And We’re Back; That Good Kind of Sore

I’ve been in Ithaca NY since Friday, working at the kayak shop, and the whole dead computer thing crossed with 10 hours carrying around boats and trying to explain a climbing paddle angle to Cornell students fresh off the boat has put a hefty damper on my blogging. But just like last time, it’s been great for my psyche to get out of the city. I’m headed down to Philadelphia tomorrow or Wednesday by the latest– I don’t think I’ve been there since spring break last semester, which seems much too long. Lucky for me Kards Unlimited doesn’t need me to start until the 13th, so I have a mini-vacation, although my work level this summer has not been something that truly requires a vacation.

The recent spat of strange dreams that have been hounding me the last couple weeks and keeping me from getting a good nights sleep continued last night. In my dream, I was pregnant. For some reason I could feel the zygote inside me, in the region of my solar plexus, like a tightness or near-nausea. There wasn’t too much in terms of action in the dream, but there was an intense emotional weight; it was an accidental pregnancy, and I was painfully nervous and excited. I definitely planned to keep it. And then at the end of the dream, after all the emotion, I vomited the zygote out of me into a trash can, where it looked like a discarded garbanzo bean. It was a surprisingly painful dream. I’ve heard of girls having pregnancy dreams before, but I’d love to know if any other guys have had that.

I’m at the shop right now, actually, but it’s pouring rain and I haven’t seen a customer since I got here. I should probably be doing something useful like vacuuming or inventory. So far most of the day has been staring out from the garage door into the rain, watching it drip off the trees into the Inlet and coming up with overblown image phrases to describe it while I half fell asleep. Other than July, it’s been raining up here almost every weekend, and the business has taken a hit. Nothing it can’t come back from, but that’s the nature of weather-dependent seasonal business.

I’m going to go back to watching the rain and thinking about how sore my feet got this weekend.

I Have A Red Neck

For all the paranoia of yesterday’s high-ride through airport security, I did have one victory that I forgot to mention. When I took the toothpaste out of my bag, the office said it was too big to carry with me and I replied with something along the lines of “whatever, you can throw it out.” She looked at me for a second — these folks always seemed to wait a beat before speaking — and said “You don’t want to run it out to your car?” I had been dropped off, so there was no car to run it to, but for some reason what came out was “I’m not coming back.”

Binghamton is kind of a shit hole, which may or may not be tied into the fact that I have a lot of family up there, but the area around it is strikingly beautiful. Sometimes I forget that the Northeast, not just my beloved West, has incredible nature and views. The drive to the airport took us through some real back roads and friends it was fucking lush, that real deep green that’s only around at the beginning of summer.

I didn’t sleep on the flight, the props vibrate you to the core, but I did get to watch northern Pennsylvania roll under me, where it’s all forested hills and sparse populations. I distinctly remember miles of hills suddenly interrupted by a long ridge twice as tall; it looked like a frozen ripple in the ground. It wasn’t hard to imagine what it must have looked like before human habitation. It’s all so cut up now that I forget how vast the northeastern forest was.

Yesterday at around 3:30 work at the kayak shop slowed down, and I got a chance to play in the water. For all the wonderful things about working at a kayak shop, sometimes it can take effort to actually get out on the water. I went on a lesson with Phil Sunday morning, but teaching does require a bit of focus so it’s not quite the same, although I did get a roll, albeit a messy one. But yesterday I got to play. This season we brought in a couple stand-up paddle-boards, which are accurately named. They’re essentially oversized surfboards that you paddle with a six- or seven-foot canoe paddle. Balancing is much easier than you might expect, so I tried to make things difficult for my self by hanging ten off the front of the board. I fell in.

Once I break the barrier of falling in, I tend to go all out. Let’s see if I can jump around on the board (I can). Maybe I can get a running start on the dock and jump onto the board (It shot out from under me twice before I got it). If we stand at opposite ends of the same board, who can make the other guy fall in first? How far can I lean the board over before it flips?

I completely forgot how therapeutic nature can be. Once I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t been outside a city since I went camping in Ohiopyle last November. This is far too long. I’m going to have to make it a more regular thing. I have a sunburn and my legs hurt from carrying boats around all weekend, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Greater Binghamton Regional Airport

Guess where I am?

My trip to Ithaca was ill planned. I got a ride with a fellow employee at the kayak shop who happened to be in town visiting his brother, and only knew I was leaving 12 hours in advance. I did not plan on how to return to Pittsburgh. There are no buses that go directly between Pittsburgh and Ithaca. None at all. So, somehow I ended up flying, from here to Philadelphia, then on to Pittsburgh. And although I made it through security with an hour to spare — literally, and I mean it, no line — my plane has just arrived, and my  hunch has been confirmed. It will be my first time flying on a prop plane.

My soda, you might be glad to know, still cost two bucks.

I got a ride here from another fellow employee, who lives, coincidentally, right outside of Binghamton. We smoked a bowl going through cow country and discussed our love for Planet Earth, among other things. Then we smoked another. It was my first time through security while baked, and I was accordingly paranoid. I knew I didn’t have drugs, weapons, or a lighter, so I figured I’d be good. But I forgot about the liquid restrictions, and am now down one tube of toothpaste. Luckily I caught that before it went through the scanner. I was not so lucky when a security office pulled my bag over to be checked into, and pulled out a flask I had last touched in 2010, which held at most a half swallow of what must be the most incredibly disgusting gin. I was genuinely surprised to see it. She made bit of a big deal about poring it out and gave me back the flask, which is nice because I got it in Utah last summer as NRS swag, so it does have a bit of forgotten sentimental value. It occurred to me as I walked away that the security team most likely thought I was trying to smuggle alcohol onto the plane. In a metal flask.

The woman behind me is talking very loudly about all the things that are wrong with this airport. It is too small. The Subway kiosk is only open in the mornings. The airport bar is outside of security. The airport bar doesn’t have chardonnay. The security officers inspected her bag after she went out of security to have a glass of wine.

This woman is a fucking riot. Judging by the accent, she’s from the deep south, and has nothing but disdain for the people of Greater Binghamton. Idiots, and of course lacking in the type of high culture that this woman requires in her company.

She hung up briefly while I was typing, but her phone just rang again, and now she gets to tell her sorry tale in full again. With the notably difference that she now seems to love everything about the folks she’s met on her trip. She’s got a pretty good cackle. It’s still nearly a half hour from our estimated time of departure, but I think it’s time to get moving.

Upstate and Away!

All of a sudden, I’m going to Ithaca today. I’d been looking for bus tickets for a couple days, but they’re expensive and I have to pass through Philly or New York City because nothing goes directly from Pittsburgh to Ithaca. But then, strangely enough, a former co-worker of mine at Puddledockers Kayak Shop was visiting his brother at CMU and I jumped at the chance to hitch a ride back upstate with him.

Every summer since I was 15 or so I’ve gone upstate to work at the Kayak shop and hang out with my uncle Phil, who owns the place. He and my aunt Margaret used to refer to me and my brother, the only children on that side of my family, as the “corporate kids;” they could simply come hang out with us for a little if they ever felt the need to breed. This is in one way a compliment, of course, but I also think it sounds like Matt and I were irritating enough to keep them from wanting their own kids for very long. This very well could be true.

In any case, it’s good to know that the my streak won’t be snapped this summer. I’m sure he can used an extra set of hands this weekend. July 4th is one usually one of the biggest weekends of the summer, which makes sense, and there’s no rain coming to shit on it. I’m unrepentantly excited.

Any advice for my next book?