But the city held a special treasure for me.
Buckingham Fountain*
As far as I know, this is the bitchin'est fountain in North America**.
Up at dawn. Navigated the underground labyrinth that is Lower Wacker. Quickly trotted to the fountain. She was still sleeping. No matter, it was only a matter of time.
Not sure when security might show up, I did some recon. The fence around the fountain wasn't as formidable as I'd feared. A mere nuisance, though it might slow me down if I have to flee.
Two nice women, out for a run themselves, came by. I figured it would be a great chance to get a safety picture, just in case The Fuzz showed up when the fountain awoke. They were mildly amused, and more interested in my shoes, but they obliged.
I hopped the fence, scurried, excited, to the edge to step in...
and stopped.
Rule #1 of Fountain Defilation: If you can't see the bottom, don't go in.***
Here I was, at the edge of my greatest fountain-related conquest, literally, with my principles staring me in my face. Not literally, that would be weird.
I sat on the edge, dropped a leg over, hoping to hit bottom. No luck.
I had to walk away. I couldn't ignore the safety rule I mandated, for myself, for my own safety.
Yeah, I know... I was a little disgusted with myself, too.
But... I'll return to Buckingham, in the winter, when she's empty, so I can chart the bottom and gauge her depth, and again in the spring, when her water is clear.
For now, this wildly out-of-Buck's-league fountain, will have to do...
Good running,
Doug
*Pretty bitchin' photo, if I do say so myself. Took it just after sunrise with my iPhone 4. Seriously.
**World title goes to Trevi Fountain... hands down.
*** It's a matter of safety. If you can't see the bottom, not only do you not know how deep it is, but more importantly you also don't know where your feet are planting. It could be a light, a power box, broken glass.
Numbers: 2.5 miles on the streets of Chicago.
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