told her to just give me the address and I'd punch it into my GPS. She said
that following the GPS directions wouldn't be a good idea, and that she
would give us a "safe route". Safe route? She also told us to pull around to
the pack of the place so we could put the car into the locked compound. I
started to get just a little bit concerned. Nathalie and I had taken a wrong
turn in Miami in March and wound up heading into the wrong neighborhood. The
friendliest faces we saw were on the cops raiding a house we drove past. We
turned around and got out fast. Deliberately heading into a neighborhood
like that didn't seem like a good idea but Kelly assured us that as long as
we followed her directions, didn't pull over, kept the doors locked, and
left before dark, we'd be fine. I'm serious, those were her instructions.
The clincher was when she said she went there all the time. If she can do
it, then we should be able to handle it.
We called ahead to let Phil know when to expect us so he could have the gate
open. When we left the Interstate the first thing that struck me was that we
were the only white people to be seen. There weren't even any white people
in cars just driving through the area and looking scared, like us. I felt a
little bit conspicuous. It took us 20 minutes of driving through a
neighborhood where it seemed that half the stores were boarded up and the
other half were fortresses with steel bars over every window and door. I've
seen this stuff on TV but I didn't think it was real. We were very relieved
to finally get to the station, but when we pulled up out back the gate was
closed and locked. I got out of the car, and telling Nathalie to lock the
doors, set off around the building to get the gate opened. If I felt
conspicuous before, now I felt like I had a bulls-eye on my back as I walked
back down the street and around the corner.
It was with a profound sense of relief that I opened the front door and
stepped into safety. Only to find the place deserted. There were no trucks,
no ambulance, and when I walked through there wasn't a soul in the place.
There was a pot of water boiling on the stove, the coffee was on, a TV set
was playing, but everybody was gone. It was creepy. I leapt to the obvious
conclusion that they'd all been murdered, and the killers were using the
Fire Trucks to dispose of the bodies.
I won't say I panicked, but I will admit that I was moving pretty fast when
I left. By the time I got to the first corner on my way back around the
building I had broken into a trot, by the time I reached the second corner I
was at a dead run. I didn't notice the Fire Truck go by on the opposite side
of the road.
I'm told the conversation in the cab of the truck went like this:
Fireman #1 "There's something you don't see everyday"
Fireman #2 "What's that?"
Fireman #1 "A white guy running in our neighborhood"
Fireman #2 "Who's chasing him?"
Fireman #3 "I know that white guy!"
Which is when I heard one of the most welcome sounds I have ever heard in my
life; Phil calling my name. Turned out they weren't dead after all, just out
on a call. We quickly got Nathalie's car in the lockup and even with it
being behind a chain link fence with 3 rows of barbed wire on top they told
us to lock it. I quickly saw why these guys weren't worried about working in
this neighborhood as Phil introduced us to 11 of the biggest men I've ever
met. They made the big guy from our 8-way look like a 98 pound weakling.
Then we got the tour every kid dreams of. As well as showing us every nook
and cranny of the station from the tomato plants in the yard, to the hose
drying tower, the weight room in the basement, the bunk room, the "Fat Cave"
(their Lazy-boy equipped TV room), we got to crawl all over the fire trucks.
And I mean all over, if there was a compartment on either one of those 2
vehicles I didn't get to poke my head into, a lever I didn't get to pull or
control that wasn't explained, then it wasn't important. He even offered to
pull the ladder truck onto the street and raise the great big huge 10 story
tall hydraulic ladder for me to play on but I felt I'd imposed enough. But
it sure was tempting.
Then we had lunch. When I saw the spread they laid out for a simple lunch I
could see why these guys were so enormous. There was enough food there to
end a famine in a good sized African country. Scalloped potatoes, pasta
alfredo, salad, chicken wings, barbecued chicken breasts, and more. This was
lunch! For lunch I usually have an apple. I think the way it works is they
keep eating all they can hold, then go down and pump all those weights in
the basement until they eventually become so large they don't actually need
to use the jaws off life to pry someone out of a wreck, they just grab the
car door and rip it loose with their bare hands.
We hung around for a while after lunch, but it was a quiet day and we didn't
get to go on a run before it was time to head downtown. Phil gave us
directions on a "Safe Route" out of the neighborhood and we headed for Navy
Pier, the prime tourist trap jutting out from downtown into Lake Michigan.
As soon as we turned onto Lake Shore Boulevard we were blown away by the
most spectacular skyline either of us had ever seen. Every downtown I've
ever seen looks pretty much the same as another, your basic big glass and
steel buildings in various colors and assorted heights. Not this one. It was
like a version of Keeping Up With The Jones's writ large. One guy built a
gorgeous building, and the next guy had to try and outdo it either in scale,
imagination or whimsy, and the next guy had to try and outdo him, and on and
on and on. I don't think I've ever taken a picture of a building before,
here I've taken a couple of hundred. We even took an architectural river
cruise through downtown. The tour guide was suffering from a severe case of
verbal diarrhea and made a continuous series of bad corny jokes but he was
quite knowledgeable and informative, and even shared such tidbits as the
fact that the best view in the whole of downtown Chicago was from the Ladies
Room in the bar of the lounge located at the top of the Hancock tower. So as
soon as we got off the tour boat we headed for the Hancock Tower.
There's an observation deck at the top of the tower, but Josee had told us
before we parted ways the day before that there was a $15 charge to get onto
it. She also said if we went to the lounge there was no charge, so we went
to the lounge and spent the money on drinks. And it was well worth a couple
of over priced drinks. We were given a panoramic view of the heart of
downtown with Navy Pier and Lake Michigan in the background. When she
returned from the ladies room Nathalie said the tour guide was right, the
best view was from the ladies room. As we left the building we debated going
to the left as we left the door, or to the right. We could have gone either
way, we chose right, took 10 steps to the crosswalk, and out of the millions
of people in this city, there standing on the opposite corner, were none
other than Philippe and Josee. I managed to get off a couple of quick
pictures of them as they crossed the street and it was the flash going off
that drew their attention to us.
And the peasants rejoiced.
To celebrate the joyous reunion we all went back up to the lounge for more
over priced drinks, then out to dinner. Phil the fireman was working a 24
hour shift and since every hotel room in the city was booked for a
convention he had offered to let Nathalie and I stay at his house. When we
got there I went around the house to the far side to let myself in. It was
pitch black inside so I started feeling my way across the house to where I
thought the door was on the driveway side so I could let Nathalie in.
Instead, I found the stairway to the basement. Fortunately it made a 180
degree turn halfway down so I only fell down 6 steps before crashing to a
stop against the wall on the landing, proving once again that when you're on
a skydiving vacation, the most dangerous place to be is on the ground.
The next day we visited Kenwood Liquors. Normally a trip to a liquor store
while on vacation is a daily thing and not worthy of mention, but this place
was extra special. When we went in there was a greeter, 6 cahiers going flat
out, oversized grocery carts, beer piled to the ceiling, and it was all
flying out the door. All the liquor and wine was priced by the bottle and
the case, and some of the premium wines were half what they cost back home.
It's hard to believe that this country once had Prohibition. If we hadn't
been planning on leaving the country soon I'd have grabbed one of those
carts and loaded it to the hilt with French wine and Grey Goose vodka.
This was going to be our last day in Chicago, so we rented a couple of bikes
and pedaled along the paths on the shore of the lake. We went about 10 miles
to the north, then back south past downtown to where all the museums were,
and as we circled The Field Museum of Natural History, ahead of us we
spotted none other than Philippe and Josee.
And the peasants rejoiced. Really, what are the odds of running into anybody
we've ever met before in our lives while visiting a strange city, let alone
crossing paths with our team mates twice?
Since we didn't have a place to stay that night we decided to start the trip
home. As I type this I'm seated on my own couch, in my own living room,
glass of wine in hand. Nathalie is asleep upstairs trying to catch up after
all the late nights and early boarding calls. As a team we all enjoyed our
trip to see the bright lights of the big city and attending US Nationals,
but right now I'm just glad to be home.
Crazy Larry
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