Frenchy's Rant

This past week I was looking forward to wasting my few days off at home in the laziest manner possible. No blogging, no reading, no motorcycling, no nothing at all. I was completely prepared to do my best tree sloth imitation when Mike, (aka Kid Vicious) called. Despite my non-stop globe trotting and subsequent unavailability, Kid Vicious has remained one of the few people in the Kingdom of Rhode Island that considers me a friend. Even still, I debated picking up the phone for a second, knowing that if I did, my ‘perfect nothingness’ plan would be in jeopardy.

Against my better judgment, I answered, and within five minutes had plans with Kid Vicious for the next day. So much for being a sloth. Mike knows me well, and knows I’m a sucker for an adventure, even a non-motorized one. He’s always realized it’s not hard to talk me into things. The dumber the better.

Our plan? A fun day spent kayaking down the Blackstone River.

After finalizing the plans, my first memories of the Blackstone river flooded back. As kids walking along the bank, picking our way between discarded refrigerators and old tires, my cousin told me stories about the three-eyed mutant fish people routinely caught. A century of industrial pollution pretty much decimated the poor, sludge infested river. Due to this contamination, river water would actually run different colors, one day it would look like rust, the next it would be hazy purple. The polluted stench of the Blackstone was unique, one whiff was all it took for that noxious odor to be permanently burned into your brain. Back then this river could easily have been in the commercial with the stoic looking Indian sadly gazing at the pollution and shedding a tear.

The river has come a long way since then. Thanks to a massive cleanup effort, the river water is now safe to look at from a distance of around ten feet. The multicolored hues of the water are a thing of the past. The river is not yet safe to swim or fish in, but according to the Department of Environmental Management, with it’s ‘Class C’ certification the Blackstone is considered suitable for kayaking and ‘other secondary contact recreation.’

In other words, you can boat on the river, just don’t fall in.

Mike is a serious kayaker, and I am a newbie kayak owner that doesn’t take much seriously. I’ve never taken my big yellow kayak, nicknamed The Banana Boat, anywhere except the lake in my back yard. To me this day had disaster written all over it. And disaster equals adventure in my book. Let’s GO!

The Blackstone stench, the same one etched into my memory so long ago hit me as soon as I got out of the truck. Mike nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s the Blackstone all right. It has a smell all it’s own.”

Just in case things got too serious on this trip, I brought along a goofy Halloween hockey mask. I figured it’d be funny to kayak past people wearing this stupid thing, and it’d be an easy way to lighten up the potential seriousness of the day.

Before putting in at Plummer’s Landing, my friend Kid Vicious, being a serious kayaker, briefed me on the many hazards of kayaking the river, including whirlpools, waterfalls, submerged obstacles, rapids and downed trees. I found it interesting he waited until just before we launched to tell me how many different ways I could die out here. Then he drove his point home by telling me about river rescues, drowning, and all manner of unpleasant things that could happen if I didn’t take kayaking seriously.

After this serious yet uplifting conversation, I slipped on my un-serious mask, and it was time to set off for our designated downriver take out point, the Blackstone Gorge, ten nautical miles away.

Kid Vicious, Captain of the Love Boat

Kid Frenchy, Rookie Banana Boat Pilot

The first hour was tedious, not only because of the smell, but with Mike’s constant paranoid warnings about each and every obstacle. “Be careful over here! The current is strong and if you let it, the whirlpool will drag you to the shore.” Every time he would shout this warning, the Banana Boat would almost immediately end up beached or in reverse, and I’d be looking back the way I came. I was usually too busy taking pictures and laughing to really care. Kayaking may be serious, but it’s also FUN!

“Don’t hit the rock over here, it’ll upset your balance!” And he was right, when I hit the partially submerged rocks, I nearly capsized. Every time. Kayaks are fun, but they’re also UNSTABLE! I finally decided that the warnings, not the rocks, were the problem, and told Mike so. Things got much quieter after that.

One thing I didn’t realize when I agreed to the trip was how strenuous kayaking is. It takes a lot of muscle work to paddle through the current, and these are muscles that have happily atrophied over the past few years. Motorcycling doesn’t take a lot of physical strength, which is good because I have none. I had pain in places I didn’t even know I had muscles, and we’d only made it about two miles down river.

We drifted down a wide, slow section of the Blackstone, and I was lulled into a false sense of security by the serenity of my surroundings. A single gigantic blue heron flying alongside our two boat flotilla for a while was the only other sign of life we saw. It was even better than sitting home doing nothing. Kayaking may be unstable, but it’s also very peaceful.

The second thing I didn’t realize about kayaking is how quickly things can take a turn for the worse. Ahead of me was a fairly rapid looking set of strong rapids, and the only way through was to ride it out. In the lead, Mike hit the current and expertly made it through. Then it was my turn.

Still wearing my hockey mask, I hit the swirling current and thing went bad quickly. When I got into the rushing rapid, I must have hit something just under the surface, upsetting my balance enough that the river that had thus far remained happily outside my kayak now came gushing in, sinking the boat at once. Before I even knew what was happening, I was underwater in the Class C – unsuitable for swimming but safe for kayaking – river. Shit! Kayaking may usually be peaceful, but it can quickly go from serene to extremely DANGEROUS!

There’s nothing quite like the immediate reality of a possible drowning to get the old adrenaline gland working overtime. My boots filled with water and started dragging me down in one of the deepest parts of the river. I kicked furiously for the surface and grabbed my overturned kayak, which I then rode the rest of the way through the rapid – on top of what used to be the bottom of the boat. As Kid Vicious yelled and panicked, I managed to beach the partially submerged kayak on a tiny island in the middle of the river.

I used an old Gatorade bottle to put the intruding river back where it belonged, outside my kayak. My poor hockey mask floated away, but my camera remained safe and dry in the water tight compartment. The same couldn’t be said of my clothes, which were soaked with foul smelling river water. Awesome. After spending far too long bailing out the Banana Boat and wringing out my clothes, our expedition was once again underway.

A few hours later we encountered our second big hurdle of the day – sunset. My failed kayak neutral buoyancy experiment cost us so much time that we were still a few miles away from the Blackstone Gorge take out point when the sun disappeared. Kayaking is UNPREDICTABLE!

Bravely, or stupidly, depending on how you look at it, we continued paddling down river until we were completely enveloped by darkness. Everything faded into inky black nothingness, the rocks in the middle of the river, the trees, even Kid Vicious, it all simply vanished. Several times I shouted to the emptiness that we should get out and walk to my Jeep, but Mike was confident we’d make it to the gorge. We picked up the pace until my arms, shoulders and well insulated twelve-pack abs all screamed in agony from this unwelcome additional exertion. Unpredictable, dangerous and fun, Kayaking is also TIRING!

That confidence eroded when we heard the sound of violent rapids quickly approaching. We made our first smart decision of the day – to stop – and landed the kayaks on a small beach.

Mike wanted to drag the boats through the woods up to the road; I said forget them, let’s get ourselves out of the woods and come back for the kayaks the next day. We still had no solid idea where we were in relation to the Jeep, and could be dragging these stupid yellow boats for miles yet. Mike finally agreed. In complete darkness we blindly crashed through thick underbrush, twisted branches and sharp pricker bushes as we made our way to the relative safety of the road.

Starving from the day’s effort, we stopped into the closest restaurant, J&M’s Pizza, where I took the longest rest room sink-bath in history, trying to wash as much of the disgusting Class C river off as I could. Upon my first close inspection since falling in, I could find no trace of a developing third eye, and assumed I’d survive my dunking.

As soon as we sat down, Dave, a cuirous bar patron wandered over and asked what our story was. Exhausted from the efforts of our day, we gave him the Reader’s Digest version of our day, then asked how far the Blackstone Gorge was. “Several miles, but if you want, I’ll give you a ride.” With the last nagging problem of the day solved, we were able to have a good laugh about the strange turn of events our little trip took.

The next day we returned for the kayaks, and the immensity of our good decision – to stop – hit me. Two large drops lay fifty feet from where we landed, surrounded by boiling, angry rapids. Hitting either drop would have spelled certain disaster in the pitch dark.

Mike asked me if I’d kayak the Blackstone again.

Of course I would. Kayaking is an ADVENTURE!

Yaay! More Spam, this time from the Chevron Oil and Gas Company (SINGAPORE)

Here it is:

Dear Email Account User,

Good day to You While I will Like to Introduce Myself to you as Mrs. Mariam Hennesy and I am the Company’s Secretary Of Chevron WorldWide Oil and Gas Company In Singapore (ASIA DISTRICT).

Please, If this Email Address Is For You, I wish to Congratulate You and Inform You that Your Urgent Attention Is Needed at Our Branch Office In the United Kingdom as We Have Good News For You. I Advise You Contact The Officer In charge Within the Next 24hrs to Get the News Of this Life Transforming Offer Coming to You From this Great Company.

Do Contact the Officer-in charge via email With the Information Below:

Mr. Alan Moore

coefa02@live.com

I want to Congratulate You In Advance and Please Do Not Forget to Help the Poor In the Society When Chevron Texaco Makes You a Beneficiary Of their World Of Wealth.

Yours Faithfully,

Mariam Hennesy (Mrs.)

For the Chief Executive Officer (CEO),

Chevron WorldWide Oil and Gas Company,

Singapore, Asia

And here is my response:

Dear Singapore Spammer,

Good day to you too. I would like to introduce myself as Mr. Email Account User. My friends call me Email, but you may call me Mr. User. I am so glad you were able to randomly select me for Chevron’s mysterious good news.

I am really in need of a life changing event, and somehow I always knew it would come from a gigantic petroleum conglomerate. I mean, I really got the short end of the stick, with my stupid first name and all. And, you want to know the funny thing? I was born before the invention of the World Wide Web, so in reality, I feel I am owed royalties for the misappropriation of my legal name by Al Gore, the inventor of ‘The Internet.’ Now, the electronic messages bearing my name bring people scams such as this one, questionable penis enlargement methods and, of course, everybody’s favorite, the little blue football pill called Viagra, which by coincidence happens to be my sister’s name. (But, to be fair, she was born after, and actually because of, the invention of Viagra.)

But I am sure that is not why you emailed me (you see? I really feel I should get a few dollars every time my name is misused by your company in this inappropriate manner) I am assuming your secret yet life changing news is of a different sort. I am hoping that the Chevron Oil and Gas Company Singapore want to help me ‘go green’ and I am not talking about Mr. Gore’s other invention, ‘The Environment.’

So, Mariam Hennesey (Mrs.) I, Email A. User (Mr.) am replying to your suspiciously non-Chevron email address (that misuse of my name will cost you and your company another $10. This ‘Going Green’ is ‘Going Well’ for me) to find out what your offer is.

Anxiously awaiting my gigantic sum of cash and royalties!

Sincerely,

Mr. E. A. User

Fiona and I spent the entire week on Broadway in Nashville, a fun collection of clubs and bars that all feature live music. On Thursday afternoon in Legend’s, one of the fun bars on Broadway, we met Thumper.

Thumper is a force of nature. There’s no other way to describe this gigantic and energetic drummer from Nashville. We met Thumper on Thursday playing his third of four gigs for the day, and for whatever reason, he took an instant liking to Fiona and me.

Thumper may have gotten his nickname from being a drummer, I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, more than likely it came from the way he thumps you on the back when he gives you one of his trademarked big, sweaty hugs. That’s what happens when Thumper likes you.

But that’s not all that happens, not if he really likes you.

Friday night Fiona and I made the now familiar circuit of Music City’s most famous street. Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge, Robert’s Western World, Legend’s Corner, The Stage, Second Fiddle, B.B. King’s and Nashville Crossroads all had live music. We had the best kind of dilemma, trying to decide which band we liked most, and which bar to spend most of our money in.

We wandered into Nashville Crossroads, and who was banging away behind the kit but Thumper, the hardest working man in show business. His face immediately lit up when he recognized us.

I’m sure his excitement had nothing to do with the Jägerbomb we sent his way.

Having softened up the drummer a bit, Fiona went up to the band and made a very special request.

Thumper grabbed the mic and made an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a very special guest in the house, a drummer all the way from Rhode Island! Let’s get him up here right now and have him play us some Rhode Island style country drums! Come on, Rhode Island, get up here!”

Oh great. Rhode Island style country drumming? You have the wrong guy, buddy. In another lifetime I used to be a drummer, but now I am just a drum owner, with quite a collection of things to hit with sticks. I still enjoy irritating my neighbors by making loud drumming noises when I am home, but as far as playing with other live musicians, I haven’t done that in eons.

On top of that, I don’t know how to play country music. I don’t even particularly LIKE country music, other than to sit in a bar and listen to good musicians play it. I don’t know how to play any of the songs the band knew. This could only end in disaster.

Thumper thumped me on the back as he left the stage and I got behind the drum kit. The bass player took one look at me and rolled his eyes.

Figuring I could get him to loosen up a bit, I leaned over, laughed, and said to him, “I don’t even know how to play the drums!”

He stared a hole into my head. “Are you fucking serious?”

“No, I know how to play drums, I just don’t know any of these songs.”

With a smirk he replied, “Well, if you don’t know country music, and you don’t know these songs, then you don’t know how to play the drums, son.”

While we were having this friendly discussion, the guitarist turned around and called off a song that I’ve never heard of. My new friend, the jackass on the bass guitar said, “He don’t know country music, so he definitely don’t know that song.”

The guitar player realized for the first time that maybe this guy behind the drumkit didn’t really belong on stage. He said, “It’s a two-four shuffle, OK? Just follow me.”

Then he counted the song off, and suddenly I was officially playing drums on stage in Nashville.

It was far from the best performance on a Nashville stage, but it wasn’t the worst either. In reality almost every country song sounds like almost every other country song, so it’s not too hard to fake it through one. When our two-four shuffle/stumble song ended, I thanked the band for the opportunity, and tried to make my escape, but the guitar player told me to sit back down. Thumper the Real Drummer was nowhere to be found, and there was a crowd in need of entertainment.

“Do you know the Train Beat?”

“Yes.” No. I suppose it should sound like a train?

And he counted the band into another song, this one with a Rhode Island style train beat. A slightly wobbly train with an odd sense of timing, but at least the train didn’t derail. I guess it was OK because a few people got up and danced.

After we stumbled through the second song, Thumper mercifully reappeared. On my way off the stage, I got another enthusiastic thump on the back, then he leaned in and admitted the real reason he let me sit in with the band.

“Thanks, man. I really needed to pee!”

No, thank you, Thumper! It was really fun to blow out the years of rust and actually play music again. If you ever need a fill in…. well, you should probably call someone else!

Spending the week in Nashville, one of my Top Five favorite cities. It’s hard not to have a good time here, especially if you like good live music, and very easy to have too good a time, especially if you like beer, live music, and beer.

Next week, it’s back to the grind, but right now I’m off for another day of beer, live music, beer and good times!

More pictures of Nashville on Frenchy’s Ocular Tirade.

For all the people that have lost a huge chunk of their retirement savings over the past few days all I can say is spending all my money on motorcycles and whisky suddenly doesn’t seem like it was such a bad idea.