No Sleep 'Til Wisconsin (Snafus #1-3)

TODAY'S QUESTION FOR COMMENTING: If you could hop on a train right now and go anywhere, where would it be? Chime in at the bottom, after the post! -- Erin :)

October 2006, Chicago, Illinois

Who's ready for a classic Erin goes on an adventure, fails to grasp the finer points of public transit, awakens blocked memories of laws broken in college (involving grand theft auto and Oliver North), and ends up someplace weird and unexpected story? I know I am! Let's do it.

So it all started a couple weeks ago, when I read in the Best of Chicago issue of New City that the coolest Metra ride went to Fox Lake. I assumed that this meant Fox Lake, Wisconsin, probably because the Metra I took to see Cheap Trick at Ravinia for my birthday last month went to Kenosha. When the Personals were on tour, I feel a bit in love with Wisconsin (aside from the mosquitos and Milwaukee), and the New City blurb talked about passing all kinds of scenery and architecture and changing leaves. A little solo jaunt to Fox Lake sounded like the perfect way to celebrate finishing my book proposal.

Of course, when I plan trips for a group of people, like band tours or girly roadtrips, I become one with the atlas. I would marry the atlas. But when I get one of these little travel whims for myself alone, I tend to be pretty cavalier about details. I like to let shit unfold as it will.

And, oh, did it unfold when I decided to “go to Wisconsin.” (I am putting those three words in quotes for good reason.)

It sounded simple enough -- I would just catch the 10:43 a.m. Metra train and find myself out of state in time for lunch. Since my internal teacher's alarm clock goes off at 8 a.m. every morning, no matter what, I'd have plenty of time to get to my neighborhood station. Except! I must have gotten carried away with e-mail and my morning coffee(s), because suddenly it was 10:15. I threw together the usual stuff – a book, my writing spiral, the newspaper, pens and highlighters, sunglasses, etc. – and booked it to the station. Which brings us to . . .

Snafu #1

Apparently the Metra is the only train in all of Chicago that, if it feels like it, shows up early. I swear I was there on time. But after 40 minutes of reading the newspaper on the platform, I decided that, no, the 10:43 train was not merely late. I had missed it. I had rushed and eaten no breakfast, only to miss it by moments. Now my stomach was growling almost as loud as cars on the nearby expressway. The next Metra was 20 minutes away, so I had just enough time to dash off for a snack somewhere. I figured I’d better eat something since, barring some unlikely, unforeseen snafu, I’d be on the train for the next two hours, going to Wisconsin.

Snafu #2

Oh wait. I forgot to mention. When I say “going to Wisconsin,” I no longer mean Fox Lake. I mean Kenosha. Turns out there is also a Fox Lake in Illinois (surprise!), and I just imagined the article was talking about Fox Lake, Wisconsin. Now, was I going to take some gorgeous, critically-acclaimed train ride if it meant staying in the state of Illinois? Nope. I had gotten it in my mind that I was going to Wisconsin and, damnit, I was going to Wisconsin.

Don’t worry, we’ll get to the part where my friend Deanna tries to talk me out of going to Kenosha by calling it “the armpit of the Midwest.” Patience.

From the Metra platform, the only food option I could see was a Mobil station. I couldn’t risk going very far. Who knew when this train would show up. I was in a perfectly good mood despite missing the first one, but no way was I going to miss two!

Snafu #3

I hustled to the Mobil, which turned out to have only a very narrow, hallway-like interior lined with racks of crap I wouldn’t be caught dead eating (Combos, Funions, etc.). I settled on a bag of Ritz Chips (which I didn’t even know existed) and a Starbucks mocha frappucino (AKA “the usual”). Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but oh well. I ate them on the platform while reading a book, and the train showed up right on time.

As the train chugga-chugga-ed out of the station, a nice conductor kid, dressed like an old-school train operator and who eerily resembled Doug E. Doug, stopped by my seat to sell me a ticket.

Conductor: “Where to?”
Me: “Kenosha.”
Conductor: “This train doesn’t go to Kenosha."
Me: “WHAT?!?!”

(To be continued . . . Next time find out where the hell it turns out I am actually going!)