1,150 Miles to Boston
So my math has been way off. I guess that is what I get for using hotel internet and trying to do copy and paste. I think it is fixed now.
We left the hotel at seven in the morning, convinced we’d have plenty of time to explore the islands of Lake Erie before dinner. Chicago had other plans.
I do not think Google Maps has ever been more wrong, but we are still on track
The media would have you believe that Gary, Indiana, is a war zone. I do admit that I was worried. I’ve been through the area a few times, but never on a motorcycle, so I was a little concerned. I was wrong. Highway 20 shows Gary in its best light; the city has the distinctive architecture of a Midwestern city built on industry, and the people walking around looked like those in any other city. I’m a little embarrassed that I was worried.
What Gary did have is poles decorated with stickers that read “friends don’t let friends cross picket lines.” I did not know we were heading into an active protest; all I saw at first was what seemed like miles of BP refineries. This has not made our news–it should. I snapped a picture of a rat with cheese before I saw the picketers. On the next block, there was a fat cat holding a local worker by the neck. Effective.
The protests were definitely eye-catching and made their point. I Googled.
Our first destination of the day was Indiana Dunes National Park; unfortunately, due to Chicago, we did not have much time to explore, so we took a detour on Lake Front Drive to see the dunes and the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair Century of Progress Homes. I would happily move into the pink one along with the other Golden Girls. We would sit on the lanai drinking refreshing iced tea while pretending the waves on the shore of Lake Erie are those of a tropical beach.
Next time…
The temperature rose, and my picture-taking became few and far between. We passed through Amish country, every roadside restaurant and bakery we passed making that McDonald’s burger we had for lunch seem like a terrible life choice.
The thought of the homemade noodles and mashed potatoes made it hard to pass by
We barely caught the Ohio sign in our eagerness to reach our destination.
We’d imagined spending the evening wandering Lake Erie’s shoreline and visiting lighthouses. Instead, Chicago claimed five hours of our day and left us with just enough energy to check into the hotel and find the nearest cold beer. Some days on a cross-country motorcycle trip are about adventure. Some days are simply about arriving.
Carousels and Curiosity 
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