Day 15 brought with it
the realization that the annual road trip was swiftly coming to a conclusion.
However, there were still two games left, so all was not yet lost.
We left the cabin in
the direction of town and the Applewood Farmhouse Restaurant. The hosts
(there were two) were not the most welcoming of folks, but I’ve come to the
conclusion that decent customer service is really no longer the norm nor can it be expected. Those same people could quite possibly be the friendliest
individuals outside of their work environs, but as long as they are on the
clock, they mutate into zombie form and seem to eye each new being simply as a
brain sandwich as they cross the threshold. You must now consider yourself
fortunate to even be greeted with a grunt and a stink eye as you enter as they scan your nervous system to determine the size and tastiness of its primary
organ. How many of us will that one feed?
I might be reading too deeply into this, but with the zombie craze currently
taking hold of our nation, nay the world, who could argue? I triple dog dare
you. Yeah, I skipped a few levels on the dog dare scale. Now Christmas Story
your arse up, Ralphie, and offer a better hypothesis.
Once seated, mind you,
all the way in the back away from 95% of the other patrons, a server took our
drink order, but then ditched our table in favor of
another party that arrived after. Another server brought the drinks and
remained with us as for the duration of the morning meal. The food was tasty –
they served beignet-type items as though they were bread, so we gorged on those
for a bit until the bounty arrived. We filled ourselves with scrumptious
yumminess and then moved onward.
The Pope is still
Catholic, right? Well that means that we hit several antique stores on the way
north on the Winfield Dunn Parkway from Sevierville en route to Johnson City.
Last year, the pickin’ places had MUCH better offerings than this time around. Not
sure if I’m just pickier (Get it? Pickier…pickin’?
I’m so amusing.) or if the quality of items has actually plummeted that
much in 365 Gregorian calendar earth rotations. Same thing with the two large
flea markets we patronized and a third piss-poor one we hit off of I-40 a few miles east. I
spent all of $1 between those stops on a 2007 Detroit Tigers magazine that I
may present to my long lost brother, Larry, in Florida - that along with a 1984 Purple Rain Tour program I picked up for $1 in Southport, NC. That Larry
is one lucky long lost brother, I tell you.
Speaking of brothers,
Brother Peter’s hummingbird bladder necessitated many more potty breaks along
the Parkway, I-40, I-81, I-26 and all, and I mean
ALL, roads in between. If only there was a way to collect, purify, and transport
his liquid waste matter to convert it into some form of irrigation fluid–
perhaps delivered similarly to the Log Flume system used at the Mingus Mill –
droughts would cease to exist, deserts would transform into vast farmable
lands, and hunger would vanish from our planet.
In a mere five years, the very word
“hunger” would become a forgotten
utterance, not unlike Ye Olde English, Aramaic and Latin. Hey, Monsanto…why
don’t you and Six Flags team up on that one and save the world and maybe the
cheerleader? Then get to work on that polar melting issue. I kinda like polar
bears and they seem to sell quite a few Coca Colas at Christmas time. And you
really don’t want to see Kevin Costner’s gem of a motion picture, Waterworld, become actuality, do you?
Then drop the bon bons and have at it.
We reached our hotel in
JC, once again dropped off the baggage (all
of it) and headed to see the Cardinals’ Rookie affiliate/Appalachian League
team, the Johnson City Cardinals, have a catch with the Pulaski Mariners. What
we didn’t know when we arrived to a game already in progress, was that a
game two nights prior had been rained out and our game was now a double header!
The baseball gods had blessed us with an extra game of joy and our six-pack of
road trip games evolved into a baker's half dozen. PTL!
We reached our seats
and immediately recognized Julia’s boyfriends (Yes…boyFRIENDS – plural) from
last year – two 80-something menfolk each toting a mouthful of tobacco and a
receptacle for chew-spitting. Also interesting to note was the
temperature difference between the 2012 stop at Cardinal Park and this 2013
visit – 30 degrees – 105 versus 75 one year later – at least according
to the WeatherBug app. Last year, it was so hot that my hair and fingernails were
sweating. And this year, by the end of Game 2, I had to venture out to the Rav
to retrieve a jacket and blanket for Julia as her limbs and digits tend to
freeze once the temperature drops below 75 degrees. A strange phenomenon indeed.
At some point, I headed
down to the front row for some close-up photo ops with the Canon Power Shot
SX50 HS. On my way, a man on a return trip from an apparent restroom break
asked, “Did they just hit into a double play?” “Yes,” I replied. “Well, it
wasn’t my kid who hit it, but he was the runner on first.” How cool – I had
just chanced upon a parent of a current minor leaguer. The Cardinals catcher
was Rowan Wick and his father, Clayton, was in the house all the way from
Vancouver, BC to watch his son play. Clayton and I shot the breeze for a good
20 minutes while Julia was making friends with her new BFF, J.T. I eventually
made my way back up to the hemorrhoid-inducing metal slab and parked it as the
Cardinals continued to fall further behind en route to an 8-2 Game 1 loss. For
the record, Rowan went 1 for 3 with a walk.
Between games, I strolled
around the stadium in search of prime photo ops and freaks and wound up on the
third base side where I, once again, came across Clayton. This time, his wife (Elaine)
was with him and he introduced me. Again, we chatted for quite a while, perhaps
half the game. At one point, the Cardinals trainer tossed a ball up to
Clayton and he handed it to Elaine to secure it in her purse. The ball
presentation caused my brain to relay the story of an usher in Memphis one
year, who upon hearing of our road trip saga, pulled me aside as though I had violated some rule, only to present me with a game-used
baseball. How cool was that? Upon completion of the story, Clayton disappeared
for several minutes. When he came back he said, “Rowan said he can get us
another ball, so give that ball to Dave for his collection.” I was stunned, yet
quite appreciative. It just goes to show that it’s not just North Carolinians
who are so friendly and generous. Who knew that our neighbors to the north had
similar folks? And from the land of the hated Vancouver Canucks, the team who
bounced our beloved St. Louis Blues from the playoffs in 1995, no less.
Shortly thereafter,
Julia located me and I introduced her to my new Canadian friends. Apparently,
J.T. had been pawing on her a bit during my absence. Julia somehow spurned his
advances and, as she often does, extracted a bit of information from the octogenarian.
- He had been married
four times.
- His current wife, #4,
and he do not live together.
- She fixes him dinner on
Monday and he takes her out to dinner on Friday, unless there’s a game. In that
case, she has to fend for herself. He survives on chew and hot dogs at the
game.
- J.T.’s wife #3 and wife
#4’s husband were having an affair, as were J.T. and wife #4 at the time. A bit
hard to follow, but read it again – you’ll get it.
- So both sets of affair
participants are now married to each other’s ex-spouses. Make sense? J.T. is
now married to the woman with whom he was having an affair (wife #4) and J.T.’s
wife #3 and wife #4’s husband, who were having an affair of their own, are now
married. Consider it a more permanent game of Spouse Swap.
What a nice second
visit to Johnson City – rekindling old relationships and forging new ones. I
highly recommend a trip of your own. By the way, the Cardinals took Game 2 by a score of 7-6 and Rowan went 0 for 1 as a pinch hitter. Hope to see you in The Show someday, Rowan!
Now, go see the photos HERE.
We’re back in the
Smokies, so you know what that means? Breakfast at Mel’s Diner before heading
off to Cade’s Cove for the 11-mile drive of nature’s Smoky joy in search of the
elusive bear. So we drove the loop and almost immediately came upon a large group of cars and their
inhabitants peering out into a field. We rolled up next to a truck full of
hoosiers/rednecks and asked what was out there to be seen. The answer did not
come back from the truck in the voice of its human driver, but in the voice of
a small kickable canine on the driver’s lap yapping its high-pitched yap.
Thank you mangy, flea-infested mutt. I’m sure the bears love to hear your
yappy ass in the morning much in the same way Kilgore loves the scent of napalm.
If only you’d wander off into the woods, wrapped in bacon and slathered in Poo
Bear’s honey, in search of bear, coyote, fox, camel, Siberian tiger, dragon or
any other animal/mythical creature that might consume you in a single morsel. Ah,
wishful thinking.
