Day 2 – Ann Arbor to Yacht Club

Day 2 – Ann Arbor to Yacht Club

 

                  Chicago or Indiana Interstate
We headed south on I-94 out of Ann Arbor, intent on avoiding the Chicago jam that we dove into last year. In 2010 it was a Friday afternoon, late. This year we’d hit Chicago around noon. “Probably won’t be as much traffic at this time of day,” I told Brett.

We hugged the Lake Michigan shore – albeit no sight of actual water - as I-94 dipped south then came the decision point, just east of Gary, IN: 

1. Branch off to 80 west avoiding the windy city altogether or ...

2. Head through Chicago but I-90 instead of last year’s I-94.

As with the year before we were hungering for a cityscape and so couldn’t resist settling on option 2. A bit chancy I thought but hey - I repeated one of our travel mantras, “We only do this once.” We flew onto I-90 pointing toward mid-city.  It was when we passed The White Sox stadium that I realized we were actually on the same jammed road that we traveled a year ago. My second mistake was the prediction of light traffic. It was standstill at noon.

                            Let's Get Outta Here

“OK, why don’t we get out of here and head up one of the city streets, just keep going north – keep the sun at our backs.” I looked up for the sun. I was famous for this.

“Eyes on the road,” Brett warned.

“No problem,” I said as I rolled down the exit ramp onto, “What’s this street?”

“Thirty first,” my navigator said.

“OK head east – right? – where’s the sun?” We crawled east on 31^st.

Miracle of miracles, Lake Michigan came into view as 31^st Street ended. “Cool,” I said.

                 Bathroom Break at the Yacht Club

The kids needed a bathroom so I pulled into a cul-de-sac next to what looked to be a yacht-club-like building – definitely a members-only-type, I thought.  Lake Michigan glistened before us. The parking lot was $19 per hour (steep for a bathroom break) which caused me to reason that we’ll be chased out of here in a “New York (Chicago) minute”, but nature’s needs prevailed so I pulled up to a yellow curb near the water’s edge, waited in the car as kids and mom trudged with held hands toward the yacht club.

Their silhouette was so touching that I felt that the club might offer them a membership along with unlimited bathroom privileges.

I waited – illegally parked – anticipating sirens any minute.

                        Special Privileges 

The sirens never came and Brett, upon return, reported – not a yacht club after all, so I decided to venture in myself. I left B and kids, advising her to tell any officials that “Grampa with prostate problems needed a bathroom.” This made me chuckle, but not them, as off I went.

I noticed a store-like room on the right side of the building and feeling emboldened strolled in. Two public-service employee types stared at me. “Did I look so un-yacht-like?”

I put on my best natural smile and soon we hit it off. They offered me directions and suggestions for walk-about activities up the road and I complimented them on their beautiful store, building, park, yacht club etc. My praise was a bit exaggerated but I was sincere and they seemed to buy it. They told me there was a better bathroom outside to the left. We bid goodbye and although I’d already used the “bad” bathroom I couldn’t resist exercising my new privilege. The bathroom to the left was nice, more suitable for yachting types – me.

Back in the car, I reported details of my excursion to all, got behind the wheel and pointed the car north, thinking about the kids dipping their toes in Lake Michigan.