The Race

When I first started selling real estate, I drove a black 1992 Cadillac STS. It was a car more befitting a 58 year old Realtor rather than an 18 year old one, but on one harrowing day I drove that car through the countryside of Minnesota and ultimately Wisconsin, leaving previously respected land speed records in my wake. I had been on a short vacation to Strawberry Lake, Minnesota, the summer vacation destination of my youth, and I was on my way back home with a burning desire to see my girlfriend. I drove in a way that only an 18 year old with a V8 and the aforementioned burning desire to see the aforementioned girlfriend could drive. I tore up the roads and left state patrol officers wondering why they were cursed with cars that were slower than mine and a foot that lacked my lead.

It’s not the drive that was important, as most of us have driven fast over great distances at one time or another. It’s just that when my tires touched down in Williams Bay, and I drove down Geneva Street on that late summer afternoon I didn’t make the turn down the short road that would have led me to my girlfriends house. Instead, I turned right onto Collie then left onto Conference Point and finally left onto Upper Loch Vista. I rounded that corner with a car caked in bugs and a cramp in my back, and caught the first glimpse of my beloved. I slammed the car into park, ran down the sidewalk, and shed clothes as I made my way towards the end of the pier. With that, a jump, and I was indeed reunited with the love of my life. My girlfriend would have to wait, as I just had to swim.

The lake is like that to me. Aside from my family, I can’t think of a single thing that I also need to see every day. I know many of you read this and think I’m waxing hyperbolic. There he goes again, getting all goofy. The simple truth is that I cannot stand to be apart from my cherished lake. To this day, I race to my parents house where that steady old pier awaits. I’m famous for driving slow, really. I drive down highway 50 at times, and like a scene out of Super Troopers, I’ll drive a couple miles before realizing that I’m only driving 45 mph. In a 55 mph zone. Speed is not something I’m concerned with in my graduating age- unless I’m driving to the lake. No matter if I’ve spent the whole day on the water and I’m just returning for an evening swim, or if I’ve been away for three days and need to get my fix. If I’m heading to the lake, speed does become my concern.

I’m an addict, and the funny thing is that I live in a land full of the sober. My friends who grew up here don’t appreciate the lake. They spend their weekends in their back yards and at restaurants. They wake up and hang out at their houses all day, eschewing the boat rides I generously offer in favor of afternoon naps on old couches with views of neighboring houses. They don’t care about the lake, and it makes me sick. From my office desk where I write each morning, I can look to my right and see the water, water that is currently shimmering in the bright morning sun. I cannot imagine a life where that lake is not part of who I am, and how I live. While my friends prefer lazy afternoons with televisions and backyard grills, I crave afternoons filled with water and views and soft cooling breezes. I crave a life where the water is always near, where I can hear it and smell it and when I get too hot from a July that exceeds all of my sun loving expectations, where I can jump into it and be refreshed.

Geneva Lake is powerful, and no matter how often I see it, it continually captivates me. Today, I’m driving to Wrigley with young Thomas to watch a sub-par baseball team play. I’ll park near the field, and cross under L tracks and walk past fenced-in postage stamp lawns. After ruining my nascent diet at the park, we’ll walk back to our car, fight traffic out of the city, and make the exit at Highway 50. When I make that exit, I’ll feel a little calmer. I’ll have left the city behind- a city that was only my home for five or six hours- and I’ll drive to Lake Geneva. I’ll see the signs that prep me for its arrival, and when I arrive in town I’ll lean forward in my seat and look to the left. I’ll catch the first glimpse of the lake just East of the Library, and when I see it, I’ll react as though I’m seeing it for the very first time. Then, I’ll speed up a little more. I’ll turn onto Geneva Street and then Walworth Avenue and Conference Point Road, and I’ll whip around the corner onto Upper Loch Vista. I’ll walk with Thomas down the lawn and onto the pier, and we’ll shed our shirts and kick off our sandals without pause. We’ll line up on the edge of the pier with our toes curling over the edge, and it’ll be one for the money, two for the show, three to get set, and four to go. We’ll dive in, and once again, we’ll be home.