Another rain delay. Strong storms moving through Chicago and Indiana. Lightning and thunder and some local flooding. Make my way out of Michigan City, Ind. by 7 a.m. My goal is to bike through Chicago to Kenosha, about 114 miles today ... and, possibly make it to my sister’s house in Franklin.

There’s a bike path out of Michigan City that runs along the railroad tracks. It’s narrow, hard-packed pea gravel and with the rain it means a lot of extra gunk in my gears so I stick to the road. About 20 miles out I bum a ride from Ellen and her pickup truck. The main thing weighing on my mind is the safety of Gary, Ind. I figure if Ellen can get me through some of the seedier parts of town I’d be good to go.

Ellen’s on her way to work. "I get paid to play games with the elderly, what could be better," she said taking a drag on a Marlborough menthol. Ellen’s a single mom with a 13-year-old who decided "while it’s still summer vacation she can stay up with friends until 5 a.m."

We drive into the outskirts of Gary. It’s light; sunny as a matter of fact, which makes me feel a little better. "See, this is about how bad it is," said Ellen as I notice the open space, busy traffic, church, and run down / vacant businesses. We get as far as the intersection of Highway 20 and I-65 and Ellen’s gotta bail because she has to get to work.

I’m in the heart of downtown Gary. With intense focus, I start biking like I’ve been bitten by a jackrabbit.

The streets of Gary are full of potholes and glass. Boarded up business fronts, few people. Traffic moves fast. One man yells out the window of his van. I think he said, "Good luck you!" but I can’t be sure.

Life is full of choices, and I’m ready to admit I’ve made a bad one.

Although I don’t talk about it a lot, I have made mistakes on this tour. In my haste, trying to ditch Gary I misread my map and try to jump on Highway 912. It’s much like the interstate. I kick myself for wasting time and not preparing a better plan. I swing around and head back down the off ramp, into oncoming traffic which frequently reminds me of my lack of intelligence.

Finally into East Chicago I stop at a crowded gas station for a break. Inside, the attendants ring up sales behind thick bullet proof glass. I joke with a younger black man about the "G" tattoo on his arm muscle. "Green Bay Packers fan, are ya?" giving him a big Steffes grin. "It stands for gang banger," he said in a you’re messin’ around with the wrong guy tone.

Note to self: stop being Pollyanna in spandex. Spandex does not stop bullets.

A taller, string bean black gentleman steps up and starts a conversation about my destination. He has a map in his van and offers to give me directions. The license plate on his ride says "Jesus."

"Used to play music in Milwaukee," he said in a down home manner. "You should be there by noon! How fast you go on that thing?" he said, estimating my speed at 40 miles an hour.

I feel a sense of relief talking to "Jesus license plate man." With a renewed sense of optimism I’m just a couple miles from Lake Shore Drive, which will take me up through Chicago and into Wisconsin.

While readying to get going I see in the reflection of the glass of the gas station window, Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony-G-tattoo-guy making his way toward me. Again, I curse myself for making bad choices. "I should have made it clear," he said as I turn around and he flashes me a grin. "The G used to stand for gang banger, my wife got killed when she was 23 years old and it took that incident to help me find God." Jammal Davis hands me his business card. "He changed my life," he said with a reminder that if I need help I should give him a call.

Bicycling through East Chicago proved a little refreshing. An active business community, better roads and a straight shot to Lake Shore Drive. I felt like stopping to explore, but wanted to stay on task. Plus, East Chicago smelled like a sewer. I thought it would pass, but the only relief came when a black Lincoln with tinted windows drove past and leaving behind a sweet, smokey trail of marijuana.

Lake Shore Drive through Chicago was a comfortable stretch. You can’t get lost, there’s plenty to see, and lots of people taking advantage of the paved path and outdoors.

Up into Glencoe I’ve got about 60 miles in but it’s past noon and I jump on the Metra, just for the experience. The $3.95 one-way ticket will get me as far as Waukegan. Bicycles are allowed on the train during specified hours. "You gotta tie that down," said one of the conductors as I sat in the space marked "bikes." I told him I had my helmet strap secured around the rear wheel and the bike wasn’t going anywhere. "Gotta have a rope," he said. "And if you don’t then don’t ride the train."

I asked him for help, asking if he had a rope and with a little roll of his eyes he reminded me I needed to be better prepared next time. I’m really not sure what kind of set up he was looking for. There were no bars or railings to tie my bike, but it was the rule and with my latest education I’d be better prepared next time.

Out of Waukegan, Sheridan Road or Green Bay Road run clear up into Wisconsin. It’s a busy stretch and not the best for 5 o’clock get-out-of-work traffic.

Since I’m smelling Wisconsin and growing weary and impatient with everything I talk a man named Gordon into giving me a lift through Kenosha. "I’m actually going to Racine," he said in an "it’s almost Friday" tired tone. Even better. Gordon could have had room for a case of beer in the back of his van and I would have made my bike fit.

Gordon was a nice enough guy. Dropped out of high school, served in Vietnam, worked as a pipe fitter, married with three kids and lived in Racine. He liked to watch the History channel and I listened as we drove past miles of orange construction barrels.

By 6 p.m. I was on Highway 32 in Racine and with a home destination on the horizon I put 97 miles on the day just to pull into Franklin at 8:30 p.m.

TRIP REVIEW:

Best part about the ride: The accomplishment. Although I had some difficulties in Ohio, I really enjoyed the community of Conneaut mostly because of the underground railroad connection. I also liked learning about BerkShares in Great Barrington, Mass. and seeing the rock 'n' roll museum in Cleveland.

It’s also enlightening to learn about people’s lives like Jim and Debbie who helped me find my way out of Cleveland and introduced me to Oberlin. Pastor Charlotte was more then generous taking me into her home and sharing their church picnic with a hungry biker. Little Dom in Hudson, N.Y. who let me jump on his train with my bike and adopted me -- giving me direction and a sense of relief.

Unexpected inconvenience: The bus and train lines are becoming more adamant about having ‘the bike in a box" in order to transport. Last year, coming back from South Carolina that didn’t happen so much. I managed to MacGyver a "meet-you-half-way" setup in Albany, N.Y. by wrapping a Frito Lay box around the pedals and front cog. The bus people weren’t too thrilled but saw I made the effort. Matt, who was back in baggage handling, let me use his entire roll of tape to rig the setup.

People and places: As always, people I meet are more than friendly. I’ll say it was difficult to talk my way into staying at churches because: one, I was getting into town later, and two, maybe it’s just that part of the U.S. that’s a little more wary.

Anything bad: I didn’t like being rushed to get back. Can’t do much about a vacation time line, however, I think it hindered my sense of adventure, to explore more and instead I was concerned about making so many miles each day. I also think it affected my writing, however the time limitations forced me to focus on the highlights.

I appreciate OnMilwaukee.com giving me the opportunity again to share my travel journal and, as in the past, if any schools or groups need a guest speaker to talk about biking or adventure they can give me a call.