Day 5: Farewell Chicago, Hello Heartland

Another perk of staying at the James hotel, other than fueling my fiendish delight of air conditioning, was a late check-out time of 2PM. This extra allowance of time gave us great leverage to travel once more around the city, unencumbered by parking and sans baggage until we had to head out for the afternoon. After consulting my trustworthy travel companion--TripAdvisor--we hoofed it over to the nearby Millennium Park in the Loop. On the way, I caught a couple nice shots of the city--the second (sepia tone, reminds you of Sim City, right?) of which complements the point I attempt to emphasize in the next paragraph:

 



 The park is a must-see when visiting Chicago for the first time and is reminiscent of the Boston Common in my opinion as the expansive lawn is ideally situated in the middle of the Midwest's largest cityscape, comprised of the usual yet tasteful concrete, steel and glass. The Yin-Yang relationship of monochromatic, man-made precipices reaching into the sky and the vibrant, earthy colors of grass and flowers which provide temporary asylum from chaos of the concrete jungle is just right. It may be hard to conceive of through words (as exemplified through my wordy description), but the ratio of endless city blocks and cacophony of street sounds to the relative solitude of green grass and pleasant, natural smells is truly harmonious and offers the weary traveler a peaceful respite from the over-stimulated tourist mind. After traveling to city parks from New York ( sorry, but Central Park is a suffocating zoo and an ironic caricature of the overwhelming city it seeks to provide solace from) to San Francisco, I view Millennium Park as the best design out there and a true feat of landscape architecture. What really makes Millennium stand out is that its generally flat topography allows one to experience the feeling of being immersed in a completely wide-open environment, able to view a 360 degree panorama of both buildings and water despite the fact that it sits in the midst of a massive city. Sorry to obsess over this point, but I believe the variable of spatiality is essential to the overall feeling of a park. A park that is choked with trees which inhibit both perception of color and view is not a park at all, but rather an arboretum or woods such as the legendary Muir Woods. So I guess it's pretty obvious I liked the park. Before showing some visual evidence of my various claims, I must further explain why the park is quite unique. First off, almost upon entering the park from any entrance, you can see the glorious stainless-steel shine of the "Bean." After doing a little research, I found out that the mysterious Bean-shaped structure prominently displayed in the Northwest section of the park is named "Cloud Gate," the vision of an Indian artist who is said to have been inspired by liquid mercury. The "Bean" definitely resembles a massive drop of mercury, but more importantly the massive droplet of liquid metal reflects and greatly distorts Chicago's skyline. Although the sculpture is constantly surrounded by a throng of tourists, I felt inclined to push my way through and take both a few distance shots as well as some shots attempting to capture the unique way it warps size and shape when viewed from below:

 

For purposes of brevity as I could write all day about the park, a few of the other noteworthy sites included the Crown Fountain (a granite reflecting pool surrounded by glass towers which create a montage of videos that further creates a sort of optical illusion with a hole in the middle that serves as a spigot for the fountain), the  Lurie Garden, the massive Art Institute of Chicago and the Jay Pritzker Pavilion. The latter is a large stainless-steel music venue which complements Cloud Gate in that it is extremely modern in design and constitutes amphitheatre-like seating surrounded by a massive metal shell or web with huge speakers attached and which encloses a large lawn seating area. Essentially, for purposes of comparison, the Pavilion is a much more artistic design of Boston's Hatch-shell.   At the time, a large string symphony was practicing and the mellifluous sound of the huge orchestra was incredibly crisp even when standing at the outer section of the web.

Unfortunately we were not able to check out the Art Institute of Chicago which looks to be definitely worth a full-day visit. At around one we headed back to the Hotel, grabbed our stuff and headed west; our trip to Chicago thoroughly impressed both of us and we were sad to leave yet our time spent there elevated the city, without a doubt, to the top five of future places to live. Again--who would have thought there would be such a dynamic city, filled with beautiful sites, people and all forms of art, situated in the heart of the midwest? Finding such gems was precisely why I chose to take a roadtrip in the first place. Sadly, we had to bid adieu to I-90 for the time being, making the tough decision to bypass the upper-Great lakes region for a journey down I-80 deep within America's Heartland on the way to Omaha, NE. The drive to Eastern Nebraska was no casual day-trip-clocking in at just over 500 miles-especially when considering the fact that we were leaving at 230 in the afternoon and would be making multiple stops to take advantage of every authentically amuuuuurican attraction the lovely Iowa had to offer.

Northwestern Illinois was quite a pleasant part of the drive, and Illinois is similar to most states with a large metropolitan city. Once you leave that city, the rest of the state is still symbolic of old-school Americana, i.e. quaint villages comprised of Agrarianism's core principals--simple, rural lifestyles built around farming and honest, hardworking folks. Perhaps the most memorable part of this short drive was driving up to a naked truck (my ignorant term for a truck without it's load) with a simple yet efficient piece of marketing attached to the cab:

This might be a wild assertion, but I'm guessing that this trucker, and perhaps most of the midwest, dislikes Obama's bold new Healthcare reform? Shocking...who would've thought that the color-coded map of the presidential primary showing the entire interior of the country in red (CONSERVATIVE) would translate into the Midwest being opposed to a political euphemism for legal, and massive additions to the Federal budget deficit? Anyways, I will go no further as this is not a political blog and my apathetic views are inconsequential to the purpose of my writing. I must say though that this moving advertisement was quite effective. Within about two hours, we crossed into Iowa, and with that distinction, entered the hybrid state which some consider the western portion of the Midwest, and others (me included) consider the Eastern section of America's Heartland. Thinking back, our short time in Iowa was lovely. The beauty of Iowa is that it is rarely, if ever, mentioned in the media. This fact allows the state to elude the nonsense of being labeled with a particular title--thus it maintains its quintessential Heartland simple-yet-authentic charm (similar, in a way, to Bob Dylan's enigmatic yet thoroughly fascinating personality.) I loved the fact that upon entering the state, the only things I knew about Iowa was that its capital is Des Moines and it's license plate contains a picture of a grain silo--how wonderfully simplistic and old fashioned. 

Okay, I realize this is a long post in a less-than-extraordinary part of the roadtrip so I will try to stay focused for the latter half of the day. Here is Iowa's state sign: pleasant, humble and welcoming. 

I am making gross generalizations because I spent about six hours there but I assume they are pretty accurate. Most of the following pictures will exemplify these "Heartland" values. However, I learned that Iowa also contained many eccentric features--specifically, attractions that deviated from the characteristics/personality one would expect from a farm state. Although we did not stop at most of these sites, a few interesting ones that one might be inclined to visit found on my roadtrip app included: a hotel with a "taxidermied" polar bear, a memorial entitled "Rex the loyal dog" with the description: "After the two children in the Dimick family died of diptheria, their dog came every day to the cemetery and sat by the grave from dawn to dusk, mourning," Herbert Hoover's birth site, a sculpture made of wagon wheels, a 10 foot rotating ear of corn, Albert the Bull, a working Danish windmill and the fake "Golden Spike Monument" which ostensibly commemorated the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad (real one in Utah) but actually serves as a promotion for the 1939 film "Union Pacific." Whew. Hopefully you have the chance to enjoy a few of these bizarre sites.  We did, however, make two legendary stops in Iowa which symbolized the creepy and wonderfully Americana split-personality of the state, respectively. First was Iowa's claim to fame--the "Iowa 80." The Iowa 80 is supposedly the world's largest truckstop. Here are some exciting facts about the infamous truck stop: 229 acres, parking for 800 trucks, 15 fueling areas and 450 full time employees. Fran and I were in shock at the enormity of the stop which was literally a Disneyland for truckers. Yet what really shocked us was the inside of the main building which included the mundane--a massive restaurant, bathroom and plaza highlighting Iowa's attractions-- and the thoroughly strange-- a 40,000 foot truck showroom of pimped out trucks and accessories, a huge trucker's-only shower room, a 24 hour dentist.theatre/barber shop, and the most bizarre gift shop I've ever seen. Here is some visual evidence of this fascinating place:

 

In summary, the gift shop was mostly made up of jesus-freak clothing, knives, ball-and-chains and other medieval murder weapons, and my favorite-an entire section of animal tees:

Who knew that many animal tees were in circulation? Incredible! We were lucky to have left the Iowa-80 without purchasing a single animal tee or partaking in a impromptu dentist appointment. I did purchase an ice cream and Fran was able to capture me consuming my favorite food in the world while playing the part of a humble Iowan:

It's unbelievable how much a blond pornstache can enhance one's ability to resemble a pedophile/ appear to be really really good looking. I know you're on the edge of your seat to hear about our second adventure in Iowa, but that'll have to wait, as it occurred in North-Central Iowa the next day on our way to South Dakota. Shucks. My notes from the second half of the trip to Omaha are quite sparing, as there are literally two cities in Iowa, one of which--Davenport--is on the border of Illinois and the other, Des Moines is, well, unexceptional. We decided to get a beer in Des Moines to say we had been to the capital, and as I said, it was unexceptional. On a Friday night in the middle of one of Iowa's state colleges, there were maybe twenty people outside, none of whom wanted to hang out with some tourists. And that was that. The five hour trip from Walcott, IA where the truck stop was and Omaha, NE was marked by grass, road, a few cows, even fewer houses, an elevation change of perhaps 20 feet, two bridges: 

and a sunset:

We crossed the border into Nebraska and then found out that our one-star luxury La Quinta hotel was actually in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, directly back across the river that separates the two states. Fran was pleased about this, for she then mentioned that pleasant little Omaha, out of all the ghettoes in the country, is known to be the sex trafficking capital of the United States. We arrived at the hotel and promptly went to bed, happy to know we were back in Iowa and would live to see another day.

Special Interlude Post 1: Fran's Pictures-Days 1-6

So every five posts give or take I'm gonna add supplemental pictures from Fran's cache of legendary shots +any additional and essential snippets of information. Basically, these supplemental posts serve as footnotes filled with juicy tidbits of roadtrip knowledge. First off, Fran reminded me to add some facts in order to substantiate my assertion that Indiana is basically a large-scale set for "The Hills Have Eyes." As I said, "unfortunately" we were not able to make any tourist stops in the state (but seriously I'm not sad at all about our lack of stops, the place is a freaking medieval, lawless, hellish, playground of sin) except for one gas stop and one bathroom stop. The reason I bring up this seemingly useless information is that neither of these stops represented the typical highway gas station/food/convenience plaza which provides maps of the state and pamphlets highlighting various ways to blow money on "unique" state attractions. Instead, BOTH of these plazas were inundated with posters of convicted sex-offense felons on-the-run as if this collage of psychopathic men was a tasteful art exhibit portraying the fine work of Indiana's finest local artisans. Artisans my ass, this mural of wanted posters found in both stops made me a bit apprehensive of using the bathroom and was certainly not the best manner of promoting inter-state commerce. So with that knowledge out of the way, here are some epic shots from the first segment of the trip including some forgotten state signs, my baby (the Jeep) all packed and ready to do a year's worth of driving in 5 weeks, some artsy Chicago pics and the bluesman who preached the insightful words-"It's cheaper to keep her:"

Day 4: Crushing the Chicago Tourism Scene

After a few hours of hanging with the hipsters at Starbies I had heard enough faux-revolutionary liberal musings (makes sense in my head) for a couple of months and headed back, reenergized, to wake Fran and start the day. My first plan of action was out of desperation and represented what I believed to be a pragmatic measure to prevent another sleepless night in Chicago. In simpler terms, I attacked my favorite website, TripAdvisor, with a vengeance looking for a hotel for our second night in the city. My indecisive nature is glaringly obvious when I peruse TripAdvisor and its internet brethren such as Groupon and LivingSocial, as my mind tends to wander from the task at hand when searching for hotels and potential vacation spots. I tend to confuse the appropriate choice with the most opulent choice--who doesn't dream big...right? After about two hours Fran finally gave me the ultimatum: choose a hotel right now or suffer the consequences of another insufferable night of 90 degree heat. With lightning speed I made my decision: the James Hotel. As it would turn out, my imprudence or perhaps lack of frugality in managing our budget would be temporarily overshadowed by the pure awesomeness of this hotel. Anyways, with that thoroughly difficult decision out of the way, I turned my focus to another one of my self-described strengths--impulsive adventure planning. As with everything in life, there was not nearly enough time to do everything we hoped, so instead we focused on hitting some of Chicago's most iconic sites. Upon leaving Kat's apartment, I stepped out onto the street and did a double-take--my dream car sat in front of me, gleaming in the morning sun and beckoning me towards it:

Unfortunately, this mid-70s Corvette Stingray was not on sale, nor did I have even a 10th of its likely offering price to my name. Regardless, this thing was HOT and I smiled, knowing that one day, this 8MPG bull of a whip would be part of my lineup. After checking into the hotel and falling into a sweet, sweet slumber for about an hour, we headed out to meet Kat for lunch and tackle the day. After lunch we cruised the streets for a few hours, doing nothing in particular but soaking it all up. I was amazed at how beautiful Chicago's skyline was, marked by pleasantly nouveau architecture, incredibly clean streets, and skyscraper's whose million-dollar view overlooked the pristine Lake Michigan. With that out of the way, let's get to the most important point; the women (and less importantly the men in Fran's view) walking around the city's main drag, the Loop, were consistently and legitimately beautiful. I was amazed. I love Boston with a burning passion but without a doubt, the dames mingling in the Loop that day were of a different level. Not only was everyone attractive, but more importantly, everyone seemed to be in excellent physical shape--a lovely characteristic that reminded me of Denver's "fitness buff" demographic. The combination of tasteful architecture, overall cleanliness and attractive, physically fit citizens impressed me greatly and spoke volumes to a city I really knew nothing about, as well as augmenting my opinion of a region of America I had previously thought of as conservative, religious and for the most part, a hotbed of widespread ennui. Despite its awkward pronunciation and rare usage, I love the term ennui and imagine the midwest as a prevalent, large-scale catalyst of the term's general feeling of soporific listlessness, or in its most extreme form, the "Beatnik" nihilism of the early-Cold War era. My love of Jack Kerouac and Henry David Thoreau often leads me to subconscious outbursts of superfluous description out of homage to my favorite writers. It just happens and I can't do away with it so just bear with me--hopefully the verbose language teases your imagination. Don't worry, I got the florid language out of my system--at least for the rest of the post. Next on our list for the day was something I had always wanted to do before I die, which is hopefully in the distant future. Before 2004, I had felt a link to the common suffering between Red Sox and Cubs fans for their lack of success in the previous century. Our time in Chicago afforded us ample opportunity to go see a Cubby's (spelling?) game so we took the train northbound to the Lincoln Park/Lake View area to see a game. To my surprise, we found really good tickets in the lower section down the right field line for 25 bucks a pop (I guess it makes sense because the Cubs are a perennial loser in the NL Central). The stadium was sweet, reminding me of my beloved Fenway Park and the fans were perhaps the most optimistic I had ever seen considering the Cubs hadn't been above .500 for maybe the past 50 years. Going to Wrigley is definitely an activity that any outsider should make time for when in Chicago, as the energy and scenic layout of vine-covered walls made for a memorable afternoon:

In classic Cubs fashion, they were stuck with the likely possibility of being left without a hit until the bottom of the 8th when someone got a measly single. Instead of the tepid response that normally comes with a hit when a team is down by an insurmountable number of runs, the Wrigley faithful erupted in cheers which probably lasted for an entire inning--that simple gesture made me happy and continued to strengthen my overall impression of Chicago. After a tasty dinner at PF Changs, the best Americanized-Chinese joint out there, we went to indulge in another one of my favorite activities--live music. It goes without saying that Chicago, historically up to present times is perhaps the most prolific center of Blues in the country. After studying the great migration of blacks and their music from the South to the North and specifically Chicago starting around 1920, I had always been fascinated with the incredible music pouring out of Chicago's Blues and Motown scenes. This night finally gave me the opportunity to enjoy the music firsthand, and I was not disappointed. We decided to hit up Buddy Guy's Legends Bar right in the Loop and home to one of the blues genre's greatest guitar players. If you love live music as much as I do, this joint is a must see while in Chicago. Even though it was an off-night, a Monday or a Tuesday I think, the house band was incredible and made up of mostly 60+ dudes that I imagined had been ripping up the Chicago scene for their entire lives. The beauty of Buddy Guys was that despite the Applebees-esque decor of vintage paraphernalia harkening back to Chicago's golden age of blues stardom, the band was strictly business and played their hearts out for the meager crowd of 20 or so folks. The best part of the night was simply watching the enormously wide guitar player/vocalist make nimble moves despite his hulking frame and bellow outrageous lines in his raspy baritone voice, like- "It's cheaper to keep her. You didn't pay but two dollars to bring the little girl home, I know you think the grass is greener way over on the other side. When that judge gives you that dirty look you may as well put your money in mama's pocketbook," all the while sending out sexy winks to every lady in the crowd. We found out from the bouncer as we stepped into a cab that Buddy Guy would be making an appearance an hour later and although the opportunity to meet one of the greatest bluesman of all time had just presented itself, I knew in my heart that I would most definitely be back to see Mr. Guy tear it up in the near future. What a day, what a day; I leave you with the Bluesy Mt. Rushmore: