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"ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN" By KYLE DOYLE - 11/25/06
I digress, as much as I love
writing (well, ok, typing), I found it awfully hard to put down the very
enjoyable cup of coffee I was savoring when it came time to begin this article.
It’s hard to beat a nice hot cup of freshly-ground Major-Coffee-House-brand
coffee (no free advertising here!), especially when combined with a touch of
sweetener and milk. MmmmmnMmmmmmn! It becomes even harder to beat that cup of
coffee when it is served on a cold and dark fall night. Fall, of course, signals
more than plants changing their colors and falling foliage; for those of us in
the monster truck business, it also is a sign that things are slowing down a
bit, perhaps long enough for us to catch our breath before the winter season
starts up again. However, just because we might think things are going to slow
down and become dull, doesn’t necessarily mean they will; anything can happen.
Amanda and I made our plans
to attend the show on Saturday (the third of the show’s four days), but first I
would have to help the rest of the team tend to Rammunition’s display in
Champaign at Parkland College. Along with a small assortment of other
locally-owned and campaigned race vehicles, Rammunition appeared on behalf of
our local machine shop sponsor, G&G Machine. The school’s automotive department
was hosting an open house for area high schools that day, and the appearance of
the race vehicles was facilitated and coordinated by G&G. I always enjoy hanging
out at events like that; it is strange for me to look at kids (kids?!?) that
aren’t much younger than me, and see their ample interest in automobiles. Though
our age difference could be counted on one hand, I always feel a good deal older
than kids of their age, though I try not to lose touch with people in my age
group. Perhaps this feeling stems from the abnormal amount of responsibility and
maturity that my career demands of me; or, perhaps it comes from my natural
enjoyment in playing the “observer” role, rather than being the center of
attention. Then again, it could be a combination of both, I suppose. Regardless,
the most enjoyable part of the day was talking to the drivers of the other two
race vehicles: a dirt late model, and a 410 non-wing sprint car. The drivers of
those two vehicles were both about my age, so we seemed to have a bit more in
common with each other than the anonymous students passing in and out of the
school’s auto shop throughout the day. Despite the great conversations we had,
and all the thoughts and feelings and experiences that we had in common, I still
felt somewhat distanced from the two of them, though not as much as I did in
regards to the high school kids. I guess it’s because I’m able to work on a race
team for a living, rather than working a “normal” job in order to itch my racing
bug. That’s not to sound condescending in any way, but I think the only people
that can appreciate the life of a full-time racer are those who live/have lived
that life themselves (or have been attached to a racer). I will admit to having
a small amount of satisfaction that monster trucks have grown to the point that
(at least in some cases) we are taken seriously by other members of the racing
community.
The next morning, after
checking the oil and tire pressure in my Ram 1500, I brought the truck’s
small-block V-8 to life. I chose to let my steed warm up a bit in an effort to
counter the damp morning’s chill before hitting the road for Chicago-land with
Amanda. The iHobby show was being held this year at a convention center in
Rosemont, adjacent to the famed Rosemont Horizon, site of many a monster truck
race. After a somewhat boring and uneventful trip up (thankfully, I suppose) to
the convention center, we navigated our way through the usual mess of convention
center traffic, which was an odd mix of well-dressed “executive” looking people
in their high-end Chryslers, Cadillacs, BMWs, and the like; and a more
blue-collar gathering of “ordinary” folks, driving their family sedans, vans,
and trucks, dressed in a more casual manner. Apparently there was a convention
on wealth and real estate taking place in an adjacent hall the same weekend; to
an outsider, it was readily apparent which convention Amanda and I were
attending. Typically you don’t see a couple wearing blue jeans, work boots, and
leather jackets showing up to a “wealth” convention in a rumbly pickup truck
with Dodge stickers in the back window. Blue collar it is, I suppose.
Mark and Geremie went through
a sizeable stack of hero cards over the course of the iHobby show’s four days.
$11 later, the Ram was parked
on the 87th floor of the parking garage (the 4th floor, actually) and we were
making our way into the convention center via the sky way connecting the two. In
spite of discouraging predictions made earlier in the week regarding the public
attendance of the iHobby show, show-go-ers lined up out the front door of the
center, waiting (somewhat) patiently to buy their tickets or get their
credentials to get into the show. I immediately noticed a large number of
fathers and grandfathers who had brought their young sons or grandsons (or
perhaps they brought the adults with them) to see the show with them, no doubt
encouraging their youthful tag-a-longs to become involved in one sort of hobby
or another (or maybe several!). As soon as I noticed that, it occurred to me
that this demographic could arguably be called the “core” demographic of a
monster truck race, so my hopes were high that the Raminator display would be
heavily visited and well-received.
We made our way over to the
truck right away, just in time to find Mark and Geremie finishing setting up
their autograph table. Armed with two large boxes of Raminator & Rammunition
hero cards and an army’s worth of sharpies, the boys were prepared for the first
of two “public” show days (the previous two days had been trade-only). After
arranging to meet for lunch around noon, we left them to their duties and
proceeded to snoop around the convention center floor for awhile. Thankfully,
I’m not a well-recognized celebrity, and since I wasn’t wearing a crew uniform,
I was able to roam the show floor with complete and total anonymity; well, at
least until we stopped by the Horizon exhibit. The impressive exhibit was filled
with a plethora of R/C vehicles, every base seemingly covered. From planes to
monster trucks to minis to helicopters, they had everything but the [R/C]
kitchen sink. Some of Amanda’s co-workers instantly recognized me from previous
encounters, while others realized right away who I was. It was fun meeting her
friends and getting to put some faces with names, but to be completely honest, I
tend to keep to myself when I’m not standing next to the truck with my uniform
on. You might even say I’m shy.
“Homemade Lasagna” was my
meal of choice from the convention center’s very own “Expoteria” dining
facility. Despite the above average food quality, they should have called it the
“Expense-oteria”, in light of the somewhat astronomical prices they mercilessly
charged the patrons. But, without any nearby or convenient choices, the
Expoteria is certainly very accessible. When lunch was done, Amanda and I bid
farewell to Mark and G, and began making our way back towards the parking
garage. While on the way up to Rosemont, I had suggested to Amanda the
possibility of driving down into downtown Chicago to do a quick bit of
sight-seeing, since we were up in the “neighborhood” anyways. We agreed that it
would indeed be a highlight of the weekend if we could pull it off, but upon
further review (and in light of the $11 parking garage fee) we opted to take a
different course of action. Stopping by the lobby of a nearby hotel, I snagged a
map for Chicago’s L-Train and Subway system, which made a very convenient stop
right near the convention center, which of course is right next door to
Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport. “Why not?” we concluded, so after making
a brief stop by my pickup to snag our jackets and some sunflower seeds, we set
off for downtown Chicago.
Talk about “City Slickers”
reversed! It took me a minute to figure out how the hell to buy a CTA pass card
from the elephantine vending machine at the train station, but after a mere
$4.00, Amanda and I were on the L-Train platform awaiting our ride to downtown.
By no means was I nervous or worried (quite the opposite, actually), but I was
quite curious to see how this train ride thing was going to go. Keep in mind I
lived in Wyoming for eight years; there, a subway is a fast food joint, a train
hauls coal and cattle, and Chicago is that state in between IL and WI. As we
boarded the train, I felt somewhat awkward holding my backpack in one hand and
my camera in the other. Tourist? I might as well have been wearing spurs and a
cowboy hat! Anyways, the train began moving just as we found two open seats, and
the scenery began to shift from suburbs to industrial complexes to run-down
neighborhoods to strip malls, and eventually a metropolis setting. Contrasts
were everywhere; not just the contrast of graffiti on brick and concrete, but
the contrast between the different types of graffiti. Some of it was nothing
short of artful, while some of it was vandalism in its most simple form. Liquor
stores, beauty supplies, foreign grocers, garages, and apartments lined either
side of the L-train. The passengers of the train were a lesson in contrast as
well, a perfect metaphor of the melting pot that America truly is. There were
easily eight or nine different cultures, races, or ways of life represented on
that particular train. Playing my favored role of the observer, I overheard the
stories of an airport worker tired of working long hours; a mechanic looking
forward to the holidays; a couple not too different from Amanda and I taking a
day trip into downtown. My imagination lent its two cents as well, as I imagined
what each person might be doing, where they might be going (or coming from), and
what their hopes, dreams, and concerns might be. Kind of neat that a career in
monster trucks has brought me so far from a drab, single-story town like
Cheyenne to a booming metropolis like Chicago (they both lie on I-80,
interestingly enough). Anything can happen.
The 45min train ride to
downtown gave us the chance to peruse the map of Chicago attractions that we had
acquired back at the hotel, so after some discussing and pondering, we decided
to make this trip a “reconnaissance” effort, with the understanding that we
would make a full-scale attempt at experiencing all of Chicago at a later date.
Agreeing that it was necessary to familiarize ourselves with the public
transportation system and the general workings of downtown, we decided it wasn’t
practical (or possible) to hit all the major landmarks like the Sears Tower,
Navy Pier, Wrigley Field, etc in one afternoon. Thus, we settled on an
abbreviated tour of the northeast section of downtown, namely the Navy Pier, the
old water works facility, and the famed Michigan Avenue shopping area.
Emerging from the underground
subway system, I instantly found myself in awe. Not necessarily in awe due to
the size of the buildings, though. I’ve been to the downtown areas of major
cities like Denver, Kansas City, Indianapolis, and others, and seen my share of
tall buildings. What really struck me, was the quantity of tall buildings, and
we were really just on the fringe of the real “down town” area. We walked about
a mile east down Grand Avenue, past high-end offices, retailers, restaurants,
and condos en route to the Navy Pier. “This must be where the people at the
personal wealth convention hang out,” I thought to myself as we gawked at the
towering buildings. Taxi cabs and city busses swarmed around the feet of the
massive structures, like ants at the feet of rhinoceroses.
The Navy Pier offers a
decently unobstructed view of Lake Michigan, though I thought to myself numerous
times that the hi-rise shoreline condos probably lent their occupants the best
view of the lake. With the “tourist season” winding down a bit, most of the
pier’s dinner tour boats (what I commonly refer to as “Aquatic Dining
Facilities”) were moored for the season, though smaller tour boats, including
the popular “Sea Dog” boats, were still hard at work. Much like the bay tour
boats I encountered in San Francisco, these boats offered unequaled access to
the waterways around the city, but my wallet and I simultaneously cringed at the
thought of forking out $40.00 a head to go floating around one of the biggest
in-ground swimming pools in the world. Did I mention I don’t care to swim, much
less in frigid waters? Besides, anyone who has heard Gordon Lightfoot’s lament
“The Tale of the Edmund Fitzgerald” and still insisted on going out on one of
the Great Lakes is looney in my book; anything can happen, you know.
After avoiding any further
monetary costs on the pier (total cash spent so far: $4.00), we worked our way
back towards Michigan Ave, stopping at Ohio Beach for some pictures, then
pressing on west, and then north towards the heart of Chicago’s famous (and very
pricey) “strip mall”. Hunger had joined us by this point, and since three’s
company, we decided it was probably time to cave in and find a place to dine.
Though Tim Hall had made a number of helpful recommendations on where to find a
good bowl of grub in Chi-town, we hadn’t seen anything that suited our taste
buds (or our budget, for that fact), so it was with elation that I discovered
O’Neil’s Pub on Ontario St. The neon sign in the front window of the narrow,
dimly lit establishment proclaimed “VOTED CHICAGO’S BEST BURGER!!” A serious
proclamation, indeed. Knowing a challenge when I see one, and being something of
a [cheap] food connoisseur, I at once figured “why not?” Amanda approved of my
dinner choice, so in we went. O’Neil’s bills themselves as “the only
neighborhood pub in the neighborhood”, and from what I could tell, they were
accurate on that account. This place was right up my alley; odd shaped rooms and
hallways, dimly lit (i.e. dark), and with rock music playing on the stereo
system. Though my Cajun Burger may have been part of “Chicago’s Best Burgers!”
lineup, it wasn’t the best I’ve ever had, however that is not to say it didn’t
do a fine job of hitting the spot.
Darkness was setting on the
city as we continued north on Michigan Ave, ducking under awnings and trees to
avoid the occasional rain sprinkling. We reached the historic Water Works area,
which was bordered by a (pun intended) Borders book store and coffee shop. I
like book stores a lot, especially ones that are four stories tall! Knowing a
good photo op when I see one, I ascended to the fourth story of the facility and
shot a handful of great nighttime shots of the Water Works, which gave me a bit
better view than ground-level offered. When we walked out of Borders, I noticed
that the Ghirardelli company had a shop next door to Borders, so I figured I’d
buy us a couple of hot chocolates to enjoy while we hiked to the nearest subway
station. Knowing how good Ghirardelli products are (remember the one from San
Fran?), I was more than happy to hand over my six bucks for two cups of real hot
chocolate. Sorry Swiss Miss, you can ride the boat back to Europe, at least when
there’s Ghirardelli’s in the room. This stuff ranked right up there with the
chocolately goodness I enjoyed in Indy back in September.
We caught a subway ride near
the intersection of Chicago Ave. and Rush St. (yes!!!) back to the L-Train
platform in downtown, where we transferred to the Rosemont/O’Hare bound train.
It seemed like we must have made 400 stops a long the way, but at last we made
it back to the Rosemont station. It was about a half-mile walk to the parking
garage where my Ram was awaiting us, and the rain mercifully held back its wrath
until we were within a few hundred feat of the garage’s welcome cover. I guess
the 87th (4th) floor isn’t so bad, as long as it’s not the topside level. A
sleepy drive home in the rain gave us some time to talk about the day and rest
our feet, before calling it a (late) night when we got home.
CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING KYLE'S LATEST BLOG ARTICLE!!
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