I Would Have Fallen

If it were even remotely possible, I would have fallen in love with Lydia Loveless.

Lydia Loveless, on vocals and guitar, was backed by a stand-up bass and drums when she took the "stage" at Gene's Beer Garden in Morgantown, WV, on June 17.

To look at her you'd have seen a short-skirted, tall-heeled lil' bit o' nuthin'.  But even as tiny as she is, there's no doubt about it...this lil' girl is all woman.  Lydia lured the crowd with her sultry, countrified vocals, and kept us all rockin' with her fancy guitar work.  She captivated us with coy looks flashed from behind thick bangs, and seduced us with a loose-collared shirt that frequently and conveniently fell from her slender shoulder, glorifying a kind of mildly slutty playfulness.

We were treated to songs of hard times, fast livin' and love gone wrong.  One of the tunes that stood out to me was "The Only Man".  In this one Lydia brings the common done-her-wrong/done-him-wrong theme full circle with a story of the temptation of revenge, and the destruction that can come from it.

"Highlife" was another tune of Lydia's that stuck with me.  In this hard-luck anthem, Lydia muses, "If Miller Highlife is the champagne of beers, why do I still feel like shit?"  The bottle is a common theme within Loveless' repertoire, which is also clearly noted in a song I think is titled, "Jesus Was A Wino Too".

It was absolutely amazing to see this talented and entertaining young woman perform at such an intimate venue as Gene's.  If you want my advice, catch Lydia Loveless anywhere you can, but if you get the chance to see her play in a low-class, hole-in-the-wall bar, where the spirit of her work truly belongs, do not let the opportunity pass you by!

Country

I realized today why I am drawn to many things "country".  When I got in my car this morning to head to work my radio was tuned, as usual, to the local country station.  I don't even remember now what song was on, but that's when it hit me...everything country brings me comfort, a sense of warmth and safety - a sense of home.

Country, bluegrass, string and old-time music; big ol' trucks & tractors; beat-up baseball caps and well-worn jeans, peanuts in a Coke; cowboy hats, boots & belt buckles; whiskey; hayrides; sweet southern drawls; porch swings and rocking chairs; firefly-lighted hay fields; farm houses and old barns; far away train-whistle blows; incoming storm breezes rollin' through the trees; sweet iced tea, biscuits, black-eyed peas, collard greens and southern-fried everything; catchin' catfish on moonlit ponds; pistols and shotguns; good ol' huntin' dogs; honky-tonk bars; heat lightning in a summer sky; Sunday afternoon picnics; cut-off jeans, simple cotton sundresses & big, floppy hats; pigtails & braids; chivalry of southern gentlemen; warm evening berry pickin'; starry-skied lakeside truck-bed cuddling; lil' cabins in the woods; county fair livestock shows; window-sill cooled fresh peach pie; rain on a tin roof; great big family reunions. These are all things I love to think of, to have, and to know. These are all things I love.

The strangest part of all of this is that not all of these things are things that I grew up with, yet they are still soothing, romantic and familiar to me.  Even for all of the aspects of my personality and life that can't be so easily and deeply identified with that of a down-home country girl, I know that at my core I am at least a little bit country and always will be.

Barbour deTour

On Saturday, July 2, I "raced" in the Barbour deTour.  I quote it like that because with as slow as I am my races are more like my own lone-biker rides.

Before the start of the race I was concerned that I might not have enough water, so I was very conservative with my consumption during the first 1/3 or so of the race.  In hindsight I could have taken more, but I didn't feel like I suffered any performance loss due to dehydration.

Although I was hopeful that I could hang with the pack a bit longer in this race, I yet again did not make it completely up the first hill before I was dropped.  I like to think that I made it a bit further up the hill with the pack this time than I did at Smokin' on the Tygart.

This course was flatter and faster than the Smokin' on the Tygart course, even though it shared some of the same sections.  The on-the-ball course marshals who volunteered for this race were also quite a treat!

About half-way into the race I collided with a big freakin' bee!  I don't know if I ran into it or it ran into me, but it sucked.  Everything was going along fine until...THWAP...right on the side of the face.  For about half a second I didn't know what the heck was going on...then it stung.  I screamed like a girl, tore its fuzzy carcass off my face, flung it away in disgust and tried to scratch out the stinger.

My first thought was a hope that my face wasn't going to be all swollen up (or some other such lovely effect) for post-race festivities. The sting really irritated me at first.  Then the thoughts of it putting a damper on my day really pissed me off.  Then I pedaled harder!  After a while I didn't even notice it anymore.

A little later in the race I noticed that I kept leap-frogging a racer who was wearing a SRAM jersey that had a silhouette of a frog on it.  I gleaned some mild amusement from that coincidence and kept at it until I passed him for the last time.

On the back half of the race I managed to pass about a half-dozen masters and juniors.  This is definitely a first for me!  I try to not think too much of it though, and consider that the flatter course did bring out some racers that didn't seem to be part of the regular APRRS crowd.

I don't know if it helped much but on the descents (even the very gentle ones) I conserved energy by kissing the bars and coasting as soon as I would hit a speed of around 25 MPH.  I heard that this is a smart thing to do, and considering the energy I'll exert just to get going that extra 2-3 MPH faster, I buy it.

Throughout the race I tried to not look too often at my Garmin to see how many miles I was into the race - it always seems to go faster if I don't know.  But as soon as I realized I was back on the lollipop stick I was excited and ready to finish!!!

As I was coming into town I didn't realize how close I would shortly come to losing my life outside of the flippin' Philippi KFC!  Approaching the dreaded fast food joint I noticed a small SUV pulling slowly out from the drive-thru exit into the center turning lane.  At first I thought that the driver was surely just going to hang in the turning lane until I passed, but ever so slowly, the SUV kept coming right toward my lane.  I started shouting, then screaming, and when even screaming at the top of my lungs (and believe me folks, that is LOUD) did nothing, I jammed on the brakes.  My rear wheel started to skid a little but luckily I kept it under control and still managed to get slowed enough in time to avoid running into the back of the SUV.

Yes, running into the back of it...by this time it was already slowing and starting to re-enter the center lane to make a left turn less than a block away from the drive-thru exit where it came from.  (WTF?!?!  Was it really necessary to get all the way into my lane for that?  Better question still, why the hell didn't that wacko just leave KFC from that exit?)  Getting as close as I did to the SUV I could tell that it was being driven by a little old lady.  And I gotta tell you that if that was your grandma, then I'm sorry that Granny deserved getting the finger and a stream of profanity for that stunt!!!  But given that she was obviously thoroughly deaf and completely oblivious to what was going on, I doubt that she noticed that any more than she noticed almost running me down.

As well-deserved as it was, my outburst didn't make me feel any better about all of it and I hoped that the racers I'd passed weren't closing in on me.  (Not that it would have really mattered, all the Cat 4 women had been well ahead of me for miles.)  Even though I was possibly as dismayed and ticked off as I could ever be, all I wanted to do was just finish the race.  I put the hammer down and sprinted in as best I could.  After crossing the finish line I took a lap around the block and tried to be thankful that I was able to finish rather than being scraped off the road by local EMS.

When I got back to the car I was still madder than hell.  I racked my bike and grabbed a lemonade from the post-race refreshment cooler.  I BS'd with some of the racers and recounted my near-miss with the chicken-lovin', partially-lobotomized blue-hair.  After I checked my Garmin and noticed that I finished the race in less than two hours, I realized that there was still plenty of time to get back into town, get cleaned up and crash a cookout before heading up to Pittsburgh to dance the night away.  Long story short, it was a pretty good day.

The Chase

I chase you.
You chase her.
She giggles and runs, and
Always a length away,
Absorbs all thrill of being sought.

She speeds, chides, burns.
You hesitate, discouraged.
I catch up, and
For a moment,
Am relieved and contented.

You are again roused.
She grants an illusive gap.
Heavy-hearted,
Yet unshaken,
I chase.

On Poetry

I started wondering recently, "Why poetry?"  This poetry writing thing is pretty new for me.  Before starting this blog I don't think I'd written any poetry since grade school...and then I was put up to it.

Not too long ago, during a dinner party, a friend shared some published poems and I really enjoyed them.  It made me think more about poetry.  Also I had written some personal things and felt the need to share them to some degree, but not quite "bare all", as they say.  So I choose to write in the form of poetry rather than prose in an effort to be intentionally vague and avoid being too long-winded.

By being vague, not only do I feel I'm protecting myself from overexposure, but I find that it provides opportunity for interpretation from those who read my writing.  So far the number of works I've shared is quite small, and as expected, I haven't received much feedback.

Though I have had one friend share an interesting interpretation of one of my blog posts.  The interpretation was interesting because it wasn't spot on, and hearing it gave me a new perspective on the piece.  This is not to say that I want, or try, to be misunderstood.  I definitely don't mind being misunderstood though, and I find ways to enjoy and make the most of it.

Really, why should anyone mind being misunderstood?  I understand why many do, but it's so easy to learn something from it that it's really not worth saving the little bit of effort it takes to get something positive out of it.

As far as the long-winded part of my reasoning behind my choice of poetry over prose is concerned, I suppose that if I've been too long-winded here, then my reasoning is sound!

Clearer Day of Dash (Warrior Dash Weekend I, No. 5b)

After rolling into the parking area for Warrior Dash, I was definitely glad that I'd decided against trying to ride my bike there.  The place was a zoo, and about as orderly as the monkey cage.  It must have been the worst time of day to arrive because there were all kinds of cars coming and very few going.  Even in the acres and acres of space, available parking was limited.  I eventually made my own space and kept my fingers crossed that my little FWD four-banger with less-than-new tires could make it out when it was time.

Fortunately the Warrior shuttling system, which consisted of a slew of school buses trucking dirty and excited runners back and forth between the parking area and the "battleground", was much more functional than parking.  I managed to get on a bus pretty quickly and was even able to find a seat caked with only a small amount of mostly dried mud! :D

When I got to the party (yes, it is nothing but a party - don't let anyone tell you differently) I headed to the check-in station and started to explain the whole change-of-name thing that had gone on between then and when I registered.  All of my previous worry about this situation and the very little explanation I managed to get out proved to be largely unnecessary - the check-in volunteer hardly batted an eye.

They didn't even freak when I told them that I'd failed to bring the signed waiver that the "Report For Battle" e-mail said I'd have to bring in order to pick up my participant packet.  They just sent me over to another table to fill out a pre-printed copy of the form.  Man, if I had only known!  I wouldn't have spent half the drive to PA and a good bit of the morning fretting about whether I'd have to go find a flippin' Kinkos or something so I could download, print and sign the stupid form before they'd let me in.

I wandered around the place just checking out the scene before I did much of anything.  My first stop was the ticket tent where I handed over cold hard cash for little red tickets.  Twenty of these bad boys would later get me about a quart of beer in a souvenir stein which measures roughly the size of my head!  My first ticket trade-in though was for a sexy black "Warrior" tank and a set of eye-black decals.

With beer in hand, I headed over toward the finish to take photos and heckle the other Warriors as they entered the mud pit!  As fun as that is, the novelty wore off before long and I wandered away to give in to my craving for a Warrior-sized smoked turkey leg.  Once I secured my own hunk of meat, I found a lovely little spot in the grass to settle in, get my game face on.

Although it had been quite a conversation starter in my short time at the Dash, I reluctantly peeled off my favorite Flying WV baseball cap and replaced it with the standard Warrior-issue fuzzy helmet.  The helmet was a good start, but my look wasn't quite complete, so I tried my hand at applying my eye-black decals.  The self-portrait pics I snapped later showed that even though I hadn't really managed to get them on straight, I hadn't screwed up and put the "Dash" before the "Warrior" - so I call it a win!

Way across the field I noticed a wild, kilt-clad bunch.  This group seemed to be toting some kind of portable throne, and atop it was perched their Warrior princess.  In addition to their Warrior garb these guys were parading around with insignias of their clan.  It wasn't until they closed in nearer to my camp that I noticed something familiar in their heraldry...the characteristic silhouette of a foot.  Hashers!!!

Once they settled about 10 yards from me, I shouted "On-On" to one of them and before long a few came over to introduce themselves.  They were all from the Seven Hills House Hash Harriers (7H4) kennel out of Lynchburg, VA!  It was really cool to meet them and it would have been great to hang out with them, but I was looking like a Dash-poser compared to these true Warriors!

Even though I wasn't minding one bit doing the Dash all by my lonesome, my not being part of a group certainly threw more than a folks off.  One group of Warriors even invited me to hang out with them after the Dash.  The Warrior who extended the invitation - he introduced himself as Jason - noticed my baseball cap hanging out of my backpack and claimed to have been an alum and former rugby player at WVU.  I figured it might be cool to hang out with them so I gave him my number.

Later one of his crew offered to take a photo of me (so they wouldn't all be the cliched self-portrait type that I'd been snapping as I gnawed on my turkey leg and tried to look like a ass-kicking Warrior).  I suggested that all the rest of them jump in the photo and they did.  Later, when I looked at the photo and realized what kind of douche Jason actually looked like, I was pretty relieved that he hadn't called.

One of the highlights of my little time-killing camp-out was watching a rather animated, and quite possibly inebriated Dasher dance around...pantsless.  I'd seen her group earlier, hanging out near me.  They were all dancing and enjoying the music and the scene in general.  She'd been without pants for well more than just a little while, but she'd been keeping it pretty low-key...until the band played what was apparently her jam!  She took off for the stage, leaping and twirling about as her friends looked on in amusement and slight embarrassment.  After snapping a few stills I just couldn't stand it any longer and shot this video.

After I ensured that my turkey leg was properly dead (a member of Jason's crew had claimed I'd been working on it for an hour), I headed back to the pit for more photo ops and heckling before packing everything in and continuing to prepare myself for my dash through 3.5 miles of Warrior-worthy obstacles.  Along the way to check my gear, I snapped a few shots of some rather androgenously dressed Warriors and one of them asked me, "Hey, would you take a picture of us?"  To which I retorted, "I already did!"  Smart-ass remarks aside, I did take their photo, and when I did I told them to all, "Say heterosexual", and one of them fired back, "That's my least favorite word!"

Yes, my friends, this kind of camaraderie, shenanigans, filth, mirth, chaos, debauchery and barbarism is what being a spectator or pre- or post-Dash Warrior is all about!