We stayed in Chicago for three days, not enough time to do much sightseeing. But I remember some excellent dining, a visit to a three-story grocery store that had lots fine wine and gourmet items, and finding another cruising partner.
We’d met Jorge and Barbara and their two dogs in Saugatuck and had cruised together into Chicago. There we met a family with small children, and the three of us decided to continue as a group, or maybe flotilla (I’ve lost the lingo after eleven years). But first, we had to get through Chicago and because we didn’t have a fly bridge, we opted to “cruise through town” while the others opted to go around and meet us down river.
On a beautiful day in September we entered the Chicago Harbor Lock that separates Lake Michigan from the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal. Yes, you’re correct. The canal keeps polluted river water from entering Lake Michigan. Prior to 1900, sewage from the city of Chicago was discharged into the Chicago River and flowed into Lake Michigan. By building the canal, the flow of the river was reversed. Sewage was sent inland to be diluted with lake water, allowing flowing water to “assimilate the waste load” as it flowed through the canal, Des Plaines River and Illinois River. Today (thankfully) wastewater is treated before it is released. Whew!
But I digress.
The trip through downtown Chicago was well worth the wait. We wound through the city close to pedestrian walkways and tall buildings, ducked under 40 fixed bridges in five miles, some as low as 17 feet above the water, and shared the narrow canal with commercial traffic. When we entered the more industrialized parts of the river, we passed through an electrical barrier installed to prevent the spread of invasive species.
Signs warned you not to dangle any body parts in the water. Mine stayed firmly on deck.
Thirteen miles from Chicago we entered the Des Plaines River and continued for 17 miles, finally joining the Illinois River. We’d be on this river for 273 miles. While I didn’t buy that fake coonskin cap I saw during our stop at the Alamo on our road trip east, I remembered all those old Davy Crockett films (and the song, of course) while we passed Joliet and Henry and Grafton.
We’d traveled about 4,000 miles and had been out six months. The rest of the trip would be in protected waters, the only hazards being underwater dams, flash floods, tornado threats, old locks that don’t always work well, and lots of tugs pushing multiple barges–nothing Capt. Mark couldn’t handle.
Feeling confident, we set out on the last leg of the trip, just 1,200 miles to go.