By Judy Steffes
Special to OMC

E-mail author | Author bio
More articles by Judy Steffes



Another rain delay. Strong storms moving through Chicago and Indiana.
Lightning and thunder and some local flooding. Make my way out of
Michigan City, Ind. by 7 a.m. My goal is to bike through Chicago to
Kenosha, about 114 miles today ... and, possibly make it to my
sister's house in Franklin.

There's a bike path out of Michigan City that runs along the railroad
tracks. It's narrow, hard-packed pea gravel and with the rain it means
a lot of extra gunk in my gears so I stick to the road. About 20 miles
out I bum a ride from Ellen and her pickup truck. The main thing
weighing on my mind is the safety of Gary, Ind. I figure if Ellen can
get me through some of the seedier parts of town I'd be good to go.

Ellen's on her way to work. "I get paid to play games with the
elderly, what could be better," she said taking a drag on a
Marlborough menthol. Ellen's a single mom with a 13-year-old who
decided "while it's still summer vacation she can stay up with friends
until 5 a.m."

We drive into the outskirts of Gary. It's light; sunny as a matter of
fact, which makes me feel a little better. "See, this is about how bad
it is," said Ellen as I notice the open space, busy traffic, church,
and run down / vacant businesses. We get as far as the intersection of
Highway 20 and I-65 and Ellen's gotta bail because she has to get to work.

I'm in the heart of downtown Gary. With intense focus, I start biking
like I've been bitten by a jackrabbit.

The streets of Gary are full of potholes and glass. Boarded up
business fronts, few people. Traffic moves fast. One man yells out the
window of his van. I think he said, "Good luck you!" but I can't be sure.

Life is full of choices, and I'm ready to admit I've made a bad one.

Although I don't talk about it a lot, I have made mistakes on this
tour. In my haste, trying to ditch Gary I misread my map and try to
jump on Highway 912. It's much like the interstate. I kick myself for
wasting time and not preparing a better plan. I swing around and head
back down the off ramp, into oncoming traffic which frequently reminds
me of my lack of intelligence.

Finally into East Chicago I stop at a crowded gas station for a break.
Inside, the attendants ring up sales behind thick bullet proof glass.
I joke with a younger black man about the "G" tattoo on his arm
muscle. "Green Bay Packers fan, are ya?" giving him a big Steffes
grin. "It stands for gang banger," he said in a you're messin' around
with the wrong guy tone.

Note to self: stop being Pollyanna in spandex. Spandex does not stop
bullets.

A taller, string bean black gentleman steps up and starts a
conversation about my destination. He has a map in his van and offers
to give me directions. The license plate on his ride says "Jesus."

full story at
http://www.onmilwaukee.com/visitors/articles/bikewriter081307.html
greg c