Bluegrass Slingshot (Westbound Expansion); Louisville Intermezzo: Karmic Kool-Aid

To go from mortal to Buddha, you have to put an end to karma, nurture your awareness, and accept what life brings. - 

Bodhidharma

The weather was uncooperative and lent itself to not going outside. The mild winter has let loose into a humid early Spring in the Ohio River Valley; after a mild start to the my time here, Louisville was then hit with golf ball sized hail.

I wouldn't wear the pink bow, though. No. Really.

Did I mention that lousy weather follows me whenever I'm out and about? If I wasn't so content, I'd compare myself to Eeyore.

After two thin ribbons of inclement weather rolled through west to east,  the sky cleared and the humidity that rolls in off the Ohio River settled in and took hold. The day time highs over the past few days have been just on the other side of 90 degrees.

And humidity is never pleasant. NEVER.

Now, I don't mind the heat... actually, I'd rather be warm than cold (though I do enjoy a nice fuzzy sweater when the weather starts to cool off. I know, I know. Don't judge.) But I also don't want to drag my fine and honorable hosts out just to keep me entertained. Although Louisville is a cool city and there is certainly plenty to see, both as a traveler and (if you must) as a tourist, I am, to be honest, less interested in seeing the city than I am in re-establishing an old friendship. I've known Amanda  a long time... going back to when I had long hair, actually... which is a long time ago. Well, it seems a long time ago.

Old School Cousin It. 

And NO, I don't have any digital photos handy. There IS photographic evidence, but, it predates digital photography and I pretty much refuse to scan every single photograph into little 1's and 0's. So deal with it. Use your imagination. I'll help. At it's longest, I looked a lot like Cousin It.

Except that I have dark hair.

I had sunglasses that looked a lot like that, too.

And in that, the trip to Louisville has been successful. It's nice to catch up with old friends who are in the process of living new lives; it's a nice reminder that the world moves on whether we stand still or not.  Catching up with and re-establishing old friendships is also a way to remind yourself of just what a jackass you can be... because when people know you long enough... and know you at JUST THE RIGHT (or WRONG, as the case may be) time in your life....

chances are really good... better than average, really... that jackassery, like the weather follows me and Eeyore, will follow you around. And when you're given the rare chance to take a Do Over and apologize for said jackassery, it's a good idea to do it. 

The nice thing about good friends... and good people... is that unless you've REALLY fucked up -- or fucked up one too many times -- chances are they will forgive you. And if they don't, at least you tried.

My particular form of jackassery was tied to the fact that I was... especially in graduate school... something of an arrogant prick. It was also tied to the fact that, even in the recent past, I deal with  interpersonal strife in one of two ways: 

I avoid it or I get drunk in an attempt to avoid it.

Neither of these, by the way, is very productive in the long run. 

Of the two, I recommend the latter -- getting drunk. I know. It doesn't solve anything, and people can sometimes get stupid when they drink... because either they haven't eaten or because they're rank amateurs who should stick to virgin Piña Coladas. Sorry. Just being honest. Drinking is an endurance activity.

And I while I won't go into the exact nature of my jackassery here (this is a rumination on karma and renewal, not a redemption sermon) please be assured it will come out in writing at some point. Let's just say I earned my dumb-ass degree and leave it at that.

FOR NOW.

[Thanks again for reading. Remember to SHARE the link and to consider DONATING to the travel fund (the link in the right sidebar, or, you can log into PayPal and email it to mickp@gmx.com... you don't have to have PayPal account.)

I'll be leaving Louisville Sunday night for a stop off in Hannibal, Missouri. After that, south to the Ozarks, and then, points west. Maybe towards you. Maybe not.]

Bluegrass Slingshot (Westbound Expedition): Louisville, KY

On The Bus. Smiling. Be afraid.

The Louisville, Kentucky Greyhound Station is located downtown on Muhammad Ali and Seventh Streets. For those of you who may not remember, or don't know, Muhammad Ali, born Cassius Clay, was born in Louisville.  Other than the Derby... which is debauched and insane... and the other aforementioned people and things... being the birthplace of one of the greatest boxers in the history of the sport... counts pretty high among the highlights for which the city ought to be more proud.

Not that the bus station isn't nice. I have seen worse. No. Really. Mobile, Alabama's Greyhound Depot, Amarillo, Texas at 1 in the morning. Oh, there are worse. When I arrived in Louisville, I was sure I'd been there before. Just not sure when. On that Homeric journey from Cincinnati to Phoenix in 2006? Maybe. But I was horribly drunk on that trip and don't remember much until I woke up in St. Louis having lost my voice.

Let's back track a little.

My plan for getting from Morehead to Lexington was simple. Mor'Trans, the Morehead "city bus" has two shuttle runs each each to Lexington and Ashland on Saturdays. A one way trip costs you $10... which is still a really good deal, considering the price of gas and the ordeal of trying to park in Lexington.  It's a brilliant, idea, actually, given that Morehead State University still is -- thanks to the various forms of discouragement by the Board of Regents, the area churches, and Morehead City Council  -- a suitcase college*, having a shuttle that will take you to The Bluegrass International Airport, the city bus terminal, and the Greyhound Station on West New Circle Road is pretty convenient. And though the Eklunds would have been willing to drive me to the bus station direct, I didn't want to push them into a two and half hour round trip for no good reason.

When I left Morehead, it was cold and overcast; but by the time I got to the Greyhound Station... which is conveniently located next to a Sir Pizza and a strip club... the sun had come out and the weather was warmer. I arrived with a few hours before my 4pm bus.  I have several friends who live in and around Lexington, and I was hoping to get to see one of them. Last trip through I saw my good friend Stephanie Stobaugh. This time, I was able to see Bobby Harris...musician, poet, friend, and former housemate from the 122 W. Second Street days.

Of course, I was a little tired and a bit strung from the grand time the previous night... among friends, sharing good energy, good company, and a respectable amount of beer and gin... and hadn't yet had any coffee. By the time Bobby was able to get there, I was also on the hungry side, since I hadn't eaten much and my overall condition would have been dramatically improved by putting something in my stomach to soak of the remains of the previous night's exuberances.

Ok. Fine. So I was a little hung over. I'm allowed, and besides... the ol' liver doesn't bounce back the way it used. to. 

Bobby showed up in good time, however, and drove me to Lynagh's on Woodland Avenue. One of the things that really excited me, though, was a sign posted next to the front door informing me that Fall City Beer was on tap.

A word on Fall City Beer. It's not great beer. But it is beer made in Louisville. I used to be friend with a guy -- who I met because he was dating my friend Amanda (nee' Hay) Connor at the time -- who was obsessed with it.And I really do understand a local boy's need to attach to all things local... I am, after all, both a Cincinnati Reds and Cincinnati Bengals fan for more or less that reason.

I also thought it would be symbolic to say that, before arriving in Louisville for the first time in over a decade, that I commemorated the event with a local beer before I even got on the bus... good luck and hair of the dog and that sort of thing. Bobby, being the good friend I knew him to be, kindly offered to buy me a burger and a beer, which I happily accepted... especially since I am running a bit low on day to day funds.

The burger was good. The beer was... well... it was.  

It was also proof that putting skunk beer in a keg doesn't change the fact that it's skunk beer.

Bobby had me back in plenty of time to catch my bus, and I made it to Louisville a little ahead of schedule, actually, which almost never happens. The bus ride itself was pretty nice, too, because the bus only had five passengers, which gave me plenty of room to stretch out.

Amanda and her husband Shawn both had to work that evening, so I was being met by someone I didn't know who would drive me to their house... where I would be met by Amanda and Shawn's housemate, Heather, who lives the basement.

I waited around outside, sitting on a cement ledge at the edge of the off street parking lot. There were a few cabs and cars parked on Muhammad Ali. One guy in a 1990's blue Honda tried to entice a woman sitting on  the same ledge I was but was facing the street instead of the parking lot into getting in his car with what was clearly a fake gold-plated necklace. She gave him the finger and he drove off. The same girl... who had probably just gotten off a bus herself... was approached by a grandfatherly looking Spanish man who asked what her rates were. She told him off, quite loudly. He apologized and shuffled on his way to whatever streetwalker would most remind him of his granddaughter, and the girl, probably sick of being taken for a hooker, went back inside.

I had time to smoke a bit of Half and Half before Amanda's friend Adam arrived, and he shuffled me, quite politely, over to to Amanda and Shawn's, where I met Heather and their big black dog, Merlot.

Merlot: Hound of the Baskervilles or giant softy?

TO BE CONT...

[Thanks for your continued readership. Don't forget... if you like what you're reading here:

1. Share the link
2. Subscribe (it's free! And it doesn't depend on that damn Facebook Timeline!)
3. Donate to the travel fund. While I DO, thanks to generous donations, have enough money for a DISCOVERY PASS, I am running low on funds for basics... like deodorant and the occasional cup of coffee. So if you like what you're reading... and especially if you haven't donated in the past... pretty please? Pretty pretty please?

______________________________________________________________________

*suitcase college: all the kids leave on weekends. Boring as shit.  Waste of an entire experience on the part of students.