yourself, but in desperate situations, you go a bit crazy okay? Stop harassing me there was no other choice!
Tip Three: Avoid bathrooms in second rate gas stations, especially those requiring a key. Although the key gives an illusion of cleanliness, it is false. They are generally Shitty.
Tip Four: Fast food restaurants provide the best sanitary service in general, being cleaned every hour or so. But you should always be careful.
Tip Five: Public Libraries are also generally very sanitary.
Tip Six: Come to think of it, so are book shops and large record stores.
Tip Seven: Bars and pubs, as a rule of thumb, are pissy, shitty, arse festivals that should be avoided at all cost! Yes, even those in swanky rich districts, the walls are still covered in piss, just the by-product of high priced champagne rather than cheep plonk.
Tip Eight: When nature calls in nature, go as far away from people and water sources as possible out of respect for fellow travelers. That means you Mr. Shit, who took a shit right next to the river in the Grand Teton mountains when you thought no-one was watching.
Tip Nine: Always keep clear of perverted Germans with Cameras.
3:30 p.m.
After our emailing sessions were finished, Thomas split from the rest of the group to seek a building he had seen in a postcard. Once. Everybody else went in search of culture, and the Buckingham fountains. My expectations of lake Michigan had been high. I expected an expansive view of beautiful, glittering, unspoiled waters. What I got was a limited view, a lake full of boats that obscured, and copious amounts of bird shit. I am sure that lake Michigan is beautiful, when viewed at the right time, and from the right place, but I did not have that luxury. Lake Michigan was my first and only disappointment with Chicago.
Millennium park. It is an absolute joy to walk through. Perhaps people who have not seen it or a single minded nature freak would condemn it as a monstrosity or an eyesore. I could not dare to be so arrogant. Millennium park was the highlight of my visit to Chicago. A triumph of modern architecture, that bolsters Chicago’s position as a cultural leader in the U.S. Huge metallic bridges span the area, and large ambitious sculptures surround, but do not choke. The water fountain and video screens are incredibly interesting for adults, while entertaining the children like Ronald Macdonald only wishes he could do. The cherry on top of Millennium parks icing is the huge stage and concert area. A vast, shining cocoon, that delicately surrounds the audience, and winds down towards the acoustically designed, aesthetically pleasing stage area. A well rigged PA system and a beautiful lawn ensure maximum enjoyment for the audience. My lasting impression of Chicago will be these huge adventurous steel creations, the cleanliness of the streets and the friendliness of the people. I loved Chicago and I thoroughly recommend it.
5:25 p.m.
By five O’ clock we were on our way out of Chicago and back on the road. We drove for a couple of hours on route 80, once again heading West toward the mountains, the lights of Vegas and the streets of San Francisco.
7:30 p.m.
The evening came around, and men being men, we were all hungry, and decided against every fibre of our beings to forgo the fast food for a night. Mr. C cooked up some of the pasta we appropriated from our village, and heated up a lovely Tomato sauce. The meal was not special but it was delicious and we enjoyed it under the steadily setting sun at a large service station, built to cater for large truck drivers with their large trucks. TV, showers, Launderette and Internet, a type of facility we would be thankful for on the rest of our trip. Before we left again, there were a few van- related errands we needed to run. We needed propane for the cooker and gasoline for the Behemoth. Both needs were catered for by the flying J service station. The gas attendant who was given the task of feeding our baby was a real character. He told us a great story about a truck driver the previous week who was driven out of the station by a posse of angry drivers, for peering under the stalls in the ladies bathrooms. That wasn’t all the fun we had from our new friend. While he and myself were filling up the propane tank, a huge Winnebago pulled in next to us, and he spotted what he thought was a beautiful young lady. He proceeded to make all manner of facial expressions and signals designed to alert me (a fellow male) to the presence of a beauty. Well, she was young alright, about 14 years young, by my reckoning. I barely concealed a laugh while the poor gas attendant turned a bright red and walked off muttering.
2:30 a.m.
The sun had finished its late evening task, blotting out the remaining landscape and forcing us to regroup in the van. We left the flying J station with high spirits and full stomachs, and we drove well into the night before finally stopping at a gas station to sleep.
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