I always wondered what was at the end of Armitage. Obviously there needed to be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I pictured a golden Starbucks, with a little terrace where you could recover from the drive.
For a Lincoln Park girl, Armitage is a fairly important part of life. You meet a girlfriend for coffee, stop into a boutique and find something to wear to dinner on Saturday. She talks you out of the sensible jacket and into the one you actually wanted. I have gone out for a latte and come home with shoes, a hostess gift and plans for the weekend. There is usually someone you know on the sidewalk, so even a quick errand requires a little consideration.
So when I discovered how far west it continued, I wanted to see the rest. Surely a street with that much to offer in just a few blocks had something special at the other end. I took the Range Rover and allowed myself the afternoon. I had already had coffee, but I thought I should save room.
The shops became rather practical as I went west. The windows were busy with specials, and there seemed to be plenty of parking. I kept looking for a stretch where I might want to get out and browse. Nothing was catching my eye. I decided to keep going rather than risk buying something I would have to come back to return.
Armitage became annoyingly difficult to follow. It stops and starts again, and the navigation wanted to take the quickest route instead of showing me every piece. I kept moving the map back. In Elmhurst, I found sections on either side of I-290 and had to work out how to get between them. I had expected to be choosing a pastry by then.
Fortunately, I had the Range Rover. I adjusted the seat and called a girlfriend to tell her where I was. She asked if I had an appointment out there. I explained about Armitage and the Starbucks, but she was going into Pilates and said to send a picture.
Eventually I reached Glendale Heights. Beyond Bloomingdale Road, there was still a little more Armitage to follow. I slowed down, looking ahead for the corner.
Instead of a glamorous Starbucks, I found “President” Street and some dumpy townhomes. I checked the map again. This really was the end. There was no pot of gold.
There were short driveways, prominent garages and a great deal of lawn. It all looked very easy to maintain. I had driven out expecting somewhere lovely to sit down and order, and now I was taking photographs through the window of my car. I sent them to my girlfriend. She asked whether I was lost.
Back on our part of Armitage, I stopped for a latte, then walked over to Lori’s to try on shoes. While they brought out my size, I made a reservation at Armitage Alehouse for Sunday brunch with the girls. We tend to linger over the Bloody Marys and Bellinis, so I left the rest of Sunday open.