Chicago, IL

Friday, Big Windy. The cab ride to Wrigley is classic: Over the river and down Michigan Ave, through a canyon of skyscrapers, under the L, and onto Lake Shore Drive. Lake Michigan to the East, vast and choppy. Beside it, the Hancock Tower, all iron and steel. It's far from glamourous, but impresses nonetheless. Not unlike Chicago.

Left on Addison, and boom, we're in Wrigleyville. Not quite noon, but there is some heavy consumption taking place. Streets are mobbed, people selling jerseys, people scalping tickets, people slinging bratwurst. This is insane. This is a weekday.

Today's game is an inconsequential, early-season contest against a faceless, punchless opponent (Pittsburgh), but North Chicago has basically shut down for it. Wrigley is full, so are the all the bars, so are the outfield rooftops. Fathers and sons. Cuties in Cubs hats. A sea of red white and blue. Soriano goes yard, and 40,000 Cubs fans spill beer on their neighbors. 

Kent says today is the nicest day in Chicago since August. I take a look around. Might be the nicest day anywhere ever. 

Mike: HEY JOHN! If the moon were made of barbecue spare ribs, would you eat it? I know I would! 

Cubs win! and the crowds spill into nearby bars and beer gardens. I've had a few beers in America over the last six weeks, and can say that in Chicago bars, the girls are friendlier, the music is better, the beer tastes better. Really a great town for a cold one. 

Later, Bobby and Brooke join us in a Lincoln Park pubs. Around 2:30am (wait, what?!) our crew of five rolls to a dive on Division. Old familiar faces are popping up, fancy seeing you here's are exchanged, toasts are made. I have no business ripping jaeger at 4am, but that seems to be the norm around here. When in Rome. 

Saturday wake up call comes too soon. Back in the Equinox, Scott and I drop Mike at O'Hare and head toward Milwaukee. Gotta love Chi-town in the summer, but for the sake of my health, it's time to move...