American Skid Marks
Setting out on a great American motorcycle roadtrip.


Chicago flew by in a blur. I barely had time to realize where I was before it was time to hit the road again. This is of course due to the fact that for the past few days, Chicago has really just been a backdrop for my baby. Pidge flew into town for a couple beautiful days before being cruelly whisked back to Seattle. This is a grand and amazing road trip, but two months on the road without my tribe, my people, is a long time; the weight of loneliness doesn’t seem to plateau, rather it just slowly builds up in my heart ever heavier. I’ve missed Seattle and my girl terribly, so it is no surprise that we could have been anywhere and I would have barely noticed.

As expected, we ate and drank and fucked and partied and shopped and explored like we always do. There was perhaps a minor sense of urgency, but mostly, we just enjoyed each other the way we do in Seattle.

We ate an antipasto brunch, took the train to Wrigleyville, shopped for vintage costume wear (burner wear 🙂 ), drank cocktails, cabbed it down to Lincoln Park, drank beer and stumbled into a fantastic tapas joint for dinner. We traveled to find good breakfast. We walked to Grant Park, Buckingham Fountain, the waterfront, Millennium Park and Wrigley Square. We explored Wicker Park, found me a ten dollar fur coat, drank tequila and beer, ate Argentinian food in Little Ukraine, drank more beer and took the train back to the hotel to pass out. We woke up at 5:30 and got in a cab bound for O’Hare. We hugged goodbye and I rubbed my nose on her neck while the cab driver idled impatiently. I got back in the cab alone. Alone, he drove me back to my motorcycle while I still smelled Pidge on my clothes. Alone, I mounted up all of my gear while picking strands of her hair out of my jacket. Alone, I hit the road again.

I want to show you pictures, but there are none. I want to give you recommendations on things to see and do in Chicago, but I have forgotten them. I want to tell you about the soul of Chicago, but I did not notice if I felt it. I was in love in Chicago, and the thing I remember most is being with my baby.

A little dose of Pidge is almost worse than not having seen her at all; such a fresh memory of where I most want to be is a stark reminder of where I actually am. And where I am is still far from home, my friends and loved ones. I smile now every time I see the word “West” next to a highway number; I’m riding always toward my home. I’m relishing every moment of this journey, but a little part of my brain is always calculating the days until I get back to Seattle.


One Response to “Chicago”

  1. This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever read.

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