chicago to milwaukeeThe bike ride: 10 hours

Friendships are based on two things: common interests and complaining. My friend Patryk excels at the latter. For years, he complained that I never invited him on my long-distance cycling trips around the Midwest. When I asked him to ride with my bike team, he complained about that, too. So when Patryk purchased a salmon-pink Surly bike, I offered to take him on his first besties-only trek to Milwaukee. Seemed perfect: The route is flat, scenic, and always close to a bar.

We start strong, but just past the Great Lakes Naval Station in North Chicago, we enter the worst part of the Robert McClory Bike Path. It’s unshaded and made of crushed stone, forcing a slower pedal. Our optimism fades as the gripes begin: “Why are you riding so fast?” “My butt hurts!” “Who made the sun so sunny?” Eventually, we realize we’re just hangry.

After lunch, we pedal through Illinois Beach State Park, just south of the Wisconsin border. Patryk insists we go through North Dunes Nature Preserve, where there’s marshes, birds, and lots and lots of sand. Too much sand! We get stuck. I hoist my bike over my shoulder and whisper a curse to make Patryk’s padded shorts a quarter inch thinner. 

We pace evenly, singing to Todrick Hall blaring from our speakers, allowing the lakeshore to guide us. We cross the state line and stop at a beach. I’m taking in the endless horizon of shimmering periwinkle blue water when suddenly I’m twisting on the ground. CRAMP! We slow our pace to Kenosha, where we stop at a hotel for the night. Patryk lies on his clean bed still sweaty from our ride. I silently judge him, but claim the first shower anyway.

It’s only 40 miles from here to Milwaukee, and we arrive at the Iron Horse Hotel late the next morning. In the parking lot, leather-clad men on Harleys watch with amusement as Patryk and I do celebratory doughnuts on our two-wheel pedal machines. 

We head to the bar and order cold mimosas. Patryk sinks back into his chair, raises his glass, and smiles. For once, he has no complaints — especially since my husband had agreed to drive us back to Chicago.