Racing in Rockford

There are some pretty basic lessons about life that I still haven't learned.

Number 4,972:  Keep track of your chihuahua on margarita night.

Number 4,973:  Trains don't have steering wheels.  But man, that joke never gets old!

This was just the start of my awesome weekend of being awesome and doing awesome things. 

I also have video of my experience in the engine of the train, but I'm hesitant to put it online, because there are Train People out there.  Not train people like me, who see trains as a fun Americana kind of experience, who enjoy them for their efficiency and that sort of thing.  No.  These are Train People who stand next to the tracks recording video of Metra passing by, which they post on YouTube and get all excited with other Train People about which engine number it was and they keep track of what they've seen.  Like bird watching.  But if the same bird was in the same place every day and the schedule was made available to the public.  And they get all excited about it.  And also I hesitate to put the video online because I feel like I'd have to edit out the part where my voice is saying "Dude!  I'm going to post this on YouTube so those train people can masturbate to it."  Because then they'd have the hot girl voice AND the hot train action and I would feel like a sex worker.  And also because I don't know what engine number it was, and in the interest of data collection, that should be included.

This train took me to Chicago with Dano, where we then hiked from Ogilvie to Lincoln Park to see the documentary about Jack Abramoff, Casino Jack and the United States of Money.  This adventure was even more fun than the Bataan Spice March I went on with BLC an Amy last summer.  Excellent movie, I highly recommend it.  Even if you have to walk 4 miles to see it.  Even if you have to stop at the Pocket Puppies store and buy your dog a $40 Ed Hardy shirt with a guitar on it that screams "Hey there, I'm a little douchebag puppy in an Ed Hardy shirt with a guitar on it" (I passed on this) or a $25 Yankee-pinstriped soft harness (which they didn't have in Wrecks' size boo hiss).  The documentary is really that good.

After walking so much in the city, I was not interested in taking one more step in the same shoes.  When we got back to Dano's house, the first thing I did was change into my VFFs, following his lead.  We walked a couple of blocks and had dinner at a great Thai place, followed by meeting up at a bar with a new pal, Jim, where I drank just enough to be so tipsy that I found my feet in those shoes to be the most HILARIOUS THING EVER.  And then Dano had to walk me home while I giggled and giggled and giggled at how funny my feet looked.

And to reward Dano for putting up with me through this?  I took him to the Rockford Speedway for pavement late model racing and a school bus jump.  We were joined by Boom, Mr. Martini, and their adorable little Sugarlips.

"School bus jump?" you ask?  WATCH THIS:

This was my first visit to the Rockford Speedway in years and years and years and it hasn't changed a bit.  My friend SCD, the Ginger Cowboy, finished 5th.  And then Dano asked him about the dents in his bonnet and SCD pondered "which side of the pond" Dano is on, if you know what I mean. 

Eh.  None of us know what I mean.

On Sunday morning at the crack of dawn, I found myself on the empty dead streets and sidewalks of downtown Rockford.  Dano ran his third marathon in as many weeks and I was there for the start, the finish, and a pretzel handoff at mile 13.  This left me with three plus hours of nothing to do in a town that seemed to have no clue the marathon was happening that day.

There were no businesses open.  None.  Nada.  Nothing.  I wandered the streets along with a few hundred other people, taking some pictures, watching confused motorists trying to figure out how to get around the marathon road closures.  Rockford didn't do anybody any favors in this regard - in one instance, a road was open to an intersection where the 3 choices presented to the driver were 1.) one-way street the wrong direction, 2.) one-way street the oncoming direction, 3.) bridge closed to function as marathon finish line.  A cop stood there to direct drivers to do a u-turn, the only choice.  I mean, the only choice besides closing the road that leads to nowhere a block or two before a u-turn is required.

A couple of people approached me to ask where I got my coffee, which came with me from a place near my house.  I directed them to a coffee stand that was set up in the Davis Park area, which wasn't selling food and wasn't open for business yet.  Another out-of-towner stopped and asked me if I knew of any restaurants open where she could grab breakfast while she waited for friends running the half-marathon.  At this point, I got frustrated and said "There has to be SOMETHING open" and grabbed my Google Knows Where I Am Machine and we took off walking.  Criss-crossing the streets and stopping and asking a police officer his opinion yielded only the knowledge that a McDonald's across the river would be the best bet.  My new friend declined the 8-block walk, so I gave her a quick little tour of Rockford - not nearly as fun as my downtown Chicago tour ("Here are some buildings that never burned down.  Here's the river that flows the right direction.  This is the street that used to be a mall area closed to traffic where I'm likely to get hit by a car because I keep forgetting it's a street again.")

I walked her back to the finish line to wait for her friends, and then I took off for the halfway point for the full marathon a few blocks away.  I spotted what I thought was a bar, with an OPEN neon sign in the window.  I walked in, and they had a box of donuts on the counter, purchased from elsewhere.  I bought a couple of donuts and walked back to my Foster Tourist in the bleachers, and gave her a donut.  Welcome to Rockford.  We have no interest in your money, visitor.  It was an incredibly sharp contrast with my experience a few weeks ago in Kenosha for the Wisconsin Marathon, where the local business owners were all standing in the doorways of their shops and restaurants to greet the visitors.

I ate my donut in the middle of the Jefferson Street bridge, waiting for Dano just before the halfway point in his 26.2 mile race.  He slowed to talk to me for a minute, looking not quite as awesome as he has in previous marathon passes, but I can only assume that the salty pretzels I lovingly handed him (after brushing off my donut crumbs) were what gave him the strength to continue.  He came in at his desired finish time, a couple of minutes faster than Kenosha but still within the "having fun" speed versus the "racing for time and want to die at the end" speed.

I waited out the last hour of the marathon with a friend, GC, who drove in from the suburbs for Rockford Marathon beer-drinking fun times.  We talked about boys and dating sites and work and all kinds of stuff and I laughed and laughed and laughed.  She is just awesome.  After Dano crossed the line, the three of us needed some beers, so I led them back to the bar where I'd bought the donuts.  Support the only place that was open today!  Thank them again for the donuts!!  Ummmm.  Closed.  Just in time for the marathon finishers to not celebrate their accomplishments over beer.  Yeah.

So we drove north to the Park, had lunch at the Backyard, designed Dano's dri-weave running kilt with built-in diaper, and then watched the Blackhawks win at Rascals.  Yeah.  I said kilt.  What's it to you?

MiniDanica models the marathon medal marvelously.