I decided to call my 1349 mile section of the Appalachian trail good for this summer. I still need to take care of school stuff for the fall semester and find an apartment. Though I was rocking the trail, I believe my overall average is 27.2 miles a day, though its been over a week sine I calculated it. Perhaps its a few tenths more.
Melissa found a ride to Manhattan for the Nashville attorney and Columbia national FredT4, and I with a neighbor who owns a parking garage in the city. Charles cruises us in style in his H3 Hummer down into the madness of NYC. Everything is beautiful down here though. The streets are packed with peipke, a giant three dimensional hive abuzz with activity. Fred is a master of his phones GPS and has Charles drop us in a convenient spot, near a Starbucks. We go in dressed in full thruhiker regalia, backpacks and all. I order coffee, and Fred introduces us to the most beautiful woman I've seen since starting the trail. We chat a few minutes then head to the Vanderbilt YMCA, whose hostel advertises $56 for a double room on hotels.com. Unfortunately we made the mistake of showing up looking like bums. The bum rate is $164 a night. I learned this on the Pacific Crest Trail, always book your rooms from your phone if your going to a non hiker friendly establishment.
We go across the street to chill and listen to a band playing in a small shady park. While there Fred produces some cold cuts and sandwich fixings including a nice block of fancy cheese that a lady at a grocery store in Vernon told him to get. Just what we need, a little food and time to make plans. We decide to walk down Fifth ave to Central Park, and are completely dazed by the scenes of throngs of people and gigantic buildings. We both help each other from getting hit by cars. Neither of us are used to looking before crossing the street.
We cross into Central park by the Plaza hotel, walk a short way in and Fred decides to chill as I wander around the glacier carved bed rock that forms the foundation of the island of Manhattan. Musicians are playing everywhere, kids are playing in water fountains, and everyone is enjoying a beautuful Monday afternoon in the park. Fred talks to a lady and decides we should head to the Village on her advice. We take the subway, and chat the whole time with a beautiful Russian girl who is a student at NYU. Anna is very nice and helps us figure out the New York subway system.
We get off and head to Thompson sp? park, a small park in the Village where I lay down for a while at Fred chats with the locals and uses his Android to plan the evening. One man who has tattoos over every surface visible, including his whole face and is very friendly and helpful with info about the area tells us to go to the White House Hostel. He says to book the room for tomorrow then ask them to change it for tonight, this lowers the rate considerably. I call the lady at the hostel and she confirms this is okay, so I book it online from my phone and she hooks us up.
The hostel is only a half mile away, and we he'd over there before dark. It's in an old loft building, and the rooms are like cubicle built into a much larger room with narrow halls between the rows of rooms. $86 bones is pricey, but split two ways almost makes up for beds two feet apart, and short enough that I can't stretch out without immediately contacting a wall. The location is good though, and it was the cheapest place to stay in the city of New York.
Fred found a band who he has seen before in Nashville and is playing tonight at a country place called the Rodeo bar and grill. He says that they are really good, and it will be good dancing music. I joke it will probably be a gay bar with a name like Rodeo. I eat a great burrito on the walk there, and we soon arrive at the most country looking place ever. Texas flags are on the wall by the stage, and peanut shells are on the floor.
The band turns out to be awesome, and plays mostly original songs. Fred informs me on how to pick a girl to dance with. Among other things, he says that you should ask a girl who seems into the music, bobbing her head or whatever. Also you should obviously ask a pretty girl first, and if she refuses, ask an even prettier one, or you will look like a loser.
The band is good but ends early, at eleven, so we leave and try to find another show. Everything is closing early though. We both expect places to be rocking all night in NYC. Fred finds a jazz club on his Droid, and we walk two miles there. The band is very dry though and expect the audience to be silent when they are playing, so we leave. The doorman suggests a place down the street, and we head in there. The music is techno/ club pop, and the crowd is quite lively with a ton of people dancing around. Everyone says that I look like Forrest Gump, though two gay guys who I think are on some form of party drug say that I look I'm a prophet. It must be the big Old Testament beard.
The girls I'm dancing with don't want to let me leave, but I am beat, and it's six hours past hiker midnight. So we head back to the White House hostel and crash hard.
Morning comes early with other travelers waking up early and showering. I get up and have breakfast at a Subway next door, while Fred sleeps in. We decide to stay another night, and enjoy the city unburdened by our packs. We leave the hostel and hope to hear a live band playing an early show at a club. Our journey around the neighborhood reveals nothing though. The only music we hear is a DJ in a park playing for a party of hospital workers from neighboring Beth Israel. While there we figure out busses to the Staten Island Ferry, which offers nice views of the city, Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island.
Fred likes to talk to pretty ladies, so soon we are both involved in conversation with Gloria, a Manhattaner, who is really nice energetic and informative about the city. She is playing tour guide and aunt today for her niece who just arrived yesterday, visiting from Puerto Rico.
The ferry is like everywhere else in NYC, a complete cross section of every culture represented on the planet. There are people dressed in traditional clothes from their home countries, and travelers from the US on vacation to NYC. A mix of New Workers and Jerseyites are also on board traveling to or from work. We get off then re board as required, then on our ride back Gloria offers to show us around lower Manhattan, and invites us out to dinner.
The statue of liberty look much smaller then I expect it to look. Though It is easy to imagine the relief immigrants felt upon seeing it after a long voyage across the Atlantic. The apprehension they felt must have been overwhelming, when considering starting a new life on a new continent.
We embark the ferry where we started at the port authority terminal, and upon leaving stop to watch break dancers and other street performers hustle the tips from the tourists. Gloria takes us through the narrow canyon of Wall st, past the Bull, and to Ground Zero, former site of the World Trade Center. There is a lot of emotion visible and felt here, and many people are seen holding back tears. We tour the museum, then go to an old church that functioned as a relief center for many rescue workers during the 9/11 tragedy.
Afterwards we take the subway to Union Square and eat at a diner with a man whose a writer for the San Juan Newspaper, and his daughter who befriended Estrella on the plane yesterday. After we go our separate ways, Fred and I see a couple from Portland playing music for change, whom we have seen three times already today all over the city.
That night we head back to the Rodeo bar for another show, then head to the village to find more live music. A photographer we met the precious day tells us to go to NuBlu, a local club. There is no sign for a bar, we here music, but don’t see anything but we are were it’s supposed to be. Then two smokers come and sit on a door step and we see a two inch tall label, NuBlu on the corner of the door. A lively beat is bumping as we walk in, produced by a six Brazilian band jamming out. Fred gets the crowd dancing, excellently swinging beautiful girls around the floor. Both of us enjoy the music and the crowd whose completely energized by the music.
Around 2:30 we leave as the band and crowd also seems to be winding down, and walk the streets of Manhattan back to the White House Hostel.
On Friday July 22nd, I say goodbye to a city whose diversity makes even a dirty thru hiker not feel out of place. I walk past streets lined with Falafel and Gyro stands, street merchants have table full of bedazzled cell phone covers, though not a single one of any kind for an extended battery HTC Thunderbolt. The Avenue of the Americas really is a mix of just about everyone not only in America, but the whole world. People in African Garb walk amongst people in Middle Eastern, people from China, and every other area of the planet.
The Amtrak station is located below Madison Square Garden, and I arrive slightly early enough to watch the video on repeat concerning the police dogs at the train station. It seems that they are all bomb sniffing dogs, that were raised by local prisoners. Both benefit from the play time. The video went on and on showing the dogs finding explosives on both people and in packages. There are active scent and passive scent dogs. The active are led around sniffing packages or people. The idea is to search everything. The passive sniffs the air, and if a trace of explosives wiffs by, the dog follows the scent until it finds the middle age blonde lady who is apparently a suicide bomber.
The train is comfy like most, and I sit next to the window, soon a British traveler sits next to me who is touring the country solo with an Amtrak Ride the Rails card, and a hosteling membership. He is going to spend a couple of nights in Chicago, and then head to Seattle. I am going to see my friend Melanie.
Melanie and I have known each other since eighth grade, and have either been friends or disliked each other for that whole time. She lives out in Des Plaines behind the first McDonalds in an apartment building that her dad owns. I’m arriving early and she doesn't get off work until six in the evening, so I get off the train at Union station and walk around Downtown Chicago. I head to Grant Park now called Millennium Park, the name changed since I lived here. Like the Sears Tower which is now the Willis Tower.
In Millennium Park, there is a orchestra playing in an amphitheater that has room for at least one hundred thousand people to watch. I sit and cook lunch on my cat can stove. People sit around me on the stone steps. I guess that I don’t look too out of place. The sky is clear from the storm that was above when the train got to Chicago, and I decide to walk to Park Ridge to Melanie’s work, Fifteen miles through the city instead of taking the train.
I make my way east through downtown to Milwaukee ave. I take Milwaukee through various neighborhoods, most noticeably my beloved Polish neighborhood. Where every shop has a picture of the pope in the window. Then pass Pulaski ave, passing my dads old warehouse which is now an auto detailing center. Soon a total gangbanger approaches me, and tells me to hold up he needs to talk to me. I tell him Im on the phone and keep on walking past making miles. It’s hard to keep up with a thru hiker, when your walking with your pants down to your knees, so I quickly pass him.
At six corners where Milwaukee, Cicero and Irvington park rd meet, I see a Gyro shop, so I stop for the most delicious lunch that I have had since I left Chicago 13 yrs ago. Filled with goodness I march on down Milwaukee ave. It’s 95 degrees out and I’m really hot and dehydrated. Earlier I filled my water bottles at a fire hydrant. There was a sign on the fire hydrant that read, “Do not drink, Not Potable.” I added a few MSR Sweetwater drops and called it good.
I pass the Chicago Archdiocese kitchen, and take the left onto Northwest highway, which parallels the tracks that would have brought me out to park ridge, if I decided to take the Metra Rail. I cruise past apartment buildings on Northwest highway that begin after a stretch of warehouses, and soon walk through Edison Park, a little bar district. Good to see Master Chung is still here. Im dehydrated and stop at the best named grocery store ever, Happy Foods for a Power Ade.
Soon I enter Park Ridge, and decide to take a break at a small park around a Statue at St. Paul of the Cross Church. I wait a little while relaxing, I got here about forty minutes earlier then Mel got off. I decide to go to the Starbucks where I used to work, and get some coffee. Which is more of a force of habit, I’m already jacked on Caffeine from the Caffeine pills that I take while hiking. Plus the 95 degree temps, don’t really jive with hot java.
Mel works at Lens Crafters in a new shopping center they built in Park Ridge. It’s good to see her again, and she introduces me to all her coworkers. It’s good I don’t wear glasses, but if I did she being a floor manager at Lens Crafters would be a good hook up.
We swing by her parents house to pick up some things she needs, and I say hello, it’s been ten years since I have seen them. They live in a nice place in Park Ridge. Mels place when we pull up is a small apartment building with a party going on in the front yard. All her tenants are immigrants from Latin America, and they have a nice spread of food laid out. They invite us down, but were both kind of beat. After showering though we both go for Mexican food. Then crash out early.
Crazy storms rage all night long, dropping six inches of rain and completely flooding out here neighborhood. When I leave at about noon, the streets are still flooded and I have to walk shoes in hand. I head to the train station to go downtown Chicago, and am pleased to see a small festival going on. A blues band is playing switching from blues to Sinatra and back. Tonight the band 10,000 Maniacs is headlining the festival.
The Metra to Chicago is an awesome ride. Basically a reverse of my route yesterday. I get off and just wonder around the streets looking for live music. Then head to Grant Park to check out Buckingham fountain on a beautiful sunny day. There are several weddings going on in Grant Park, and plenty of tourists. A soul festival is also starting soon which I plan on checking out, but keep wondering north down Michigan Ave.
The Magnificent mile is quite magnificent. Throngs of people, mostly tourists crowd the street. Chicago is a beautiful city, every building has a unique style and there is a statue on every corner. Even the draw bridges have elaborate scenes sculpted on them two stories high. There is a 25 foot tall statue of Marilyn Monroe in one plaza, which is surrounded by a crowd numbering over a hundred people getting pictures with her. One crazy man is singing to her professing his love.
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The crazy man professing his love for Marion Monroe was not that different from the crowd of a hundred tourists gathered at its base taking pictures with this giant statue sculptured to immortalize the classic shot of Marion with her skirt blowing up. of course I got my pic with her too, and returned the favor for other tourists.
The magnificent mile and hiking around Chicago in general is a pleasant change from the long green tunnel, the Appalachian Trail. the water tower place is coming up after I pass the Tribune building, aka the Wrigley building. Wrigley's owned the Chicago Tribune, WGN, los Cubs, and the gum company. The building says Chicago Tribune on it. The Wrigley building is a beautiful structure. A tall white building built on the curve of the Chicago River. It is one of Chicago's iconoclastic skyscrapers that every tourist will get a photo of.
Hiking with my backpack down Michigan avenue, is not the same as walking down street in Manhattan. In Manhattan I felt Luke I just melted into the mix of every other unique individual. In Chicago, where at least in downtown, people look and dress more high end American. I definitely felt a little under dressed in my stained Team Mexico futbol jersey, and ragged hiking shorts. Maybe the fact that I had a boutique ass backpack with a go-lite umbrella kept the foreign tourist from feeling comfortable talking to me.
The Water Tower Place was the only building to survive the Chicago fire on 1872. Mrs. O'Leary’s cow kicked over a lantern, and started a fire that spread amongst the wooden building's. Eventually burning the whole city, save the limestone block constructed Water Tower building. Besides the story behind it, the Water Tower is itself a beautifully sculptured building. It has flair.
One Water Tower Place is the mall next door attached to the Chicago Ritz Carlton. Security five me a few stares, but I walk by intent on not getting thrown out of the building before I get a chance to use the restroom. Giant jelly fish hang in a large multi story foyer advertising a new exhibit at the Shedd Aquarium. Theres a lego museum, which I fail to go to. A store I do go to is a hat shop, but I couldn't bring myself to spend $35 on a ball cap.
Making it out of the Water Tower I continue north along the Magnificent Mile, Michigan ave. I pass the John Hancock building the second tallest building in Chicago, and home to the worlds fastest elevator. I pass this popular tourist destination, then the Drake Hotel. I decide to cross under Lake Shore Drive and take a swim at the Oak St beach, where people are enjoying the Sunday afternoon along the Lakefront. Beach Volleyball nets are set up and each one is occupied with a players.
I am sticky and feeling overheated walking in 95 degree weather and relish the thought of jumping in Lake Michigan and swimming about. As I'm kicking off my shoes, a lifeguard walks up to me and informs me that the water is closed due to E. colli, a product of the massive storm flushing out the city last night. This is a bummer, but I really don't want to go in now. Just off shore people are playing on wave runners though, and it looks like as nice a day as you can find on a beach any where in the world.
Not being able to jump in I walk north along the Lake Shore bike path that continues twenty miles north along Lake Michigan's shore line. This brings me to one of my favorite views in Chicago, where the shore forms a slight concave curve inland. Lake Michigan comes into the foreground with Oak st beach behind the lake, and the hundred story tall John Hancock building surrounded by lessor skyscrapers towering over the sand.
I take a long break in the shade, then decide to head back south. I walk along the sand just above the breaking waves. Then sit outside a backside restaurant and give Mel a call. She's babysitter on the north side till 11pm or so, then needs to drop me at the airport for my 6am flight. I plan to sleep on the airport floor. I decide to catch the 8:30 train, in order to catch the free 10,000 Maniac show by Melanie's house in Des Planes at 9:30. That's over two miles away in forty five minutes. I hustle a short ways back down Michigan avenue, then take a right along the Chicago river at Dearborn, and follow that to the station. The walk is lined with more architectural marvels, and I struggle not to gawk at the scenery.
I make it to the station with time to spare and hit the Arby's in the food court. Interestingly half the people in the train station food court are Brits wearing futbol jersies. The trains upper deck was built for me, and I enjoy the sunset as the train is heading toward Des Plaines.
People are starting to put chairs up in front of the stage for the 10,000 Maniacs, and I go sit on the pavement five feet from center stage. As the show starts I stand up and get into the beat. I have never listened to them before, but these guys put on an awesome live show. I dance around like crazy and get interviewed for the local newspaper. Then a man asks me to dance with his 86 year old mother. We both have an awesome time.
I get back to Melanie's which I wasn't expecting to show up at again today. My original plan was to stay downtown really late, then take the train to the airport at 3am. I'm so sweaty that I can wring water out of my shirt. I decided to take a shower and wash my clothes in the sink which will be a relief to the passengers around me on the plane in a few hours.
Mel drops me at O'hare but the ticket counters and security line is closed till 4 am so I decide to get some sleep and manage to stay asleep for three hours before some workers opening a kiosk I'm sleeping behind wake me up, as their setting up. It's 4am anyway and the ticket kiosks and security lines are open now. A huge line has already formed to check luggage, good thing I only have a carry on, I mailed my poles home from New Jersey.
The Field museum has a Brachiosaur skeleton on display in the terminal which I get to walk under after getting irradiated by the TSA. I try to get a later flight volunteering to give up my seat on the overlooked flight that I'm on, but some passengers fail to show, and I don't luck out with the $400 airline voucher United gives volunteers.
Soon I land in Denver after sleeping a little on the flight, hit the Starbucks then fly over snowy mountains to Tucson, Arizona where I will stay for about two weeks before moving to Flagstaff, Az. to start school this fall.
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