“Wild” by Ellen Strayed

Ever since I moved back to the city of Chicago, I have been on a kick.

It’s called walking.

I walk everywhere.  It started as a good way to see my brand new neighborhood and get some exercise at the same time.  No ski slopes around this neck of the woods and I detest the gym.

But lately, it’s turned into a real obsession.  And a challenge.  (Heck, I used to ski all day in Colorado.  This landscape is flat, for pete’s sake.)

I live in an area of Chicago called Lakeview.  The name is pretty accurate.  I have one.  My ‘hood borders Lincoln Park and I like it.  It reminds me of the Upper West Side of NYC.

(The park, human-scale buildings, lots of designer dogs, baby carriages, young hip people, iron fences, pretty landscaping.)

At first, I kept my strolling close to home.  A few blocks in all directions.

But in time, I grew bolder- during daylight hours only- and I started going further afield.

An amble to Oak Street on the Mag Mile?  One hour.  A sortie to the Merchandise Mart?  Two hours.  (But I was in heels.)

The Gage?  3.9 miles away and it took me almost two hours.  (Heels.)  The Hotel Godfrey?  One hour fifteen minutes. (Again, I was in heels.)

I was getting pretty cocky.  I was starting to learn my way around by overland route and I knew all the scenic ways to get wherever I had to go.

P.J. Hoff Sidebar: The weather here has been glorious.  Mild and still sunny until almost six p.m. I’d feel like a wuss hailing a cab. But don’t expect me to continue these long urban hikes come January.  Then Uber will own me.

So just a couple of weeks ago, I had a seven p.m. rendezvous at Trenchermen.

It’s a restaurant on North Avenue- 3.7 miles away from my house. An hour and eighteen minutes according to Yelp’s estimate.

The weather was gorgeous, I left in plenty of time, my boots were made for walking.

(Eat your heart out, Beyoncé!)

My Yelp route sounded easy.  Fullerton to Ashland to Webster to Damen to North.***

***Sorry, non-Chicagoans.  I know these street names mean nothing to you. You’re just going to have to call Triple AAA for directions.

My first pitfall occurred at the goofy intersection at Fullerton, Halsted, and Lincoln.

It’s got like nine different ways to go.  And at ground level- and coupled with the fact that I am blind as a bat- I crossed the street and…

I chose poorly.

I ended up on Halsted.

I didn’t realize my mistake until I was about a half block up.  (There are no street signs or building names that give the name of the street until then.)  And remember, I’m walking.  It takes ten minutes to find out that I am now on the wrong street.

So I turn around, go back to that same awful intersection and ask a random guy to put me back on Fullerton heading west, please.

He’s very nice, walks me to the corner and says, “Here you go.”

It doesn’t feel quite right.  Even to directionally-challenged me.

I walk for a while and catch an address. Instead of heading west on Fullerton, I am now going north on CLARK!  That good Samaritan was worse off than I was.  Just my luck.  I had to stop the one guy who didn’t know where he was going either.

I walk the wrong way for a bit and desperately try and catch an address. Finally, I go into a martial arts studio where two tae kwon do instructors are sitting behind a reception desk.

“Are you here for kick boxing lessons?” one asks.

“Yeah, I want to kick box that guy’s ass who gave me bad directions. Can you tell me where Fullerton is?  I need to go west.”

“Sure, it’s simple.  It’s right on the corner.  I’ll show you.  Where’s your car?”

“You’re looking at it.  I’m walking.”

“Walking?”

He takes me outside and points me to the correct corner.  I now start heading west and I pass a CTA bus driver waiting outside his bus.

“Am I heading west on Fullerton?” I ask.  Just to make sure.

“You are.  Where are you going?”

“To Ashland.”

“To ASHLAND!?!  That’s far!”

“I’m okay with it,” I grin and keep going.

But when I get to the corner of Fullerton and Ashland, two things.  The sun is directly in my eyes and I can’t read the signs.  And it’s another crazy corner with a bunch of different possibilities of going off on a tangent.

I’m screwed.  But luckily, there is a bum with no teeth on the corner hanging out.  He’s a little sketchy-looking but I am desperate not to get lost again.

“Excuse me, sir. Is this Ashland?”

“Yep, this is it.”

Happily I start heading south.  But instantly I find myself over some kind of bridge over very troubled urban waters.

Yikes!  This thing could open any second.  I scurry across and look for Webster.  A kindly couple point it out to me because, by now, it’s getting to be twilight and I can’t read the street signs at all.

I turn west on Webster and all is well until…

I hit the Webster underpass.  There are beds and blankets and signs of homeless people living under there.

And now I’m starting to question the wisdom of walking.

So I run.

When I hit daylight and Damen Avenue, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Much to my surprise, the whole area here has been gentrified in my seventeen year absence.  I stroll by gelato shops and high-end baby clothes stores and cute little bistros.

But then I see the biggest danger of the whole journey.

This.

A Marc Jacobs boutique.  I love this guy’s clothes.

I’m still early so what the hell.

I walk in, I meet the adorable salespeople and darling Lauren- who usually works at the Gold Coast store- gives me a VIP tour.  We talk about fashion and great clothes until I get a text.

I’m on the road again.

It’s the home stretch.  But now it’s completely dark, the street signs are 100% invisible, I’m going to have to guess where North Avenue is.

I hit another diabolical three way intersection.

I have NO idea which side of the street is still North Avenue.  I stop into Absinthe Sushi bar and ask if they know where Trenchermen is.

Nope.

I cross the street and go into Starbucks on the corner.  The girl stocking the napkin dispenser doesn’t know what street she is on but she does know that the barista has a good sense of direction.

When he hears my plight, he takes pity on me, walks me outside and says, “Stay on this corner, walk up a half a block.  It’s on this side.  If you get to Leavitt, you’ve gone too far.

I get to the restaurant with just enough time to repair to the ladies’ room and spruce up.

The hostess leads me to the table and as I begin to sit down, I hear a charming male voice from behind me.

“Hello, Ellen.”

I turn around.

And now the adventure begins…