There's more to Indiana than just fireworks stores
M is always complaining about how we never use our digital camera that I gave her for Xmas last year...SO, here's a recap of our weekend in Indiana, courtesy of our digital camera. May I recommend the following tune from the new self-titled Clap Your Hands Say Yeah album to listen to while enjoying this pseudo photo slide extravaganza.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - "The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth"
-----
We passed about a bajillion photo-worthy scenes on the two-lane drive through Indiana en route to my sister's house near the Lake Michigan shoreline in Michigan City. On the way back, we had time to actually stop and photograph a few of 'em, like this hi-larious neon sign that adorned a police station near the Indiana-Illinois border.
The point of this trip was to attend a co-worker's wedding in Hobart, a burb of one of Indiana's finest communities, Gary. This license plate caught our fancy in the parking lot at the reception, so M snapped a photo. (Our friend Donovan actually collects photos of plates, so I'm sure he'll be glad to add this to his collection.)
Michigan City is known for two things: it's humongous outlet mall (which attracts peeps from Chicago) and the Indiana Dunes National Park (which attracts peeps from Chicago). The Dunes (plural) is really just a Dune (singular). Apparently, the Mason Jar company took up residence in Michigan City and used up the sand of a few other (even larger) dunes over the past century in making their glass jars. This sucker -- about five stories tall (guesstimate) -- remains. It might not look as imposing in this photo, but walking up it wearing sandals (to fend off the hot sand) was like walking in shin-deep snow wearing a pair of large, wooden snowshoes. With each step, my feet sunk into the sand, which then collapsed around my ankles. I had to take a breather part-way up.
Here I am with my 15-year-old nephew, victorious in having climbed the Dune. I now know what Sir Edmund Hillary must have felt like after conquering Mt. Everest.
The view from the top was worth the effort. And it was an easy stroll down the other side of the dune to the shore of Lake Michigan.
Because the Dune features a dinky parking lot -- and because there's a much larger public beach just up the coastline -- the beachfront wasn't too crowded. Neither was the water, which was a tad chilly, probably in the 60-degree range. M and I waded in to our shins. Sad to say, it was my first time standing in a large body of water in years. I'm a wee bit anxious to see the Atlantic in August.
Once our fun in the sun was over, it was time to head back to the car, which unfortunately meant climbing back up the Dune. This side of the Dune wasn't nearly as steep, but it was about three times as long of a hike. In short, it sucked. If I ever become stranded in the Sahara Desert, I'll plop down and enjoy the view before dying of dehydration. Fuck walking up hills of sand.
Post Dunes, my nephew and I headed down the interstate to the nearest fireworks emporium and purchased $35 worth of explosives, including tanks, bang snaps, sparklers, and of course lots of bottle rockets and roman candles. I'd love to say that the next photo was a sampling of our fireworks display, but I'd be lying. My sister's neighbors apparently drop a few thousand dollars on fireworks every year. (Seriously, their display went on for at least an hour and was a non-stop barrage of huge explosions in the sky.) This photo was from their display, which put most small-town displays to shame, and sadly dwarfed our meager offering. Oh well, it was fun indulging my inner-pyro for one evening.
And that concludes my weekend in Indiana. The wedding was a bore, but M and I had fun spending time with my family. I've conveniently left out any discussion of the outlet mall; for more information on that, see M. And, if you want a highlight reel from my game of H-O-R-S-E with my nephew, that's in the works. Hang tight.
We passed about a bajillion photo-worthy scenes on the two-lane drive through Indiana en route to my sister's house near the Lake Michigan shoreline in Michigan City. On the way back, we had time to actually stop and photograph a few of 'em, like this hi-larious neon sign that adorned a police station near the Indiana-Illinois border.
The point of this trip was to attend a co-worker's wedding in Hobart, a burb of one of Indiana's finest communities, Gary. This license plate caught our fancy in the parking lot at the reception, so M snapped a photo. (Our friend Donovan actually collects photos of plates, so I'm sure he'll be glad to add this to his collection.)
Michigan City is known for two things: it's humongous outlet mall (which attracts peeps from Chicago) and the Indiana Dunes National Park (which attracts peeps from Chicago). The Dunes (plural) is really just a Dune (singular). Apparently, the Mason Jar company took up residence in Michigan City and used up the sand of a few other (even larger) dunes over the past century in making their glass jars. This sucker -- about five stories tall (guesstimate) -- remains. It might not look as imposing in this photo, but walking up it wearing sandals (to fend off the hot sand) was like walking in shin-deep snow wearing a pair of large, wooden snowshoes. With each step, my feet sunk into the sand, which then collapsed around my ankles. I had to take a breather part-way up.
Here I am with my 15-year-old nephew, victorious in having climbed the Dune. I now know what Sir Edmund Hillary must have felt like after conquering Mt. Everest.
The view from the top was worth the effort. And it was an easy stroll down the other side of the dune to the shore of Lake Michigan.
Because the Dune features a dinky parking lot -- and because there's a much larger public beach just up the coastline -- the beachfront wasn't too crowded. Neither was the water, which was a tad chilly, probably in the 60-degree range. M and I waded in to our shins. Sad to say, it was my first time standing in a large body of water in years. I'm a wee bit anxious to see the Atlantic in August.
Once our fun in the sun was over, it was time to head back to the car, which unfortunately meant climbing back up the Dune. This side of the Dune wasn't nearly as steep, but it was about three times as long of a hike. In short, it sucked. If I ever become stranded in the Sahara Desert, I'll plop down and enjoy the view before dying of dehydration. Fuck walking up hills of sand.
Post Dunes, my nephew and I headed down the interstate to the nearest fireworks emporium and purchased $35 worth of explosives, including tanks, bang snaps, sparklers, and of course lots of bottle rockets and roman candles. I'd love to say that the next photo was a sampling of our fireworks display, but I'd be lying. My sister's neighbors apparently drop a few thousand dollars on fireworks every year. (Seriously, their display went on for at least an hour and was a non-stop barrage of huge explosions in the sky.) This photo was from their display, which put most small-town displays to shame, and sadly dwarfed our meager offering. Oh well, it was fun indulging my inner-pyro for one evening.
And that concludes my weekend in Indiana. The wedding was a bore, but M and I had fun spending time with my family. I've conveniently left out any discussion of the outlet mall; for more information on that, see M. And, if you want a highlight reel from my game of H-O-R-S-E with my nephew, that's in the works. Hang tight.
posted by thenoiseboy @ 10:50 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home