Forget football games, a capella concerts, and ASG politics. In this new column, I’ll be taking a look at Northwestern from the inside out. From tagging along with student groups to candidly observing events and activities, I’ll expose the not-so-publicized student groups and underrepresented events here on campus. Who knows, we might even find out what lives in the basement of Tech.
Dirty, sun burnt, and visibly exhausted, we wedged our bikes between the standing handrails and collapsible seats, and sat back to wait for the El to pull out of the station. There were three of us: one NU freshman from Florence, Italy, a 14-year-old boy from the southwest suburbs, and me, a Midwestern freshman girl. We sat in the nearly empty car somewhere on the city’s south side, making small talk and laughing at the near absurdity of our afternoon. It was clear that this friendship was only temporary; between the Loop and Northwestern’s campus, we would go our separate ways, returning to the semi-mundane lives we had been leading a mere 5 hours and 40 minutes ago.
It all started when we decided to ride to Indiana, an idea fueled by the testosterone of my six fellow (male) riders. I was the only girl in the group, a tag-along on the Northwestern Outing Club’s weekend activity. I originally chose to write about the Outing Club because of how laid-back it seemed. It looked to be something that few Northwestern students knew about but could possibly take interest in. Never did I think that I would be spending my Easter Sunday burning off the calories I usually take in from my Easter basket. This isn’t to say that all the club’s activities are this rigorous; according to the group’s members, this would be the furthest they had ridden together. Clearly, I had just picked the wrong day to take up biking.
The original plan was to bike to downtown Chicago, which seemed like a reasonable goal in and of itself. Before we left, the guys plotted their course. The group’s “alpha male” leader, Justin Li, a McCormick senior, spread out his area bike map on the cement right outside Norris, and the rest crowded around him. We would re-evaluate once we got downtown, they decided, and either turn back or keep going. At that point Indiana was just a “what if,” an idea that was bounced around, and included the words “possible” and “long.” Had I only known…
I had clearly underestimated this group. Although there are many female members of the Outing Club, the variety of the schedule draws different types of people depending on the activity, and this time it was me and the boys. I’m not sure they took me seriously. I had my doubts as well. My trusty Trek 800 had barely made it through its first Chicago winter: Only one brake works, the chain is covered in rust, the gears pop in and out, and the entire bike makes weird noises. I was testing my luck. I knew it, and so did they.
But off we went, and from the get go we were moving faster than I do when I’m late to class. We proceeded more or less in a single-file line from Norris to the 31st Street Beach and Breakwater. This was not a leisurely bike ride, as I had anticipated it would be. We spoke very little, my mind focused on maximizing every ounce of strength in my legs. Momentum became sacred, the product of intermittent second winds. For a while my bike ceased its creaking and I exchanged places in line with various members of the group. The testosterone had swallowed me and I had begun to feel the need to prove myself. No matter how far we went, I knew that I wouldn’t be turning back early.
Along the way we stopped briefly along the lake shore, just north of the city. One of the members, Sam, a first year graduate student from London, needed to fix his tire. That’s when we found Massy, or rather, Massy found us. A 14-year-old from the southwest suburb of Palos Hills, Massy had brought his bike downtown and came upon us while we were stopped. He asked to join our group and, being a biking aficionado as well, was cheerfully welcomed. Massy quickly took on the role of the group’s “cool” little brother. He knew the area and could keep pace with us, making him more of a help than a hindrance.
It was at the 31st Street Beach and Breakwater that the group decided to go for the plunge. They discussed the logistics, considered time, and decided that today would be the day we went all the way. Indiana it was.
As a journalism student among scientists, mathematicians, and engineers, I had a different perspective on limits. While their minds did the calculations, mine was willing to negotiate. Just because the ride was physically possible didn’t necessarily mean my body was willing to come along.
But it did.
After two flat tires left us milling about in quiet for the better part of an hour, we were back on our way. The final stretch of road ran parallel to the highway above, on which we could see the Indiana state sign. Never had I been so excited to be in Indiana. We veered off the road, following a bike path through a nearby neighborhood and stopped at State Line Road. We had made it.
Suddenly the demeanor lightened and conversation broke out. The seven of us, the youngest at 14 and the oldest a 40-year-old NU technical specialist, had been bonded by the experience—a mutual accomplishment that would send us all home with bragging rights. We stopped for a quick bite to eat a nearby McDonald’s and charted our way back. David, a freshman from Italy, Massy, and I decided to bail out once we neared an El stop. The rest decided to finish the trip on their bikes.
And so we veered off the lake shore path and back into the Chicago neighborhoods. The earlier sun had given way to clouds, making the city’s skyline barely visible in the distance. We hauled our bikes up the steep steps and clambered onto the platform, where our metallic chariot was waiting. Under any other circumstances, this would have been considered failure. But after 30 some miles of biking, even this pseudo-defeat felt pretty darn good.