Why is Thad Glad?

Chicago Lakefront. Courtesy Heidi Stevens

One of the blessings of my new home in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood is the short distance to Lake Michigan.  The lakefront consists of about eighteen miles of beauty that includes green spaces, sandy beaches, boat harbors, golf courses, concrete beaches, unobstructed views of the lake and the Chicago skyline.  In the summer it’s loaded with activity. There all different kinds of people walking, running, biking, sitting, sleeping, or just hanging out. The Lakefront Trail links the whole thing. It’s a city trail, which means its paved and clearly marked with bidirectional lanes for pedestrians or bike riders. It’s one of my favorite places. 

During my first summer in Chicago, I took three rides on similarly beautiful days with three different outcomes.

Ride 1: Monday June 16^th

My wife and I decided to go on a ride together.  I rode my nearly new fancy road bike while decked out in tight fitting shorts, zip up top, helmet, gloves and clip on bike shoes. She rode an aged hand-me-down mountain bike while wearing gym shorts, sneakers, and a sleeveless t-shirt.  Her long lair flowed in the wind unencumbered by a helmet. Our plan was for each of us to ride about forty minutes out at our own pace, turn around, and then simultaneously meet at the point where we joined the trail.  It was a beautiful sunny day in the eighties with a slight breeze.  The Lakefront Trail seemed more active than normal for a Monday since some people had the day off in honor of June Teenth.  I rode about ten miles south past the AIDS Garden with its sweet cilantro smell, past North Avenue Beach, past Navy Pier, past Shedd Aquarium, past the Adler Planetarium, past Soldier Field, into the Burnam Wildlife Corridor before reaching my turn around point.  While riding I passed leisure riders and got passed by more serious bike riders, commuters on electric bikes, and tactically clad maniacs on electric unicycles. 

I felt great on the ride back with a little wind at my back.  As I passed Navy Pier, I reached a turn, and then……………CRASH!

I would not have been surprised to be taken out by a maniac on an electric unicycle but was surprised to hit a John Deere landscaping tractor that seats three across.  My knee immediately swelled.  I tried to assess my injury. One of the female passengers looked at my leg and with a Spanish accent asked if my leg was broken, like I was supposed to know.  The driver asked if he could call someone.  My focus was on getting back on the road to meet my wife who I knew would be worried by my delay.  Before I knew it, they drove off.  I did not ask who they were or why they were driving south on the inside lane of a blind curve as I was riding north.   

As someone who likes to live life as if I am responsible for my outcomes, I blamed myself for not being able to anticipate and avoid the crash.  I assumed that I was riding too fast and not paying enough attention. I like to focus on what is in my control.  I like to be a Stoic.

My wife and I often reflect on the strange impact of timing.  So many positive and negative outcomes are the result of timing.  Really, what were the odds that the landscaping tractor and I would arrive at that curve at that exact inopportune time.

I rode in pain for about five miles to meet my wife and to get home to rest and recover.  Over the next six to eight weeks, I did gradually recover.  Fortunately, my main injury was a sprained MCL.  While my knee still not quite normal, I assume it will be with time.

As my knee improved, I began to ride the Lakefront Trail more often.  Each time I passed the accident curve, I became more convinced that it was not reasonable for me to think I could have anticipated and avoided that accident.  While life’s outcomes can be dependent on our own actions, they are also dependent on luck, the actions of others, and timing.  Regardless of luck and timing, my anger about the apparent negligence of the landscaping tractor’s crew and whoever allowed them on the bike path grew.

Ride 2: Thursday September 25

I began the ride on another beautiful day in the low eighties.  It was now fall and activity on the trail had declined from the peaks of summer.  For some reason I obsessed about seeing the crew that caused my crash.  I fantasized about confronting them.  I spent the start of my ride absorbed in thoughts about the encounter.  Then, as I passed the Chicago Yacht Club on my left, they appeared as if out of nowhere at the intersection of Randolph Street.  Despite my ongoing ruminations, my instinct was to keep on riding.  I did not.  I stopped in a way that impeded their path. I channeled my inner Marine and sternly, more like rudely, peppered them with questions:

Do you remember me?

Who do you work for?

Why the hell were you on the inside lane of that turn?

It turns out that they work for a Chicago Park District contractor.  Evidently it was totally normal for them to stop and honk on the inside of that turn. The driver said that they were sorry that I did not hear their honk before coming around the turn, a classic non-apology apology.

I took their picture.

I typically chuckle when the topic of manifesting comes up.  I mention it with one of my fundraising colleagues as we pursue pharmaceutical donation leads, something like: “positive vibes, lets envision those drugs arriving at our warehouse.”  Oddly, I wondered if my compulsive thinking about meeting them manifested the experience.  I am more inclined to chalk it up to luck and timing, but I do wonder.

Regrettably, I spent the rest of my ride deep in thought as I contemplated my next move.  Should I contact the Park District and request reimbursement for my modest medical expenses or should I contact a personal injury firm to maximize my potential compensation.  If I were to write the Park District, how could I leave my request open ended enough so that I could pursue a more lucrative approach if they did not respond favorably to my request. I wanted to prepare to do it the easy way or the hard way.  I daydreamed delusionally about a windfall.

At one point, I paused my thinking to notice that my ride was almost done. I wondered if I took the slight detour that allows me to ride along the concrete revetments that line Lake Michigan. Did I really pass my favorite spots without noticing?  I had.  While the ride was productive in the sense that I solved a small mystery, it was also a failure because I missed the pleasure of a beautiful ride.  I seem to need multiple reminders to get out of my head and enjoy the present moment.

Ride 3: Tuesday September 30

The forecast was again for sunny weather in the low eighties.  However, the start of the ride had a hint of that cool fall feeling.  I wondered if it would be colder by the lake.  I wondered if this would be my last warm sunny ride of the year.

After exiting my alley and turning left onto the street that I would ride to the trail, I stopped at a red light.  While patiently waiting for it to turn green, I noticed a pedestrian to my right.  He was less than six feet tall, about thirty-five to forty years old with short brown hair and hints of grey.  He was wearing what looked like a hat and polo shirt with logos. I assumed he was headed to work.  He also looked like he might be someone with a cognitive disability.  His features were the second thing that I noticed.  The first thing was the sound of him belting out “Lean on Me”:

Sometimes in our lives, we all have pain
We all have sorrow.
But if we are wise
We all know there’s always tomorrow
Lean on me when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I ‘m gonna need
Somebody to lean on……..

This wonderful one-way interaction, primed me for one of the best bike rides of my life.  I rode twenty-plus miles powered by “Lean on Me.”  I hesitated to describe this angel of a man as someone with cognitive disabilities because his mental capacity exceeded mine when it came to knowing the lyrics of “Lean on Me,” not to mention his courage to sing it aloud on a city street.  My version, played on endless repeat, was something like:

La da di da da
Lean on Me
Da da di da da
Somebody to Lean on

I rode with a huge smile.  I rode with appreciation for everything I saw and felt on the ride: the warmth of the sun on my skin, the slight breeze off the lake, the beauty of the lake and the skyline.  I smiled at everybody that I passed.  Some even smiled back – especially if they were not engrossed in whatever noises were coming out of their ear buds.  Joy compelled me to stop and wish a happy Go Navy!  to a middle-aged lady seated on a bench wearing a West Point shirt. We had a nice conversation about her daughter, the West Point grad.  I love these sweet little interactions.  It was a glorious ride.  I rode again two days later still basking in the afterglow of “Lean on Me.”  Thoughts of that day and that song are bringing me joy now. 

It’s amazing how luck, timing, and random interactions affect us in unexpected ways. I like to imagine more days where people fearlessly belt out their songs. Joy spreads in mysterious ways.