As I drove up highway 270 on my way to Pittsburg, the yellow dashes snapped by the front corner of my hood only to reappear a moment later in my mirror like the blinking yield light early in the morning. The music seemed uncommonly empty no matter how loud I turned it up, so I tried the radio. NPR was talking about another murder, only a few minutes before I had turned on the radio, by the snipers that were terrorizing the DC area. The magic Ranger’s entertainment system was providing me with little escape from life that night, so I just turned it off for a while.
Pittsburg was not a city that I had ever thought of visiting. During my thoughts of places like Melbourne, Seattle, Missoula and Savanna I had never thought “Pittsburg, now that’s a city I would love to spend some time in!” I had never seen pictures of nor heard anything good or bad about it. Now I was on my way there for the first time to take part in an act that I never thought I would ever have to take part in. In a way it was a perfect city to take care of a some business that, to this day, is still not real to me. A trash can for an event that scared enough without blemishing any city I really care about. An uncommon dream like city for an uncommon dream like act.
It was late as I pulled onto the off ramp and began to follow the directions given to me by Anna earlier that day. Only my left hand was driving my truck while the rest of me twisted within a bipolar conversation…
(This is an excerpt from a book I'm working on. Feedback would be appreciated.)
5/18/06
5/4/06
Bartenders Corner
“Damn bartender,” I grumbled. “All I wanted was a beer to celebrate opening weekend.”
Having been a professional ski-bum for eight years, I knew how to do two things very well – find the free beer and drive roads better suited as GS courses. I was new to Snowbowl, so I hadn’t developed the bro-bra-beer connections yet. So, my pride was a little wounded when I couldn’t get a beer.
“But,” I consoled myself, “that’s o.k. I’m trying to quit smoking anyways.”
I climbed in my truck and entered the Snowbowl road GS course. “Conditions are perfect today,” I heard an imaginary commentator say. “But, only the most focused will make it to the finish line.” The only thing missing on this course were the gates. I guess that’s what the trees are for.
I exited the first set of turns in perfect form and entered the long straight stretch
before the infamous ‘bartenders corner’.
“Not another bartender,” I groaned.
I had heard of this corner but I wasn’t scared of no stinkin’ bartender. They may control the beer but they will never control my freedom! As my nemesis approached I gently pumped the brakes…
Too late! The bartender juked right. The rear end began to pass the front end. I counter steered. Nothing. I needed edges instead of tires on this brutal course. But the sharp corner was working to my advantage. My slide closely matched the turn. Maybe this bartender would give me a little lovin’.
Nope. I felt the front end drop. Then the whole truck got sucked off the edge. Branches clawed at my windshield, snow and brush jumped over my hood and little trees smacked off my brush guard. As the forest played pickup pinball, I bounced around in the cab like a ball in a spray-paint can. I screamed and cursed about my sobriety.
The truck stopped suddenly. I thanked everything from the Great Pumpkin to Buddha. The door wouldn’t budge so I rolled down the window and crawled out Dukes of Hazard style.
I gaped at my beat up truck like a neon Texan in a terrain park. This would have been much cooler with a buzz.
“Hey! Are you ok?” somebody shouted down from the road.
“Yea,” I shouted back. “I’m fine.”
“Do you need anything besides a ride to town?”
“I need a beer.”
“Sorry man, we don’t have any beer. Do you want a cigarette?”
I cursed bartenders everywhere for wounding my pride twice in a day and decided I’d quit smoking next week.
Having been a professional ski-bum for eight years, I knew how to do two things very well – find the free beer and drive roads better suited as GS courses. I was new to Snowbowl, so I hadn’t developed the bro-bra-beer connections yet. So, my pride was a little wounded when I couldn’t get a beer.
“But,” I consoled myself, “that’s o.k. I’m trying to quit smoking anyways.”
I climbed in my truck and entered the Snowbowl road GS course. “Conditions are perfect today,” I heard an imaginary commentator say. “But, only the most focused will make it to the finish line.” The only thing missing on this course were the gates. I guess that’s what the trees are for.
I exited the first set of turns in perfect form and entered the long straight stretch
before the infamous ‘bartenders corner’.
“Not another bartender,” I groaned.
I had heard of this corner but I wasn’t scared of no stinkin’ bartender. They may control the beer but they will never control my freedom! As my nemesis approached I gently pumped the brakes…
Too late! The bartender juked right. The rear end began to pass the front end. I counter steered. Nothing. I needed edges instead of tires on this brutal course. But the sharp corner was working to my advantage. My slide closely matched the turn. Maybe this bartender would give me a little lovin’.
Nope. I felt the front end drop. Then the whole truck got sucked off the edge. Branches clawed at my windshield, snow and brush jumped over my hood and little trees smacked off my brush guard. As the forest played pickup pinball, I bounced around in the cab like a ball in a spray-paint can. I screamed and cursed about my sobriety.
The truck stopped suddenly. I thanked everything from the Great Pumpkin to Buddha. The door wouldn’t budge so I rolled down the window and crawled out Dukes of Hazard style.
I gaped at my beat up truck like a neon Texan in a terrain park. This would have been much cooler with a buzz.
“Hey! Are you ok?” somebody shouted down from the road.
“Yea,” I shouted back. “I’m fine.”
“Do you need anything besides a ride to town?”
“I need a beer.”
“Sorry man, we don’t have any beer. Do you want a cigarette?”
I cursed bartenders everywhere for wounding my pride twice in a day and decided I’d quit smoking next week.
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