The waitress in Michigan City said that on clear days the Chicago skyline is visible from there. We’ll have to take her word for that. Our day was too hazy, but at least it wasn’t raining. As we headed to Hammond we picked up the buildings with the big lens about 10 nm out. Wooo.
After nearly a month here we feel competent to say that Mad Max steam punk post-apocalyptic industrial grime is to the southern tip of Lake Michigan as natural beauty is to the northern tip. Maybe it’s good that today is Tuesday. Tuesday is Soylent Green day.
On the way to the dirty city of Hammond we passed by the dirty city of Gary. Doug and his buddy David once stopped in Gary after a football game—which the good guys won in an epic comeback when Jeremy Lincoln overran Notre Dame’s backup kicker’s field goal attempt but it glanced off his butt anyway—in South Bend. The only other thing we know about Gary is that Harold Hill didn’t actually attend the Gary Conservatory of Music or whatever he claimed. (As musicals go, The Music Man is no Mamma Mia. “Trouble with a capital T, which rhymes with P, which stands for pool?” Really?)
The marina in Hammond wasn’t necessarily the best, for us at least. The slip they assigned us was too small. The only restaurant within safe walking distance was in a casino. The people, however, were great. We topped off the fuel tanks, docked on a face, tied up neatly, and completed our end-of-cruise checklist. Dana gave the boys their traditional end-of-cruise walk. The manager kindly delivered a package someone mailed to us. Two dockhands helped lower the mast for the Chicago bridges.
Ok, so what’s the weather like tomorrow? Windy? Rainy? Crap, let’s go to Chicago right now. Throw the boys back on board. Fire up the engine again. Disconnect the power, slip the lines, and bolt.
An hour later we could see the city a bit better.
Past the south side, which is the baddest part of town. Up almost to the Navy pier. Through the mooring field full of sailboats and the yacht club docks. When we docked for the second time today, Hammond was just a bad memory, almost like it never happened.
We couldn’t be much happier with the view from our front porch, although hopefully the humidity will drop. We guess that’s why they call it The Muggy City.
*Well a friend of ours named Steve Goodman wrote that song . . . So we felt obliged to include it on this album.