From Chicago, With Love

Mile Marker 1107:

Greetings from the Windy City!  

Bike the Drive is a Memorial Day tradition here.

Before the accident, I always flew to Chicago the last weekend of May.  With my cycling buddy Shelley, I rose early and buckled my helmet.  We hopped on our bikes (mine, rented) and joined 20,000 riders to pedal a loop around the famous -- and windy -- Lake Shore Drive.

This year, even HALF the ride will be a challenge.

I've packed carefully:  biking shoes,  bike pedal, power belt, crutches... even my water leg.   Still, I can't shake the feeling that something's MISSING.

Susan and Rocco come with me from Philly.  They pick me up, drop me off, and lug my awkward "leg bag" onto the plane.   I call them my Secret Service, but really they're so much more!

Shelley heads up the Chicago branch of the team.  She's our chauffeur, tour guide, and bike commissioner all rolled into one.

The night before the bike ride, we shift into high gear -- We've got a crisis on our hands.

Shelley borrowed a bike for me, but the seat won’t go down low enough.  I can't even climb on.  I can't imagine trying to stop or start, let alone ride 15 miles!

I'm in a panic.  Everyone's here to ride with me.  And now I might not ride at all.

We call the local bike shop – Bobby’s Bike Hike.  When the guy picks up, I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m here from out of town to do Bike the Drive,” I tell him.  “But I’m having technical problems with my bike.”  

'Technical problems' isn't quite accurate, but it makes a long story much shorter.

The shop closed an hour ago.  I ask the guy if they’ll re-open before the ride tomorrow morning.  Yet I know it's unlikely.  The ride begins at sunrise.

"No," he says, "but I’ll be here for another half-hour if you want to come by.”  He's surprisingly friendly for 9:00 in the evening.

"There’s just one thing,” I tell him.  “I’m only 4’10.  So I'll need a really small bike.”

“I think I have one that’ll work,” he says.

He's so nice, I decide to tell him one more thing.

“Also...um... I wear a prosthesis, so I'll need to attach my own pedal.”

I brace myself for a hang-up.  He probably thinks it's a prank call.

“Come on over,” he says instead.

Shelley and I hop in a cab.   As we approach the shop, Rocco zips by on his bike, rented here just an hour earlier.  (I don't call him Secret Service for nothing!)

Bike guy Mark greets us at the door, smiling.  

“Did you think I was kidding?” I say.  I hand him the pedal.  Then tug up the leg of my jeans to show him the Genium.  

Mechanic Connor sets me up on a small black city bike.  He lowers the seat so my toes touch the ground.  He attaches my caged, weighted pedal, fresh from Philly.

In a matter of minutes, the Bobby’s Bike Hike crew earns an honorary place on my all-star team!

Traditional 6 a.m.
pre-ride photo

Mile Marker 1110:

Early the next morning, the sun glimmers off Lake Michigan.   In our hotel room, it feels like any other Bike the Drive day...

...except for the leg
charging in the corner!

Outside, Shelley stabilizes the handlebars of my bike so I can climb on.  Even with the low seat, it's taller than my bike at home.

But as we start off, there's another 'technical problem.'  It's 49 degrees.  My prosthesis comes loose each time I lift my leg.

I keep pedaling.  It can only get warmer, right?

We meet the rest of our group near Buckingham Fountain -- Vickie who's biked with us in the past, and my brother Andy, who’s biking for the first time in years!

Finally at the starting line --
Flanked by my Secret Service :)

Illinois is flat, but Lake Shore Drive runs hilly along the coast.  On this upright bike, I can't lean forward to propel myself.  In the first few miles, I learn to lower the gears.  Rock at the waist and heave with my shoulders.  The hills get progressively easier.

The sun shines full force, and my socket stays suctioned.  As we approach the first turn-around, I even snap a few pics -- while riding!

That's Rocco up ahead!

Vickie and Shelley

Go Andy!

Susan, always by my side :)

Almost 8 miles down --
aside from SOCKET RUBS, I feel good!!!

After a break, we head south again.  I find a rhythm of riding and chatting, mounting each hill as it comes.

Until Mile 14.

Merely blocks away, we can’t even see the finish line.   To reach Grant Park, we have to climb the final, steepest hill, which happens to be a drawbridge over the Chicago River.

“I don’t know about this,” I gasp.  I steer toward the side of the road in case I need to get off and walk.

Up ahead, Vickie looks over her shoulder.  “ONLY 25 PEDALS TO THE TOP!” she yells.

As you might guess, the numbers save me.   I lower into “granny gear” and throw every ounce of power into that hill.  One by one, I count the pedal turns.  With each push and pull, I’m closer to the top.

Exactly 28 pedals later, I reach the hinge of the drawbridge.  (Nice call, Vickie!)

I touch my foot to the ground.   My right leg's quivering.  And I can't even feel my left.

Hi-fives all around!

It's all downhill from here!

When the morning ends, we've covered almost 20 MILES.

Not exactly old times, but close!

Mile Marker 1111:  ('Cause the pedometer doesn't count bike miles!) 

The weekend rolls on...

Chocolate dipped bacon...
not quite as good as it sounds.

There's an outdoor music festival starring Andy's School of Rock kids.

  

Holy Cow!

Shelley’s birthday at Harry Caray’s.

Navy Pier with Wendy and company.

Pizza with Vimla's girls.

And Nina's first visit to "The Bean."




We're so busy having fun, I don't think about what's missing.

But I notice a few things.  I used to visit my friends in the suburbs.  This year, they all come to me.  I used to walk the Magnificent Mile.  This year, I take cabs everywhere.

And what's with all the multi-level streets and open-tiered stairways?   Where are the ramps and elevators?  Why is everything so far apart??

Chicago is my home away from home, yet it's different this year.   It's really ME -- not the city -- that's changed.


Mile Marker 1113:

On our last morning, the hotel doorman hails us a cab.  "Where to?" he asks.

I glance down at my metallic aqua-blue leg.  "The BEACH, of course!"

He looks skeptical.  It's 55 and rainy.  But it's the perfect day to try out my new water leg "Sandy."

The Secret Service gives me a hand as we climb slick steps and cross muddy pavement.   At Ohio Street Beach, a workman is churning up sand with a mini-bulldozer.

He stops and looks on with interest.  The wind's blowing and the fog's rolling in.  Our bright jackets stand out against the gray sky.

"My first time on the beach!"  I call out, waving to him.

The workman nods his head.  "My dad too," he says, pointing to my leg.  We share a smile.

I sit down on a concrete jetty to take off my sandals.

The ground is cold, but the beach is alive.

As I step into the waves, my eyes cloud over with tears.



I squeeze the wet sand between my toes.

My LEFT LEG can't feel it, but somehow it does.


On that hazy beach, the answer becomes crystal clear.
I know exactly what's missing.  And all I still have.

From Chicago, with love.
Wish you were here.

A video of Sandy's first dip, with Secret Service of course!  (Awesome cinematography by Shelley!)