It's Like A Jungle Sometimes



Mayonnaise

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Dec 7, 2003
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IÕm talking to this cop who says, Òare you f***ing crazy?Ó I had asked him what was the best way to get from the Southwest side to the Lake by bicycle. He paused to check out my white skin and Izod shirt. ÒI see your ass east of Ashland IÕll toss you in the ****ing squad and kick your ass all the way home myself.Ó HeÕs both right and wrong; the south east side of Chicago is no place for a white kid on a hand made Italian bicycle wearing lycra. Once you pass Roosevelt heading south pret near all the way to Indiana youÕre not going to find a Chipolte anytime soon, although a surprising number of shiny Escalades. At the same time, fear shouldnÕt rule our lives, or stupidly for that matter.

Fixie brings a sense of adventure and itÕs the middle of the day so I decide on Garfield aka 55th; itÕs nice and wide all the way down to the lake. Starting at Cicero and heading east, things turn from white to brown to black according to a distinct grid, so precise it makes you wonder. Once you cross the tracks just past Lawndale you wonÕt be seeing anymore Polish grandmothers getting their hair fixed, but you can score all the paletas and chicarones you can eat. East of Western, all the way to the lake itÕs black, been black awhile, gonna be black awhile more too. My fear and apprehension keeps my cadence high. IÕm vulnerable and nervous and afraid of black people, and once youÕre in, thereÕs no way out but forward, so I keep pedaling, trying to calm myself, trying to take a real look around and assess for myself what goes on in these neighborhoods (my favorite is to take note of the names of all the beauty salonÕs along the way, very clever). East of the Dan Ryan the poverty thickens, the despair cuts lines in the faces of the people on the streets, boarded up windows, beat up cars held together with bailing wire, LINK card signs in every shop window. Wide-eyed, they check me out as I spin past, silent stares with deep long feelings, feelings of desperation, feelings of subjugation, displacement, Jim Crow, reparation; they know that I know just what theyÕre thinking, they shout it out with their eyes ÒweÕll stay out of your neighborhood, you stay out of ours.Ó Fixie lets you see and feel the city at a speed thatÕs just fast enough, if you know what IÕm saying. Hyde Park and the University of Chicago, hometown of nuclear fission and IÕm safe, I think theyÕve got a Starbucks there too (out of the 100 or so in Chicago only 4 are on the South Side).

ItÕs a regular route for me now, actually, I like 71st better, thereÕs more shops and people to watch; usually some foxy lady will say, all tantalizing and suggestive, Òhey baby, how you doin?Ó, thatÕs what really keeps me coming back. If youÕre from Chicago itÕs common to see people standing in the street looking back to see whereÕs the bus (the CTA, notoriously mismanaged, is gonna boost itÕs fairs again, which will hurt these people the most, the working poor. The new fair amounts to a gallon of milk a week, which is significant if youÕre counting each penny). This old lady, Miss Maybell no doubt, dressed all in red with a big hat to match, starts yelling at me one day, Òhey, bike man, whereÕs the damn busÓ. People are always waiting on the bus. ÒJust passed it at Ashland,it should be here in four minutesÓ Cyclists are intimate with speed so my estimation is accurate. IÕve made it my duty to watch the buses and shout updates as I pass the bus stops, ÒDamen, about seven minutes backÓ Ò3 stuck at Halsted, ten minutes more easy.Ó News isnÕt always good, but at least they know.

My fear has mellowed, but I dress down and donÕt call too much attention to myself, donÕt detour onto the side streets, and stay outa there after dark, for shizzle. When a carload of young black men pass by with the bass thumbing, I still get a zero to the bone. IÕm feeling pretty cool one day east of the Ryan, doing my track stand, waiting on the light or traffic to clear, whichever happens first, when this big black guy, with deep dark eyes and more than his share of menace, comes up to me and says, ÒwhoÕs you?Ó ÒMy nameÕs MayonnaiseÓ (I actually said this). Òwhy she call you Mayonnaise?Ó he says, she must be my mother I figure. ÒBecause it tastes so good on white bread,Ó I can only thank God for these words, I have no idea where they came from so suddenly, never once thought about them. ThereÕs a pause and then he bursts out laughing, like he hasnÕt laughed in two years, like his laughter just cured cancer, like it just snapped clean the hangmanÕs noose. His laughter is infectious We laugh together. The light changes and I start out...Óyou alright brother Mayonnaise,Ó he shouts, still laughing.
 

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