Late Leaver

Harbor life in Chicago lasts from May 15 - October 15. Unless you get an extended pass for "Late Leaver" status, which allows you to stay in a harbor with available fuel - Burnham, Belmont, or Diversey - until November 15. Mark and I are perpetually late. So as the geese are flying south, we migrated north from Monroe to Belmont.

Belmont is a neighborhood and a street a half mile south of Wrigley Field, bordering Boys' Town and Lakeview, with once anti-hip now ultra-hip stores like "The Alley," and the Theater Building, and the Japanese Spa "Thousand Waves," and a sprawl of restaurants like "Chicago Diner," which has the best vegetarian and vegan food anywhere (okay, maybe it's technically in Boys' Town, but they all start to blend together after awhile). When I was in college at proper Northwestern during the Clinton era, Belmont was where you took the el from Evanston just to walk on the street in Chicago and feel kinda grungy, kinda hip, kinda cool.

Belmont Harbor is also one of the most beautiful parts of the Chicago lakefront, and our new autumn home.

When we set sail late Saturday afternoon, the sun was setting behind the skyscrapers, the eastern sky a painter's palette of unreal pastel pinks and blues. Just outside Monroe Harbor, Mark gave me the helm. I drove around Navy Pier, past the calm waters east of the Hancock Building (nicknamed "the playpen" by boaters), and out past the breaker wall, heading north. The radio blasted the Rollings Stones, "We gotta get outta this place," and the wind picked up, the waves rose, and I drove into them, aiming Mazurka further to the northeast, my eye on the red light north of us.

We arrived in complete darkness and sailed our way inside, protected on the east by a narrow peninsula of trees. The rows of docks welcomed us with their warm yellow lampposts. Most of the boats were already gone for the season, and we coasted right into the slip of our choosing on Dock G. After adjusting the fenders, tying up, coiling the lines on the dock, plugging in (ah, shore power...), we walked right off the dock to our car and drove downtown to see a concert.

When we returned after 11 PM, there was a security guard parked at the entrance to the harbor. He flashed his lights at us. Mark drove up in his "land boat," an '81 Delta 88 Oldsmobile, Brougham Royale, with thick white duct tape holding up the passenger window and green Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rear view mirrow. "My boat," was all Mark had to say, and we were waved in.

We slept soundly that night, protected from the waves and wind, and woke up to sunlight and autumn trees. We ran along the lakeshore, later crossed LSD and the beautiful old high rises to find groceries, then grilled tuna steaks with a view of downtown, the top lights of the Hancock darkened to make sure the geese find the right way to Florida.

On Monday night, returning from a movie after 11 PM, we turned off LSD at Recreation Drive, turned right, and there was the gate - locked. Park hours are from 6 AM - 11 PM. Mark hopped out in the pouring rain and checked the lock. Big yellow gate, big red sign, big thick lock. He got back in the car. I figured he'd turn back to the parking lot beside the tennis courts, and we would huff it the half mile in the rain to the boat. He started the car forward - and then, in true Yooper style, drove his land boat up onto the curb and around the gate.

We're living in a gated community - but they can't keep us out for long.