"Nice trail," I said cheerfully.
"We're not on a trail," he says, obviously annoyed and rolling his eyes like he was forced to respond.¬† I tell him I'm stalking him, to try and put him at ease.¬†¬† I feel like Don and I must have been separated at birth because we're wearing the exact same clothing; black spandex pants, orange jacket and we're both on bikes.¬† ¬†
We start to speed up.¬† In a subtle yet paranoid way, I feel like Don is trying to bike away from me.¬†¬† ¬†
‚ÄúI know a great trail along the lake,‚ÄĚ yells Don as I follow like a little, orange duck.¬† We wind through a ton of great neighborhoods, fantastic houses and wonderful smells.¬† Chicago's flowers and leaves are brilliant and about two weeks ahead of Wisconsin.¬† We turn a couple of corners and end up in a pretty seedy part of town.¬† Lots of police in bullet proof vests, chain link fences protecting dirt lawns and porches in need of paint.¬† ¬†
Don takes me through the Loyola campus and Northwestern.¬† We arrive at the lake and Don announces, "There's the trail - - good bye."¬† And he ditches me.¬† I'm totally lost, but adventure awaits and I make a mental note to pay better attention to directions next time.
I take the lake trail south, down through Lincoln Park stopping at the free Lincoln Park Zoo.¬† It's kind of out of place when you think about it, live lions and gorillas in the heart of Chicago.¬† ¬†
I gravitate back to the trail, as it feels safe with a lot of bikers, runners and rollerbladers.¬†
While winding my way back to the car I leave the trail and jump on a side road stopping at a hole in the wall store that says '"Guitars and…Read more...