The Hiking Writer

Another broad-headed skink in Jefferson Forest

Suzy was a green eyed, five-foot-six brunette bartender who didn't take shit from drunks. Strangely, thanks to her looks and demeanor, drunks rarely ever gave her any.

She was the kind of bartender that could flirt without giving the guy buying drinks any thoughts that he ever had a chance with her. It was an art, and Suzy was very good at it. She also had the looks that inspired chivalry in her male co-workers and the bar patrons knew it. In fact, a few of the regulars would go to war for Suzy along with the other bartenders and bouncers if it ever was needed.

But it hardly ever was.

It was a normal Thursday night in almost every respect. The NBA playoff game had brought in a few more people than usual, but they were reasonably well-behaved beer drinkers that tipped, especially when their team was crushing the opposition, and tonight was a 20 point blowout. The tip jar was fairly bulging.

Suzy had been steadily serving drinks and taking orders for most of the night, but now that the game was over and closing time was only an hour or so away, the crowd began to dwindle. When the after-game highlights ended, most of the basketball crowd had bought their last round and were making the tell-tale signs of leaving: the jingle of keys, finishing off the last pitcher, and putting on their jackets. The rain of the early evening was over, but it was still cool for May.

As the bar was settling down, Suzy kept an eye on Dave at the bar. She’d never seen him before tonight and by the looks of him, she’d probably never see him again. He was not the type she thought of as a regular here. He was quiet, even a little reserved, he was balding slightly with a pointed goatee of jet black hair on a strong chin.

He could also drink like a fish. He’d come in a little before 10 PM and he’d ordered a vodka and tonic. Once he’d seated himself at the bar, he had ordered another drink every 15 minutes almost like clockwork. With midnight approaching, Suzy didn’t like the math.

On a break around 11:30 (after the game had finished) she’d mentioned Dave to John the bouncer. John was also a bartender part-time, but management liked to use him as a bouncer when a big game was on the tube.

“See the guy at the bar J?” she’d said in a low voice standing next to the bouncer's stool at the front door.

“Yeah Suzy, he giving you any trouble?”, John had said with a quick glance around the bar, his eyes pausing briefly on Dave.

“No, nothing like that. But he’s had at least 6 vodka-tonics in the last hour and a half and I might have to stop serving him if he doesn’t slow down”

“No sweat hon, you just give me a holler if says or does anything weird when you do cut him off. I got your back” John said and grinned.

Suzy liked John a lot, and she knew that he’d love to be a little more than friends with her. She liked her men a little smarter, but John was not a dummy or a bad looker, they just didn’t have any chemistry. She patted the back of his hand lightly “Shouldn’t be a problem J, but I just wanted to let you know. I’m gonna go to the ladies room and then get back behind the bar”.

“Thanks for sharing baby” John said and Suzy winked as she started toward the bathroom.

Back behind the bar, it was almost 12 and Dave motioned Suzy for what would be his eighth vodka and tonic. She’d made his seventh round fairly weak, but Dave hadn’t noticed. That in itself was a signal to her. She knew they’d had enough when they can’t even tell that their drink is watered down.

As she walked toward him to take his empty glass, Suzy shook her head slightly and leaned in toward him. Quietly, she told him the bad news with a smile. “I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t get you another one. I can get you a cup of coffee or some water, but I can’t serve you anymore alcohol tonight”.

Dave looked up at her a little incredulously. His eyebrows raised in surprise at first and he calmly replied “Excuse me?”.

“Sorry, but that’s the law Dave. I’m not going to serve you anymore” Suzy said keeping her voice low. No need to embarrass the guy in front of the dwindling crowd.

Dave’s eyes narrowed for a moment and in that flash, Suzy felt some serious heat come off of him. In the back of her mind, she thought to herself, “Oh shit.”

But as quickly as it had appeared, the momentary tension in Dave’s eyes eased. He smiled at Suzy and said “How about a glass of water then?”. The warning bells in Suzy’s head stopped their clamor and her smile returned “No problem Dave” she said as she scooped ice from the bin below the bar and poured him a glass of water from the soda tap.

Sliding the glass of water to him, she winked and said “No hard feelings right?”.

“None at all” Dave smiled back.

In his head, Dave was screaming. The tendons in his neck were taught like steel and a vein in his temple pulsed hotly as he reached out and strangled this tasty little bartender. Like a wolf, he brought her neck to his mouth as he clamped down on her wind-pipe and tasted the hot coppery thickness of her blood.

But only in his head.

He would replay this scenario in his vivid imagination for the next week or so, but hopefully, it would stay there. Dave ached to act out one of his little dark theaters. But he only masturbated to them bitterly; he had never acted one out in the real world.

Vodka he’d found however, was getting him very close. It fueled his fire like nothing else, and tonight, for the very first time, that fire was roaring. Watching this bartender for the last hour, he was so hard he couldn’t stand up. She was just the kind of lamb he wanted, and she seemed to want to be taken. And when she cut him off, it was almost like a dare. He’d seen the recognition for just a moment, a microsecond in time, and he had felt her fear.

This might be the night.

Stay tuned for part two

I wrote a tribute to HST over 2 years ago, I thought I should add it here.

Enjoy.

Hunter S. Thompson, 1937-2005

It was with great sadness that I read of Hunter S. Thompson's death at his own hands on February 20, 2005. Mondays often start poorly, but fuck me. My favorite liberal with the balls of a behemoth checked himself out. Upon reading the story, I honestly hoped that it was some sort of twisted accident, that the Doc was cleaning a gun while deep in his cups, a fifth of Old Crow or Wild Turkey on the kitchen table, his grey matter on the wall.

But no. As the news trickled out, it was revealed that Hunter had been in constant pain for the last year or so from various operations, and he made up his mind to pay the tab and check out on his own terms. Considering his physical deterioration, I imagine he felt that it would be better to go out with his faculties and rage intact rather than continue down the path of infirmity and the impotence of old age, not to mention what he thought of where the country is headed. I’m sure he thought we’d soon become the 4th Reich, with no soul and no conscience.

I regret him taking his life; I don’t begrudge him his choice.

I read Hunter Thompson for the first time when I was an impressionable 16 year old. The Great Shark Hunt contained his opus that would launch “gonzo journalism”; The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved. I had not been to a Derby yet, as many Louisville locals, and it was 1980, not 1970, when the article was written. Political unrest was no longer about Nixon and Vietnam, but about gas prices, Iranian hostages and the coming of Ronald Reagan.

But goddamn, it was one hell of a read. Interspersed with the insane illegal behavior was a humor that saw the soft underbelly of a respected Southern tradition and cackled like a loon when he penned its evisceration. And I understood the Louisville references, I identified with where he was. Hunter became the lense through which I experienced the event, and I saw things in a new, albeit strange light.

After Shark Hunt, I started to look for everything he’d written. I read Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail next, and understood presidential politics better than I ever had before. I read Hells Angels, and the Vegas book, and anything else I could get my hands on. By the time I was 18, I’d read almost everything he’d ever written. Every book, every article, always took me somewhere I’d not imagined in my milk-toast suburban existence.

Hunter’s work even affected my social life. Growing up in Louisville, and attending an all male high school, other like-minded individuals who enjoyed HST became my long term friends. In my younger days, WWHD could have been our motto when bored: What Would Hunter Do?

As I grew older, I continued to look forward to each new volume Hunter put out. I sometimes avoided the article collections, but even those had enough gems to warrant a read. I think we all knew Hunter wasn’t long for this world, and wanted to drink it in like a fine wine before the bottle was empty. Everything I’ve ever read abut the man spoke to the fact that indeed, if not completely the truth, Hunter's appetite for drugs and booze in his books was an approximation of that same hunger in the real world. But that was his appeal, to do whatever he wanted and still be sharp as a razor when he needed words.

In writing this tribute, I thought of so many different ways to honor HST, but I didn’t want it to be trite, or some ill-fated attempt at some gonzo fan-boy eulogy. I think I’ll just end it with Hunter’s description of the pageantry of Derby Day. The picture is perfect:

"The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent and Depraved."

Welcome to the Derby, and add one bad mother to the afterlife rifle team.

Mahalo Doc.

As I get older, I realize that discipline in so many things is good for me, but my sanity depends on shucking discipline occasionally.

For example, I know that I shouldn't eat potato chips or pizza. But maybe once a month, it's not so bad.

I try to eat the same thing every day when I'm watching my diet and trying to lose weight. Right now, I'm looking for that elusive final 25 lbs that everyone wants to get rid of. (Ok, maybe you're not big-boned.) The discipline is two-fold since I have to keep up the excercise as well as the diet to make it work.

That being said, I was in the grocery today and thick cut bologna was on sale. And I feel a little guilty for buying a package, but I grew up on this stuff, and a bologna and cheese sandwich makes me feel like I'm 10 again.

Is that bad? Hell no. And when I make a couple sammiches (yeah, I spelled it wrong on purpose) tomorrow to take on the trail, it doesn't really matter, so long as I get enough calories to make 13+ miles in the day.

Folks, if you have to give up sweets or carbs or whatever, make sure to indulge yourself every once in a while just to remind yourself why you try.

It's good for your soul. 

I lugged my tripod along with me to Jefferson Forest today and got some nice photos. Most notable was the Eastern Fence Lizard (shown below) during mating season, which is why he has a splash of blue at his throat. Check out the album here.

I was thinking about this topic recently and there are so many examples. In case you are unfamiliar, "shadenfreude" is the wonderful German term for the personal enjoyment of another's misfortune. Think about why you laugh at the Three Stooges for example. Thank goodness all that bonecracking action isn't happening to you!

As it applies to sports, let's see:

Greg Norman and his epic choke on the last day of the Masters.

The Yankees going up 3-0 only to lose 4-3 to their hated rival Boston Red Sox.

Richard Petty's last Daytona 500 win when the leading 2 drivers wrecked on the last lap.

Phil Michelson's choke on the fina hole of the US Open last year.

Jean Van De Velde's meltdown at the last hole of the British Open.

The Raiders and the Tuck rule

The Cowboys and Romo's folly.

The Viking's and Bill's Super Bowl futility

There are a lot of examples, but the one that sticks in my mind to most comes from college basketball, and it can be summed up with a word and a picture.

TIMEOUT!

I hiked the Siltstone Trail in Jefferson Forest today and it was gorgeous outside. I spotted 4 different species of lizards, including the 5 Lined Skink in the image below. I got what I thought were some great pictures, but on returning home I found that a bunch were too blurry to use. I'm still figuring this camera out. Oh well. Enjoy the new Album Lizard Lounge

OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA! OKLAHOMA!

I don't know why this cracks me up. But it never fails. 

I flushed a turkey today while hiking and the darn thing charged me. He hung around awhile but most of the shots turned out a little blurry because my heart was racing. Take a look at the new album titled Wild Turkey