Indiana Dunes, Sandhills of Death

Ignoring for a moment the obvious linguistic similarities to a Harrison Ford movie character, the Indiana Dunes are in fact natural sand formations that butt up against the shores of Lake Michigan opposite Chicago.  About 2.5 hours drive from the Windy City, into the "corny" State of Indiana, the Dunes are part of a State Park that was absolutely PACKED this weekend as Americans took full advantage of the searing heat and the Memorial Day long weekend.

As an Aussie, you would think that I would be used to the heat.  But I am more accustomed to a clear, dry heat - not the humid heat that blasted Chicago since early Saturday.  It has been quite nasty here the last few days and really bad for sleeping.  But having worked out how to operate my ceiling fan (which has more levers on it than a San Fransisco trolley car), I am doing marginally better than I first thought.

But this segueway is merely to illustrate the conditions under which Pete, Josh, Tristan, and I set off in Pete's car to drive into Indiana, only to realise we'd gone about 60 miles out of our way and had to turn back and detour onto a different 6-lane freeway.  We didn't bring a map so we were relying on the collective genius of the three boys to steer us on the true course.  I stayed silent as I have a rubbish sense of direction, and a rather irritating need to pee at inappropriate opportunities.  So rather than volunteer which freeway we should take, I kept myself occupied by watching out for truck stops advertising "clean" or (better yet) "super clean" rest rooms.

Arriving at the Indiana Dunes was a frustrating experience because it was just way too hot to make sense of anything.  The clean, white sand literally seared about 3 layers of skin from the soles of my feet as I did the "Beach Bunny Hop" down to the water's edge.  I should have kept my flip-flops on a bit longer, but the sand never really LOOKS all that hot, does it?

In terms of scenery, the Indiana Dunes has the unfortunate occasion to be located between two smeting factories, so the outlook on either side of the Lake isn't that handsome.  But those can be ignored because the water gave such relief to so many on the weekend - including weary and sweaty Aussies - so none of us complained.  Josh and I stayed in the shade of an outhouse while Tristan and Pete ambled up the tallest sand dune in the region, and laughed as they returned only moments later with shoes full of hot sand.  Not one to push myself to the limit of human endurance (much less beyond it), I was happy to look at Pete's photos of the view from atop the sand dunes.  As my mother always says, "your photos are my holiday".  No kidding.

Returning to Chicago in the late afternoon, with the threat of a massive thunderstorm looming overhead, the apartment was still stuffy and hot but Josh and I made dinner and invited Pete to join us in thanks for his good work driving around and generally putting up with us.  We served seasoned pork chops, garlic and herb potatoes, and a tossed salad, washed down with delicious wine.  It was a wonderful end to a hot weekend, though the weather is showing no signs of cooling down, so I will sleep with my feet hanging out the window a few more nights to come, I think.