The Olympics have been pretty tough on me. Well, not so much on me, but they’ve been tough on members of my family. You see, my in-laws reside in Canada. My sole brother in law also calls the “great” white north his home. While I’m not a huge hockey fan, I did grow up playing the game on the gravel and ice parking lot near the Williams Bay Field House. I played on the frozen lake as well, but there seemed to be more time spent on rink building than on actually playing hockey. With the help of my brothers, we’d shovel a rink on the ice in front of my parent’s house. We’d form up “walls” made of snow, so as to contain the puck, and then we’d bring over buckets of water to turn those walls into ice. So that, in theory, the puck would deflect off the walls rather than become embedded into them. Now that I look back at it, we had loads of fun. Until the fun was over and someone was running up to the house crying because someone else hit them in the face with their Easton hockey stick. It wasn’t me.
My hockey history substantiated, the hockey wars of this Olympics have driven a wedge between me and my previously affable Canadian brother in law. We exchange vicious text messages during the games, and my only response to his relentless barrage after the Canadian women beat the American women last night was simple and juvenile. At least our girls are prettier. And with that, he was silenced. Hopefully we’ll have a gold medal bout on Sunday to heap insults upon one another, but for now, I choose to remember a more peaceful time in our relationship.
Last summer my brother in law and his family traveled south to the land of promise and I willingly provided him with a window into the utopic existence that is a David Curry dominated Lake Geneva summer. Oh, sure we went to Wrigley and stuffed our faces before and after at Bar Louis, and we played some golf at the splendid and varied Lake Geneva courses, but one summer morning, I really let him in on my secret. It must have been a Friday. The water was calm, the pier still dimpled with dew as we walked down to uncover the boat. Within minutes we were cruising over to Gage to pump some delicious $5 per gallon marina gasoline, and then slipped east along the north shore, towards the city of Lake Geneva. I pointed out what it is that I usually point out, and told stories about current and previous residents of the shore, many of which were true, others that I may only believe to be true. Psst. See that? That house has a foundation built of pirated gold. Not really.
My brother in law wasn’t appreciating my eastward morning route, as in all of his Canadian inspired genius, he did not wear sunglasses on our journey. If you know many Canadians, this is classic Canadian behavior. They’re so used to ice and cold and igloos and seals, that many times they will forget the proper accoutrements that Lake Geneva summers require. If we had been on a lesser lake, or just about any other lake in the Midwest (Chain- you’re not a lake, you’re a clogged up river), we would not have been able to do what we did next. Fearing for his ocular safety, we arrived in Lake Geneva, parked at the Riviera pier, and walked up Broad Street. Within a couple hundred feet of the boat we had two different stores that carried a plethora of sunglasses, some expensive and some cheap, and within moments he had purchased a pair of super sweet black plastic frames, complete with a skull on the widest part of the arms. The skull was also on fire. Canadians…
Having successfully avoided any permanent retina damage, we bought a couple boat drinks and happily strolled back to the pier. We proceeded south along the east bank of Lake Geneva, where I lobbed a nice little story about Tony Rezko and our president and their Stone Manor connection at him, and then further south past Maytag Point and beyond Big Foot Beach. We followed the shape of the lake west, never wavering from my preferred lane, just a hundred feet beyond the slow-no-wake buoys. I couldn’t see any joy in my young compadre’s eyes during that stretch of our trip, but only because I was so distracted by the burning skull.
We stopped at the South Shore Club piers and walked up the gracious lannon stone steps towards the lavish clubhouse. The pool was empty on that Friday morning, but the lifeguard sat in her chair, with the Lake Geneva sun on her bronze shoulders, and a beach book in her hand. I thought that should have been me some 16 years earlier, but instead I was out mowing lawns 5 days a week. Ah, a youth wasted with work. Such is life. We walked a little more, my brother in law pretending not to be impressed by the structures and the lifestyle that this gorgeous development certainly affords, until it was time to move on.
Back into the boat to continue our journey westward toward Fontana. It was nearing noon by now, and the sun that had previously attempted to blind my young companion was now content, high above us, warming our shoulders and burning the tips of our noses. There’s something about a Lake Geneva sun burn that never bothers me, and that day, as I felt the subtle sting, I didn’t fight it one bit. By now my deck hand was enjoying himself thoroughly, and I could see that he was slowly being overtaken by the alluring pull of a Geneva Lake boat ride.
Never one to miss a meal, we pulled past Glenwood Springs a little before noon, which meant a lunch at Gordy’s was eminent. We tied up to the north side of the Fontana pier, pulled the key from the ignition, stepped into our sandals, and walked to lunch. From this point we could have easily walked to any number of restaurants for lunch, Chuck’s, Novak’s, The Waterfront – all fine options, but a Yacht Club chicken wrap was on my mind, and for that, only Gordy’s could accommodate. We sat and watched one of the pleasant oddities of a summer lunch at Gordy’s- the seemingly never ending parade of Gordy’s employees working the lakefront. Tanned, shirtless boys, and bikini wearing girls, each one more bronzed than the next. I imagined if I were a dermatologist I’d be sure to keep tabs on those employees, and sustain my business just by compiling a mailing list of those too-tan summer loving kids.
Lunch that day was nothing short of fabulous. An order of Calamari- which my brother in law had never previously tasted- followed by the aforementioned wrap, and within the hour we were walking back down that pier, where the boat remained tied, like a resting stallion, eager to take us wherever we desired. We pushed off and proceeded north, then east, down the north shore of Fontana, to the very tip of Conference Point. By this time, it must have been around 1:30 pm, and we had sufficiently ignored numerous, rather annoying, joy killing telephone calls from our wives. As we rounded the point and sped closer to the Loch Vista Club pier, there they were. Angry to be watching a throng of children while we gallivanted around the lake without a remembered care in the world. The trip was over a mere three hours after it had began.
The point of this seemingly nonsensical drivel? Not so much the boat ride itself, but what we were able to do on that ride. Geneva is full of opportunity for those seeking to spend some real time on the water. Other lakes in the area and in the Midwest are downright small. Consider that a lake like Middle Lake is a mere 257 acres. Geneva? 5264 acres. The dining options available to someone out on the water, or a lakefront or association owner who wishes to go for a boat ride to find lunch and/ or dinner are profound. Fischer’s, The Grandview, Gordy’s, Chuck’s, The Waterfront, Popeye’s, Scuttlebutt’s, Harpoon Willies, and Cafe Calamari are all waterfront restaurants, easily accessible by boat. For someone looking to tie up downtown Lake Geneva, there are literally a dozen more dining options that await within a three or four minute walk from the boat.
While a boat ride in and of itself is usually plenty of fun for most people, Geneva offers even more when you consider the dining and shopping options that are available from water based transportation. Other lakes? Not so much. The overwhelming majority of Midwestern lakes are less than 400 acres in total size, which is severely limiting no matter how you slice it, to say nothing of the dizzying affect of long boat rides (around and around and around…) With 5264 glorious acres, Geneva is not only aesthetically stimulating, the size combined with the natural beauty, added to the myriad dining and shopping opportunities available along its’ shores, creates a summer playground of epic proportions. So even if you forget your sunglasses like my Canadian friend, Lake Geneva’s got you covered. See you at the lake.