Greetings campers and barnyard animals
As WC Fields said to the armed robber while being forced to drive the getaway car in The Bank Dick- "Ah yes, that's a catalpa tree. We have many beautiful catalpa trees here in Lompoc." And when the catalpa tree outside the credit union is in full bloom, I know it's time to just cash my pathetic pay check, smile quietly while deflecting a few comments about deviant spending habits from my favorite abusive cashier, grab the loot and make my own getaway as she hits the silent alarm that warns my spousal unit. Just keeping my own migratory habits in tune with nature's patterns.
Cirque project sat patient and neglected in the living room since arrival and preliminary assembly in October, awaiting the purchase of a couple components that would be more politically correct. But alas, I was outbid on everything I attempted to buy for it. Boo-hoo. Close enough. Game over. Finally just attacked the accumulated dust layer and other minor irritants, declared victory, and off to the Cirque we went.
A rare daytime passage through western Maryland. I forget how beautiful that part of the trip can be, when it's free of drifting snow and sudden deer impacts with my surrounding sheet metal. Nice to have the event closer to home, but still felt like I needed to drive at least another 4-5 hours to get the full Cirque travel experience I had grown accustomed to. A bit confusing. The pull southward is still strong.
First reaction upon arrival at the new venue was "WHAT?! No gargoyles?! What kind of place is this?!" Reflexively tossed a sacrificial crappy component up onto the hotel roof anyway as a symbolic offering. Force of habit after all those years of feeding the gargoyles at the Battleground. Traditions must be maintained. An uncharacteristic leap of faith that somehow they'll know, and be appeased for a while. But that was the only disappointment, and easily dealt with. Things will just be a little different from now on kids. Some new patterns to adapt to, not a question of better or worse, just different. (How many years from now will we stop accidentally calling the hotel "The Battleground"?). And "the hotel" had graciously promised to take custody of my frozen food glop so there was no need to waste a huge chunk of money at the dry ice store to buy a little time, or go hungry after the dry ice vaporizes by the end of day two of five. Survived the potential terrors of the breakfast bar for a few days too. Things are looking up. I was a happy guy.
Disappointed to miss the event for the first time last year, both because it was Dale's last bash, and also because I'd have to relinquish my gold star for perfect attendance. Sacrifices had to be made. Thrilled to be back with the kooks, wherever they gather, and to see some of my pals from the non-CR DC swap crowd too, doing my best to corrupt them. Many familiar faces missing from the crowd this year, but great to see some other returnees and some new faces.
Been doing the Cirque thang a long time now, and the spousal unit has been curious about what would attract the misanthropic mute she knows, and keep him smiling quietly to himself for days afterwards. (She didn't really understand about the bike thing before we got married, oh those many years ago. People tried to warn her. My "friends" tried to warn her, but she thought they were just exaggerating. Silly girl. She has since learned a valuable lesson about performing due diligence.). Well, now she knows. This certainly falls into the category of "for better or worse". Fortunately she has met most of the surviving friends from previous phases of my life. Bizarre as you are, none of you are as great a shock as THEY were at first meeting. Probably helps that now she has developed a pretty good idea what to expect. However, as I feared, the spousal conversations often devolved into "Does your husband do.... (fill in the blank with any and all of your least socially acceptable bike related traits) type discussions." That can only lead to trouble. But at least she has now seen that my bike habit is pretty mild compared to some of the scarier people I made certain she met. Learned long ago that frame of reference is a vital component of domestic tranquility. Or at least domestic stability. Thank you all for the assist.
A little behind the recovery curve, so most of the main events have already been described. Just some of my own favorite sillier moments:
Spousal unit maintaining her silence about what I initially thought was just another large truck for horses parked at the Bingham/Weier Ranch. She noticed long before I did that there were bikes oozing out the back, and knew I would want my own mobile bike shop / storage facility if I realized what I was looking at. Later I realized I'd be packed and ready to go if the spousal unit decided to throw us all out, and perhaps I shouldn't make it that easy for her. Quite the setup, Peter. I am jealous. Looked like pit row at a NASCAR event before the rides except for all the bike workstands and spandex.
Vanload of people talking to the witless twitbag inside Paul & Rita's voice activated GPS system. Kept asking her for restaurants in our new neighborhood, but she kept giving us a selection of radio stations. Never have had much success communicating with artificial intelligence, electronic or humanoid. Apparently she didn't realize (and we somehow failed to specify) that our hunger was gastronomical, and not musical. How silly of us not to make that point clear. We did eat, eventually. Not as catastrophic an outcome as the guy I read about the week before who drove onto a bridge when his GPS system told him to. Unfortunately it was a pedestrian bridge, and too narrow for his vehicle. Ahhhhh, technology. Ain't it wonderful.
Quality time at the swap with Tom W, who can still find the ugliest nastiest frame(s) at a swap (it's a gift), and feel compelled to adopt it. Another tradition I enjoy tremendously at every swap he attends. Followed by an exchange of lower back stretching exercises.Tough enough finding a shady spot, with some grass, but even tougher finding one relatively free of sheep droppings. (Didn't need sham poo, because we found plenty of real poo. Bah dum bump). It's not just a bike weekend. It's a physical therapy clinic. Followed by a phone call to scold a mutual friend who should have been there too. Geez, ya can go the bike races anytime. The Cirque happens only once a year. And even caught myself looking at a cheap ugly Gitane frame just to get the cage off the rear der. The bottom feeder instinct is strong. Must be the company I keep. Fortunately the frame was gone before I went back for it. Who bought that frame? I could still use the cage off that rear der.
Ogling John Barry's recently resurrected white Raleigh Pro. Good to see one all nice and shiny for a change. Every time I see one I hope that I'll be motivated to do something nice to my own poor old battered but beloved heap. Mine was already on it's first repaint when I bought it in 1970. It deserves better, (we both deserve better) but I don't see that happening this year. I'll just keep riding it until somebody stages an intervention on it's behalf. Not yet appalling enough to attract the attention of Tom W, but getting there.
Thanks to those who steered me towards a particular component at the swap that I didn't even know they knew I was looking for. Apparently word gets around. Still looking for something a little better than what was available that day, but hope I can return the favors someday.
Did feel the absence of a used book & music store nearby as there had been in Greensboro, but was able to trade those two vices for another. Contrary to popular opinion, I can change. I can adapt. If I have to. After the main event I took a little extra time to finally see the new Udvar-Hazy addition to the National Air & Space museum. Only ~20 miles from the hotel, (just a little south of Frying Pan Road, which seemed appropriate in the heat) but also 20 miles closer to the dark center of evil (DC). Certainly worth a couple hours if you have any interest in things with wings. And plenty of books there to browse through too. I should know better than to re-awaken a comfortably dormant vice, but even I can't do all bikes all the time. Already in the proper frame of mind I suppose, after the Cirque. Just another room full of other people's toys that I'm not allowed to play with. Spousal unit got to visit her pet Grumman Hellcat (I swear, I didn't know that about her when we got married. She didn't know that about herself. Oh believe me, I've tried to interest her in the delights of Beechcraft Staggerwings, Monocoupes, and Wacos. But nooooooo, I might as well be talking about bikes. She's not listening. At least she has developed an appreciation for radial engines and open cockpits. There's still hope for us. Next, she's going to be exposed to gliders. Heh heh heh. I can hardly wait.) and I got to visit some of my own pet planes. Also accidentally learned about a particular powered glider design that I didn't know existed. It still happens.
Uncomfortable sitting at home now, in addition to Cirque withdrawal and other consequences of the trip, there's a large box in the living room. Too large not to notice, size and shape of bike box, and sitting right where I would put a recently arrived bike box. But it's NOT a new bike. Just something the spousal unit ordered before we departed for the Cirque. Every time my eyes wander in that direction my brain goes "Wow!. Did I buy a bike?! Oh right, it's not a bike. DOH That's torture. All I got was these John Hiatt and Richard Thompson CDs. New driving music. That'll be dangerous fun, in a cheerfully bitter, delightfully depressing sort of way:
Used to take 7 pills Just to get up in the morning From 7 different doctors With 7 different warnings I'd call 'em up to say I'm coming apart They'd say call us back When the fireworks start.
Ahhhhhhhh, great stuff. A little too on target, but sing it with a snarl and a smile. Let's drive. How long til T-town?
Thanks to Wayne & MJ, and our benevolent overlord Dale. Nothing else I do, short of leaving the country to romp with the wallabies and wombats for a while, provides the total disconnect from the real world that I get from the Cirque. Geographic location and schedule of events are irrelevant. We go where it goes. It's all an excellent escape. Temporary though it is, it's worth every minute I can hide out. Reservations made for next year. Counting the days. See ya there.
Blah blah blah. It was a hoot and a half.
Larry "back to real life" Osborn
Bruceton Mills, West Virginia USA