Pedestrian: 16 – All of Western Avenue
Walking in a Straight Line for 8 Hours and an Unusual Trip to Dunkin’ Donuts.
Howdy Ramblers,
Earlier in May, I walked the entire length of Chicago.
Now, I arrived in Chicago with absolutely no intention of walking the entire length of the city, much like that time I walked to the Bronx and back. In fact, I wasn’t even visiting to go for a walk, but intended to spend lots of time with old, beloved friends. And I did.
I’m Alex Wolfe and this is Pedestrian, a bi-weekly newsletter for people who like to walk. Thank you Katie for making this week’s newsletter possible AND happy 26th birthday to my little brother Keegan.
However, I was fresh off a 180 mile journey that concluded 2 weeks earlier and I suppose I’d developed a penchant for walking 20 mile days. Not to mention, I once called Chicago home in my early twenties and felt a need to see the city once again. The place is full of memories, and being the overly sentimental person that I am, wanted to revisit them all. I was not leaving until I got another long walk under my belt.
Before I continue, I feel the need to address the long standing Chicago vs. New York City debate. It’s common to compare the two, but having lived in both cities, would absolutely consider them apples and oranges. There is no use declaring which is better. Spend enough time in Chicago and you’ll soon learn that the place is both physically and culturally different from New York City. Sure, it’s got a subway and tall buildings, but really it’s just a beast of its own – a topographically flat behemoth, consisting of grids and order – situated beside a Great Lake. Lets just say this: in Chicago the people still say hello on the sidewalk, pizza slices come in squares, and drivers actually honk their horns when they mean it.
Anyway, after a bit of research, I settled on walking Western Avenue, the longest continuous road in the great city of Chicago. Stretching 24 miles, it runs from 119th Street on the south side of town and goes all the way north to Howard Street in Rogers Park. I’d argue there are better roads to walk in Chicago, but perhaps that’s up for debate. If anything, walking the length of Western Avenue was a rite of passage – something for this pedestrian’s bucket list.
So, on a bright and sunny Wednesday morning, I took a 25 minute car ride from my friend’s house in Little Village to Blue Island, which is the town that sits just across 119th Street. There, I stopped at a Shell gas station, gathered some rations for the day, went to the restroom, and officially clocked in for an 8 hour “shift.” It was going to be a long day.
The southern end of Western Avenue isn’t particularly notable as it feels like you’re just walking around greater Chicagoland. The neighborhood, Morgan Park, is fairly residential, consists of single family homes, and has no shortage of classic big box stores seen all around America (see non-places). It all felt too familiar...as if I was back in Philadelphia walking along Torresdale Avenue.
The landscape drastically changes once reaching the Dan Ryan Woods. The woods would feel somewhat remote if it weren’t for the trash and bustle of nearby traffic. Regardless, it still qualifies as an oasis from the rest of the big city. A man peacefully slept underneath the shade of a tree while a group of women briskly walked along a path. Another man nodded hello while he waited for the bus. It's a shame I never visited these woods while living here. Otherwise I would have visited often.
Western Avenue completely changes after the woods and basically becomes one long strip of car dealerships and auto repair shops. As you might imagine, this lends itself to a lot of concrete and very little, if any, trees. While it wasn’t an incredibly hot day (a storm had come through the night before to cool things down), the concrete underneath my feet only made the sun a bit more intense. At midday, I would walk close to the building facades, if available, to squeeze out a little shade to avoid sunburn. My skin would thank me later.
To walk Western Avenue is to hear the consistent rumble of traffic, which only seizes once the traffic lights momentarily turn red. On and off this happened all day long. At one point I thought I heard the rustling of the leaves, only to realize it was the streamers hanging over the lot of a car dealership. The sound is almost exactly like the leaves of a tree when hung in large quantities. Surprisingly, it's just as calming, so I stopped to take a field recording, however the serenity did not last. Shortly after pressing record, a group of cars blocked traffic to allow a very long funeral procession to make a left turn. Passengers stood out the car windows while the drivers honked their horns as if in a parade.
A few hours into the walk and I was moving faster than anticipated. I figured it was time for a break just as I started getting that familiar afternoon coffee craving, something that has undeniably become a ritual of all these long walks. Coincidentally, I was in Pilsen, the neighborhood I once called home, and there was a Dunkin’ Donuts just up ahead.
I placed my order, took a sip of my coffee, and started out the door when suddenly a series of loud pops went off right outside the building. The noise ceased as a car sped in the distance. Spooked, I immediately ran back inside as a light smoke hovered outside the windows. It was likely fireworks. I exchanged looks of confusion with fellow customers as we slowly made our way outside, Dunkin’ coffees in hand.
There I saw a black sedan parked next to the curb. In the car sat a young man with a distressed look of pain on his face. In the passenger’s seat was a young woman who was obviously panicked and overwhelmed. It was clear the young man was in deep pain, but what happened? Did someone throw a firework in their car?
I got up to the car window. No. It wasn’t fireworks. Someone shot the young man.
He held his right leg while making subdued hisses as he pulled air through his clenched jaw. The woman in the passenger seat, miraculously unscathed, had 911 on the phone.
My stare broke as another customer from Dunkin’ rushed outside and helped pull the young man from his car. We laid him out on the sidewalk while wrapping a belt around his leg. You could see a series of bullet holes that punctured the car door. Somehow only one bullet made contact. An ambulance rolled in the distance as members of Copwatch rolled up to the scene.
The young man was pale in the face and obviously rattled. He would be okay given that he was conscious and communicating with us. I’m no doctor, nor a firearms expert, but the lack of blood surrounding the wound gave me the impression that the bullets were small. Regardless, it was a miracle he was still alive and the young woman unscathed.
“Just another day in Pilsen,” said one of the Dunkin’ customers. In all five years of living in Chicago, I’d heard gunshots, but never been this close to a shooting. I collected myself and kept walking.
Earlier in the day, I made plans to meet my friend Kevin, who also lived in Pilsen, to finish out the rest of the walk. I looked forward to his company post Dunkin’ incident. And while I’m someone who really enjoys walking in solitude, I won’t hesitate to ramble in an old city with an old friend once again. We met on the corner of 18th Street and Western Avenue beside a bus stop near Don’s Grill as a parade of police cars barreled down the street.
With the blare of police sirens now behind us, we quietly crossed into the north side of town at Madison Street. To the east you could see the United Center in the foreground of a commanding skyline view. I am far more familiar with the north side of town, like most transplants, and was grateful for Kevin’s company. It would keep things more interesting while walking streets I’ve traversed many times before.
By the time we reached the Chicago River, just north of Bucktown, all the persistent aches and blisters on my feet started to demand my attention. My body was still healing from the big Philly Walk, but nonetheless, I was happy walking Chicago once again. Kevin and I joked about going all the way to Milwaukee (which would probably be an incredible journey) if it weren’t for an insatiable hunger clouding our minds.
A couple miles later, I saw a bus driver and asked if he drove the 49 bus, which runs up and down Western Avenue until reaching 79th Street on the south side.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
We were just a couple of miles shy of Howard Street which would end this long journey.
“I just walked all of Western Avenue,” I said a bit prematurely.
The bus driver, a bit confused, smiled in disbelief and waved his hand at me as if to say “get out of town!” He thought we were crazy. I can understand. I’d probably consider Western Avenue the most unappealing street in America if tasked with driving it each day. Especially with a bus full of cranky passengers.
It’s hard not to stop while crossing Devon Avenue, which is likely the closest place Chicago has to Queens. It tops the list as Chicago’s most culturally diverse street, lending itself to no shortage of good food. Nonetheless, we bowed our heads and continued on as our stomachs rumbled loudly. We were so close to the end of our journey that it would be a shame to stop and rest so soon.
The sun began to set, casting massive shadows across the street and covering the facades of many west-facing buildings. At this point of the walk – no matter where you are – the landscape tends to blend into a sort of movie montage, as if you’re riding on a slowly moving carousel. You put your camera away and stop looking so attentively at the world around you. In this state, one tends to enter their inner world. How am I doing? Can I finish this walk? How crazy is it that I just walked 20+ miles? With just a mile left, one might feel like it’s time to wrap this thing up. Happiness overcomes you and before you know it, the walk is over.
Kevin and I officially crossed Howard Street and into Evanston around 7:30pm. Now it was time to fill our stomachs. My phone told me I walked over 25 miles, which in part was because I kept crossing the street each time I met a stop light, (I suppose I like to keep it moving). It didn’t feel like I spent the last 8 hours walking, but of course it never does until it’s time for bed. For a moment I pondered, “would I do it all again?”
Likely not.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself, but walking in a straight line for 8 hours is only so appealing. My mind can keep me busy all day, but I like some hills and curves now and then, ya know? However, to walk Chicago is to confront a relentless horizontality that is unlike any place I’ve ever visited. And how I was happy to visit.
Let's check back in on Western Avenue in a few years.
As always, thanks for reading.
–Alex
Note: a draft of this newsletter was first shared with patrons back in May, however, has since been reworked and shared publicly. Thanks to all patrons for their ongoing support, which helps make this work possible
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