Night in Chicago, 4 days in Pennsylvania, Arriving in the big apple

Silly us for not realizing how horrid parking is in Chicago. We've been there before, though not in our own car. It took 1/2 an hour an a lot of grumbling and some fierce space-guarding to find a spot that would fit the van and trailer as one piece.

This was about all we could handle as far as excitement for the evening, though we had hoped to find a comedy show or some such locale-inspired entertainment. About this idea that the internet "saves" time: Uh, sorry, not true. Especially when you factor in a spotty cell phone card connection and not knowing thing one about where things are in Chicago. We did not find what we were looking for by the time we hit the Chicago traffic: an improv show starting conveniently an hour or two after our arrival.

After our parking fiasco, we gave up on trying to find an improv show for the night and our stomachs commanded that we find some good grub post haste. The organic food restaurant I found online turned out to be more expensive than advertised, and had nearly an hour wait, so we found a more reasonable place--surprise, surprise, and Indian food restaurant. The spinach dish touched some taste bud that had been asleep--and what a bright and beautiful morning it awoke to see! Each bite was fresh air through a sunny window on a hillside overlooking a heady field of spice crops. The lamb dish, however, was a mundane and chewy affair, rather like we were cows in that field, forbade from eating the spices surrounding us, confined to munch on dry grass cuds and trying, with marginal success, to translate smell into taste. The soft-spoken waitress, whose eyes swept away the usual barrier between customer and service employee, had told us it was her favorite dish. Another instance of how differently each person chooses favorites. Still, recommendations are a better bet than chance.

Not wanting to go anywhere (there was a WalMart 40 minutes away) after our late dinner, we opted to guerilla camp on the street. Partly due to low energy and partly due to an increased chance of being rousted, we did not put the leveling blocks under the wheels. We surrendered to a slanty night's sleep instead. Using our tiny red key-chain flash lights only, we did the minimal amount of bedtime preparations and settled in to the hot night, dispensing with the usual down comforter.

As we left the packed-in streets of Chicago (after that breakfast I wrote about in my last post), a feeling drew in like the clouds that covered over us between night and the gray sticky morning: we are almost there--the other side of the country. Road weary as I was, the feeling was tinged with melancholy. I have thoroughly enjoyed being on the road. I love seeing America and a few loved ones slowly enough to feel engaged in my experience, but quickly enough to keep this sense of movement, and to drive home the vastness of our home country.

The lakeside and Chicago skyline were early sights of Sunday morning that sparked my few memories of being here a few years ago. A great fountain enthralled me for a few moments at a stop light. The day became one endless flatland of dry corn fields and service plazas once we passed Gary, Indiana--a cluster of industrial pipes and buildings of the type you'd imagine from storybook descriptions. Oh--and toll booths. Lots of toll booths.

We spent Sunday night near Cleveland and saw The Corpse Bride in Strongsville, Ohio. What I liked most were the vibrant colors of the underworld, compared to the shades of gray in the land of the living. The story never really drew me in--I was always aware of myself watching a movie, the uncomfortable armrests, and the constant need to shift position. At the end, it joined the realm of movies after which I turn to Adam and say, "Huh. Strange." And then feel nothing significant. I realize that I could analyze the obvious themes of death, eternity, the binds of matrimony, waiting to be saved, etc., but am not compelled to do so.

We spent Monday morning in Streetsboro, Ohio, outside the VW/Audi shop next to the onramp, agonizing (Adam was doing most of that part) about how to proceed with fixing the oil leak. At long last and a few phone calls later, we opted to wait till Maine to have any more work done on the van.

The states are getting noticeably smaller now. We crossed one and a half states the first day after Chicago and another one and a half at the end of the second day. Just before Cleveland we determined that the leaves had not started changing on the coast of Maine yet, and that we would not miss the peak, and that it seemed a shame to miss out on the opportunity to dance to one of our favorite DJs (a bay area friend) in New York City. What are the chances we would coincide in the east coast? Hearing quite a lot of excitement about the event--Freak Factory--we decided at the last fork-in-the-road-moment to head for the city. This meant a slightly more southerly route on the 80.

I let go of seeing the town where my dad grew up, as going through Michigan was now decidedly off-route. We contacted a friend who lived in Chicago last we knew, but found out she had just moved to East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. Turns out she lives just off the 80, near the border with New Jersey. It dawned on me that we live on one end of the 80, and Michelle and James live on opposite end, 3300 miles away. Quite a mind stretch to think of that.

Pennsylvania is festooned with forests, nestled along rolling hills. I realized we must be driving through the Appalachians, though I expected them to be a little taller. I am so used to the big mothers in the West.

Half way to the eastern edge of the state, I invented a fabulous snack, which always makes me pleased as two peas in a pod. Peaches with honeyed goat cheese and walnuts (that peach made it all the way from Oakland to central Pennsylvania and was still firm and tasty!). While we're on the subject, I also made a delicious turkey-swiss sandwich with the inner leaves of a romaine head for bread, and stuffed with parsley, mint, ketchup, and mustard. And, I made chicken lettuce wraps with mint, parsley, green onions and spicy cucumber-mint raita. My how I love new, good food.

At dusk, we approached the house where we would be settling in for a few days until the venture to the city. The forests had not let up--still shielding our view from the hills and valleys beyond the two-lane eastbound freeway.

It was as if no time had passed since we'd seen Michelle at our wedding 2 years ago. We cohabitated in mellow, homebound coziness for 4 days. I did some crossword puzzles with James. We watched some Daily Shows. We started the first season of Lost, on which we are now (no surprise) hooked. I began my writing schedule and it completely changed my sense of progress in being a writer. I always knew structure was the answer, but Wow--it's hard to understate its importance now that I've settled into it. The days were wet and infused with dim light. Warm rain and greenery hung over us and enveloped me. Leaving involved a franticness I was not prepared for.

But, on Friday morning we scampered around and managed to lose Adam's keys and leave the gas can nozzle in the driveway. We left for Bethel, Connecticut an hour late, missed our train after making our way through car-choked, rain-drenched streets for 2 and a half hours, deposited our pod at the bottom of our friend's brother's driveway, found a pizza joint stacked with pizza boxes to the ceiling, melted into the warmth of cheesy vegetables (including eggplant and broccoli!) on a crunchy crust, took a nap in the train station parking lot, and woke up at every train noise thinking we were missing it again. But, we did get on the right train, endured lots of loud, drunken chatter, and arrived in New York City at Grand Central Station.