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stevegilgo · 8 years ago

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Me and The Dead

Five stories from my time spent with the Dead...

I missed the boat, it seemed. The days of chasing a sound around this country appeared long gone..not just gone for me, but for our generation and all those going further.

Blossoming in the late 60’s, the culture surrounding the Grateful Dead obviously has become the stuff of legend. Roaming souls gathering at show after show, setting up make-shift villages for a night or two...then moving to the next town. A welcoming and wonderful subculture suddenly born.

For me--the Dead came passing through in tiny ripples, growing up. Little earworms would stick around for weeks at a time, but the vastness of their catalog always overwhelmed me and left me spinning. Things would get too deep, or I’d just become disconnected. Never the less, songs like Franklin’s Tower, Friend of the Devil and Eyes of the World sparked my interest, years before my tastes actually took off.

As moments came and went, I slowly tackled more and more of their offerings and ultimately found myself carving the band into my “Music Mt. Rushmore”. Through winding runs, sleepless nights, difficult decisions and milestone celebrations, the band kept me on.

For Deadheads around the globe, 2015 was earmarked as something special. The band’s 50th Anniversary was highlighted by a final run of shows featuring the remaining, living members.”The Core Four” were then accompanied by Trey Anastasio, filling the impossible hole of Jerry Garcia. Excitement was at a fever pitch and despite not being able to attend, I was tuned in. And man, those five shows really gave the Dead community a strong jolt. It was suppose to be a send off, instead, John Mayer came along.

While many folks were skeptical, I’d been well aware of Mayer’s playing chops, as well as his distorted image, for awhile. Throughout most of my grade school years, I was a torchbearer for JM, quick to throw his name into a “great guitarists” debate. Constantly pushing others to look deeper into his albums and past his formulated radio hits. Usually people scoffed and I certainly understood. The man and his label did him little favor, in that regard. For years, he was targeted, first and foremost, as a singer of shallow pop tunes. So unfortunately and inexplicably, guitar virtuoso and celebrated songwriter were distinctions pushed to the wayside. But when opportunity knocked, Mayer was quick to answer.

So, in the fall of 2015, with Deadheads divided, a new band set sail. Dead and Company, anchored by Bob Weir and Mayer took off and away we went. My group was lucky to catch them on their quick jaunt through the arena circuit over in Greensboro, NC during early November of that year. The entire experience was really something. It all started, as it always does, in the lots. A tailgate, complete with choice craft brews, ENC BBQ, and some home-baked goods put us in the proper place. And the scene at Shakedown still seems difficult to put into words..so many vendors, smiling faces, happy vibes. The night felt right before I even walked into the coliseum.

Bobby’s Hell in a Bucket will forever be the song that kicked off my live Dead experience and for that, a trigger switched in me. Like most people, and for good reason, I’d been enamored by Jerry Garcia—paying little attention to “the other one” singing on those old tapes. Quickly though, I realized I’d been dismissing the one that really jived with me. There’s a quirk to Weir, something that makes him a bit more human and relatable than Garcia ever could be…But no time to dawdle there right now, my first show was just beginning.

Crazy Fingers came around next, and it pains me to say that I just wasn’t in on the song at that time. It’s a beautiful, drippy tune—but I’m not sure if its one that Dead & Co was able to really master. Next up was a joyous sing-a-long in He’s Gone. The Grateful Dead “Stealie” is one of—if not the, most recognizable band logo ever. And to belt out “steal your face..” with 20,000 others was goosebump-inducing, to say the least. After that trifecta, the band ran through a quick rendition of Me & My Uncle, an upbeat cowboy tune that pays off in the end, for those with a sense of humor.

Up to that point, I’d noticed a certain timidness in Mayer, that I definitely wasn’t used to from his solo performances. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. There was a streak of humility that hadn’t been there before, a sense of respect. And yet something waiting to take off, too. Ship of Fools was that departure, falling right into JM’s bluesy wheelhouse. I mean holy shit, I could go on and on about this tune, on that night. It was so incredibly special and luckily in that moment, I was right in tune with it. Dead & Co. haven’t played the song since, but I believe it to be the moment where all his searching and reservation ran into his confidence and openness, from the past. From there, he’s never looked back. Lost Sailor and Saint of Circumstance closed out the first set, but I was still stuck in Fools.

The second set was really all that you could ask for in a first show. A bunch of friendly, familiar jams that came through one after another. Jack Straw opened with the infamous ramblings of the title character. Following close behind was a bubbling Shakedown, then the standard Scarlet>>Fire. And boy, we were really having some fun as Drums>>Space took us deeper into the night. The Other One and Wharf Rat doled out some introspective ballads before One More Saturday Night closed things out.

If not for the state-of-the-art tech setup, surrounding us in light and music, I could’ve easily been convinced that I was hanging out for the evening in 1977. And if all of that wasn’t enough, Bob and John came back out and brought with them a gorgeous, stripped down Friend of the Devil, ala American Beauty, that blew the whole place away and capped off a wild and wacky evening..something really incredible. Something I needed again and again. But, life kept on and before I knew it, their quick experiment had reached its end..or so I thought.

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With winter, brings hope for longer days. And a brand new set of tour dates came through. A sprawling summer tour, just like those from days past, now set. This time, despite a busy schedule, I was ready to grab more.

The tour opened in Charlotte, NC on June 10th, and I’d be there. Good Lord, it was a hot one..and a long drive for a Friday afternoon. Hours in traffic and minutes in the tailgate lot. But man, being outdoors for this music felt like a fine match. And with all the strangers stopping strangers, it was apparent that something old had become new again.

The place was packed and we had a tough time getting through the ticket line. So packed, in fact, that the band starting playing before we found our spot in the lawn. An egregious act, in my opinion, yet one that proved to be a motif, for my summer-as you’ll later see. But from the first chords, it was apparent the band had gelled eve more in the offseason. During the fall, it felt genuine enough. But still in some ways, it was like seeing a really talented cover band. In Charlotte, a new level had been reached and a new band was settling into their first set of the summer.

Music Never Stopped set the tone as opener for the evening. Cold Rain & Snow ripped through the June blaze. And then a paced, easy breezing, Friend of the Devil put the place on its head. From there, Mayer took the reins on a beautiful take of They Love Each Other that really found its footing with a nice jam from Jeff Chimenti on the keys. Soon enough Bobby was leading the crowd through the happy-go-lucky, Liberty, smiles all around. I’ll mention Promised Land, as it gave a nice nod to Charlotte and closed the first set. But really, the show stopper was just before, an 18-minute look into Cassidy that broke all the rules. At a certain point, I couldn’t tell if the song was coming or going. Falling in and out of its structure, seamlessly. It’s a really pretty tune, that tears me apart in so many different ways. So, to get it in such an elevated state was amazing and something I return to now, often.

During the set break, Alex, Hunter and I ventured around for our usual vices and it seemed as though the entire place was riding high on this wave of resurgence the band brought. Now as I mentioned, the lines to get in were ridiculous and in turn, tickets were scarce…I’ve been to a number of shows and never seen lawn tickets sell out, but this was a whole different animal. I usually show up to shows and find a ticket without a problem, but this was looking rough. However, I took this slight misfortune and turned it into an upgrade that really took the night to another level. I bit the bullet and snagged a pavilion seat, putting me about 12 rows from the stage, but all by myself. Fortunately, sneaking into the lawn is no problem, regardless of a sell out or your actual seat number. And because of that, I was able to spend the set one, surrounded by friends.

But for the second set, curiosity got the best of me. So, I ventured off alone, down to my seat and was greeted by a whole host of characters that shored up the vibe for the rest of night. Just as I was settling into my new surroundings, the band came back and opened with one of my original favorites..Eyes of the World. I adore songs that lay out big, beautiful ideas in simplistic terms. Eyes fits that bill; maybe even wrote that bill. It’s a breathtaking tune to take in on a summer night. The band then fell into their first “cowboy tune” of the night. Deal is just plain fun to me. Going from the looseness of Eyes into a tighter jam here was a really nice contrast and showed the band hitting its stride. Upping the ante from there, was a toiling but strong Estimated Prophet--a song that places the listener on the shores of California, and those golden state vibes never disappoint. After the hot start, Drums>>Space was much needed, as I let the spectacle of it all wash over me.

The show could’ve ended right there, as unfortunately the rest of the night (Black) Petered out. Feel Like A Stranger is an odd choice in the late set, to me. And Lovelight was soaked in political fare, as the band took an opportunity to speak out on the controversial North Carolina HB2 “Bathroom Bill” which put an end to the night. I disapprove of the bill, too—but I struggle to see the worth in spending limited concert minutes discussing such things. As a result, we missed out on an encore.

Still, it couldn’t be denied, the band had become a force--and I was sure to follow.

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Taking the Dead into an introspective space is where you can really get carried away. And fortunately I’ve found an outlet for the unique isolation required to make that whole thing take off…Running. In all seriousness, running is the best drug I’ve ever done. Sure, it’s highly addictive, sometimes can cause injury and interferes with daily life..but the positives far out weigh all that. It’s a most intense form of therapy, a quick way to empty the mind, an extended moment to ponder and seems to be pretty fantastic for the body, too.

Once I started throwing music into the mix, the whole experience grew exponentially. Over the years the Grateful Dead have carried me down more greenways, trails and paths than any other band, except maybe one. And in the past year or so, they’ve at least evened the score with my perennial favorites; DMB. Perhaps even overtaking the guys from Charlottesville. There’s an element to this music that really allows you to find a pace, locking in for a miles and miles. I think it’s the art of a nuanced jam. One that builds but never overpowers. One that glides you into a higher plane rather than catapulting you up there. Here’s some of my favorite songs and moments.

Friend of the Devil

Looking back, the best part of my running saga is that I straight up sucked in the beginning. I was laughed out of baseball for my lack of speed and kicked off of basketball courts for my lack of stamina. And when I first started running on my own, during college, it wasn’t pretty. But when would Friend of the Devil shuffle into my playlist, things always looked up. I’d gallop around a little neighborhood next to my apartment complex and when those first words came through my headphones, a big grin would steal across my face.

I lit out from Reno, I was trailed by twenty hounds Didn’t get to sleep that night TIl the morning came around

It’s one of my earliest running memories. And the song remains a bit of mantra for me, to this day. Reminding me to just get out there…even I don’t feel like it, even if the weather doesn’t look so great, even if I’m too busy…

I set out running, But I take my time

As running morphed into less of a forced exercise and more of an enjoyed hobby, I ramped up the competition in myself and became obsessed with pushing harder. As a rule, I refuse to run officially timed races with my tunes—I think of them as a bit of a performance enhancer. But in training, I listen and look to carve certain lyrics and songs into my mind so that the thought of them lifts me up during difficult portions of a course.

Terrapin Station

During my training for the 2015 Neuse River Bridge Run, I listened to the album, Terrapin Station, almost exclusively. The whole thing is damn near perfect but Estimated Prophet, Samson & Delilah, and Terrapin Station really got me. Terrapin, in particular provided the mantra I repeated over and over in the final miles on that crisp October race day. I even carried a notecard in my pocket during the race with these lyrics written on it...

Some rise, Some fall, Some climb, To get to Terrapin

The thought there being that some folks rise—or get to the top, without much effort. Some fall—the reality being that most of us fall. However, there are some that fall but will still get back up and instead, climb. I’m determined to be a climber. Running isn’t easy for me. Nothing in life has really been all that easy for me, to be honest. But if I fall, I’m not just going to lie down. I set a PR that morning (1:28:05), finished third overall and have Terrapin to thank for a lot of my drive to get there...

Now, my usual training route in downtown New Bern has been set in stone for sometime. It’s right around four and a half miles, incorporates the main road leading to Tryon Palace, leads me to the river and even allows me to cross the Cunningham Drawbridge. And because of my constant tracking on that path, I can basically cover the ground there with my eyes closed. This is wonderful, especially for taking in some of these transcendent tunes. A few that standout and have been staples in my playlists are…

Brown-Eyed Women

I’m not sure what it is about brown eyed women, but they really do get to me—and so does this tune. If I had to pick an emotion within songs that seems to draw me in, I’d have to go with the sense of melancholy. I’m not sure why, but it just seems to strike the right chord in regards to life, for me. There’s always some happiness to be found in a melancholy tune, but that happiness is cloaked in the reality that something unfortunate has happened, or is just around corner. There’s something so real in that..life ain’t all roses. I’m also pretty big on ballads, or story-driven songs. Brown Eyed Women falls into both of those categories. Throw in a hint of Depression-era America, along with a catchy riff and I’m gone.

Sound of the thunder With the rain pouring down And it looks like the old man’s Gettin’ on

Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo

As I’ve continued to travel around the country, the temptation to leave my home in the American South continues to grow, as well. I love it here, but there’s so much more to been seen and immerse myself in. And I like to think that ENC will always be here waiting if I decide otherwise. When this hoedown jam hits, I’m ready to take off!

Hello baby, I’m gone goodbye Half a cup of rock and rye Farewell to you Old southern skies

Peggy-O

Technically a cover, but this an old folk song the Dead made their own. When love songs get complicated, I get interested, and there’s plenty of interpretation to take on this one. I like to think of the jam portion in this one as being a time where you get to sort out the details of the story, however you see fit. Sometimes it changes, sometimes you get lost. Plus, it’s one of many tunes where the brilliance of Jerry Garcia is on full display.

Our captain fell in love With a lady like a dove And he called her by name, Pretty Peggy-O

Throwing Stones

Specifically from the live recording, Wake Up To Find Out, this is an instance of the band hitting on all cylinders, with a celebrated guest in tow. Stones takes a stab at the damaged political climate and the sadden state of world affairs. It’s a big picture, Bobby tune. But that doesn’t mean Jerry is discounted in any way, as he pulls out one of his finest solos. Brent’s piano fills are on point. Phil and the Rhythm Devils keep a nice bounce, as always. And then, Branford Marsalis, the esteemed jazz composer, drops in with a fantastic display, on the sax.

So the kids they dance And shake their bones And the politicians, throwing stones Singing ashes, ashes—all fall down

Finally, I’ll drop a plug for the most hallowed of Dead running spots. Over in Richmond, VA there’s great greenway system that connects, by way of a pedestrian bridge, to a small piece of under-developed land called Belle Isle. You can jaunt around the isle pretty quickly, but what makes it special is an otherwise inconsequential landmark. If you look closely while rounding the bend on the far side, you’ll see a rock out in the river. On it, painted faintly is the “Stealie” logo that Deadheads, as well as, much of the western world will immediately recognize as the band’s main logo. It’s a little spot, but it continues to remind me that running through this great country, as much as possible, is exactly what I need to be doing right now. And it never fails to conjure up these lyrics from Box of Rain, in me.

And it’s just a box of rain I don’t know who put it there Believe it, if you need it Or leave it, if you dare.

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Nothing feels more American than a road trip. It’s easily my favorite pastime and as I’ve said previously, I’m just as much about the journey, as I am the destination. But, as I’ve traversed much of the country with work, I’ve noticed something rather disheartening. For the most part, the folks I see in airports and gas stations are weary travelers. Unhappy to be going somewhere. And while I’m certain that most of the folks I see are leaving children and spouses at home or under levels of stress and responsibility I can’t comprehend, I still don’t get why it seems most people won’t embrace the idea of making the best of what’s around.

When I’m out on the road with the job, I take care of my business—first and foremost. But the very next thing I do is look for a way to enjoy the hell out of my free time. Often, if I’m close to a city or event on my list, I’ll end up putting myself up for the weekend and really get in there.

It’s interesting how sometimes, things just line up when you want them to. So, as I was preparing for a business trip to Lansing, MI, I noticed the Dead were rolling through Central Indiana on Friday of that same week. Seeing that it was only a three hour drive to get down there, I grabbed onto the new adventure at hand.

I wrapped up work in downtown Lansing around 10:30 that morning and away I went, driving through the midwest countryside. It’s such a ridiculously underrated portion of the country. It’s beauty is in its simplicity and sincerity. The people that live there love it and embrace travelers more than anywhere else that I’ve been.

Before too long, I was closing in on Indianapolis and decided to take a quick look at the capital city. After running through the main portion of downtown, I found myself in the Broad Ripple neighborhood, taking in some craft brews and sampling other local fare. Now, stocked up with my essentials, I bid a momentary farewell to our world and prepared to go head first into the Dead’s atmosphere, once again.

This was no ordinary stay with the Dead, as Deer Creek Amphitheater, located out in Noblesville, IN offers a picturesque lay of the land, with multiple campgrounds surrounding the venue. I’d planned ahead and shipped my tent up that way a week prior and came equipped to handle a full afternoon and evening under the stars and immersed in the scene. Set up was easy enough, I pulled right in, found an appropriate spot and got on with it! Before long, I’d befriended my neighbors for the night and took off into the ethereal Indiana breeze.

One thing that’s worth noting is that with travel, especially on your own, you’re gonna make plenty of mistakes. Mostly because no one else is there to check you on questionable decisions. Not learning from my Charlotte ticket issues, I showed up again, without one in hand. It didn’t appear to be much of a problem, as I easily found someone willing to sell an “extra” they had for about $15—what a deal! Unfortunately, as I made my way through the masses up to the gate, I was hit with the unfortunate news that I had been sold a fake. Oh well, I hooked up an old hippie, I guess—people helping people!

Luckily, the situation did little to harsh my vibe, as I quickly headed over to the box office to get a genuine stub. However, the delay in my entrance caused me to yet again, miss the opening song of the show. This time, New Minglewood Blues kicked things off. Not a bad song by any means, but not too painful to drop in at the end of it. Next up was really nice take of Cumberland Blues. Something cool about that song is it’s transformation of the years. The Cumberland from their 1971 Workingman’s Dead album, sounds quite a bit different from the Dead and Company take. And I really think Dead & Co. hits this one out of the park. It’s far superior to the version played during 2015’s Fare Thee Well shows.

I’d found a nice spot on the lawn, about as close as you could get without being in a seat. Surrounded by tapers and veteran Deadheads, folks that have being circuiting the show scene for years. I could tell that one guy in particular was a bit weary of me, a little unsure of my motivations for being there. As the next string of notes started up, he quickly tried to pick up on where the band was heading and called out “He’s Gone”, I felt something just a bit different, looked over at him, grinned and guessed “Ramble on Rose”. Sure enough, it was Ramble and just like that, I’d won him over. Into his circle I went, and the set kept on.

The show was off to a solid start, but at this point it morphed into a really special run for me. With Ramble putting things in place, I was the hit back-to-back by Black-Throated Wind and Althea; two songs that really connect deeply with me. The first, a strong but somber Bobby tune that hits too close to home at times. And then, Althea, another one of those melancholic tunes that uses a fun riff to mask its sadness. Furthermore, Althea was the tune that initially hooked Mayer on the Dead, so it was pretty sweet to see him go off on that one. Running symmetrically to the Greensboro show, the first set closed with Sailor>>Saint. But I was taken, once again by the songs slotted just before.

I don’t really remember much about the set break except that I found a new spot in the lawn, a bit higher up. And after while, we were off setting sail, again. Folks had been anticipating a Dark Star for quite awhile and the Deer Creek crowd was graced with a deeply-rooted twenty-minute trip into the depths of that one. The strong open that set the tone for rest of the night. Next a cover of Dylan’s A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall came through the gates. And while not a great take--in my opinion, I like the song and the sentiment, a whole lot. In the third slot, He’s Gone actually did make an appearance. I’m certain to the chagrin of my “first-set shot caller”. By the way, I’ll take a He’s Gone at every show, with a big smile. Finishing up, Gone jumped fiercely into New Speedway Boogie, which absolutely lit the place on fire. With no time to slow down, except to mention that you really oughta check out Courtney Barnett’s cover of Speedway; the band transitioned into a sprawling St. Stephen. Okay look, I promise it’s not just because of the name, but it doesn’t hurt. But seriously, this one has a permanent spot in my list of top songs, all-time. The sounds, the story, and the aura of it all—it’s just a perfect song. And I was overwhelmed.

Thankfully, after taking in such a powerful one, the band dropped into Drums>>Space. It’s such a good moment in the show to gather your thoughts and then scramble them up again, for the stretch run. And while the Charlotte show, earlier in the summer, faltered towards the end, this one kept on humming. Looks Like Rain is another heartbreaker from Bobby, and man, he was all-in on it, this night. He really gave everything he had to the songs and then some. Finally, closing out the set was a celebratory Going Down The Road Feeling Bad, complete with a spot on vocals for bassist, Oteil Burbridge.

The crowd kept on, and the guys came back out and nailed Black Muddy River in the encore. There couldn’t have been a dry eye in the house, as Mayer lead us all through the last song Jerry sang before his untimely death over 20 years ago. The show was over but my night had just begun.

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The tired trope of being born a generation or two late seems to be an all too common complaint of this age. So, to close out my summer with the Dead, I’d like to take a moment to reflect on a journey that I couldn’t have made in any summer other than Our Year of the Lord, 2016.

The evolution of a Couch Tour is still something that I don’t think most people have fully realized. With dedicated tapers and the proper channels, a show can be streamed anywhere across the world. Filling up any living room, back porch or bedroom that wishes to be with the sound. So, on numerous occasions this past summer, I stumbled into amazing moments and noteworthy sets, all while soaking in the comforts of home, surrounded by friends and most importantly- cheaper, better beer.

Bonnaroo kicked off Couch Tour ’16 and the setup set the bar for the rest of the summer. On a unusually cool June evening, sandwiched between my Carolina and Indiana shows, the Dead played a festival set and everything about it took shape fast. With little planning, Hunter came over and a wall of sound was quickly created on my back patio, complete with live video and a very miniature, albeit perfectly heady, Shakedown. In all, Bird Song & Tennessee Jed stood out as the show stoppers. Along with that, the stream through in a nice behind the scenes look at Bonnaroo through the years. While it might seem like a night that’s simple enough, as most couch tour experience probably appear, it’s still a memory I return that feels just as real and important as the shows I actually got out to.

Speaking of that, The Gorge is a bucket list, destination venue I’ve yet to get out to. Located way out in Washington state, relatively close to Seattle, it’s often referred to as heaven’s amphitheater. As its name suggests, the stage is situated right in front a jaw-dropping river valley gorge. And its isolated location invites guests to stay awhile, camp out and enjoy everything this uniquely scenic slice of the country has to offer. And due in large part to the aura surrounding this venue, many bands recognize it as a spot where an added inexplicable mystique finds its way into the music.

With this broad scale feel of the Gorge in mind, Couch Tour ‘16 then took a more personal turn. Again and again I return to the memory that music is what set off my friendship with Jim. Although we’ve shared common ground on a lot of other things; these tours, these trips and the bands we listen to made us friends further down the road that I think we otherwise would have been. But unfortunately, this summer wasn’t kind to our usual tour plans. For the first time in awhile, Jim couldn’t catch a show and it was obvious from the start that something was different. Over the past decade, we’ve seen some really good shit. So to experience a whopping summer like this one, sans Jim, felt really odd. Fortunately, things finally lined up for a virtual evening at the Gorge. We tuned in, later than usual with that west coast time zone playing in and fell into an extraordinary show that caught fire and spread. Brown Eyed Women and Eyes of the World touched perfection and the late July evening put a nice bow on a strong summer, or so I thought.

If it wasn’t already enough, Couch Tour caught an extension, all the way into October. After a night of friends and tacos, a light sparked. Phish, playing in Nashville that evening, pushed us on. Scrambling to pick up a link, Lydia and I settled in out on the screen porch and dropped into the second set of a show that will go down in jamband lore

Right as our stream took hold, Bob Weir strolled out on stage. And while our excitement was fever pitch, the possibilities still seemed a bit limited…Probably a one-off Dead tune, most likely a staple and then back out for a Bobby-less hour to close. But a familiar drum pattern kicked things off and soon it was clear that this was more than a hastily thrown together guest appearance. The band broke into Samson & Delilah, with Bobby on lead vocals and the place went berserk. From there, the ebb and flow on the night feels limited by words, but I’ll try.

As Samson closed, I was overjoyed. It brought together Phish and the Dead even moreso than Fare Thee Well. This was a reaching back across, a sincere acknowledgement from Bob, a show of respect from Phish..and still only just the beginning of a full embrace.

At this point, without the benefit of a video stream, we couldn’t tell if Bobby had left the stage after Samson, but of course, we assumed he must. Trey was leading the band into an original of theirs, Twist. Surely, Bob wouldn’t stick around to play on a Phish tune. But suddenly, his rhythm guitar came through the box, clear as day. A perfect song for Bobby to shine on and what had to be a surreal moment for Phish--to play their own tune with a living legend, in tow.

In all, it was a perfectly planned guest spot. A nice nod both ways, and now certainly, most definitely, the end—all we could ask for—but the music wouldn't stop! Next, a touching take on Phish’s Miss You with Bob singing Trey’s lyrics. Then back to the Dead with West L.A. and a very meta and appropriate, Playing in the Band. Finally a Quinn the Eskimo encore to shut things down.

In all, six songs and a run that will be discussed, dissected and listened to for always. Another fleeting moment where luckily the Couch Tour grabbed us and wouldn’t let go. And it seems things keep stringing together in such a way, here lately. As it is, I’m more than obliged to ride this train on out.

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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For Paul

Turn right off 10th Street in Greenville, NC and you’ll find hundreds of rooms, one after another, all the same. Uniform and predictable, over and over again. Keep straight and head towards the back. Walk up a couple flights and head towards that window looking into the woods. You’ll find a kid back there with no one to blame but himself.

I really thought I was doing the right thing. Picked a major and ran with it. Studied reasonably hard and pushed through those tougher courses. Found an internship and stuck myself in an office through a beautiful summer. I had a life that was panning out and it looked pretty good. So why couldn’t I shake the unhappiness? Something about it all felt so wrong. Life was passing me by and I was just going to let it keep going. I like to think I held it together pretty well, but I was lonely as hell. Sad and uncertain about of everything.

Most days I stayed in that room, looking at the woods. Tried to knock out another assignment, watched another re-run, listened to the same songs. Every now and then a thought of change would come, but normally it was just a passerby. Nothing left an impression on me and I hated the normalcy my life had become.

On a night like all the others; alone up there again, I heard a knock on my door. My roommate and a good friend of mine, had come bearing gifts. Many more than I knew; a few beers and an easy conversation. In catching up, we realized how long it’d been since we’d really chatted. Always quick to throw around ideas, stories, and music, we got to talking about an old song I’d heard during the past weekend that seemed to have awoken at least a little bit of happiness in me. A man walks down the street He says why am I soft in the middle now Why am I soft in the middle The rest of my life is so hard I need a photo-opportunity I want a shot at redemption

Looking back, the fact that those blasting synth lines in “You Can Call Me Al” were the sounds that finally jarred my sedentary life off the tracks could not be more fitting. It was almost too much for me at the time. I knew it was good but it was way too joyful for me in that moment. But by mentioning it, I’d opened a file in my buddy’s mind…Being slightly more aware of Simon’s discography, Miller recommended the tune “Late in the Evening” to me. The first song of Paul’s that I fell completely into.

Well I guess I’d been in love before Once or twice I’ve been on the floor But I never loved no one The way that I loved you And it was late in the evening And all the music seeping through

First thing I remember was the gray had lifted and things had changed. I woke up the next morning better for it. Uncertain still, but not the same path I’d been on. Soon after, “Me & Julio” fell into my lap and I was off and running, literally.

Well I’m on my way I don’t know where I’m going I’m on my way, I’m taking my time But I don’t know where

I’d tried a couple times during college to find some sort of exercise to supplement the sports I’d played in high school but to no avail. Intramurals were great, but didn’t provide the structure of practice. Lifting seemed simple enough but I couldn’t find my way in the weight room. And finally, running intimidated the hell out of me—always the slowest on my teams growing up and never confident in my form..I’d always shied away from the trails. But something about these tunes begged to be listened to outside. My dark little room couldn’t hold them any longer.

These core three stayed with me through the fall but as the days got colder, I felt them slipping just a bit. I was scared as those months passed, and that same uncertainty still lingered. So winter came. Holed up again, this time I needed peace of mind more so than joy. And so, Paul took me back to his days with Artie and saved me again.

Simon & Garfunkel have to be heard in a strange space. Soaked in melancholy, but stained with hope. Their songs can change your entire outlook on a situation with no more than whisper. “The Boxer” fought with me through the close of that semester.

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of every glove that laid him down And cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame, “I am leaving, I am leaving” But the fighter still remains

And “Homeward Bound” shone a light on New Bern and the coming Christmas Break.

And every stranger’s face I see Reminds me that I long to be, Homeward bound.. I wish I was, homeward bound

Finally “Leaves That Are Green” caused to me completely abandon my concerns of time passing me by. I was entrenched now in the gospel of Paul.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song Twenty-three now but I won’t be for long Time hurries on And the leaves that are green, turn to brown

Months later, I was running through Brook Valley, now on beautiful a spring morning. Happier than I’d known, blasting the “The Obvious Child” when the weight of that song hit me. I took off in dead sprint, a true runners high, actually even more.

Well, I’ve been waking up at sunrise I’ve been following the light across my room I watch the night receive the room of my day Some people say the sky is just the sky But I say, “Why deny the obvious child?” It felt crazy, some sort of an out of body experience. I wasn’t me, or I wasn’t who I thought I was. I saw my life up and down, days passed and days coming. It wasn’t all pretty, in fact it scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t what I wanted but I noticed that even still, I was okay. Better than okay, actually. I had been searching and now finally found the strongest foothold of spirituality I ever needed..Life and death, it was all fine by me thanks to that song.

But when a song like “Cecilia” begins to carry some weight in your life, you know you’re in trouble..

Cecilia, You’re breaking my heart You’re shaking my confidence daily

And although I tried like hell to push those parallels out of my mind, eventually they rang far too true. But through it, Paul’s cleverness, humor and honesty pulled me to the light. “She Moves On” is another stunner that still sends shivers…

Then I fall to my knees Shake a rattle at the skies And I’m afraid that I’ll be taken Abandoned and forsaken In her cold coffee eyes

In the culmination of heartbreak, I came to a crossroads that is as dear to me as any other. “Fifty Ways To Leave Your Lover” was gripping and yet, hilariously perfect for me. I loved it so much and would play it on repeat anywhere and everywhere for days on end. Once, I was blasting it in my parents home when my mom was struck by the memory of her father; my grandfather, having a similar infatuation with “50 Ways”. He passed away without us ever sharing common ground in the world of music and so to find myself engrossed in that infectious drum beat and those quirky lines just the same as he once was, made that song mean much, much more.

“The problem is all inside your head”, she said to me “The answer is easy, if you take it logically I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free There must be, fifty ways to leave your lover.”

It seems at times that things fall apart but look again and they may have fallen right into place. As these memories and moments swirled together, a tour was being planned. One that intertwined Paul with one of mom’s favorite artists; Sting. So, with little hesitation, her and I set off to catch them and ended up in D.C. for an unforgettable show. A perfect back and forth of hits between the two, capped off by the cornerstones of their life’s work. And now every time I’m in Chinatown, I walk past Verizon Center and soak in everything from that night.

Now I would not give you false hope On this strange and mournful day But the Mother and Child Reunion Is only a motion away

Still, I was looking for something more and soon I set off for somewhere new. I thought it’d do me some good to get away from everything for awhile so I took a chance and followed my work to Austin, TX. In looking back, the best part may have been the time alone in the car on that drive down. I saw so many things I’d never seen before and had uninterrupted thoughts for hour upon hour. Many of Paul’s words still ringing true.

“Kathy, I’m lost,” I said, though I knew she was sleeping “I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why” Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike They’ve all come to look for America

Eventually, I knew that coming home would be the necessary move during these years of instability. I wanted to be around; to see friends, to be with family, and yet still I needed an outlet to continue these adventures.

I’ve been working on my rewrite, that’s right I’m gonna change the ending Throw away the title And toss it in the trash

And since I’ve gotten back, my job has taken me on a whirlwind all across the country that has been so damn life affirming and caused me quite often to consider just how lucky I am. And it’s nice to know that through the ebb and flow of life that Paul’s music and words can always be found, no matter the challenge or celebration placed on my path. For Paul, the music and more importantly the inspiration radiating off his tunes has never stopped. This summer he released what appears to be his final piece and the world is so much better for the six decades of transcendence he gave.

Everyday I’m grateful And that’s the gist of it Now you may call that A bogus, bullshit, new age point of view

Thank you Paul for so, so much.

#paulsimon

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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Run The Country-South Carolina

I was sitting at a rooftop bar in Isle of Palms when I saw her. A tall, blonde sipping on an almost empty margarita and tapping along to the house band. It’s a pretty common start to a chain of events that went really, really sideways and ended with me in the middle of 40,000 people, masquerading as a 40 year old man from Charleston.

I was nervous as hell but it seemed like now or never, so I walked over to her. We chatted for a bit, her name was a Colleen; an avid traveler, a beach lover and a fan of good music. We hit it off..unfortunately on my last night in town.

But then Colleen really caught my attention when she mentioned that she was all signed up for the monumental Cooper River Bridge Run, on tap for that weekend. I was impressed and talked up the event a bit more when her concerns came out—she didn’t think she was prepared for it, at all. “Nonsense”, I assured her and continued further into my infatuation as the evening rolled along. After some time we parted ways but left with a promise that the next afternoon, we’d meet back in Downtown Charleston for a beer or two before I made my way on home.

After work that Friday, I stepped into the Blind Tiger right off King Street and found her quickly. Soon, we’d picked right up where we left off the night before, when suddenly it spilled out again..Her uneasiness about the race was really wearing on her. And so, in offering up as much encouragement as I could, I blurted out how much I’d love to run in the race one day.

Without realizing what my words had done, her eyes lit up, and she begged me to use her race bib to take part in the fifth largest road race in the country. I was stunned and now slightly uneasy myself, unsure of how to respond. Sure, the thought of running the race sounded incredible, but the logistics were fuzzy. I had a half-marathon on the horizon that I’d spent most of my winter and spring training for. More importantly, I was pretty unfamiliar with my surroundings and even worse, didn’t have a place to stay.

Colleen took care of all that, showed me around the city and clued me into some of the lesser-known local haunts. Unsurprisingly, in a place like Charleston, we balled late into the evening when suddenly, it hit me..there was a race to be run in a handful of hours. In fact, there was a bus to be caught in just a couple that would cart me up and over the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge into Mt. Pleasant, where the race’s starting line was marked and ready to go.

So after a quick nap, I wandered into the darkness alone, searching for an old school bus when finally I saw the hoards of people surrounding it. Slowly but surely, we all filed on. Many with headphones, coffee cups, and energy bars. And then, me…disheveled hair, dirty running gear, untied shoes..reeking of fresh alcohol…still fairly drunk. Due to the traffic setup for the race, it took us nearly an hour to get over on the right side of the bridge, a miserable beginning to the start of a long morning.

That’s when the hangover started to creep in. And so I stumbled off the shuttle and fell into the nearest Starbucks. I love Starbucks because it is a haven for middle-class bums and nomads (me). There’s a bathroom—I ran in there and took a life-changing bird bath. There’s food and drink—I got a banana and took an Iced Coffee straight to the face. And there are charging stations along with free wifi—Hey Mom, I’m alive! After half an hour in there I came out in the zone. I marched up to the start, ready to go, when I found out I wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

40,000 runners is a whole lot of runners, and for some reason that hadn’t really hit me. I’d never been a part of a race that big and never questioned the setup being any different than any other one I’d been in. But to handle such a crowd, participants were required to pre-register with estimated finish times. Based off of these times, participants would be placed into separate corrals to keep things structured and organized. Their idea was fool-proof..in the middle of each individual’s race bib, there was a large letter representing the corral you belonged to. Now remember, that according to my bib, I was walking around as a 23 year old female who hadn’t trained for the event. And so, Colleen had estimated her time in a way that placed her squarely in the Run/Walk portion of the event, in the very, very back.

Remaining calm, I slipped into a corral that fell more in line with my speed when suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. Unfortunately, the hand belonged to a rather large and stoic police officer, who quickly removed me from the incorrect corral and brought me over to the side. With my arms folded carefully over the name on my bib, I pleaded ignorance and offered up the excuse that I’d simply entered the wrong finish time, on accident. But with no time to waste, he barely acknowledged my plea and walked along with me to the Run/Walk corral.

I was dejected, embarrassed and starting to feel the effects of the night before settling back in, when my luck turned. A young mother pushing a stroller with a newborn was making her way into the corral. Following close behind was a proud father, beaming with excitement and more importantly, rocking a different bib from the rest of us in the Run/Walk group. Apparently, they allow exceptions on corral changes when you want to walk alongside your wife and newborn—go figure. Seeing one last chance, I chatted the parents up for a bit before I told the guy a little of my situation. He quickly saw where I was headed and offered a bib switch. I pinned on his bib and passed mine over, gave a quick thanks and was already on my way when I heard him call out..”Have a good one!!…Colleen???” It was too late, I’d vanished and made my way into the crowd.

As for the run, it was spectacular despite a lackluster personal performance. Seeing the bridge shut down to only foot traffic was wild. Live music at every turn kept me going throughout. And the last two miles of the race was a picturesque sprint straight through the heart of downtown Charleston. It really doesn’t get much better than that.

#runthecountry

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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Run The Country-Virginia

I’m gonna go ahead and get this out of the way..and get a lot of heat for it too..Virginia is a better version of North Carolina. And it might even be my favorite state..

Beaches, cities, mountains. Proximity and size. Slightly less stuck in their ways. Slightly more come as you are. I love it..and to top it off, there’s a lot of great running to do around the state..Shoutout to C’ville, Lynchburg and Colonial Williamsburg for providing some crazy tough competition.

But my ultimate tiebreaker is if a trail holds unique and memorable moments; and Belle’s Isle in Richmond does just that. Not only is it the trail I’ve hit the most of in VA; it’s the one I’ve hit from all sides, in all seasons, and with all sorts of shit going on in my head. I’ve made big life decisions on this trail, fought through some tough times, celebrated some huge accomplishments, spaced out under the canopy of trees and rolled right alongside the Mighty James many, many times.

Once in particular, I was shooting up I-95 towards Maryland for an extended work project. And as usual on this bi-weekly drive, I planned to break the six-hour commute up with a quick trip around Belle’s. It’s an extremely popular spot in RVA that carries historical significance, downtown access and stunning river views. So needless to say, most of the time it’s packed out over on the Isle. However, on a bitter-cold winter afternoon, just a few days after a snow storm, I found the usually bustling parking lot across the river to be completely barren. Enjoying this stroke of good luck, I took off across the pedestrian bridge to a beautiful sight—an entire island to myself.

Seeing a summer hangout untouched for the day and a trail shadowed and still covered in snow was something wonderful to behold. I carefully made my way around the loop and stopped just for a moment at Dead Rock, an area setup as a small tribute to the music of the Grateful Dead. So much of my running goes hand in hand with music and so this portion of the trail obviously holds some serious weight for me.

And after all these good vibes wash over me on Belle’s, I oftentimes find myself settling in at one of the many solid breweries in town. On this wintry afternoon, it just happened to be Isley’s. It’s an up and comer tucked away in Scott’s Addition just outside of the Fan but it really hits all the high points for me. And offers an awesome selection of beer styles, including some that I usually shy away from, otherwise.

And so, the whole experience of Richmond is what props Belle’s to that top spot for me. I think the city hits me so hard because it actually reminds me a lot of myself. Not flashy, but consistent. Full of character that doesn’t always surface so easily. I am a rock, I am an island.

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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Run The Country-Arizona & Nevada

I had to work in Vegas during the summer of 2015 and I hated the city so much that as soon as wrapped up my responsibilities out there, I rented a car and got the hell away. I wasn’t completely sure what I was going to do, or even where I was going to sleep that night, but I took off.

Hoover Dam was about an hour away and sounded perfect. It was right on the state line and seemed to be worth it considering the perfect summer weather and my afternoon of freedom. But by lunchtime, I had already reached the Engineering Wonder and marveled at its strength and size, over and again.

And so, the Dam only served to spark my adventurous spirit, rather than quench it. After taking a quick look at a state map, I realized I was already heading in the direction of the Grand Canyon. Sure, it was at least three more hours of driving (one way)..and I had to be back in Vegas by 7:00 AM for a flight home the next morning. But even with that, the window of opportunity had been cracked just enough.

I’m cheesy as hell and definitely subscribe to the “it’s the journey, not the destination” bs and so my drive down Route 66 gave me all kinds of goosebumps way before I reached that big ol’ hole in the ground. I cruised through tiny town after town while singing along to Born & Raised and Paradise Valley; two albums from Mayer that served as a perfect soundtrack for those open roads out west. The landscape out that way really is something hard to put into words. The vast stretches of open desert, coupled rows of towering peaks can make a human feel pretty inadequate.

Now, besides the semi-long drive, actually getting to the canyon is ridiculously easy..almost too easy. The main village, just south of the canyon, provides refuge, parking and transportation for visitors. And the main-line bus that loops between the town and the hole comes around every 30 minutes. So getting to the rim almost felt anti-climatic. I stepped off the shuttle, and boom; there it was. But the fun started once I began climbing out and over, and on down into the depths. And once I got off the beaten path, I started passing so many interesting people where conversations ensued over and again.

Admittedly, I let some of these talks linger, and before too long I realized I’d been sitting with a photographer for a couple hours, and it was starting to get dark; like really dark. I’d wandered a couple of miles into the park and I was just a little unsure about what kind of wildlife encounters I might find on my trek back. And so, as soon as I got back to the main trail, I set out running; hard. I remember the stars shining brighter than I’d ever seen and the moon touching the corners of the canyon across the way. In total, I traversed about 10 miles on foot that day. But that impromptu, late night two and a half mile sprint on the South Rim is one of those things that’ll stick around inside me for always.

Now, despite not really jiving with Sin City, I had to go back out there for work just a couple weeks later. And this time, I decided to take a completely different approach. Rather than complain about the debauchery, I was just going to send the saintly side of my soul on its way and embrace that shit.

So I got real weird out there. Saw the Cirque Beatles spaced out of my mind, had a lengthy run-in with a lady of the night…seriously…I’m embarrassed by how long I let our evening go on before I realized why she was digging on me so hard. Threw some money on the Panthers winning the Super Bowl (so close!). Hung out at the blackjack tables for no more than five minutes before getting my feelings hurt. And I saw Britney—one of the greatest spectacle shows I’ve been to. And lousy with twenty-somethings belting out “Lucky”.

48 straight hours in town, with eight hour work days thrown in there too. So when I woke up on the third morning, I decided the madness had to stop and it was time to go back to being Steve.

I’ve crafted the perfect hangover cure, although I don’t always listen to my own advice. But it goes a little something like this..no matter how utterly unfathomable the pain is; step out of bed the second your eyes open..chug a glass water..eat some bread..drink some coffee..take a shower and...go run. I know it sounds crazy, but whenever I push myself to go through with it, it works like a charm.

Fortunately, on this morning, I made it happen and was presented with one of the oddest dystopias you’ll find on our planet…The Early Morning Vegas Strip. It is so very grey. The neon signs that shine bright in the night look tired and worn in the early sun. The sidewalks, now wide open, are shown covered in filth. But interestingly enough, there’s something endearing about it to me. People from all over come here for their idea of a good time. And dammit, they get after it..every single night. It never stops, except in those faint few hours when the sun starts to rise. And just when I’d gone far enough to escape the clutches of Caesar, Bellagio and the rest, those desert mountains shot back up into view and I found myself feeling alright about being somewhere in between the two.

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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Run The Country-North Carolina

I’m going to kick things off in my home state, with what is sure to be an upset in the minds of some people. But with the connection of The Green Mill & South Tar Greenways bridged by ECU’s picturesque main campus, Greenville lays claim as my top running spot in NC.

From a sight seeing standpoint, the trail has a little bit of everything. Simple, southern neighborhoods flank the route with smooth, straight sidewalks. From there, the easily accessible greenways wind through a thick row of greenery on one side, while often offering elevated glimpses of the Tar River on the other. A peacefulness always hits me in the depths of this trail. Less than a 100 yards after entering the trail, you might as well be 100 miles away from the bustling roads of 5th & 10th Street.

Even more so, for whatever reason, the active community in Greenville just gets it. Everyone, including kids and pets seem to know their place.

Walkers walk without entitlement. And they really are the cog that makes this greenway system work. Whether right or wrong, by being the slowest on the trail, walkers are charged with being the most cognizant of their surroundings, and fortunately, these folks have gotten that memo.

Bikers, the speediest folks in the community are equally patient, aware, and alerting. By that, I mean, that they are the first to ring a bell, speak up as they come around “on the left” and are quick to pass by with a wave or a smile. Seriously, for anyone that regularly hits the trails, you realize what an odd utopia this actually is.

And finally, the other runners…Graceful, humble and quick on their feet. Multiple times I’ve seen runners slow down and lend a helping hand. Folks of all skills levels can be found out here training, cruising or chatting with a partner as they push through the eight mile loop.

From a nostalgic side, this trail holds one of my favorite memories. On an otherwise slow weekend in Greenville, a number of my friends had stuck around town. For whatever reason, on Saturday we all rose pretty early for our college-day standards. And with little else planned on a gorgeous spring morning, I carted everyone over to my favorite starting spot; Green Springs Park—right off 5th Street. Soon enough, each of us had set out in our own direction for a jaunt. And as I rounded the corner back into the park to finish my loop, I saw the most beautiful thing. Everyone else had made it back, too. There was a football being tossed, there was laughter from everyone and the sun was out, over us all.

I don’t think that group of people has spent a single second all-together since, but at that moment, things were perfect in my eyes. And now, every time I round that same corner, I’m overcome with that moment and the joy those folks and that trail brought to my time at East Carolina.

#run runthecountry greenville ecu

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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Run The Country

For the last few years, I’ve been able to see more of America than I could ever imagine. And for the past five years, I’ve been running--which is equally hard to imagine on it’s own. As the miles started to pile up, I quickly realized that my travels were keeping the sport fresh, fun and ever changing. While the sport opened up door after door on otherwise lonesome roads. Trails and paths, twists and turns, landscapes, wildlife and people…it all rolls into one. At a certain point, I knew what I had to do…Run in all 50 states and write about it all, because there’s so many stories to tell.

So here’s a quick rundown of the project. First off, I’m defining a run as, at the very least, 2 miles/20 minutes of ground covered in a single session (note, not necessarily two miles traveled in a single state)—this caveat only applies for one particular session, but it is important.

And as far as this report goes, I will try my best to select my favorite run from each state, but more than likely it will simply be the best story surrounding a run. Most of the time, I think that’ll be mutually exclusive. And certain states will have the illustrious distinction of garnering multiple picks—looking at you Texas :)

Starting with North Carolina, I’ll try to drop a new state each day.

#runthecountry

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stevegilgo · 9 years ago

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Slip Into My Kicks- “Some Gentle People There”

Before I ever set foot in The City, I caught the vibe that reverbs throughout.

A couple days before an impossible and impromptu trip to San Francisco, I reached out to an old friend living in the Bay Area. And when I say old friend, I’m not speaking of a deep rooted, long and winding friendship that’s grown stronger and stronger through the years. I mean, truly, an old friend. A sweet girl from my childhood, who made an impression early and never lost the personality and beauty she still carries today. But through distance and circumstances, Hannah had become an old friend, of whom I hadn’t spoken to in years.

Still, I wrote her one evening, a mere 48 hours before I set out on one hell of an adventure. I was looking for a little guidance; some restaurant recommendations and a starting point for my journey. Instead, what I got was one of the most generous and thoughtful gestures imaginable. She handed me the keys to her home. She let me stay in the heart of one of most beautiful cities in the world. And she never hesitated or wavered, and even more astounding, neither did her roommates—complete strangers to me. They welcomed me in and let me crash in their apartment. Just that on its own had me daydreaming on my flight out of Las Vegas about what kind of city would be waiting for me on the other side, if these were the type of people who inhabited it.

And as I flew over the bay and touched down at SFO, I quickly realized I was in for much, much more. Whether on the streets, in the parks, or over in the airport terminal, one word took permanent residence in my head as I noticed the people all around..this place was dynamic. These humans were moving and thinking, planning and processing information…rapidly. An incredibly intense experience in the first few moments and then an absolutely unbelievable situation to become a part of.

My first encounter was with a tall, slender, German woman; a bio-medical engineer from Cornell, in town for a national convention. Her job description was way over my head. But fortunately, she was having some serious issues with the public transportation ticket dispenser; fighting the same fight I’d just vanquished, moments before. Seeing an “in”, I happily guided her through the madness of the machine and soon made a fast friend. And as simple as it sounds, it was such an important moment of realization for me. How many “bio-medical engineers” had I met in the past that I’d simply been too intimidated to dive into conversation with? Had I known sooner that brilliant, beautiful, bio-med students also struggled with automated tellers, I’d probably be much further down the road with my life.

Soon enough, I reached my stop and the true exploration began. I’ll pause here to remind you that this was Day 10 of a two-week business trip for me. With limited luggage, I was quickly running out of clothes. And although my fashion choices are usually the least of importance to me, here, they became key. At the bottom of my beaten and bludgeoned suitcase, laid my last clean shirt—a pristine, yet very loud Panthers jersey. I hesitated, as a shirt strictly reserved for game days in the Carolinas seemed so out of place for an afternoon of wandering around on the West Coast. Still, it was my only option and so begrudgingly, I popped it on and strolled into the Ferry Building.

Almost immediately, my sixth sense for scoping out bottle shops kicked in. I easily found a spot at a bar filled with countless California craft brews; surrounded by a plethora of shops and stores offering fresh produce, local wines, and creatively infused olive oils (i.e. - My Happy Place). I’d only just settled onto my bar stool when I felt a tap on my shoulder. A mid-30’s blonde from Charlotte had spotted the black and blue jersey I’d been so slow to wear. Within minutes, a shift-change behind the bar pushed our “Carolina Conversation” even further, as our new keep introduced herself as being from Rocky Mount, NC. The three of us continued on through the afternoon, enjoying each other’s stories of home and the road west, along with some hoppy treats and a bit of Giants baseball on the TV behind us. So many people are quick to write off or question the importance of sports in our society. And at face value, maybe I can see their point. But a deeper look shows that sports bring us together, shows where we are from, and can make for a fantastic backdrop on a sunny afternoon in the bay.

I’m not afraid to walk, run or crawl to a destination I see fit to explore. So, with my thirst quenched, I set out for a structure that stood above the rest of the city. Just a few miles away, Coit Tower loomed, looking down on panoramic views of skyscrapers and bridges. Up I went, stair after stair, switchback after switchback, until finally I made it into an atypical, cloudless, San Fran sky. And it was a perfect way to close the afternoon, soaking in the entire Bay Area.

Now with my temporary fix of the sights and sounds, I trekked up Jackson Street for a much needed reunion and awesome evening with Hannah and friends. So, we quickly caught up and set out for a taste of the local fare. A pit stop at the Rogue Brewing Tap Room kicked the night off with a bang and soon enough, Tacolicious had my rambling taco heart racing and my weekly margarita prescription filled.

As the night came to a close, I readied myself for the coming morning. I methodically mapped out a leisurely little run to start the day. It would be a simple and efficient way to swing by Lombard Street and experience Fisherman’s Wharf without having to waste much time at either spot. But ultimately, this run was for one reason and one reason, alone. I would finish over in Ghirardelli Square, where a mid-morning Irish coffee would be waiting for me. However, the running gods had other plans for me.

Just as I began to smell the chocolatey air, and my pace began to slow, a middle-aged man came running up just behind; and in a brash, and unmistakably Yankee accent, yelled out to me; “Don’t Stop!” So while continuing on, I quickly began to chat him up and learned that his morning route consisted of many more miles than my own. With an Ultra-Marathon coming up on his race calendar, he had no choice but to keep moving, yet he was in need of some extra motivation to continue on. See, he was headed all the way through Crissy Field, to foot of The Golden Gate Bridge. And when he reached out and explained that he was in need of some help to push through, I couldn’t resist joining him. Now, normally, I should carry a sign that says “Doesn’t Run Well With Others” but on this particular morning, I was more than happy to cruise along through the park with someone at my side. I really believe that running opens you up like nothing else and it’s so bizarre how a half an hour of conversation on the trails can quickly turn into one heck of revelation about life. And in the end, the view was well worth the sore legs I carried over the next few days.

Thus far, I’ve neglected to mention one of the driving forces, besides my own desire, to get out to San Francisco. A buddy of mine from college set his sights on the left coast immediately after graduation and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get out there to see him, ever since. Harris lives right over in Santa Clara and is originally from the area, so I was pretty lucky to meet up with a friend and get a free tour guide, all in one.

First Stop on the Harry Grizz Tour included a couple of usual suspects over in the South Beach area..21st Amendment Brewing Company and a Giants game at AT&T Park. The takeaway from here is, “Don’t Mess with a Good Thing”. I love beer and baseball, and this was next level. 21st is the prime-time pregame spot in town and it was filled to the brim with fans from all over. It’s a short walk from their porch to the front gates of AT&T, and once inside there is no doubt that you’re in the middle of a modern-day baseball cathedral. It’s loaded with anything and everything you could possibly hope to see and do in a nine inning frame. Awesome sight lines, fine food and drink, not to mention the ridiculousness of looking down at the hoards of kayaking fans, paddling around McCovey Cove. This place ekes out the top spot for best in the Bigs, just above the classic jewel that is Busch Stadium, back east in St. Louis.

After witnessing a Marlon Byrd Grand Slam and a Kelby Tomlinson Walk-Off, we trudged back up to North Beach for a night out on the town with two Mid-West transplants we had the pleasure of meeting earlier that day. The eclectic bars around this area offer up a wide and entertaining brand of nightlife that is hard to compare to anywhere else in the country. (Go look up Kozy Kar and prepare to laugh your ass off)

Trying hard to shake off the night before, Harry and I got out of the city in a hurry on Saturday morning and wound up in a little village just on the other side of Golden Gate, called Sausalito. There, I was treated to a super-sized brunch that set the tone for the rest of the day. With a renewed step and some caffeinated motivation, we dove into my favorite portion of the trip; a nice little hike through the California Redwoods. The foggy morning gave way to just the right amount of sun as we slowly made our way to the top and succeeded in getting lost in the forest, if only for a brief moment. It’s nearly impossible to relay the power you feel from those trees without reaching out and hugging one, yourself.

And if stumbling through the forest wasn’t enough, a short drive from there brought us out onto the sands of Baker Beach, offering up an awesome view from the backside of Golden Gate with easy access to the Pacific. And despite the 60 degree water temperature, I couldn’t resist diving into only the 2nd ocean I’ve ever seen. Refreshing to say the least, and really not bad at all after a few seconds of shivering.

The next morning, as I crawled into an airport-bound shuttle at 3:00 AM with my sights set east, I carried with me all those people I bumped into in the Bay. Folks always speak about the importance of finding yourself, but in San Francisco, it’s taken even further. There instead, once found, you see yourself in others.

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Race Around Your Mind

Finally, the sun had risen in full. The field was sparse, now. The split, passed. The pace, quickening. The time seemed right to open up. The moment that months and months of training, early Friday nights and even earlier Saturday mornings had prepared me for was here. And then, like a tiny pebble slipped innocuously into a spinning clock gear, everything froze. My body seized and went cold. I’d felt this before and I’d run as far away from it as I could. For weeks, I pushed the thought of it to the back of my mind. It wouldn’t happen on race day. It couldn’t. But it did.

And as Forrest Gump says, “Just like that, my running days was over.” Except they weren’t. Not yet. 10 miles stood in front of me. A daunting task even with full health. An insurmountable path when coupled with an injury. Tears welling up as each step produced that familiar sensation of defeat. A pebble in a clock gear, with each stride. A knife, prying that little stone out with each footstep on the trail.

I knew what this meant. This operation would be shut down. I’d have to change. I’d have to adapt. But the withdrawals would set in. Strands of depression would slowly seep into my mind during the coming the weeks. The daily release of dark thoughts my mind had grown accustomed to was over. My body’s constant thirst for the trails would never be parched. My personal therapy sessions, cancelled indefinitely. Alone with my thoughts for nearly a month.

So here’s what I thought, observed and learned from the starting line through the hiatus…

1. Next time, if there’s not a foil blanket waiting for me at the finish line, heads are rolling.

2. If anyone ever yells “Good job, great form!” at me while I’m peg legging my way through it all again, I will roundhouse kick them to the face with my good leg.

3. Now that I’ve got the anger out of my system…M&M Blizzards have always and will always make everything better. And in situations such as this, go with the large, no question.

4. If peeing your pants is cool, consider Miller, Miles Davis.

5. I don’t really care that he’s got a better marathon time than me.

6. No, honestly, I just don’t care.

7. Alright, I’m crushed and won’t rest until that changes.

8. Don’t say “Boston” around me.

9. I run because I really like beer. It’s my mantra. It’s my ritual. I think it’s acceptable to have a beer in honor of every mile. You’ll be happy or incoherent very shortly.

10. That post-marathon 12-hour hibernation is as close to death as I hope to come for quite some time.

11. Having good friends that don’t run is crucial. They’ll laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

12. Speaking of which, I’ve learned running is stupid. You just…run? What a silly waste of time.

13. Cycling is just okay.

14. The gym isn’t that terrifying.

15. Disc golf is a less painful outdoor activity.

16. Hiking is at least in the same family.

17. It’s best to just remove all thoughts of roads and trails. Embrace the water. Kayak. Hop on a boat. Swim around some.

18. Read some, write more.

19. Do absolutely nothing.

20. The doctor has one piece of advice. PT. Exclusively at their office. No other options.

21. My friend, the PT student, is now my best friend. But just for the time being.

22. My friend, the PT student, is not that good with dry needles.

23. I finally starting going steady…with my foam roller.

24. Stretching before and after exercise, before and after sleep, before and after everything has been torture on my poor soul

25. The running community becomes even more fun to be around when you have an injury to talk about. The war stories start flowing. And the advice comes in from all directions.

26. The waiting is the hardest part but as I briefly threw it back into high gear this past Saturday morning, all was well. I love how such a simple sport can dramatically enhance so much of life.

#RUN

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Slip Into My Book Club

Boone, NC-The Art of Power & Wild

Well, I should’ve seen this coming but I even caught myself by surprise. The first hybrid column in WOS history is officially upon us. It’s kinda about me telling you to read these books and kinda about me telling you to visit this little town tucked away in the Blue Ridge. But mostly, it’s about throwing out this idea that through all the randomness we shuffle through each day that maybe there’s some correlation between the conscious and subconscious mind. Or even better, a purpose and plan that connects the choices we make and the situations we are often forced into.

Hang on tight. By its very nature, this one is going to jump all over the place.

So far in my life when it comes to jobs, my youthful willingness has been a blessing and a curse. It’s put me in some unique situations that can be thought of as challenging but also ridiculously interesting and ultimately, strengthening.

These examples are endless and date back even to my high school days of waiting tables. Back then, I was almost always stuck in the most difficult area of the restaurant. Running up and down three flights of stairs, taking care of our patrons sitting atop the Ratty’s roof. With no dumbwaiter and a narrow set of stairs, it was a shift lamented by nearly everyone in our wait staff. But my boss continued to throw me up there because I never complained about it and instead looked at it as a way to make money and get a workout at the same time.

I’ve spent this precious paragraph above bringing up an old high school job to get one point across..Perspective.

See, perspective can change everything. In the here and now, I’m stuck in a hotel room in the middle of mountains as three to five inches of rain have completely derailed my Sunday Funday. But I’ve been piecing together this post throughout the past few days in my mind. And there’s so much going on in there that I’m choosing to see this driving rain as a release mechanism for all these thoughts.

How did I end up stuck in the mountains? By a decision I didn’t make but simply ran with.

Jumping back into handling a job with youth on my side, I’ve again found myself in a strange situation. My current flexibility (age, animal-less, child-less, lacking marital status) has given me an opportunity that everyone else within my company does not have. The ability to live on the road at times and actually enjoy the hell out of it.

The old guys around the office complain when they’re sent out for a day or two. But when I’m given an assignment, I get excited and I get prepared. Not just for the task at hand but also for the moments in between the work where I can pow around town and get into the heart of an area.

So, I’ve been out in Boone, NC for the last few days and I’m absolutely blown away. In a previous post I nicknamed Asheville, “Mini-Austin, TX” and if that’s so, then Boone is “Mini-Asheville”.

Take note that “mini” should not be thought of as an undermining term. Instead, I’ve come to realize “mini” simply means “manageable”. I’ve done more with less time up here than I ever could have contemplated doing in my days out in the sprawling capital of Texas.

But whether at home or on the road, there’s one thing I’ve always got to have with me to fill the void of inevitable downtime—a good book. Luckily, two incredible works ended up in my hands and closed on the same weekend amidst these mountains and hills.

I’ll start with The Art of Power. A handpicked choice for myself that showcases the extraordinary life of Thomas Jefferson. But, in all honesty, it’s a grueling read even for the most interested and admiring fans of TJ.

It’s a book I’ve slowly chipped away at since the start of the new year, reading it in pieces and supplementing with lighter fare in between. To finish it while in the mountains feels not only fitting but also predestined given the lengthy road it took to reach its end.

What has always set Jefferson apart for me revolves around everything aside from his presidency. It’s the man he was leading up to that ultimate throne of power, along with the humility and acceptance of farewell from public life that he showcased and embraced in his later years.

Most importantly, I find that he is a difficult man to pigeonhole, having multiple hobbies and interests, as well as, ever changing thoughts and beliefs. These are important characteristics that have long endeared me to Ol’ Tom, and often reaffirmed my similarly situated mindset.

Jefferson made his home atop a “little mountain” he called Monticello. And as the pages of The Art of Power lessened, I too found myself reading atop a “little mountain” nestled in a hammock and enjoying the outdoors much the same as he would have on a spring afternoon.

But what really struck me as truly Jeffersonian and allowed for a nice tie-in to the culture of Boone came from an interesting tidbit I’d read months before when I started The Art of Power. This select piece offers a revealing glimpse into the mind of TJ, myself and the people of Boone..

He believed in the virtues of riding and walking, holding that a vigorous body helped create a vigorous mind. “Not less than two hours a day should be devoted to exercise, and the weather should be little regarded,” Jefferson once said. In fact, Jefferson believed the rainier and colder, the better. “A person not sick will not be injured by getting wet,” he said. “It is but taking a cold bath, which never gives a cold to anyone. Brute animals are the healthiest, and they are exposed to all weather, and of men, those are healthiest who are the most exposed.”

-The Art of Power, pg. 19

This past Thursday night, it poured in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I was undeterred, setting out to walk through Appalachian State’s campus and through the cozy downtown streets next door. Expecting to find only myself for company as I walked, instead I shuffled through a busy town filled with tons of foot traffic and lots of laughter and celebration. Immediately, the correlation came to my mind, and the thought of just how happy TJ would be to see this Jeffersonian mantra still echoing in the present day mountains not so far from his home.

There’s a slew of great spots to check out in this area and I’ll give the rundown of my favorites on King Street and the surrounding blocks. Right off the bat, two spots to hit without question are Hob Nob Farm Café and Proper. Both offer interesting twists on southern classics, along with calculated staples that are crowd pleasers in any culture.

I went for the Huevos Rancheros at Hob Nob which featured all local ingredients, including some farm fresh eggs from right down the road. Simple, but delicious. However, I decided when dinnertime rolled around, I would roll the dice a bit more. Enter Proper, a spot that’s hidden away in an old-timey house that feels just like home the minute you walk through the screened door. Here, I was greeted with a nice special on spring seasonals that included Left Hand’s Good Juju and Mother Earth’s Park Day. Of course, I went with both. But what really blew me away was my entrée; a Lamb-Stuffed Poblano Pepper served with hot cornbread and a little side of succotash. A lot going on in there, and it was just unreal. Finally, Woodlands just over in Blowing Rock will keep the BBQ junkies at bay.

From the standpoint of watering holes, Boone’s got you covered there too. In the immediate downtown area, Boone Saloon stood out the most. A nice array of bands coming through during weekend kept the crowd varied and lively, while a special on Stone’s Enjoy By 4.20, threw some heady vibes into the mix.

But as usual, the spot that takes the cake is the one that requires a bit more work to find. Appalachian Mountain Brewery, squirreled away outside of downtown is the diamond in the rough around here. They check out on all areas right down the list. Food trucks? Yes--wood-fired pizzas, by the way. Interesting beer styles? Yes--with an emphasis on hoppy treats. Atmosphere? Yes--complete with tap room, stage, outdoor patio, and a ramshack bar posted up on a little creek. This place was bananas.

Now, here’s where understanding the importance of “mini” really meaning “manageable” comes into play. That sounds like a full weekend, and a great one at that, all on its own. But I happened to squeeze in a ten-mile hike on Saturday too.

And with that, my second book recommendation slides in with an inevitable segue.

I know the days of finding a lost book in the sand are probably over. As much as I romanticize about life putting things along your path, I understand that things are not as eloquently placed as we’d love to believe. Sometimes, a book is thrust into your consciousness because it recently became a critically-acclaimed movie. And once that initial rush of promotion wears off, sometimes that book goes on special. And maybe you just really like that Reese Witherspoon is on the cover. So you spend a couple bucks on it, and then that book changes your world. That book is Wild by Cheryl Strayed.

I bought it, I read it, it shook me. All in three days. I hated the main character a lot, then I forgave her, hated her again, related to her, fell for her, was disappointed in her, and then overwhelmed by her. It’s a hell of journey that she puts herself through and it’s simply mind-blowing to see it all tied together.

Cheryl’s life is crumbling. She is 26, struggling with the loss of her mother, handling a difficult divorce, shooting up some heroin, and trying to figure out where to go next. She’s a complete mess when suddenly she decides to hit the reset button and spend a couple of months hiking the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). It’s a treacherous path that runs from the tip of Mexico up to Canada; going through California, Oregon and Washington. She plans to do this alone, to exorcise some demons, and find a new way in life.

What ensues, I won’t reveal. I’ll only push and push and push anyone reading this to go read that. But how interesting it is, that this book found its way to me a day or two before I’d be presented with a similar, albeit, “mini”, “manageable” version of my own.

Off I went, early Saturday morning out to a set of trails centered around Moses Cone Park. Completely out of sorts and going off of a recommendation given to me by a local just hours before. I soon wondered if she had led me astray. I wasn’t sure and neither was my GPS. But quickly, I found the start of a trail and things then became settled and serene.

In these early hours, I passed few people, exactly as I wanted it. But as the sun continued to rise, portions of the trail with easier access points started to fill up. Folks from all over the country flock to these mountains and it was then that I reflected on what a piece of perfection the state of North Carolina really is. In a single day you can see a range of mountains, bustling cities and a pristine coastline. Few other states compare and in my eyes, none come close.

Finally, I made it to top and was welcomed with a simple addition that took this view I’d worked so hard for to another level. A strategically placed tower offered a vantage point unlike any other as I got a panoramic glimpse above even the tallest trees; looking out to Grandfather Mountain and the other peaks that join to create the famous Blue Ridge.

During this time alone, walking trails and lost in thought, I hoped like Cheryl from Wild, that perhaps I’d be able to exorcise some demons of my own. But in these moments, I realized something even greater. I don’t have demons to exorcise right now. I’m ridiculously lucky for the time being, to be rid of most troubles that can easily swirl around the mind. I’m still not quite sure where I’m at, but I think it’s a really good spot.

And with that overarching sense of peace around me, I of course; rather than fully soak it in, decided to add a little drama to my afternoon. Throughout my ascent up the clearly marked trails I’d noticed these curious little shortcuts that seasoned hikers had carved out to offer more challenging terrain and a quicker journey. After tackling the long haul of switchbacks up, I simply couldn’t resist.

The excitement of bouncing down the hill without another soul around threw me into a complete state of euphoria. That is, until the makeshift trail I’d been following stopped, nowhere near an intersection with the park approved trails. At first, my excitement bubbled even more. It really wasn’t a huge mountain, I thought to myself. And there’s only two ways to go, up and down. So I continued, forging a path of my own, straining my eyes through the trees, trusting that the open meadow where the true path lay was waiting for me soon. But the further I got from the trails, the thicker the forest grew until I really wasn’t sure if my little meadow was waiting at the foot, after all.

I stopped, as if that would help me get my bearings. When almost on cue, a white tailed deer came rushing through, tearing past me. Of course, in my mind this deer wasn’t going on an afternoon jog, he had to be on the run from a nearby predator sure to come our way soon. I froze and waited, and nothing came. I felt better until I realized I was still lost. But as I continued to ramble on, I sang out loud and thought about how free it was to not really know where I was heading. Ultimately believing that so long as I kept heading this way, I’d make it out just fine.

I take pride in knowing where I’m headed. Memorizing the roads and highways that lead me from one place or another, rather than just using a GPS, is a constant battle inside my mind. Though I’m slow to admit it, the first way rarely works out perfectly for me. And yet again, I’d put myself into a less than stellar spot by trying to tackle this mountain on my own. But by sheer dumb luck when I finally hopped off, I landed at Trout Lake. Right where I had parked my truck, bypassing the meadow and the extra few miles of switchbacks that would’ve taken hours more to descend. In reality, I’d saved myself a ton of time with this reckless decision but those moments where I truly felt lost, seemed like an eternity.

Which of course, brings me back to perspective. It really is funny that we often have to trick our mind into seeing things a certain way. And yet no matter how strongly we believe to have a handle on our own perspective, there are moments when you really can’t see through the forest and doubt sets in so easily.

But with Boone as the backdrop while immersed in the thoughts of TJ and Cheryl, it’s easy to see a path lies ahead.

#Wild TheArtofPower BlueRidge Boone

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Slip Into My Kicks-Asheville, NC

Slip Into My Kicks will hopefully be a recurring and informative post on WOS that can serve as a vague travel guide for the economically constrained and time limited, twenty-something. However, I can’t promise this column won’t constantly unravel into a pile of “had to be there” moments and silly anecdotes that endeared me to said town.

Someday soon you’ll have to watch out for what is sure to be more of a novel rather than a blog post on how to navigate the insanity of Austin, TX. But for now, I’ll start off with a closer look into what I now call my “Mini Austin” and what you know as Asheville, NC.

Let me start with this mantra I came up with while in Charleston last spring. I carried it with me throughout my road trip down south last summer and still recite it to this day. It’s only one word but if you keep it in my mind, I guarantee a good time in whatever city or town you find yourself in. The word is attack. It’s simple, but it forces you to make the most of your time in a place. It keeps you moving and searching and on your toes. With this in mind, you’ll make plenty of mistakes but at least you’ll have a story to tell.

When in attack mode, no obstacle can get in the way. Instead you just “MacGyver”through it all. In this most recent Asheville situation, I was essentially living out the age old scenario of being stranded on a desert island with my choice of just three material items.

Okay, not quite that bad. Let me explain..

I was out in Western North Carolina working for two weeks and the weekend between was rolling in. My coworker, an older guy, decided he would rather spend the time off back at home with his wife and dog. No big deal except for one thing, we had one car and obviously he’d need that. Also, on such short notice, a bed in the middle of downtown wasn’t going to happen. So I found myself in a hotel about 3 miles outside of the city with my three handpicked items; wallet, iPhone, bike.

And just like that, it’s on!

So, how to approach this? First, get your bearings straight (I was in East Asheville) and check out what’s directly around you on foot. I turned a corner and found the mall. A nice place of refuge if the weather ended up sucking for a day. Across the street is Whole Foods, so I wasn’t gonna starve, either. Food and shelter--good to go.

Now the plan of action begins and GoogleMaps is your best friend. Instead of plugging in addresses for every point you come and go from, get a good aerial shot of the main blocks of downtown and just commit a couple of street names to memory, then stroll on! All you need is two or three streets that you know run parallel to each other. This saves you from looking like a complete ass, walking around staring at your phone, while also helping you explore more. Take note that by “explore” what I really mean is “become hopelessly lost” before stumbling onto something fantastic, seemingly out of nowhere.

My exploration started with a quick run. It was early morning and I desperately needed to breathe some mountain air and find a killer view. The journey wasn’t perfect and surprisingly, Asheville isn’t the most runner friendly town. But I finally made it up to Beaucatcher Overlook and caught an incredible glimpse of both the city and the stretch of mountains just on the otherside. Calling the mountains breathtaking is an understatement to me. Maybe I take the beach for granted. But when I’m up a mountain, I always seem to find an overwhelming sense of peace that often seems to get in lost in the sand, for me.

By now, it’s early on Friday afternoon and a little bike ride put me right into the middle of the city. On the east side of downtown, I ran into a Greek spot called Twisted Laurel and checked it out. I’d recommend this place for lunch but nothing more. It’s draft selection is impressive to the out-of-towner but there’s much more to see and do.

With that said the bottle shop that bookends the south side of downtown is anything but impressive, even though it’s in the center of the Craft Beer Capital of the World. I’ve probably just been spoiled by Ted over at Bottle Revolution in Raleigh (have to get that plug in) but the folks at Bruisin’ Ales didn’t even come close. It’s a shame because they really are in a prime location with a host of incredible breweries around them. The spot actually lacks selection, diversity and most importantly, personality. I’ve never met people in a bottle shop less excited about beer. It’s like they are numb to it and it’s incredibly disappointing.

But not to worry, the people in this city actually putting in the man hours to create, grow and expand the over 40+ breweries and brewpubs are on the complete other end of the spectrum. This leads me to one of the highlights of my trip that required quite a bit of creativity and good fortune to fully pull off.

Highland Brewing Company is the granddaddy of them all in Asheville. Its brand stretches all through the South and comes in near the top on most craft brewery lists. I was heading out there no matter what. But it just so happened that on this particular night, Highland was having a release party for their Spring Seasonal “Little Hump”. The problem-- I’m downtown and their sprawling facility is almost 10 miles outside of the city and it’s starting to get dark. I see a bus go by and wonder where it’s headed. I find a map and figure this thing out. Public transportation is a beautiful thing. There’s a stop close to my hotel and one that at least gets me in the right direction towards Highland. So I pedal on back and try to catch this thing.

It worked, to an extent. The bus stop was still about a mile away from Highland and it was probably a risky move to run across a moderately busy highway. But it seemed well-worth it once I stood at the foot of the tiny hill that Highland is perched on. As I climbed, a picturesque scene filled up more and more as the peak was filled with people enjoying the new spring breeze and the various beers flowing out of Highland’s taps.

I should just cut this short and say, whatever you do, go tour Highland when you’re in Asheville. But I really want to make an impression and stress the importance of carving out some serious time to enjoy everything they’ve put into making this brewery awesome. First, do the tour. You get free beer and their facility is homey enough to feel like you’re a part of a secret club while also being in the midst of one of the most recognizable craft breweries around. It’s literally the perfect size.

Second, they’ve got a sweet tap room with limited editions and special releases always coming through. Plus, “Gaelic Ale” is always $3; a welcomed treat too.

Third, they bring in a variety of food trucks every weekend. So, don’t head up the hill without your appetite, too. There are some wild food trucks in Asheville and this is a great place to showcase them.

Finally, they’ve got a sweet outdoor area called “the Meadow” that’s open when the weather cooperates. It even has a stage for bands and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz, the band playing on this evening was Empire Strikes Brass. It was just your run of the mill, every day, eight piece, New Orleans style horn band accompanied by a driving guitar and a pretty flawless drummer. Good, good stuff.

I could’ve stayed at Highland all night and was tempted to just sleep out in the woods nearby and do it all over again the next day. But, I had to pull myself together and get back downtown, quick. The problem—Too much celebrating with “Little Hump”, buses no longer running, dinner plans in fifteen minutes. Thank God for Uber. Seriously, Thank God. At the last minute, I found a coupon that paid for my fare which made it even better! By the way, the public bus is only $1 to hop on to each time. I spent a total of five bucks the entire weekend on getting around. Forget parking fees, forget gas.

Back downtown, I met an old friend at a great spot called Carmel’s. It’s a nice combination of Southern food mixed in with some healthy options that I’m a snob for. Combining these two things is awesome but it’s tough to do well. Luckily, my fried green tomatoes paired nicely with a salad that had all sorts of goodness going on in it. Also, not noteworthy for any other reason besides being odd, but I got to sip on PB&J beer here. My recommendation; let someone else order that thing and just try a little. I know I couldn’t have taken down that entire glass of strange.

The next morning found me in a bit of a haze but I quickly shook it off because by now you know, attack. It was mid-morning on Saturday and I needed to get a run in but also wanted to keep the good times going. Here’s where having no shame comes into play. This time I ran to downtown, got a little sweaty and just said to hell with it for a while.

I’m not sure why I was intrigued or how I ended up here but I got lost in a tea room. And seriously, three cups of Japanese green tea put me on another planet in this place. I don’t know what else was going on in there but it was almost an out of body type of experience. Dobra Tea, go there and get weird.

As you can probably tell by now, embracing multiple cultures at once is the theme of Asheville. Around lunchtime, I strolled into an Indian Street Food Spot named Chai Pani. It’s slogan is “Namaste, Y’all” and their fusion game is strong. Possibly my favorite food experience on the trip and located in the middle of the best stretch in downtown on Battery Park Ave. It’s the perfect smattering of little shops, restaurants and coffee stops. With all of that going on, there’s a ton of foot traffic which causes a gathering of street bands that seem to be posted up on every corner. It’s just one of those rare areas where you get all five of your senses humming along together.

Now, aside from my assumptions about the extra magic in my morning tea, I’d made it till the afternoon without a drink in my system while hanging out in Craft Beer Wonderland. This was not okay. Thus began a glorious pub crawl in which I made a simple challenge with myself. During this time, I would not consume the same beer twice. My victory felt too easy.

Wicked Weed is almost too obvious of a choice but it still delivers despite the enormous crowds it attracts. Their patio area is perfection and the draft selection is a balance of your usual styles along with thoughtful limited editions. The highlight here was a Blueberry & Ginger IPA that paired perfectly with a sunny, 65 degree, spring afternoon and a beautiful brunette I lucked my way into hanging with.

As the sun started to sink, I figured I could handle going down to some dark and dingy spot now with my fill of Vitamin D. So in I went, to one of the most bizarre of breweries. One World Brewing, hidden off Patton Street is my kind of place. First off, the hidden part is awesome. It’s down an alleyway. You’ve got to take a chance on this place, because you really can’t see much of it until you’ve fully committed to heading down to it. One minute you’re on a bustling street in the middle of downtown and the next, you’re facing an arched walkway with a wooden door taken right out of the Shire. I was geeking out and couldn’t wait to get inside for My Precious (beer). The inside is nothing special, except that it’s completely transcendent. One World didn’t overthink a theme or anything like that, it just lets the brews do their buzzing and I quickly fell head over heels. At one point, I had a beer made from a recipe that dated back to the 1400’s and it completely blew my mind. I didn’t know what was going on, completely lost track of time and spent entirely too long down there being Gilgo Baggins.

To close, I’ll offer a warning or maybe just more of a public service announcement. Asheville is NOT a sports town. I love this and I hate this. Most restaurants and bars don’t do the TV thing, instead they look to promote conversation and interaction between their patrons. This was awesome and I’m all for it, except during the first weekend of March Madness. Seriously, it was a chore and a very planned out thing for me to catch a game. I had to go to a Buffalo Wild Wings at one point. I almost cried. By Sunday, I found a couple of spots to watch the games but the atmosphere was severely lacking at all three. If you’re in a pinch and you’ve gotta catch a game while in town, check out Pack’s Tavern, Scully’s or The Bier Garden. All will suffice.

If you’re left scratching your head about Asheville, I’ll share with you my personal happy place. After a weekend of perfect weather and beautiful landscapes along with a vast selection of beer and food; I stumbled into Malaprop’s Bookstore, grabbed some decaf, looked at the stacks and talked to a homeless guy out front about how this little spot in the Carolina mountains is actually a small corner of heaven.

See, Asheville loves everybody. Everybody should love Asheville.

#Asheville WNC

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Have Y’all Come To Sing Easter Carols?

The Stone Spoon

The Stone Lyrics Spoon Lyrics

The music of Christmas plays a vital part in enhancing our time spent preparing and celebrating the most important event of our winter season. Radio stations shut down normal operations through the month and fill the waves with our favorite Christmas tunes over and over again. These songs are as much a part of that particular holiday season as the lights, trees, presents and gatherings that fill us up through those cold days. So, why is it that when other seasons come around, most folks don’t seem to anticipate, embrace or even notice the music that carries along the message in our other holiday celebrations?

I’m here today to lift up “Here Comes Peter Cottontail”, throw a shout out to “Because He Lives” and finally, dissect and hopefully heighten your Easter experience this weekend with a closer look at two of my favorite songs that just happen to be a journey to, and interpretation of the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

When it comes to modern day storytellers, you will be hard pressed to find a more poetic and thoughtful author than Dave Matthews. His band’s most revered songs often dive into the minds of troubled or eccentric people that place you, as the listener, in the middle of the tale.

It’s important to note, that more often than not, Dave writes and sings as someone other than himself. Perhaps this is a way to detach himself from the emotions associated with the song or to express an idea that is not a personal belief of his. Other times, he uses this method simply to deliver a message that is better expressed in the context of another time and place. With this as our background, we can now look deeper into the words and music of “The Stone” and “Spoon”.

“The Stone” is the seventh track on DMB’s third studio effort; Before These Crowded Streets. It is a song beloved by fans across the board, whether it is their first or ten thousandth time hearing it. The song is powerful yet sweet, swirling but paced and often seen as depicting a troubled romantic relationship. And while I am all for differing opinions, as well as, admitting that songs having different meanings to different people; I am presenting this today as it speaks to the betrayal of Jesus Christ and the immediate ramifications felt from that decision.

Yes, “The Stone” is a first person narrated, emotionally charged look into the mind of Judas almost immediately after he hands over Jesus. It’s filled with thoughts of insanity, guilt, pain and remorse. And as stated before, we as listeners, are thrown directly into this turmoil.

The guitar riff that dips and dives throughout this song is equal parts infectious and eerie, while very nearly expressing the thoughts going through Judas’ mind with no need for lyrics, at all. However, we are soon met with the songs first line. It is delivered not only as a thought being had by Judas, but also as the beginning of a dark and helpless conversation with God.

“I've this creeping suspicion that things here are not as they seem.”

Once Jesus was handed over, Judas immediately fled and soon realized the weight of his decision. The remaining words in this verse are part of a pitiful justification and hopeful denial of his selfish actions.

An extra note here as this Stone metaphor can be seen as the burden of guilt that Judas cannot bear, while also foreshadowing the actual stone Jesus will roll away from the tomb on Easter morning.

“I was just wondering if you’d come along...”

The first part of the chorus is a desperate plea and a call of forgiveness to God. Judas is falling apart and is beginning to feel that suicide is his only option.

“Hold up my head when my head won’t hold on...”

Invokes the gruesome image of Judas hanging himself, understanding his judgment day has come.

One of my favorite lines in the song express the comfort Judas feels and craves from God, as we all do at some point or another.

“I need so, to stay in your arms, see you smile, hold you close”

He’s hanging there, dying and it’s pitiful, but passionate and true. The bargaining and justifying he attempted early on has turned to an acceptance of his transgressions and admission of his love and desperation for God.

I love this song because the world is not so black and white. I remember as a child feeling terrible for Judas when hearing about the Last Supper. Sunday School teachers would tell me that he was a wicked man, a lost man, and a man most certainly bound for hell. Not only for his betrayal but also for also for taking his own life..I just wasn't sure. Whether true or not, The Stone offers a deeper look into the complexities of Judas and gives me hope in a forgiving and incredible God...

Because the answer to Judas’ cry is found within the song, as well. As the track closes, a brief but distinct interpolation of Elvis’ “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” is interwoven into the jam in the form of a saxophone solo. I've always taken this to be the voice of God calling back to Judas, accepting his confession in the final moments and allowing him peace.

A final note on “The Stone” and DMB before moving on…Before These Crowded Streets is littered with fantastic little jams in between tracks. The band calls these pieces “commercials”. And I see this commercial after “The Stone” as the passage of night between Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.

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To complete the Easter story, let’s turn now to “Spoon”, the final track off of Before These Crowded Streets and one of the two songs I will go so far as to call epic masterpieces in the band’s catalogue. (“Two Step” holding that other personal distinction). Unlike “The Stone”, the music itself probably takes some warming up to. It did not knock me off my feet upon first listen, but when it hits you, hold on.

The lyrics this time are much more straight-forward and “in-your-face” in terms of the message conveyed, but “Spoon” requires far more concentration when it comes to understanding which of the four characters is currently speaking or thinking throughout the song.

The song opens with Dave, or perhaps another man in modern day, enjoying a cup of coffee. Maybe it is Good Friday or the Easter Season, but for whatever reason this man is currently contemplating Jesus, religion and the world.

“On my way came up with the answers, I scratched my head and the answers were gone...”

This is a perfect little summation of my personal theology and another one of my favorite lines. But the clue here to distinguish that the modern day man is currently narrating comes back to the coffee and the spoon.

“Spoon in spoon”

The second verse opens instead with “From hand to hand” revealing that a new narrator, a new character and an entirely new setting has come into play. All at once, we are thrown into the midst of the Crucifixion. And our new speaker is Jesus Christ; just as he is being nailed to the cross.

Before we get too deep, let me speak for a second about how Dave tends to portray Jesus in his songs. I've always found Dave’s interpretation of Jesus to be so relatable, as it’s often quite raw and very revealing, sometimes with flawed emotions and thoughts. This challenges the notion of Jesus’ perfection but adds so much depth to His character, creating a vulnerable human being that we can all identify with.

“Could dad be God?”

This is that exact sliver of doubt I’m talking about. Now imagine you’re hanging on that cross…panicking, mind racing, heart pounding and tell me that thought isn't crossing through the mind. You’d have to question the validity of God and love in the world when something so terrifying is happening. Maybe this passed through His mind for a tenth of a second or maybe not at all, but it’s powerful to think about, and it’s absolutely human.

“Forgive you, why? You hung me out to dry.”

Yet another example of human frustration spilling out of Jesus. He’s admitting some anger and bitterness while looking down and wondering how these people could do this to Him. He’s even toying with our salvation with that “Forgive you, why?” line. I don’t know if He actually thought this, but I wouldn't blame Him if He did.

“Spoon in spoon”

And our modern day narrator is back. A little shaken, but closer to some clarity. Still, this man needs another perspective…From someone else, someone in the crowd, someone who knew everything Jesus was.

Here, Alanis Morissette lends her voice and it definitely adds another layer to an already harrowing tune. Alanis, playing the part of Mary Magdalene, pours her heart out at the foot of the cross.

“This drop of hope that falls from His eyes.”

It’s our final glimpse into the pain and despair felt by Jesus on that afternoon.

“Spoon in spoon”

Back with our modern day man one last time. His vision into this dark day is over and he now has the world to deal with. No longer just his coffee and contemplation. His new enlightenment won’t change the world, it only serves as a brighter illumination of the sin and uncertainty that surrounds him.

Following the final lyrics, the band builds up to an almost out of control jam that shows the unrest and unnatural state the world was left in following the events of Good Friday. And frankly, it’s unsettling to listen to.

But the final touch that completes this exploration to the cross, the grave and the search for life everlasting is found in another hidden “commercial” that comes around in the track’s final moments. After waiting for what seems like an eternity (or maybe three days) a soft but rising rhythm can be heard trickling out and growing stronger. Before too long, a voice and one final character has an answer for all of this.

“Come in from the cold for a while, everything will be alright”

It’s a call from God that reveals victory over death, but also can be taken as a reminder that Christ will come again.

“For now, goodbye, friend.”

I've placed links to the songs, as well as, the lyrics at the very top of this post. I hope these words and music strike a chord with you this Easter season and continue to inspire you to think and involve yourself in this time of rebirth and resurrection.

#DMB EasterCarols MaundyThursday GoodFriday

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Making Sense of the Madness

“College basketball is dead. The game is soft, the game is slow. These student-athletes don’t stick around long enough to develop their skills and create the comradery needed to make a team anymore. By the way, as if it even needs to be addressed again, this “student-athlete” term has got to go.”

That’s a reoccurring quote from myself and many others in some form or fashion throughout the 2014-2015 college basketball season.

And it’s true...

Because to be honest, I never once truly marveled at everything that is Kentucky…I actually walked out of Minges Coliseum before halftime following 19 and a half minutes of indescribable play by my Alma mater…My thoughts following State’s triumph over Duke in Raleigh—indifferent...And until Carolina’s showdown in Cameron, tuning into the Heels was becoming a chore.

But whether it’s something in the wind or more likely, the simple flipping of the calendar, this tired and inherently flawed game suddenly rips off the life support and transforms into one of the greatest spectacles in all of sports.

So while the insanity continues on this early spring afternoon and your brackets continue to bust; I’m here to make the case for the underdog that always has that last second, back against the wall, buzzer beater three up it’s sleeve.

In the Sports Universe, College Basketball is that little mid-major. And it’s unstoppable final play is March Madness.

Match March Madness (and say it three times, fast) with any North American Professional Sports Playoff System and I think the Field of 68 (sounds just awful compared to 64) rolls through that side of the bracket. These Best of 7 series our Pro Leagues have all adopted strain my attention span and leave memorable moments from Game 2 of Round One, tossed aside and forgotten.

Still, a couple of 1 seeds loom. The World Cup offers a similar playoff style, adding in a little pool play to accompany the knockout rounds. In theory, this increases the opportunity of the “better” teams advancing deeper into the tournament. But is that what people really what? I think so…to an extent. I love a good upset. But seriously, VCU vs. Butler in the Final Four a couple years ago was torture. Two Davids and no Goliath isn't much of a story to me.

Another 1 seed that transcends all other events is The Olympics. March Madness is three weeks of amateur basketball players attempting to put on a little show down at the local theater. The Olympics is a month long Broadway production that’s been running since 1896.

More importantly, both the World Cup and Olympics obviously embrace the idea of the world being one. By nature, the global vantage points brought to light by these events proves to be impenetrable, in my eyes.

Furthermore, events of this magnitude strive to always leave the people wanting more. Simply by their format of taking place just once every four years, an added amount of passion and carpe diem is placed on both events when their time comes around.

Speaking of time, perhaps the clock has struck on College Basketball’s very own Cinderella Story. But to close, I’ll offer up a few last gasps and maybe just enough time to run up the steps and give March Madness the fairy tale ending it deserves.

Because in a twist of fate the flaws make this tournament.

I think it’s the greatest sports spectacle on earth first and foremost because of it’s sharp finality. Last night, Villanova saw an incredible season end. Virginia is in the midst of turmoil as I write now. In a World Cup playoff system, both would survive. One loss would wake them up, they would win out in pool play and sneak into the knockout round. The Cats and Hoos are two of the premier teams in the country, but that’s not enough on a single night in March. Go find me a better metaphor for life. We are all victims of circumstance and things aren't fair. We complain that our universities have turned a blind eye to the education of our athletes. But if nothing else, isn't this unexpected closure teaching them something? Isn't it teaching us something?

On the flip side of that coin, I also love the tournament for being an absolute dud by the time the Title Game actually rolls around. Many of the tournament’s most memorable games occur on the first weekend or during the Sweet 16 and Elite 8. I don’t know about you, but when that Monday night in early April hits, I’m exhausted with little left to give. Which is bizarre, because our professional sports leagues throw in all the chips for their final act, and fans fall hook, line and sinker for them. They are lifted up with pompous names; The World Series, The Super Bowl, The Finals, The Stanley Cup and by default, they quickly toss aside the leftover teams and journeys along the way.

That’s where the second key to March Madness lies--in the journey. It’s the matchups, the coaching trees and the regional rivalries that create the road. And the end point isn't the National Championship Game. It’s the Final Four. If you get there, that’s your party. That’s your spotlight. All four teams, not just one, create that most memorable moment when you gather with friends on that first Saturday in April. So while that sharp finality still hits at times, it coexists nicely with this opportunity to debunk the idea of this “one true champion” in life.

Now let me over exaggerate and take it a step further for a moment. Let’s even say that in a roundabout way, a celebration of the Final Four could subconsciously be our modern-day celebration of surviving the winter and toasting to the coming spring. Hear me out, it’s the close of a sport played exclusively indoors during the winter months. And it is hopefully the last time you’ll voluntarily spend an entire weekend cooped up watching TV for awhile. Again, celebrating the journey not just the moment.

Finally, everyone has a team in this tournament. It doesn't matter if you’re from the city or a small town. You've got a school nearby that speaks to you or a connection to one miles away. The bonds I spoke of that tie the globe together during the World Cup and Olympics only reach most of us through a screen. But with March Madness, you can feel the national and regional pride as you walk to the corner, into a bar, or down to the church. The history, the rivalries and the passion is unmatched.

People change during this tournament. When I was kid, bedtimes didn't exist during March. On his wedding day, my dad and his groomsmen ran home to catch the final minutes of an Elite 8 game; hours before my mom walked down the aisle. And my granddad once cursed at Weber State.

Roll the balls out and so long as there’s March, the Madness prevails.

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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The Ruffin McNeill Files

Ruffin McNeill and I have always been on a rocky ship. There have been countless times I’ve cursed the man and quickly had to eat crow. On the other hand, just as I am preparing to celebrate and hug up the big guy for taking our program to new heights, he comes up short for the Pirate faithful yet again.

Such is the nature of college football, and by admitting this, perhaps I’ve answered my question before we’ve begun. However, when we look back at Ruff’s time as captain at East Carolina, I think it’s crucial to remember both the clear skies and squalls of his tumultuous tenure. By doing so, maybe some light can be shed on the question—should Ruff stay, or should he go?

Go forward carefully Pirates, ye be warned…

The 5 Worst Moments in Pirate Football (2010-2014)

#5-December 4, 2014

Central Florida- 32 East Carolina- 30

This one is fresh, this one still stings. So I’ll throw a silver lining out there, these Pirates fought back when other teams would’ve laid down. They were in the last game of a season with high hopes that had quickly unraveled. They were down by a ton and they came back. I feel for the guys because they gave it everything they had. But if you’re still feeling sorry about this one, just keep reading, you’ll find other stuff to feel sorry about real quick.

#4-Oct 2010, Oct 2011, Sept 2012

North Carolina- 104 East Carolina- 43

Most Pirates, including myself, are feeling pretty good against the Heels right about now. But before you go strutting around like we’ve got some impressive streak going, look back at the first three meetings between Ruff and the guys from Chapel Hill. A combined score of 104-43 is flat out ridiculous. Both games in Chapel Hill were complete blowouts. And think back (if you can) to that 35-20 game in Greenville. Night game, attendance record, tons of hype and then… 21-0 in a flash. Rowdy Dowdy was dead. Luckily the Heels put that one on cruise control after the first and we were able to muster up 20 points by the end of it. Imagine the combined score without those sympathy points, yikes.

#3-Another Time & Place,The Year of Our Lord 2011

East Carolina- 0 East Carolina-0

If a game doesn’t exist can you still lose? Yes, yes you can. Years may pass but the spirit of the Virtual Bowl will live in my heart forever. My buddy Pat and I are still looking everywhere for t-shirts to commemorate the event. This probably isn’t Ol’ Ruffin McMuffin’s fault, but just the fact that he let this happen under his watch is unreal.

#2-November 29, 2013

Marshall- 59 East Carolina- 28

The most troubling reoccurrence I’ve found when dissecting McNeill’s teams is the inability to finish. It seems that time and time again there are opportunities for the taking. There are games where the Pirates take their foot off the throat of their rival and allow them back in the game. There are season finales in which the team simply fails to tie the bow up on a fine season. There is trophy case with empty spaces where Conference Championship plaques should reside. And then there is the 2013 Marshall game, where these three instances I’ve explained came together as one. What a nightmare.

#1-November 6, 2010

Navy-76 East Carolina-35

In just the ninth game of the Ruffin McNeill era, I was ready to see the man off. On this day more than any other, I was done. Just one year removed from a conference championship and an era dominated by a proud Pirate defense, I could not believe my eyes. I’ll remind you that Ruff served as a defensive coordinator for much of his coaching career. I’ll remind you that Navy rarely throws the ball. They literally ran the score up on us with a little triple option. It was embarrassing then and it still is to this day. Seriously, I’m getting pissed off just typing this.

Hopefully you’re still reading, but I don’t blame you if you had to stop or skip through some of that. Now there’s good and bad to that list and I’ll try to give you both sides.

The good news is most of those moments are in the early stages of the Ruffin McNeill era. It’s tough to come in and create a new identity for a program. It’s hard to implement your schemes and even more difficult to get players on the field that can effectively run your system without years of building and recruiting. It is easy to see that over time the Pirates are positioned in a much better place than they were in the beginning. Expectations are sky high and because of that, disappointments are easier to find.

But the bad news is those early years can almost be looked at as a sturdy foundation of horrible moments that are steadily building up. It’s sad that I didn’t have room in my top five to discuss the Military Bowl blowout at the hands of Maryland, the yearly demolitions provided courtesy of USC, the season meltdown at Temple, and the “Can Ruff Tell Time?” Clock Management mishap at Cincinnati.

Whew, it’s a slippery slope when I get going on the negative train. But I’m going to do everything I can to turn this thing around.

The 5 Greatest Moments in Pirate Football (2010-2014)

#5-October 19, 2013

East Carolina- 55 Southern Miss- 14

First off, we’ve got to get a home and home series going again with USM and Marshall. I absolutely love playing those guys. ECU-USM is one of the best rivalries the nation has no clue about. The Pirates and Golden Eagles are absolute parallels and because of that I have an equal amount of hatred and respect for them. To finish off our time together in C-USA with a complete dismantling of them was one of the more satisfying Saturday afternoons in recent memory.

#4-December 23, 2013

East Carolina- 37 Ohio- 20

Bowl wins are huge. I think they reveal a lot about the character of a team and their commitment to their coach and their school. It’s so easy to celebrate a season before a bowl and think of the game as simply icing on the cake. But ECU showed up that afternoon and took care of business. And it was a heck of a monkey to get off our backs. We hadn’t taken one home since the 2008 Hawaii Bowl.

#3-Sept 2013, Sept 2014

East Carolina- 125 North Carolina- 71

Here’s my justification for putting y’all through that combined score back in the Bottom 5. 125 points in just two games is insane! Blowing them out in Kenan was beautiful. The purple and gold sky over Dowdy Ficklen during our last battle was unforgettable. During that picturesque scene, through cries of joy and celebration, a fellow Pirate put his hand on my shoulder and said “Well look up at that sky, now that’s a bunch of happy Pirates smiling down”. I have no idea who that man was, but I know at least one of those guys smiling down.

#2-September 13, 2014

East Carolina- 27 Virginia Tech- 22

Going into Lane Stadium and coming out with a win isn’t easy to do. But the Pirates jumped all over the Hokies just one week removed from their biggest win of the season at Ohio State. I remember listening to the pregame and the broadcasters were actually talking up VT’s chances of getting into the playoff. They were way off on that for sure. But seeing the stunned crowd of maroon and orange coupled with the celebration between Ruff and Riley at the end of that one is certainly a defining moment for McNeill to hang his hat on.

#1-October 16, 2010

East Carolina- 33 NC State- 27

Just six games into his tenure, Ruff set a precedent that his teams have lived by ever since. Placing importance on rivalry games, especially those in-state, is part of the culture McNeill has created in his time here. In short, Ruff just gets it. He played here, he’s lived here and he understands the cold shoulder ECU is often given and the chip that must be permanently instilled on each Pirate’s respective shoulder to combat that disrespect. You can feel his passion and his team’s swirling through the stadium during games like this. Walking out of Dowdy-Ficklen that afternoon, more than ever, I was overcome with pride for my university, for my football team and for my coach.

In the ever changing landscape of college football, it’s rare to feel a true sense of stability. A season can be humming along with win after win but a cold and rainy afternoon in Philadelphia can wreck the whole thing. But in the big scheme of things, Ruff can handle the cold, the rain and anything else thrown at him. He isn’t backing down from his dream job. Let me say that again, East Carolina is the man’s dream job. The Packers could dial him up tomorrow and he wouldn’t even take the call. And that is exactly what delusional Pirate fans like myself must remember during the moments of frustration and failure. This man is just as delusional as the rest of us--he’s a Pirate.

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Saving The Timeless Game

I intended to write this blog immediately after my experiences in St. Louis, MO, also known as, “Baseball Heaven” and one of the few cities that clings to a game that’s fading awfully fast in most American’s consciousness. The most troubling part of this decline is that I’m right there with the masses, losing interest and lacking faith that any sort of revival will come any time soon.

And while months of writer’s block nearly killed me, I think they were necessary if for nothing else but to gather a little bit of perspective before officially declaring Major League Baseball a lost cause. Still, I’ll admit that I haven’t watched an entire postseason game this year and can only claim to have watched two very depressing and dominant playoff pitching performances from Clayton Kershaw against Atlanta last year. Obviously, I’ve got a problem with the game. Perhaps I’m the lost cause. But more than likely, I’m the average American hating SportsCenter during the summer where every top play is a diving catch from a no name player in a stadium that’s half full.

But I’m all about history and tradition so I want to fix this thing. At the same time, I’m not afraid of necessary progress. And for baseball to work in the 21st century, I think we need some serious change.

As the hopeless optimist, let’s start with what’s right with baseball.

Right off the bat (see what I did there), there’s still nothing more breathtaking than the homerun. It’s even better than a goal in soccer just because of the sheer force that is behind every single swing that takes the ball out of the park. And that’s the other part of it, the ball goes OUT of play. It’s destroyed, gone forever and there’s nothing better. Furthermore, as baseball has cleaned up from the steroid era, the homerun has become a bit more of a rarity, which should make the feat even more impressive. (I know I’m wrong on that last point, but I’m taking that optimistic approach right now, remember? Also, I’ll come back to homeruns after I round the other bases.)

As I said earlier, everything else that’s right about baseball can be taken from St. Louis, MO.

St. Louis is a baseball town. And to be a baseball town, your town has to mesh with what’s important to baseball. I don’t think there’s any coincidence that the best baseball towns in the country are the same cities that have played a huge role in American history. Baseball is all about record keeping, story-telling and reminiscing. Sound familiar? If you’ve got buildings, structures and stories that carry serious historical significance surrounding your stadium, you’ve got it easy, because in all likelihood you’re inadvertently attracting a baseball fan. So flashback to my trip in STL--it’s three hours before first pitch. I’m 630 feet up in the St. Louis Arch, looking down on The Old St. Louis Courthouse and Busch Stadium. Can it get any better?

Yes it can. Because St. Louis has the other thing that’s going to attract any type of sports fan. Y’all didn’t know the second verse of Take Me Out To Ball Game is “Buy me some beers and shut the hell up”? The place is named Busch Stadium and it’s a freaking party outside the gates. Two hours before game time, the main road behind centerfield is blocked off and one of the best pre-games I’ve ever been to starts. On Friday nights it’s FREE BEER on the street and what do you know…It’s Friday…

There’s a local whiffle ball team playing a regular season game in a roped off area that use to be the Cardinals original infield (WHAT!?). Meanwhile, Fox Sports Midwest is doing a live broadcast inside an enormous building filled with restaurants, bars and a central area that has walls and walls covered with TV’s. It’s thirty minutes ‘til game time and I think I’m starting to get it—“Everyone must come down here and hang out but disregard the actual game across the street”, I say to myself. But I’m wrong, there’s a mass exodus ‘cause it’s Chris Carpenter bobble head night and Busch Stadium is filled to the brim because the Padres are in town (WHAT!?).

In this bizarre-o baseball mecca I’m at a loss. There’s a culture with Cardinals Baseball that gives it a collegiate atmosphere and it’s wild to see that kind of support for a professional team.

So far, I’ve painted a pretty nice picture of an unforgettable experience that proves baseball is alive and well in pockets of the country that have set ups similar to STL (New York, Boston, San Francisco). But guess what, I still got bored during the game. So I’ve got some suggestions…

Bring in the fences. It’s getting ridiculous. They’re hitting a round ball with a round bat, it’s not an easy thing to do. This game cannot be great without the homerun. It has proven to be a necessity. Help out the offense before MadBum throws another CG shut out and I fall asleep.

Shorten the season. (NBA could take a note too and they even have some recent data from the lockout season to back it up). I know this all comes down to money but contracts are excessive nowadays anyway. I’m guessing if a contract is dialed back a bit in exchange for more time off, most players would be down with that. 162 games (WHAT!?)

Seven innings. Again, I get it. They’ll have to readjust some contracts but you don’t have to look too far down the line to see why this makes a lot sense. On the sneak, high school baseball is an awesome sport to watch. Do you know why? Cause everyone is on pins and needles after the third.

But if nothing else, please no extra innings in regular season games. This generation was the first where nearly everyone played youth soccer, we’re okay with a tie.

Baseball purists will say I’m sacrilegious for suggesting cuts like this. “It’ll destroy all the records we cling too” they’ll say. No, steroids already did that and seriously, baseball is hanging on by a thread. If you don’t believe me, check out the ratings tomorrow morning. Royals-Giants will beat Bulls-Knicks but they will be on the same playing field and that’s insane.

Each and every city with a baseball franchise and every member of Major League Baseball need only look at one thing: TIME. Cities need to look back through time to what find what events and places shaped their towns and encourage fans to incorporate those things into their game day experience. Just as important is creating an area that allows time before the game for the people of the city to come together and collectively celebrate the community that exists as a result of having a professional sports team. Officials need to take notice at how little quality time there is in a game that goes on and on into the night. Especially when that’s just game one of a ridiculous four game regular season series. Only to have that followed up with a long and drawn out playoff system that usually features games in freezing temperatures as the calendar creeps into November.

But most importantly, as a 23 year old fan, maybe I just have to give baseball time to come back around. It’s a game that’s been good to me, it’s been a part of some unbelievable memories and it’s certainly woven itself deep into the patchwork of my life. When I really think about what makes baseball great I think about Ken Griffey Jr., I think about Greg Maddux, I think about my granddad watching the Braves every single time he could on TBS, and I think about my dad teaching me the game. So maybe, baseball doesn’t really need saving. Maybe baseball just has to be taken in and learned through a kid’s eyes. And if that’s the case, I hope the game continues to take its sweet, sweet time.

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stevegilgo · 10 years ago

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Sorcerer Steve's 2014-15 NBA Outlook

Most season previews are a little played out. But, Sorcerer Steve’s 2014-2015 NBA Outlook is taking a different approach. I’ve summoned my crystal ball and it’s given me two articles from the 2015 Eastern and Western Conference Finals respectively, along with a list of all sixteen playoff teams and finally five bold season predictions.

Charlotte, NC- Michael Jordan has seen LBJ end his team’s season for the second consecutive season. It’s not an uncommon final defeat for most teams in the East. What’s worse, the nucleus in Cleveland has officially gelled and the result is a team far more dangerous than any Heat counterpart from the past four years. Despite a valiant effort and more ear blowing from Lance Stephenson, the Hornets just couldn’t break through the wall that would’ve surpassed even their wildest expectations. No one is a fan of moral victories during a time like this, but the resurrection of Buzz City will long be remembered in the Carolinas as an exciting and improbable trip to the Eastern Conference Finals that ended in narrow defeat at the hands of team that appears to be well on its way to breaking their city’s championship drought that’s not 5, not 6, not 7, but 50 years running.

San Antonio, TX- Every year it’s the same OLD narrative…This is the year that San Antonio’s big three will have to be wheeled out of the arena…No wait, this is the year Tim Duncan and Manu Ginobli will request a leave of absence and fill out their long awaited applications at the local nursing home…Finally, this year, Tony Parker will pack up his things and head back to France to do whatever it is the French do. However, as usual there are still three things you can count on in life…Death, Taxes & Spurs Win (This is a legit shirt that nearly half of the Riverwalk seems to wear on Spurs game days and I’ve learned they aren’t wrong). For over three years the Spurs have been written off and yet by and by they find themselves in the Finals for the third straight year. A dangerous Warriors team pushed them to the brink like no other team has done in the past two years during these playoffs, and yet still the Alamo City prepares again to welcome the basketball spotlight back. The beauty of the Spurs is nothing more than a peaceful “passing” down of power. Now, Kawhi Leonard will have another chance to shut down LeBron and more importantly, make a forceful declaration that he was snubbed in the MVP voting.

Playoffs!?

Who’s In? Or more like, who’s out. It’s a joke if you don’t make the NBA playoffs. You’re terrible and there’s no excuse, unless you’re tanking to get that #1 ping pong ball. We see you, Lakers…fake Kobe injury by December!!

EAST- Bulls, Cavs, Wizards, Raptors, Hornets, Heat, Pacers, Knicks

WEST- Spurs, Mavericks, Warriors, Thunder, Rockets, Blazers, Nuggets, Clippers

Bold Predictions

When the NBA takes a look at the merchandise sales generated out of the Queen City following the second inaugural season of the Charlotte Hornets, league officials will stop at nothing to have an official plan in place to in order to give Seattle back it’s Sonics by season’s end. I’m not saying the Sonics will be back by the 2015-2016 season, it’s a long process, but we will know by June 2015 whether an existing team will be relocated to Seattle or if the NBA plans to grant Seattle an expansion team.

Derrick Rose will make it through the entire season, making Chicago a real contender and igniting a much needed NBA rivalry that will burn for the remainder of this decade…Cavs-Bulls.

The Los Angeles Clippers will self-implode. They are a lot of folks pick to win the West this year, but I think differently. Blake Griffin is a nutcase, Chris Paul is a ticking time bomb waiting to take another shot at someone's balls, and Matt Barnes & JJ Redick both still exist. Plus, the West is maddening on its own. Just wait until some long midseason road trip takes them through all of Texas and up to OKC. Then one Don Sterling reference and BAM, Doc Rivers can't even deal, ‘cause racism, and the Clips are back to not having a spot in my 2015-16 Season Outlook, as it should be.

The KD-Westbrook Era will come to a close with ZERO Championships. As a rule, I hate Russell Westbrook but somehow this dude ended up on my fantasy squad, so I’m holding back all hate until KD comes back. Seriously Russ, shoot to your heart’s content this month, just like you would if the real MVP was standing there wide open. Westbrook has ruined KD’s chances at capturing a ring, and finally Durant will say “No Mas.” KD is a great guy, so he’s not going to make a big scene about it and he won’t leave OKC in free agency. But by season’s end, his bags will be packed. Behind closed doors, he’ll request some sort of a trade and the big guy will have his own homecoming. It’ll be a beautiful thing to have Durant back east and at home in the Nation’s Capital but the key will be how much the Wiz lose getting him there. If KD can be surrounded by the right pieces, he can be the one to take down LeBron.

Sorry for all the East Coast and Hornets slant but, buzz buzz. As I sort of referenced at the 2 spot, the NBA really, really needs some rivalries. A lot of the traditional teams are struggling right now, so with that, our normal rivalries are flailing too (Celtics, Knicks, Lakers). Enter the Hornets, who I believe can really help reshape the league if they can put together a solid season and reclaim a little bit of their territory. I see two matchups that could create a little “buzz” (seriously never gets old) and bring a little hate back in the Association. First of all, back when Charlotte was first granted an NBA expansion, there was another city given the same gift at the same time. The Miami Heat came about during the same season as the Hornets and as a result, they have always compared themselves to one another. Bobcats-Heat never had the same feel but something tells me just seeing those old colors that clash so hard against one another, on the same floor, battling again will incite some hate back into both fan bases. It’s also perfect that both teams are strong, middle of the pack clubs that will be jockeying for playoff position. I’m counting on this one being a lot of fun. But in all reality, a new rivalry would help the NBA most and I don’t think we have to look too far up I-95 to find the matchup that would create quite the swarm (so much fun!) of trash talk throughout the Carolinas and up through NOVA . The Washington Wizards are a fantastic team with young stars and a proven veteran to boot. They made some noise last season and will be pushing towards the upper echelon of the East this year. Furthermore, their true superstar, John Wall is a NC native that snubbed his legendary home state when choosing his collegiate destination. How can this rivalry fail?

If you can’t catch my drift, the main purpose of this post is to make sure you understand The Charlotte Hornets will become the spotlight franchise of the league in no time, they’ll be the focal point of the NBA Renaissance that’s about to go down and I’m one of those rare writers that’s completely objective and not one of those sad and delusional fans that touts his own team just because it’s so damn good to see purple and teal back on the hardwood.

And cut me some slack, the Bobcat Era nearly broke me.

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