I ride ten miles each way, going from the 5000 north block of Kedzie to California and 21st, Chicago. I teach art in a public elementary school. I used to ride only five miles each way, but I really enjoy ten. I'm not a fast rider, so it takes about an hour, going between 13 andf 15 mph.

On my way to school, I ride through parts of the ghetto, Chicago's infamous west side. This is the part of town that burned when Martin Luther King was shot in 1968 and has not been rebuilt. You would not go through this part of town unless you had a reason. Unless you lived there, were desperate/foolish or perhaps like me you were a teacher. I've been amazed at the number of empty lots, overgrown with weeds. And so many signs such as "This land for sale very cheaply". Or, "We buy land- cash". Or, more conclusively, realty signs of "The New West", with freshly built condos behind it. Without getting into the complex econo-politics of the good and evil of condos, I find myself amazed by this daily experience of mine.

Now, mornings are pretty early for me, and there is definitely a different atmosphere than in the afternoons/early evenings. One evening I left later than usual for my return trip home and noticed a definitely higher number of "baddies" hanging out. This was another teacher's term, not strictly PC, but accurate. This same teacher conveyed that I should be scaird to be doing what I'm doing, riding my bike through the ghetto everyday.

One morning I looked to long at a strange storefront building and a second later I heard a bottle braking on the street behind me. The storefront, I think it was a liquor store or a porn shop or something, seemed to have had a Lookout. From the far side of the street the bottle was launched. I sort of wanted to think the thrower was drunk, but a deeper part of me said it was an intentional warning.

Which leads me to the next part. Aside from art teacher, I do documentary type photography, and I can't help but see images as I ride through the ghetto. Not the typical patronizing ghetto shots, but something else. (another conversation). Anyway, I see these pictures that I'm compelled to record, more as a personal journal. But I'm deathly afraid. I've been thinking how I can do it without being shot or mugged. A good handlebar bag, etc.

What a strange experience, riding through the ghetto on my way to work. On one hand I'm scaird, but on the other, I am not. I feel granted a certain grace (knock on wood) because I'm not 'messing around', but I have a purpose. My current school is not in the ghetto, but my old one was. So if you work in the gheto, there's little way around getting there without going through the ghetto. You get used to it, but more so, when the kids start waving at you as you ride by, well, that changes things.

The whole thing's really pretty sad, but I don't necesarrily want to cry up a pity storm. A famous activist once said, "what you call the ghetto, we call home". Now, I have one student from the ghetto that's really tried my nerves to the utmost. But I also see them as a person. And this get's me beyond the armchair view that most people have about the ghetto and those that live in it.

So, that's about my daily commute. It's turning fall this week big time and the leaves are falling. I'm really looking forward to winter, to the snow, and then to spring. I will watch as some old buildings come down, and some new ones go up. I'll cross the 294 overpass with the Sears Tower and downtown shining in the background like the Emerald City is viewed from some podunk village. There will be snow, turning all bright blinding white, and old buildings vacant black, and the air a crackling sharp cold.

This is my ride.