My Grand COVID Cross-Country Adventure (GC3A) Part VI
All’s well that ends COVID-free
Overnight in Chicago
At Chicago’s Union Station, I climbed into my first Uber in six months. We drove up Lake Shore Drive, which follows along Lake Michigan. Bikers and runners lined the lake. We passed a pocket of Lake Michigan known as “the Playpen” where crowded boats and yachts were anchored. It looked more like Miami spring break than Midwest pandemic September.
I got to my friend Yoni’s in time a small backyard Shabbat dinner. The night was warm, the cicadas were loud, and the table was crowded with food. It felt like a little taste of home.
My rental car was not available until 11AM, so in the morning we jogged to the lake for a quick dip. I had swam in four states in less than four weeks. Somehow Lake Michigan was most surprising. For a city famous for its brutal winter, Chicago really doesn’t get enough credit for its summer.
Rental Car Purgatory
I had covered over 3,000 miles in two weeks and was now one day’s drive from my final destination. If I left by 10AM, I could be home in time for dinner. You know that scene in Truman Show where Jim Carey tries to goes on an impromptu road trip, but the directors block his way to keep him on set? The next few hours felt roughly like that. I called Budget to check if I could pick up the car early. The answer was no. In fact, there was no car available. At all. Until Tuesday.
I was eventually able to track down a car at O’Hare, 45 minutes in the wrong direction. Then Budget gave me the wrong address for the rental car center. When we finally found the fancy new rental car complex, the Uber was not allowed in. I stashed my oversized bags behind the concrete barriers and crossed three different rental companies’ parking lots to get to the Budget office.
After waiting ten minutes, I learned this was Budget Fastbreak, and commoners such as myself needed to go down to the first floor and line up with the other plebes. Downstairs I found a line that wrapped back and forth three times and moved at a glacial place. I called Budget customer service. I didn’t know what Fastbreak was, but I wanted it. After fifteen minutes, I had hardly moved two spaces, but I was part of the club. I bee-lined back up to Fastbreak, gave them the secret password, and was in my car 2 minutes later.
It was 1:30 by the time I got into my Corolla. It wreaked of air freshener and the cigarettes the air freshener was attempting to cover up. But there was redemption! Between the adaptive cruise control and the lane assist, the Corolla basically drove itself. Every now and again, an alert on the dash would remind me to put my hands on the wheel. Otherwise, I was just munching on the fruit platter Yoni and Simone sent with me while my car drove me home.
Home but not home free
I pulled in just before midnight to find my parents half-asleep waving in the driveway. I had made it! Now I just had to make sure I hadn’t brought any deadly microscopic friends with me. This left me with a week of self-quarantine to reflect on my experience. I felt so much gratitude for the opportunity to travel, be with friends, and see family in a time marked by shelter-in-place and social distancing. And yet, I was left with a profound sense of loss and anxiety.
Much of this was personal. Before my trip, I had been caring for a family member diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctor had estimated he had six months to live. He lived only six weeks, passing just two days before I left.
But what I was feeling was also more global. The fires in the West had only intensified over my trip. By the time I got to Atlanta, the West was choked in smoke with air quality reaching hazardous levels, some of the worst in the world. I was watching climate migration in real time as friends began to announce giving up their leases or starting to make plans.
Grief and uncertainty pervaded conversations with friends who were grappling with toxic air on top of shelter-in-place. We had figured out how to navigate social distancing but the addition of smoke felt unworkable. The fires and the pandemic were both raging uncontrolled with no end in sight. And yet, the President seemed indifferent at best. This intensified a certain urgency around the upcoming election.
Having traveled through Trump Country, it was strange to think how little I had interacted with the people who had planted Trump signs in their lawns and on their bumpers. I traveled 4,000 miles, witnessed the sheer size and diversity of this country, and still felt as enclosed in my little blue bubble as ever.
It strikes me as tragic how little we really know of each other. As fear mounts for voters on both sides of the aisle, I wonder what it means to be a country so large that it is foreign to its own citizens. In this time, where our lives may literally depend on keeping distance, a different sort of distance seems to threaten the fabric of our democracy. I am at a loss for how we will bridge this divide.
This time has taken so much away from us and threatens to take so much more. This loss can be overwhelming to process, but it can also provide a new lens to see all that we have take for granted. With so little in my control, this trip was a chance to turn to the small things. To sleep in tents, enjoy natural beauty, and savor the company of those I love. That’s what 4,000 miles got me — friends, family, and fresh air. I do not take these things lightly.
I got my COVID test results finally a week after arriving to Atlanta. I hugged my parents. And I knew what a gift that was in a way I never have before.
This story is Part VI in My Grand COVID Cross Country Adventure. For Part V, click here. To start from the beginning, click here.
