Going to Chicago Read Online Free PDF

direction toward Strongsville. We had a full day ahead of us. By supper time we had to be in Valparaiso, Indiana. Will’s Aunt Mary would have supper waiting. We’d camp in her yard that night and then in the morning, kill the road to Chicago.
    We took Hunt Road to Drake Road to U.S. 42, three and one-quarter miles. U.S. 42 was the nearest blacktopped road to Bennett’s Corners, paved just the year before when the new Roosevelt crowd went on a paving spree to make jobs for the unemployed. We took 42 north to the Strongsville town square and then took a left on State Route 82. We were back on gravel.
    Will checked his watched. “Six A.M. and we’re right where we should be.”
    â€œWe’re flying all right,” I said. Loaded down, the Gilbert SXIII didn’t have the same dangerous bounce it usually did. Still, the fact that we were finally on our way to Chicago made this the most exciting ride of my life.
    Will studied the speedometer. “You hold it right there at thirty, Ace, and we’ll be at the Indiana line at 11:30. Somewhere we’ll stop along the road and boil a pot of coffee. And that won’t be a wasted hour either. You know why?”
    I didn’t know. Clyde didn’t either.
    â€œBecause just west of South Bend we’ll change from Eastern to Central time,” he explained, proud of his genius. “So instead of reaching my aunt at 4:15, it’ll only be 3:15. In other words, a free hour to drink coffee.”
    I was proud of his genius, too. “That’s great, Will. Absolutely great.”
    Clyde was humming. But he was no competition for my four-banger. We heard him call out from the backseat: “How long ‘til I put my drops in?”
    â€œYou’re supposed to be keeping track yourself,” Will reminded him.
    â€œI forgot my watch in my other pants.”
    Will pounded himself on the legs. “Jeez! We ain’t two mile west of Strongsville and our whole trip’s ruined. I knew something like this would happen.”
    I patted my copilot’s arm. “It’s OK. I’ll keep track for him.”
    Will started to wad up his Ohio map, to throw into the ditch I suppose, then thought better of it and reflattened it on his lap. “We might just as well go home.”
    â€œIt’ll be OK.” I asked Clyde how many hours he was supposed to go between squirts.
    â€œFour.”
    â€œWhen’d you last take them?”
    â€œRight at 5:00 when Will farted me awake.”
    â€œThen you’ve got three more hours.”
    â€œThree more hours? My ear’s hurting like hell already.”
    Will started to laugh. He twisted around with his camera, clicking his brother’s sideways face.
    Clyde wasn’t happy. “What you doing that for?”
    â€œI’m keeping a photographic record of our historic pilgrimage to the World’s Fair,” Will said. “We’ll call this one ‘Clyde in one of his better moods.’”
    â€œIt ain’t my fault my ear hurts like hell,” Clyde said.
    Will went back to his map and notebook. “If we’re on the road at 5:30 again tomorrow morning, we can be in Chicago by 8:00 sharp. Figuring in an hour for finding a campsite at the tent park and another hour to stand in line for our passes, we should be strolling down the Avenue of Nations by 10:00, heading straight for the Hall of Science.”
    Will was my best friend, and I knew how he was, and I loved him for being that way, but the freedom of the open road was soaking into my skin. “I hope you don’t have our whole week planned out minute by minute. We gotta have a little time for unexpected things, don’t we?”
    He knew what I meant by unexpected. “We gotta keep a tight schedule if we want to catch every exhibit. Do you know that there are over seventy thousand things to see?”
    â€œI seem to recall you mentioning that about seventy thousand