I arrived in Chicago in the late afternoon on Sunday. The Pirates were scheduled to play the Cubs on Monday and Tuesday. I had reached my destination. Wrigley Field was a day away.
Except… I had vastly underestimated the size of Chicago. Not only the size, but the pace of the city. The biggest city I had ever been in was Seattle, which is like Chicago’s infant nephew in comparison. And I had done almost no city riding on a motorcycle. I quickly learned that people in Chicago did not care that I was a novice on a motorcycle. They pushed their cars right into my lane like I wasn’t there. Freeway riding had been easy. I pretty much just went straight and stayed in my lane. Driving in Chicago traffic was life-threatening, every second of it.
I somehow ended up on Lake Shore Drive and had to merge into traffic that seemed to be going way faster than it should have been. Then the Hondamatic 400 died on me, right in the middle of it all. I gave her gas and she made a louder sound, but did not move forward. She had had enough, I guess. I couldn’t blame her. I hopped off and pushed her up onto the sidewalk while trying to avoid being run over by angry and aggressive Chicagoans.
At this point, I hadn’t slept for two days and smelled nearly as bad as Iowa. The Jolt Cola/Vivarin combination had worn off and only a slightly buzzing sensation remained. The sun was setting, and I had no idea why the Hondamatic 400 just died. I checked the on/off switch and it was set to on. I checked the gas switch and it was fine. I had no clue. Overwhelmed, I sat there on the sidewalk next to the Hondamatic 400, wondering why she had betrayed me when I needed her most.
I sat there for about five minutes, wondering what to do next. I had come so far and was on the cusp of realizing my dream, but if the Hondamatic 400 was truly dead, I didn’t know how I could continue without her. Then a man appeared. He had been jogging. He came up and asked what was wrong. I told him the bike died. He looked at it for about 10 seconds and said, “Oh, the chain came off.”
‘Chain?’ I thought. ‘There’s a chain? Ohhhh, yeahhhh, there would have to be a chain on a motorcycle to make the wheels move.’
After putting the chain back on, the man and I talked for a few minutes. I told him where I had come from and where I was going. I told him about the Pirates and my dream to see a game at Wrigley Field. Like the others I had spoken to over the previous week, he thought it was awesome that I had made this trip. He pointed me in the direction where I could find a hotel and wished me luck.
I found a cheap hotel that is still, to this day, the most disgusting hotel I’ve ever stayed in. It looked like a hotel that made you wonder not IF anyone had ever died in that room, but how many people had died in that room over the last few years. I went to sleep hoping I wouldn’t be added to the list.
I got up in the morning to head to the ballpark. Lights had been installed at Wrigley Field just three years before, but the first game of the two-game series was a day game, so I headed out early. This was long before smartphones or GPS navigation devices. I looked at a map before leaving so I could remember the exit I needed to take. I was about to watch my Pirates play the Cubs at Wrigley Field. It was a dream about to come true.
And then it wasn’t. The memory is hazy now, but I know I was in the far left lane on the Hondamatic 400 and I saw the exit on the far right side of what seemed like a 50-lane highway. I tried to merge, but the traffic would have none of it. I couldn’t get over even one lane, let alone multiple lanes. I passed the exit and kept on driving. I tried to get over so I could take an exit and make my way back to Wrigley, but by the time I had moved over a couple lanes, it seemed hopeless.
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Chicago had proven to be too much for me and I was in shock. I just kept on riding as I passed more and more exits. I was eventually out of Chicago and heading south into Indiana on I-65. I have two older brothers who live in Indianapolis. I hadn’t thought about visiting them when I started on the trip, but after my missed exit in Chicago, I decided to head to Indy. Heck, I was in the neighborhood.
They were pretty shocked to see me, all the way from Seattle. I told them what had happened in Chicago. My oldest brother said he would drive us up to Chicago for the game the next night.
With my brother handling the driving duties, I could relax. The game on the 10th was a night game. We found a place to park and I got to spend some time outside Wrigley Field, just soaking it all in. We sat on the third base side with a crowd of nearly 30,000. I bought a hot dog from a vendor. When I asked him for ketchup, he burned a hole right through me with his eyes. Apparently, you don’t order ketchup on a hot dog in Chicago. I was too young to drink alcohol, so I couldn’t order an Old Style beer.
The game I missed the day before had been a 12-10 Pirates victory, with Jay Bell going 4-for-4 and Bobby Bonilla driving in three runs. Andy Van Slyke, Lloyd McClendon, Don Slaught, and Jose Lind all had two hits in the game. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this Pittsburgh Pirates team would break my heart in Game Seven of the 1992 NLCS the following year.
The game I actually attended was a 6-2 Cubs win, with Rick Sutcliffe getting the victory and Ryne Sandberg going 4-for-4. Despite my Pirates losing the game, I loved every second of it. It was the first outdoor Major League game I ever attended and I loved the feel of the fresh air and the sight of the ivy on the outfield walls. The Pirates were 13 games ahead of the Cubs in the standings, but Cubs fans didn’t seem to care. Harry Caray was still announcing at the time and he led us in “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” which was something every baseball fan of my generation wanted to experience. It was incredible just being there, soaking it all in. When the game was over, I didn’t want to leave.
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It’s been 25 years now since I made that journey from Seattle to Chicago. It wasn’t easy. There were incredibly ridiculous moments along the way, mostly because of my embarrassing inexperience. It’s been years since I talked to the girl who inspired that trip and I parted ways with the Hondamatic 400 long ago. I won’t say which I miss more, but I will say that riding from Seattle to Chicago to watch my Pirates play the Cubs at Wrigley Field is still one of the greatest experiences of my life.