Mazatlan

A few months back I went to Mazatlan. It's a city in Mexico on the state of Sinaloa on the Pacific coast. It's across for the tip of the Baja penninsula. We went there for a vacation about a month after spring break ended, so it wouldn't be too crowded. It wasn't.

I rented a mountain bike while I was there at Mr. Kelly's bike shop. Right after I rented it I decided to ride around the city and sight see.

My friend Mark said that Mazatlan was the real Mexico, not like Cancun or other areas that were set up for tourists. If you are the typical tourist, you can see the real Mexico on your bus ride from the airport usually, and that's about it.

The ride was going to take me to a big cathedral. You could see it across the bay, but rather than ride with the busses and pumonias (dune buggy taxis), it sounded like more fun to ride through the neighborhoods to get there.

Up into the city the houses where all made of concrete and were brightly painted deep blue, golden yellow, and where small. Riding by a school I saw children playing in white shirts. The girls had plaid skirts and the boys dark pants, just like Catholic schools here in St. Louis.

There was trash everywhere, mostly plastic drink containers and food wrappers. The sounds were mostly the roar of busses and cars mixed with the radio playing music. The music sounded like a mix of country, mariachi band horns, and a lot of ballads. It seemed pretty repetitive, just like all pop music.

The plan was to zig zag on the back streets. Up one, over two, up one over three and make my way to the church. After about a half hour I was completely lost. I actually had a compass, but it was not helping much.

Somehow I crossed a railroad track and got on to some dirt roads. The houses were a little more run down. It was late morning, so I wasn't too worried about getting hassled. If I did, I don't know any Spanish, so it would have been like talking to a dog.

Now it was getting pretty interesting. Lost in Mexico on a mountain bike. Two old men were working a a junky truck. A couple of chickens running down the street, then a skinny cow with huge horns. Some guy driving a snack truck, sort of like an ice cream truck down the street with a huge speaker on the roof talking and talking.

I jumped the tracks again and got off into no streets. The next thing I remember was going for a main road, any main road because that would lead somewhere. I finally hit one and had the choice of going left or right. I thought left headed back into the city. About a mile down some confused looking ladies (not as confused as me) pointed me back the other way.

It was the middle of the day and I'm riding down one of the busiest streets in town through stop and go traffic. It was scary and fun. I figured everybody is just trying to get where they are going. In a few miles I saw a bus station we visited earlier. Jeez, where am I?

Somehow I get the the Mercado and see the church. I blasted up hill to get to it. Nothing to see really. Grafitti painted with trash all around, oh well.

Lost again. I'm tring to find the main road along the beach. Next to park I see some gringo looking couple and ask directions. The guys gives me weird look and asks if I've been drinking. The lady acts like she feels sorry for me. Finally they tell me I'm only a few blocks from the beach front.

At that point, I'm dying of thirst. No water to start with, and I've been riding for a few hours. An old man with a soda stand is there, so buy an orange. It's in a glass bottle, so I figure he needs it back and I swig the whole thing in a few seconds. He gets a big laugh out of seeing me do this for some reason. I say gracias and ride on.

Finally I hit the beach road. It's the busiest street in town, but it goes back to the hotel, to I'm riding it no matter what. Jacking the mountain bike hard I'm almost pacing the cars and busses. Buzzing along the trash lined streets on a mission, up over bridge I'm almost back.

A couple hours later we are at the pool drinking margaritas being tourists again. A magnificent sunset overtakes us and the day ends with a blissful feeling. The bike is stored in the front of the hotel for the "for real" mountain biking trip the next day.

Stix Tribute

Daddys Cookin had been laying kind a low. We picked up a gig once every couple of months and that's about it. Danny called and said he and Rob were going to go to a tribute to one of their old drummers, Stix Maxwell. Stix had died in his late 50s and all of his friends were going to have a party to celebrate his life. Danny and Rob had Stix in their old band called the Scam band back in the 80s and hadn't been in touch.

I drove over to Belleville not knowing what to expect. I found the place, a nice irish bar and went around back to park. It was in the old part of Belleville and looked to be a nice area. I started to walk in the door and didn't make it inside. There was a lady laying on the floor with a group of people hovering over her. It must have just happened because they were trying to decide whether or not to call an ambulance. It didn't seem righ to step over her to get in, so I kind of hung out around the door and offered to help. It turns out she had epilepsy and had had a seizure. Finally an ambulance did come. She was expected to recover, so the party just went on. The sad thing, was that she was the wife of the guy who organized the whole thing, so now he had to miss it.

The place was packed. After a few minutes we recruited a drummer and took the stage. We had a good set, but somehow during one of the songs I stretched a string on my guitar and it jumped out of the bridge into the next slot, leaving me with a dead string. I was tring to play lead and it was freaking me out for a while 'cause I coundn't figure out what was wrong.

I didn't know anybody there. We got a nice reception from the crowd. Quite a few people came up during the break to say they enjoyed it.

The next band, I think they were called the Yellow Dog Band, came up and did a nice job on some sixties rock. They got better the longer they played. Toward the end of their set they got into some music by the Band and just brought the house down. I was singing along with every one and you could see it was a genuine highlight for everybody.

A little girl sang Amazing Grace. She was so brave. Then, our drummer (who normally is a front man) grabbed the mike and said Saints in F. I wasn't sure what he meant. Finally I figured out he meant, "When the Saints Go Marching In". It was the perfect follow up to Amazing Grace. The whole bar joined in the fun and a big group of them started marching in a line, just like down in New Orleans.

Just like that it was over. I carried the guitar out to the Jeep. It was hot. A while later I was home barbecuing in the back yard. I never did learn all that much about Stix, but everything I heard about him was good. I hope my friends can do the same for me after I kick the bucket.

Steel Legs

Jackrabbit Jim and I were chasing the lead group. I new the first part of the ride went straight up Orville for the first steep climb. We got on but Jim decided to drop back to Paul. The guys weren't going all out but it was kind of fast. We hit Orville and I got dropped. I chased for a while but it didn't work. That put me sixth out of 75 riders, so I just went at my own pace. This was a hard ride, no doubt about it. Almost all hills. I rode with a guy from Springfield who caught me. After about five miles I finally figured out he wasn't doing the century. He rode along to St. Albans where there was a rest stop. Years ago the road we we on was a dead end. Thinking this was still so, I rode backward on the route and added about six miles, more that erasing the ten minute lead I had on the main group. To make matters worse, I did two very hard climbs I didn't need to climb. It was a grueling up and down into Labadie, with some long climbs after. There was wasn't much choice, so I kept on going. About 50 miles in I caught up to the Jackrabbit, Lou, and Sean changing a flat. I waited for them, I needed the draft for a little break.

We finally got the little hoosier town of Washington. I worked there many years ago and was never so happy to leave a place in my life. If was raining a bit and we got some weird looks from the people driving around. I noticed I was having to work pretty hard to keep up, but I took my turns pulling. Sean the Iron Man had good legs and blasted out of town up a hill at 23 mph for about 4 or 5 miles. I took a few pulls, but Sean did most of the work. I looked back and our group was gone. We let up for a minute and the Jackrabbit caught us. He said he dropped back to help the others catch up, but it wasn't going to happen so he caught back on to me and Sean. The Rabbit scampered up the last hill into Labadie and we stopped for lunch.

There was still a lot of hard climbing ahead. Now it was on to the end.

During the section back into St. Albans was I realized I was out of gas. Guys started passing me. I teamed up with Lou and we limped in to St. Albans. On the climb up to Ossenfort, Lou dropped me. I was barely moving. Thankfully, he waited at the top of the hill and we worked our way the last big climb of the day, Doberman hill.

I hit the bottom of the hill and passed an old guy on a recumbent. About a third of the way up it felt like lightning bolts were going off in my legs and I started cramping. I stopped and the guy on the recumbent went by. There was no way I was going to walk the hill. I waited a couple of minutes and pedaled straight legged up the hill. The rest of the ride in was slow going and I cut off the last loop and headed staight for the bike shop where we started.

Sean was there putting his bike away and preparing to go for a run. I was completely spent. In a few minutes Lou and the Jackrabbit pulled in with Paul. They rode the loop that I skipped.

A couple day later I measured the extra riding I did and it made my ride about 104 miles total. It was tied fo the hardest ride of the year with Emminence to Chester, sick Marquette time trial, and Rabrai Century, the into the wind part.

Hoosier 101 part 7

Jimmy was alway nervous when Howard was there. He had three more of these visits to go and he couldn't wait for them to be over.

"So James, how has your job search been going?"

"Oh man, I'm starting Monday."

"Oh really, where are you going to be employed?"

"My mom heard about a job at Schwiess. They make some kind of electrical stuff. The job is 2nd shift. They pay $9.00 and hour to start."

"James, that is a promising development. Are you prepared to stick with a job like this? This type of work is very repetitive. You need to show up on time also."

"Dude, Oh I'm sorry I mean Sir, if it's going to mean getting me some money I'm gonna do it right. That other job didn't work out I know, but I learned my lesson, I mean I know it doesn't make sense at my age that I ain't got no steady job but to me it do or die right now, it's time to get it done. For one thing, I got come up with $500 to keep to lights and gas on. They said if I could make it up over time. I need to get even if I'm ever gonna get a new car. This is it, this is it. I don't care if it's the worst job in town, I'm going to step up to the plate and do what I need to do."

Howard heard what Jimmy had to say, but he was noticing that the vent on the space heater had finger smudges all over it. It looked odd. What a perfect place for a lazy person to try to hide something.

"Mr. Dowd, I have noted that you are starting work. I would like to commend you for taking the initiative. I have another appointment now. What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Me and a buddy are a gonna work on his jeep."

Howard headed out on the porch and started breathing through his nose again. Down the steps and into the street back to the car. Mrs. Freund was watching him through the gap in the blinds. He pulled around the corner and started and called the precinct on his cell phone.

"This is Howard, I just came from Mr. Dowd's rental house and saw something suspicious. I believe he may in possession of illegal drugs. His landlord is Mr. Metzeler in south county. Please send an officer over to meet Mr. Metzeler and check the area around the space heater in the family room. Mr. Dowd is leaving shortly."

Kevin

Kevin could play slide like Duane Allman. He was a bright guy from the rich side of town that I met in college. He always seemed to have a different girlfriend. We hung out in the same crowd. And even though we weren't the best of friends we got along okay because we liked to jam together. His guitar was an old Les Paul and it sounded great. He introduced me to Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead music. Later it was reggae.

After we had both moved home from college Kevin called and said there was a jam session with some guys that he knew from west county. I headed over there.

It was Kevin and a good drummer named Jim and a mild mannered guitar player whose name I've forgotten. Kevin and the guitar player had worked out many of the double lead parts by the Allman Brothers. I was a better singer than the other guys. Eventually I bought a bass and we formed a band doing mostly Allman Brothers, Grateful Dead, some Santana and Little Feat.

Our big debut was on a tuesday night at a dump, since torn down, called 20 North. It was the house bar for a band called Jake's Leg. They alway packed the place on the weekend.

We went over well enough that we were invited back. Kevin's guitar playing could be spectacular. The impression still lasts to this day.

Eventually we tried to play more and more reggae. It wasn't very convincing, even though I really enjoyed the music. Kevin got tired of the playing with us and moved on. The other guitar player quit playing altogether and focused on his career. Jim and I bacame good friends and went through quite a few more projects. Jim was never really interested in playing the bars, so eventually we gave up on it.

Last summer I ran into Kevin while I was out on a bike ride. He was looking fit and trim. He said he was devoted to his family and seemed to be happy. Now he was interested in spacey jazz.

It didn't surprize me. We had a good run together. I'll always appreciate those great moments he provided back in the day.

First Ride

It was a green bike. I think it was by big sister's. It had one speed. It had fenders so strong that you could sit on them.

My sister was letting me pedal while she sat on the back. I wasn't tall enough to sit on the seat, so I just stood up. Karol was being very nice and was laughing at my awkward attempts as I pedaled her past the Goeckenbach house, then past Mrs. Wegman's back toward our mailbox. This went on for a while and Karol started to get tired of it.

Pedaling along, she said she was getting tired of our game and that she wanted to get off. I said go ahead and as she jumped off I somehow kept going!

I was up. I didn't know how to stop. The whole ride lasted just a few seconds. I started to lose my balance and ran up into the grass in front of the next door neighbors and tipped over in the yard.

Karol ran up to celebrate. We both ran in and told my mom.

Thinking back, that was in 1962. Kennedy was president. No Beatles yet, no computers, no air conditioning, no moms working. Hawks basketball, Cardinal football, no hockey, Ed Sullivan, corn field in the back yard, tons of kids to play with; not a bad time to be alive and riding your bike down the street.

Hoosier 101 part 6

Jimmy didn't think of himself as a criminal. In a way, he really wasn't. He didn't shoplift. Bills got paid, usually late but he paid them. Every once in a while he would lose his temper, but he hadn't been in a brawl since 7th grade. His problem was his choice of friends. Tim Collins asked his to drive him to the liquor store about a year back.

"No problemo"

"I forgot my wallet. Could you stop at this house on the way so's I can run in and get it?"

They stopped. Jimmy thought it was odd that Tim ran around back. He was sitting there about 5 minutes when he saw a cop coming down the street with its lights on. Watching it in the rear view mirror they stopping right behind him. Then another. Then another. Next thing he knew Tim was coming out in handcuffs from behind the house.

Jimmy tried to explain that he was just giving his buddy a ride but the cops weren't buying it. Tim wasn't covering for him, so it was kind of hopeless. He spent the weekend in jail. By the time the trial came around he got probation.

Howard walked up the cracked up sidewalk with a rail made of painted pipe. His keys still in his hands, he tapped on the door glass. TACK TACK TACK. Jimmy knew it was his probation officer by the knock. He closed the back door and head up to let him in.

"Howard. Come on in."

Howard walked in and the familiar smell had him breathing mostly through his mouth. His hand held a worn vanilla folder. He went into the living room and set in a table under a velvet Elvis painting.

Chuck Clay Tribute

After the L.A. West Band broke up I fell out for a while. I missed it, but got real busy getting ready to run the Chicago marathon. That's a whole 'nother story, but it took a lot of time and not playing in a band kind of helped.

The marathon came and went in October. I was getting used to not playing.

The phone rang in February and it was Ben Wells. He said there was a band that needed a front man and they were getting together to have a jam. If I was interested I should call Danny and get the scoop. So I called him and got the time and place.

I was Mardi Gras time in St. Louis. The place for the jam wasn't near the Mardi Gras, but people were dressed up and celebrating anyway. I pulled up in the gravel parking lot to the bar and saw a hand written sign that said "Chuck Clay Tribute". It was an old place that overlooked the interstate. A real hoosier dump, so I felt right at home.

Inside there were a bunch of guys playing. The usual smoke and beer smell. I wasn't a huge group, maybe 25 people. They were there to honor the band's front man, Chuck Clay. Chuck had just died a few weeks earlier. I had never heard of him, but he had a long run playing on the local scene. His wife was Ingrid Berry, Chuck Berry's daughter. She wanted to be a singer and was supposedly pretty good, but kind of hard to work with. She wasn't there either, which I thought was odd.

So I laid back for a while and Danny finally introduced himself during a break. On just the first few tunes I could tell he was a good keyboard player. He had a cool set up that included a Hammond B3 organ. The thing sounded great and looked to be pretty old. So Danny was seemed like a nice guy. He stood about 5 foot 4 and kind of had a serious look about him. His voice was a deep baritone.

Lots of people were taking turns jamming. Everybody was drinking and having a good time. When it was my turn I didn't try to grab the spot light. Danny was kind of directing traffic.

At one point I was up there with the whole old Chuck Clay band. Rob Murphy on bass, Jesse Jones on drums, Eric Pirtle on guitar, Danny and me. The rythym these guys laid down was incredible. Anyone who plays blues will tell you that a good rythym section make or breaks the front man. With these guys it was so easy to sound good. Toward the end, we kind of took it over and really had the audience with us. Every song ended with big smiles. People started dancing. I remembered just how much I enjoyed playing.

After time ran out I hung around a little while. Some people started complaining that they had spent so much money at the bar and the band didn't get paid. Back to reality. The manager took me off to the side and asked me if I wanted to play there again, without the band. That didn't make any sense so I just let it slide.

Pulling out of the gravel parking lot in my new Chuck Clay tee shirt I was enthused about playing again. They never called me back so I called them. To this day I still don't know much about Chuck Clay.

Double Pace Line

One thing most bike riders never try is racing or trying to go fast. Which is fine. Getting outside and enjoying the day makes for good exercise and a social outlet. This kind of riding is usually done at 12 to 15 mph.

But as you speed up the first thing you notice is how the wind starts to push back. One solution is for everyone to ride in a line. The person in front of the line is out in the wind and needs to try a lot harder to go the same speed as the rider behind.

A pace line takes this fact and sets up a rotation on the front of the line. When the front person's turn is over the hand comes out and (if no cars are coming) he drops to the back of the line. They say the front person is pulling (helping the others along).

A double pace line take up more road. In a double pace line the time at the front is very short. After he finishes, the front guy goes into another line that is slowing down compared to the main line. As he get to end of the main line he goes to the end and starts working his way back up to the front.

I've only done this a few times, but it can carry a very fast pace. By myself I can only go about 22 mph for an extended time. Last year when we did the double pace line we were going over 27 mph for about a half hour. Later, when we had the wind at our backs we speeded up to over 30 mph at times. This wouldn't impress a pro biking team. These guys routinely go over 30 mph. A lot of them can do that alone. But it sure was fun for me!

Hoosier 101 part 5

After Howard hung up the phone he decided he wanted something to eat. He knew it would make him late for his appointment but frankly, he didn't really give a crap about disappointing some convicted criminal. Heading down Jefferson he made a right on Gravois and headed for White Castle.

Jimmy's clean up job was just about done. He had double bagged his stash hiding it in the vent off an old space heater in the kitchen. He decided to brush his teeth for the first time since Saturday night. He figured Howard would be late again, but it still pissed him off. Terry's call had him stoked to get with him and Stoner. Just then he noticed another beer can in the corner behind the plastic palm. After the can was in the trash he headed up to the sink where the yellow frayed toothbrush waited.

Brushing was a bit quicker experience now that his eye teeth had been pulled. About half of the yellowed and blackened teeth bled every time he even lightly touched the bright red infected gums. He had to leave about 10 minutes to get the bleeding to stop.

By now Howard was in line at White Castle. It was a clean place full of dirty people. None of the workers looked that happy to be there but they all hustled.

"I'll take three white castles, a cheese fry, and a medium coke."

A bum wearing an old army jacket was sitting on the other side of the room looking out at the intersection of Grand and Gravois. As he warmed up, the smell of urine became stronger and stronger. A few people sat close by at first, but moved away when the stench hit.

Howard headed out to the car. This time he switched on the radio. He tuned in sports talk and listened to a call in show. Most of the caller were complaining about the Cardinals relief pitching. Who were these people who called in all the time? A loud slurping noise let him know lunch was over.

Where was Dowd's house? On Nebraska? As he headed down Cherokee a street hooker tried to make eye contact. Howard started humming Hoochie Coochie Man to himself. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see the young girl ducking into a store as a cop drove by.

At 11:28 he pulled up to Jimmy's place.

In Concert

Going to a great concert is always fun. It's hit and miss too. Random thoughts.

Bright shining like the sun that day...

Jimmy Dale Gilmour. He had a hot lead guy from Norway or Sweden. Left us yelling for more.
The Mighty Itals. The Pips on ganja. Extreme dub on the mixing board. Good like Black Market Clash.
Greg Brown. Great voice and guitar. Got it done with just a lead player. Second time, not so good.
Santana. Early 80s show. A great positive energy and fun time up on that stage.
Chuck Berry. A lunch time show at a fair. Small enough crowd for everyone to sing along and have fun.
Earl Klugh. Mellow in the way mellow is good. Absolute mastery of the guitar.
War. Perfect band at the perfect time on the Memphis Riverfront.
Ike Turner. An old guy who still knows how to do it. Second time not so good.
Dire Straits. Ghost in the guitar, great songwriting.
Bruce Cockburn. Left me spellbound. Why doesn't he get credit for his leads? Second time not as good.
Delbert McClinton. Texas Van Morrison. Had a great band that night.
James Taylor. First few times great, finally just knew the schtick too well to enjoy it.
George Benson. With the band from Breezin'. An all-star fiesta!

Disappointing
Bob Dylan
Jimmy Buffett
Dave Matthews
Al Green
Leon Russell
Grateful Dead
Ohio Players
Van Morrison

Guilty Pleasure
Lee Greenwood
The Tokens
P Funk

Covered Bridge

I think it was about riding on Good Friday. Todd was over and we talked about it. We did the usual email thing. By the time the day came around we headed over to the official starting point at a Shell staion. Jeeze, our little conversation had grown to over 20 guys. Which was good, because we didn't exactly know all the turns.

The ride started out along the outer road of the interstate. A quick turn and we were into some beautiful country. I had heard the ride was hilly. We started climbing. There was an older looking guy that I passed on the climb. Is he going to keep up?

We popped up into a small town known for its meth labs. There was a minor crash. After getting up I sprayed the wounds with water from my camelback and got going.

Up and down, up and down. No really long climbs. It kept it interesting. Trailer parks and farms. Country houses. Not too many cars. Mostly pickups. Reasonable pace. Hey this rides not too bad.

Stopped for a while and helped a guy with a broken chain. Hammered a while to catch up. Finally got to the covered bridge. My first thought is how much dope gets smoked here? The road out of the covered bridge leads to nowhere. After a short break we head out. A guy tells me we're on our way back now.

The road starts to go up. Todd and Larry drop me. I'm going all out just to keep going. The hill goes on and on and on. A couple more guys pass me. Jeeze, this is a long hill. We crest it and start blasting down the other side in to a flat section. I'm working with a guy and we are flying. We have to be pushing 30 mph. I'm thinking we'll catch the guys in front. Finally, we come to a small town and everyone is waiting.

We hit another huge climb. The "old" guy is blasting away leading the whole group now. Later on I find out he is a nationally ranked mountain bike racer.

By the ride's end I'm shot. I crawl up the last hill on the way home. After lunch and a nap I'm good to go.

75 miles total on the covered bridge ride. A pain fiesta!

Hoosier 101 part 4

Howard Harris headed out out of his apartment around 7:45 to make the short drive to the Probation office. He fired up his 91 Saturn. Juke by Little Walter.

Blues was his passion. He had every key harmonica, the right amp, the right microphone. The bands all knew his and were happy to let him sit in. He was even good on the tunes with no harp parts. Howard just invented horn parts or stayed out when he couldn't think of anything. He could never get gigs with a band even though he tried. The problem was that bringing Howard in would make for a pay cut for everbody, so he never really hooked up with a regular gig for very long.

A tall fellow on a bike went by as he pulled on to Chouteau. Half a block later he pulled in and heaed into the probation office. Dawn and Dorothy were late as usual.

First things first. A quick trip to the coffee maker. Log on to the computer. Check the names for this week. Mondays were always busy.

William Banks - Assault
James Dowd - Burglary
Phillip Smith - Arson
Kendrell Evans - Sexual Assault
Shipley Muhammad - Forgery, Writing Bad Checks
Fletcher Fagen - Manslaughter

Six visits today.

Howard got on the phone. It was rare to get an answer this early. But these men all knew they had better be there for the appointment or it was back to jail. The call to Jimmy was the second call of the day.

"James, this is Howard Harris. This call is to remind you that I will be visiting today between 10 and 11. If you are not present when I visit the matter will be referred to the court."

After a half hour of filing a never ending pile of paperwork, Howard headed back to the Saturn. After the visit to Billy Banks, it was on to Mr. Dowd's place. Flipping through his CD case he pulled out some live Van Morrison. The holster dug in to his side as he turned around and slid the CD case back under the seat.

At that point Jimmy was sitting on the couch scraping his weed back in to a baggie and hiding his pipe. It was 10:37 AM.

Blind Melon

A couple years back I went out to San Diego for a vacation. I stayed at my niece's condo right on the bay right in Pacific Beach. I had been fronting the LA West band for a while at the time.

We were a run of mill blues band for St. Louis. We usually played Johnny's in Soulard. A lot of the people who came in were there to see the hot waitresses. Still, we had our moments.

LA West was a band name used by Ben Wells, our drummer. Ben had played drums his whole life. A lot of the time he was with the Blues Eldorados backing up Tommy Bankhead. Tommy was an excellent musician. He never made the big time, but he was bit of a local legend. Anyway, Ben got the jobs and we played them. Most of our tunes was stuff I knew, so in a way it was my band.

There is a lot of competition in blues in St. Louis. Any night you can go out and see a pretty good blues band at lots of bars. The guys like Ben who started it all kind of get squeezed out. Some bands were playing for $25 a man. We got $62.50 a man. Even the bigger clubs paid barely $100. Even with the peanuts that you could make, bars wanted demo tapes and all kinds of sucking up to get in the door. I didn't really need the money that bad. If was fun while it lasted.

So anyway I'm out in San Diego with my niece's husband Todd. We're out hanging on the strip and we walk by this place called Blind Melon. It's a blues place. The sign says they have a jam session that night. I tell Todd that sounds like fun. He's never heard me play so he goes along. We get there and there's this complicated sign up deal. You get up and play for a half hour then you're done. The thing is organized by some San Diego blues society. The jam sessions in St. Louis are way less organized than this place. In the Lou you could get up and play for a while.

I didn't bring a guitar on vacation. I found the main guy and asked him if there was a guitar I could borrow. He asked me if I played blues. I told him I fronted a blues band in St. Louis, which didn't seem to impress him. He reluctantly said I could borrow his personal guitar, which I thought was very cool. It was a sweet Strat with humbucking pickups and a whammy bar.

So we got up there. It was me, a drummer, a harmonica player and a bass player. That meant nothing to play the chords during my leads. No big deal.

We launched in to Let the Good Times Roll, BB King style. The guitar sounded absolutely great. The sound was good and I had a blast. We cooked through a few more tunes and I kind of did my usually directing traffic thing and made sure all the other guys got the spot light.

I knew we were running out of time. The guy was nice enough to let me borrow his axe so I tried to wind it down on time. When it was time to quit he said to give us 5 more minutes.

That 5 more minutes sure meant a lot to me.

After my turn was over I came back to see Todd at the table. There weren't many people in the place. I think it was a Thursday night.

I wasn't sure if Todd would have gotten into something like that. He ws stoked. Later on he bough me a Blind Melon tee shirt. We left after an hour or so and the jam was still going strong.

Night Ride

It was a moonless night as I stood in the relay area. Delbert was singing Givin It Up For Your Love and a guy had just endoed to respectful applause. Todd was out there somewhere. His lap was taking longer that the last time. It should have been an omen.

Finally he appeared. I fired up my light and we didn't say much. I ran out to the bike and jumped on. My legs were dead. I figured I would warm up and get going. I cruised past camfires on both sides of the trail. It was surreal. Songs faded in and out. My light made the ground ahead look much more dangerous.

There was a drop off with a sand pit at the bottom. The line had changed quite a bit and there was a bit rut worn into the starting point. I got over and shot off to the right, flipped over and crashed. Nothing hurt, the sand took the impact. It was pointless to try to ride out. I walked a bit until I had solid ground.

Slow motion. No energy. The rocky climb seemed much harder than the last two times. Getting up over the ledges was excruciating. The dark made it worse. I decided to just get through it instead of attacking.

At the top of the climb I had the chance to make up some time. But it was my second time riding with lights. Going fast seemed too dangerous. The strange shadows made the line hard to pick out. Oh well. I guess it's going to take a while.

I hit the toboggan run it a few minutes. Rode the brakes all the way. Creeped up the the next sections and got off to walk. Not even liking this a bit by now. Carried the bike down nosedive and some of the rideable drop offs. Up the sandy hill. Losing MoJo with every step.

Finally came to a fast stretch and had to creep along when the light started freaking me out. Luckily I could follow some other rider part of the way and get a free preview.

There a was a sandy, rocky drop off and I got off to look it over. Another racer got off right behind me.

"I've got the use my brain on Monday"

We both walked down.

Another long climb. I seemed to hold my own with group that had formed. We crossed a slickrock section and they lost me on a descent.

Finally, the tent city in the distance. No clock. How long had this been taking? Way longer than last time. I felt ashamed for letting my team down.

A chance to speed up. Riding on a 4 inch wide line in the sand. Occasionally felt the bike lose contact with the ground and start skiing on the sand.

Heading into the finish the overall leader passed me like I was standing still. He had been riding for nearly 14 hours straight. My self esteem took another hit.

Finished. Rich was waiting. It was the middle of the night. I limped back to find my sleeping bag.

Later on I looked up my time and it was a full half hour slower than the first go around. There for anybody to see. Certain forever that this wasn't for me I decided to get through my next turn and turn the page to put the experience out of my mind.

One day later I was obsessed with trying it again. I guess I just can't stand failure. 24 Hours of Moab, 2005 should be much better.

hoosier 101 part 3

At first he wasn't sure what the sound was. It could be battery beeping on the smoke detector. No, it's the phone ringing. He wasn't sure how long it had been going off. He lifted his head and the stiff grey hair on the right side stood straight out and as he stumbled across the floor to pick it up. On the way he noticed a smell and the pile Flair had left him by the door.

"Hallo?"

"Jimmy, you up yet?"

"I am now. Who is this?"

"Stoner and I're goin' down to the river. He got his starter rebuilt. The CJ is runnin' again. We got box of refreshments. I called in."

"When?"

"I'm needin' to run by Dirt Cheap, I'll tell you what, pick ya up in a hour."

"Dude, my probation officer is supposed to be here in an hour. Two hours."

"Yer slower than a woman, but I'll be there."

On the way to the pile of dog crap he started the hot water. Flair ran out side and started barking at a car driving down the alley. The pile flew out the door a little later. I landed on rusty roll of chain link. The fence was sitting over sink that had been sitting there since 1978 when it had a leak.

Arnold's No Pig

The lovely community of Arnold, Missouri is just south of St. Louis. Perched at the northern tip of Jefferson County, Arnold is a growing metropolis featuring its own Walmart, Drury Inn, strip shopping centers (too numerous to list here) and of course a landmark water tower upon which it emblazoned her name. Notable restaurants include Pizza Hut, McDonalds, and (I believe) the original Bandana's Barbecue. In a pinch, a quick meal can be purchased at any number of convenience stores where three separate grades of fuel (87,89, and 91 octane) are available. I've even heard that some of these shop offer diesel!

The northern approach to Arnold is breathtaking at dawn. As one crests the hill on southbound 55 (Cracker Barrel on your left) the excitement builds. There, across an expansive and impressive 10 lanes of concrete sits the Meramec River. Above to your left rises the majestic water tower. A welcoming beacon in the wilderness. An monument that whispers to the commuter, you are out of St. Louis now and are crossing into Jefferson County!