Underground Music

If you happened to stroll by the Oak St. Beach-Michigan Ave. underpass yesterday afternoon, you’d have heard a delightful sound beckoning you to follow it to its source. When you did, you’d come upon two men standing in the middle of the tunnel dressed in thin shirts, jeans, and sneakers. Amidst the cream-colored walls and paint peeling from the ceiling, Trent Santomastago and Ryan Burnett played a flute and alto saxophone to the tune of canonical duets by Georg Philipp Telemann, a German composer in the 17th and 18th centuries.

“We tried playing on Michigan Ave.,” said Santomastago, 37, who has a thin face sporting a scruffy beard and mustache. “The acoustics are better here.”

“We have the advantage here of it reverberating,” explained Burnett, 25, of the music. “It’s a very pleasant sort of sound.”

He wasn’t the only one who thought so. Among the tourists and the residents, the runners and the bikers, the couples and the groups and the lone passersby, one or more people would occasionally stop to listen. Most at least turned their heads as they passed.

There was the guy on the bicycle who stopped and asked permission to take a photograph of them— and proceeded to shoot several. There was the woman on her cell phone, pushing a boy in a stroller, who stopped before reaching the men, pushed the stroller towards the opposite wall, and proceeded to crouch down to speak to the boy while looking at the musicians. There was the man who stopped to deposit some cash into the music case laid open on the cement ground, only to be followed immediately by another man and then another.

There were, too, the couple that found themselves so engrossed in their conversation that they passed within feet of Santomastago and Burnett without seeming to notice them. And the woman for whom an animated cell phone conversation was more interesting than the sound of classical baroque music beneath the median of Lake Shore Dr.

This is, after all, a big city.

Yet reports of the decline in popularity of classical music seem not to hold here. “We do some modern stuff for fun,” said Santomastago, who, like Burnett, speaks softly. “But it doesn’t get the reception that this does.”

Trent Santomastogo and Ryan Burnett. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Nestled between the wall and a couple of music stands, the duo bounced slightly as they played. Santomastago tapped his right foot in time with the music, which seemed to cascade out of the instruments and float down the tunnel. Neither had an imposing demeanor; when a woman applauded at the end of a piece, Burnett simply nodded slightly and muttered a week “Thank you.”

The two first met while in college at Northeastern Illinois University. Both had been playing their instruments since elementary school. These days, they continue to take private lessons while occasionally playing professionally. Coming out to the underpass two or three times a week is “a nice way to get some practice in and make a few bucks doing it,” according to Santomastago. (Never mind the occasional loud motorcycle passing overhead or the intermittent stench of bacteria that wafts by as a person passes.)

As for money, the two had to shell out a hundred dollars apiece for city permits to play music in a public place. But, says Santomastago, “We’ve made it back and then some.”

Santomastago and Burnett may have stood out from those around them when they played yesterday afternoon, but in one way, they fit right in: Behind them, propped up against the wall, were their bikes, ready to take the men away when the music ended.

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Santomastago and Burnett play "Allegro Spirittoso Minuet," by Georg Philipp Telemann

Biking to Milwaukee (with Some Help from Metra)

The idea was simple. Inspired by a recent long-distance bike ride, I would push myself to bike all the way from Chicago to Milwaukee. I eagerly looked up the distance online: About 90 miles.

Forget that.

Then I remembered that Metra allows you to put your bike on the train— and the Union Pacific North Line goes as far north as Kenosha, Wis., just over the state line. From there, I estimated from looking at a map, it would be just 30 to 35 miles to Milwaukee. Definitely doable in a day. Plus, riding up on a Saturday could set the stage for a nice weekend getaway in Wisconsin, offering the chance to explore communities and other local attractions along the shoreline, followed by an evening and part of the next day in Milwaukee.

The trip was set.

Under a bright sun, I arrive at the Clybourn Metra station, at Ashland and Armitage Avenues, in time for the 10:43 a.m. train. When it arrives, I secure my bike to a row of fold-up seats with a bungee cable, one of the requirements for bringing your bike on board. Because it’s Saturday, I take advantage of Metra’s weekend fare, five dollars for unlimited rides on its network (although I’ll be taking Amtrak back down tomorrow, five dollars is less than the price of a one-way ticket to Kenosha).

After a pleasant trip through the northern suburbs of Chicago, we arrive in Kenosha at around 12:15 p.m. I’ve figured that by keeping an average pace of about 10 miles per hour, including stops, I’ll arrive in Milwaukee in time for dinner.

As I set off from the Metra station on my bike, I feel a sense of freedom. Ahhh… the open road.

Downtown Kenosha. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Wisconsin’s fourth-largest city, Kenosha is perhaps best known for its factory outlet stores. But those are at least a couple of miles inland, and my plan today is to stay as close to the lake as I can, both for the scenery and to keep the route to Milwaukee as direct as possible.

Not far from the Metra station, I stop to get a glimpse of a Kenosha streetcar. One of five refurbished vehicles that date back to 1951, the streetcar makes a 1.7-mile loop through the downtown area. The green-and-white car is photogenic (and the fare is only 25 cents), but I pass on taking a ride, opting instead to bike over to the waterfront. There, I come upon HarborMarket, an outdoor market along 2nd Ave. between 54th and 56th Streets, where vendors under white tents sell food, art, toys, and raffle tickets.

After browsing for a bit and purchasing a bottle of water (important in the mid-day heat), I stop briefly next door in the Kenosha Public Museum. Having opened in 1937 in a large restored post office building, the museum hosts exhibits on natural history and fine and decorative arts.

Continuing north, I head up 6th and then 7th Ave., passing local businesses, including a bike shop and The Coffee Pot, a coffee shop with outdoor seating next to a wall with a mural of greenery. It’s a cute setting, but I’m too eager to make progress to stop for lunch now. A little farther north, any thought of food has left my mind when I come upon a beautiful, expansive view of Lake Michigan from Pennoyer Park.

Unfortunately, there’s no one lakefront path all the way from Kenosha to Milwaukee. The best you can do is combine lakeside paths, inland trails, and roads. My goal this trip is to have as scenic of a ride as possible, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find before me the Pike Bike Trail, a path that heads up alongside the lake.

Soon, the path empties out onto a road at the edge of the campus of Carthage College. Because it keeps to the lake, I decide then to take state Highway 32, a four-lane road (now reduced to two lanes because of construction). But before long, I’m tired of riding over sand because of the construction, and I decide to head west for a more bike-friendly route— the Pike Bike Trail again, now a gravel-covered path that lies where tracks of the old Chicago North Shore and Milwaukee Railroad used to run.

Although it’s three-quarters of a mile inland from the lake, the mostly-straight trail makes for an easy ride, with trees and farmland on either side and the sound of birds chirping in the air. At 1st St., I pass from Kenosha Country into Racine County (the name of the path changes here to North Shore Trail), and in a little less than half an hour of biking, I’ve reached the village of Elmwood Park, just south of Racine. There, I leave the bike path for local streets, finally sitting down at around 3 p.m. to a pizza burger at Reflections, a family-style restaurant. Wanting to keep the break short, I soon head off again, zigzagging along the local roads of Racine towards the lake.

A bluff in General John J. Pershing Park offers a good view of the water. The sight of the lake during this ride soothes, if not inspires, me. Here, boaters and even a jet-skier are out. A little further north, a cluster of boats sits in Racine’s harbor; nearby, on a plaza adjacent to Festival Park, children in street clothes run through fountains.

Downtown Racine. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Rather than seek out the North Shore Trail again, I decide to try once more to keep to the lakefront. Turning north on Main St., I come upon a succession of local stores and eateries, as well as the Racine Art Museum, whose collection of over 3,000 objects consists of contemporary works on different media; pieces dating to the 1930’s; and works on paper, paintings, and sculptures.

Main St. continues on over a drawbridge, which offers a view of moored boats off to either side, and then for some three more miles— passing right next to the Racine Zoo, which claims its own beach on Lake Michigan. A series of turns then takes me further north into Racine County, through areas with houses close enough together to resemble suburbia interspersed with open spaces that make for a rural feel. I don’t think I’ve ever passed so many signs for garage sales in a single day, and I stop at one to browse, walking off with a few pens for 25 cents.

Around a quarter to 6, I cross into Milwaukee County. Less than 45 minutes later, I’ve made it into Grant Park, a 381-acre park perched on Lake Michigan in the city of South Milwaukee. Riding through the lakefront greenery, I feel a renewed eagerness. I’m in the home stretch.

The trail I’ve stumbled onto leads through a thick cluster of trees with a ravine down below, providing the most dramatic change of scenery this trip. At some point, if I haven’t already, I make it onto the Oak Leaf Trail, part of the Milwaukee County Park System that continues along the lakefront all the way to the city of Milwaukee. I head up through Warnimont Park and Sheridan Park; past a game of volleyball; past people having a picnic on a patch of grass above the lake. Finally, shortly before 7 p.m., I glimpse a faint outline of the Milwaukee skyline in the distance.

Approaching the Milwaukee city limits. (Click on photo to enlarge.)

Another mile or so, and I reach the city. Unfortunately, there’s no way to keep to the lakefront beyond the Cupertino neighborhood, as Interstate 794 monopolizes the waterfront for some two miles. Instead, trail signs guide me through local streets. Being on roads hardly matters, though, so revitalized am I to be so close to the end.

I snake through industrial neighborhoods, advancing up Bay St., then 1st St., then across the Water St. Bridge into the Historic Third Ward district. Around 7:30, I stop at the intersection of Water St. and Milwaukee Ave.

To my left, I spot a Borders bookstore sign beyond the Wisconsin Ave. Bridge. I recognize the sight.

I’m in downtown Milwaukee!

Yes, I’ve been here before. Only this time, I think with a mixture of joy and disbelief, I’ve arrived by bike.

Help the Animals. Please?

“Info to help the animals?” the girl in the green dress nudges passersby.

“Info to help the animals?”

Her voice is light and high-pitched, a gentle supplication among a cacophony of noise— el trains rumbling above, bus air brakes wheezing behind, cell phone conversations coming into and out of earshot.

“Info to help the animals?”

In a Runyonland-esque scene, they pass her left and right, go into the el station and out, get onto buses and off. Perhaps one out of every four takes one of her pamphlets, which outline cruel practices used in slaughterhouses. Of those that don’t, maybe only half acknowledge her.

The woman walking a little dog with poofy, white fur— she takes one. The man in the white, button-down shirt and black pants takes one, too, his lips turned into a tight smile. The man in the cowboy hat and the guy in a Pace suburban bus shirt do, as well.

The evening sky is slightly overcast, here in the thick of rush hour, as Jenny Lawson and three others ply the sea of passing commuters on Fullerton Ave. for receptive hands. A native of South Bend, Ind., Jenny has come to Chicago for the summer before her senior year of college at Earlham College. She’s taken on a three-month internship at Mercy for Animals, a vegan advocacy organization, where she works on a campaign to get Dunkin’ Donuts to offer soy milk.

“The most hundred-percent foolproof way of preventing suffering is by eliminating animal products from your diet,” she insists. “That’s basically what we really advocate.” Indeed, Jenny is herself vegan, though it's surprising to learn that while she grew up among cats and dogs, she didn’t live on a farm.

“Info to help the animals?”

Dong-dong. “Doors closing.”

A woman smiles slightly as she refuses a pamphlet. Another declines with barely a nod. A guy with a big, brown dog approaches with his hand up. “No solicitations, please,” he cuts in to her spiel (short spiel).

How does she deal with being ignored outright by some people? “Just suck it up,” she says with a laugh. “It’s not fun. I mean of course it doesn’t feel good, but it happens a lot, and I expect it.”

A man with a colorful T-shirt walks into the el station. “Oh, God,” Jenny remarks. “‘Too much pork for just one fork,’” she reads from his T-shirt.

“I’m not even gonna’ ask,” she giggles.

Jenny and Leslie, the other girl manning the sidewalk in front of the el station, occasionally walk over to a suitcase laid on the ground against a wall. There, they replenish their stock of pamphlets. The leafleting, as Leslie has called it on her meetup.com Vegan Chicago Web page, was called for 5:30 p.m.; it will end when all 200 pamphlets are gone.

“Chickens are kept in small cages about, maybe, like, six to seven birds on a size of a six-by-eleven piece of paper,” Jenny explains about some egg farms. “So, they’re all in there, and they debeak them— like, they cut off the tip of their beak— because chickens have, like, the pecking order to create a hierarchy, you know— like in the group of chickens. And so if they didn’t debeak them, they would kill each other.”

What about organic farms?

“I don’t think the words ‘humane’ and ‘slaughter’ go together. I think they’re kind of contradicting.”

They come and they go, here and there, heading up to Kimball or Linden Ave., over to Sheffield or Lincoln Ave., or perhaps down the street to Chicago’s Dog House, which sells 22 varieties of hot dogs, including smoked alligator.

How does Jenny keep her stamina up?

“I don’t know,” she laughs. Actually, she’s really tired.

“It just has to get done, so you just keep goin’.”

Another polite smile and wave in rejecting a pamphlet. Another squeal of bus brakes. And another plea— and yet another— to help the animals.