Where have you been 52LC?
Adventures have been happening, the writing, not. I’m sorry. I’m back.
July 1-7, 2012 and July 22-28, 2012
It’s summer in the city. What that means for us folks in this sweaty armpit of an urban landscape is get out. Get outside. Take it in. Breathe it all in. Before we know it, fall will pass us by and winter will be barreling down upon us. Some posts ago, earlier this summer, I took the plunge, literally, into an icy bath also known as Lake Michigan. I reunited with my water-self and continued to explore other opportunities involving said element. Hence the following two adventures.
Paddle Boarding to begin. The alarm sounded at 6am. I recall being flummoxed. It’s Saturday after all. A day of rest. I rouse Ben and we begin our trek south, riding bikes along the lake path. It’s early and lovely but extremely warm already. It’s as if the sun never went to sleep last night. Instead, its rays extended through time, through the night, cooking the earth while we slept. Poor moon, poor us. We arrive at North Avenue beach to pick up our board rental, only to discover the beach covered in nets and athletes. Today, there is a volleyball tournament. Great. After hauling the board across the hot sand I get into the water and climb aboard. I begin paddling, and quickly discover the ease of the sport. Luckily, the water is calm and the breeze mild (I suspect this as the culprit of ease), allowing our boards to skim across the water swiftly. We paddle out far and stop. It’s silent and beautiful. That early morning haze still lingering, the skyline bold in our view. It’s quite wonderful really. We decide to jump off our boards and take a swim. It’s quiet out here. We paddle some more and I can’t believe how delighted I am in the delight itself. Who knew this could be so fun! After one hour, we begin to paddle ashore and I am truly bummed that it has come to an end. Our rental time is up. I am also saddened about the impending embarrassment I am about to endure. The beach has filled and the games have begun. I’m angling, trying to determine the best point of exit (i.e. least humiliating) to get the boards back up the beach. I sigh, realizing the only route is on the fine line between the marked courts. Let’s do this. Have I mentioned that these boards are heavy and awkward to carry? Oh, I didn’t? They’re awkward and heavy. So, here we are, heaving these things up the sand, trying to blend in, which seems impossible. I can feel their eyes on me. I carry, carry, carry, stop, breathe, carry, carry, carry, stop, breathe….You get the picture. Alas, we have completed the walk of shame and return our boards. But not without a battle wound. I have a bright red rash on my left hip. A little something to remember it all by.
I throw up every time I’m on a boat. Big ones, small ones, it doesn’t matter. All boats are the same. Some say you just have to give it time, adjust. Forgive me if I don’t agree. I never get my sea legs and inevitably end up hurling the contents of my stomach starboard. It began long ago on a ferry ride across the English Channel from the Isle of Man to Liverpool. A rainy Boxing Day. A football match on the horizon. But, the sea was angry that day my friends. Waves crashed over the sides of our vessel, the sea pitched us up then down, over and over again. It was no more than 15 minutes into our 3 hour journey that I reached for that little white bag in the seat pocket and daintily spewed. I was not alone. The ship became a gruesome scene; something out of medieval times. The horror. This was the moment things changed. As a young girl, I don’t recall the water pitching me into such a fit, and now, as an adult, the tables have turned.
So, you can imagine my fear of this next adventure. A small electric boat. Saturday. Chicago River. We arrive at Marina Towers and take the elevator down to the Chicago Electric Boat Company. I was quivering, yet strangely excited. My giddiness perhaps overdone in an attempt to thwart the oncoming upchuck. We board our tiny vessel, it tilts side to side, over and over again. The river is heavy with traffic. Weekenders in speedboats heading out to the lake, boat tours full of visitors. And then there’s us, in our teeny tiny vessel. Wakes from the Wendella tossing us from side to side. God help us. Kevin begins to shuck oysters. Yeah, that’s right. I said oysters. I suppose it’s the last thing you want to consider while boating and trying to avoid the sickness of the sea. But me? nah. If I’m goin’ out, I’m goin’ out strong. My nervousness subsides and I realize that I will not be throwing up on this trip. Imagine my delight. I start sucking back oysters and washing it down with a crisp white vino. Jealous? If I were you I would be. This is how the Brookes’ and Dragotto’s roll. I don’t know what to tell you people. It started with oysters and went on to smoked trout tartines and all sorts of yummy toast-point treats thanks to chef Kevin. Two hours came and went and as I walkie-talkied our boat in, I was half tempted to throw the throttle in gear, full speed (all of 8 mph), head toward the lake, and never look back. What a wonderful way to spend a sunny day in the city with your best pals.
From boards to boats, my love of the water and Chicago was palpable these weeks. Each day I drive down Lake Shore Drive, Lake Michigan on my left or right. My coming’s and going’s; its shore my compass. Each day its look varies. Dark blue, Caribbean blue (thank you zebra mussels) and frozen sometimes. It’s ever changing, affected by the seasons and the elements. I never get tired of its beauty or the feeling I have when I’m near it. Something about the water ignites something in me. My soul just feels happy.
Stay tuned for week 48 of 52LC. It’s a 9-1-1 kind of happy hour.
Wonderful to see the world through your eyes!
Your love of water must be from all of our summers spent in caseville on the water. all the sun, sand , boating, and walking on the beach. great times and so relaxing .great blog love ya Mom
I can’t quite understand why it has taken me exactly 4 months to read this episode of 52LC’s cliffhanging adventures (by the way, you WILL be going cliffhanging too, won’t you?), but I finally got here. And a very nice summery piece it is too, especially as I sit here looking out at a 10 degrees Fahrenheit snowscape.
I’ve watched people paddle boarding in this area. Maybe they have all been intoxicated, or are simply naturally wobbly. Certainly, they all seem to fall overboard whenever I dispatch Grommit to retrieve them. So much so, in fact, that I think the pastime should be renamed “water boarding” … except that name is already taken.
With regard to your much more sedately sophisticated electric boating, I must point out that your Chukka of non-Polo did not take place on the English Channel. I know that Americans are clueless about geography, but the Isle of Man is surrounded (yes, on all sides!) by the Irish Sea. You should be able to remember that one, because it’s the one across which the Goons walk backward for Christmas.