I had been going somewhat stir crazy in the weeks leading up to my trip to San Francisco. I mean, Austin isn't the biggest town on the map and even though there is so much to do here, my(car-less)self can get stuck in the mud easily. Days are wasted sitting cruising the internet, reading, watching movies and planning next big adventures when there is a whole world of now to be living in. Course, I had a hope, a suspicion, a will for things to take a turn for the active upon my trip to San Francisco that was to incorporate seeing Maximo Park, Haight and Ashbury, the Golden Gate Bridge, Daft Punk and, of course, my golden birthday...
UPDATE:
Here are the pictures from my first visit to San Francisco. I will allow them to tell the story of how I met Justin, Dan and Greg on my way to Daft Punk; the birthday weekend I then spent with them; my first baseball game; crossing the Golden Gate Bridge at 5am; the kids I met on the other side and other adventures in the city that stole my heart...
Apparently I am not a reliable blogger, but then the past month has been quite grim here in Texas. The skies opened in June and thus spring showers became a summer storms. I have rarely experienced such rain in my entire life. Texas hasn't since 1924, the wettest June since records began, and even then there was only half an inch more rain. As a result an outrageous amount of my time has been spent stuck indoors and stuck in the mud. Yes, I allowed that unique British miserablism to overcome - even though I was somewhat enjoying the rain and the pensive thoughtfulness mood it lured me into for so long. As the humidity has risen, and sunlight interchanged with lightning, my moods have shifted more frenetically than an ADHD suffer on speed.
But it hasn't all been soulful starring out the window. I got to see Wolfmother at Stubbs BarBQ, which was a great fun. In fact, now that I come to think about it, it was the Friday most my friends were all up to their pert nipples in mud at the cold and even wetter Glastonbury (seems most thought the boundaries between Heaven and Hell had truly been blurred). So it was some much needed rock to take my mind away from where I wasn't. Travis, Chris and Mike were all there to thrash their air guitars, Chris in particular to thrash his ever expanding Puerto-fro (that's his Puerto Rico fro, not Pervert fro - just incase there's any confusion). Travis and I battled our way through two mosh pits to get to the front, which was pretty awesome and I couldn't resist crowd surfing out, albeit only 5ft. Afterwards it was the usual carnage, I bumped into my friends Nick and his girlfriend Bobby, cruised around a couple of bars doing shots and mixers with the adrenaline of the gig keeping me standing. Travis and I met back up to get a cab home, which I may or may not have been obnoxious to the driver before declaring that he'd ruined my cab ride and that I'd walk the rest of the way. Of course that only occurred after I'd tried to make best friends with the guy. Oh, and I came home with a walkie talkie, which I believe was procured at the bar Mohawk.
Then there was disc golf at Pease Park... in the rain. Pease Park is located in the centre of Austin, not far from downtown and enjoys the added feature of a river running through it (to steal a movie title), which on this occasion was flowing at around 4 feet in depth and with a fury. Needless to say I did go arse over tits trying to cross it for the fourth time.
Naturally a month of rain has also meant a host of movie watching, at home and at the cinema. There was Ratatouille, which proved a real hit. As funny and as touching as most all the Pixar films before it, once you could allow yourself to overcome the inherent creepiness of seeing rats run around a kitchen - no matter how clean they are. Live Free Die Hard finally landed, albeit after jumping from an F35 fighter jet in decidedly ridiculous fashion. Still, it was passable, Bruce brought his best John McClane-isms to the screen, kicked copious amounts of ass - although the circus act henchman using parkour is getting really tired now, though not as bad as Harry Osborn (James Franco) flying on a fucking snowboard in the tragically bad Spiderman 3.
Then there was a little documentary called Lost In Woonsocket. It was a film that I missed at SXSW despite the fact I'd met and made friends with much several of the people involved with the film (Malcolm, Thea, Ashley, John). Chris Tilly had caught it and had lots of good things to say about the film, so I was chuffed to pieces when Thea contacted me to tell me they were all coming back to Austin with more of the team for another screening at the Alamo Drafthouse. I promised to be there and was true to my word. By the end of the film I can't fully contextualise quite how I felt, but I know I'd been touched quite deeply. Lost In Woonsocket is a film not just about random acts of kindness - in this case taking one homeless, alcoholic man off the street and getting them into rehab. Rather it is a film about the consequences of an act of kindness - how the smallest of gestures can lead to the greatest of successes, often in the most unexpected of corners. It is about human spirit, its vitality and its potential to change, grow, and ultimately overcome. For me it was also a timely reminder of my good fortune, my family and my friends. That I'm not now, nor will I ever be, alone in this big adventure called life. It also reminded me that behind every face there is a story, and quite often those stories are well worth listening to.
On a sad note, however, this was to be my penultimate visit to the Alamo Drafthouse downtown. The 10-year old Austin landmark is moving to a new home on the highly commercial and townie-centric 6th Street. I hope it retains its old magic at the new location (what used to be Austin Ritz theatre years ago). The Alamo is by far the best cinema I have ever been to. These people know and love film like few proprietors of cinema screens anywhere in the world. The theatre is set up like this: each row of seats has its own bench in front, and every other seat has a menu. Once inside, you take your seat, pick what food or drinks take your fancy for the evening, write them down on a piece of paper, which then sticks up in a bar on the bench. A waiter comes by, picks up your order and 15 minutes later delivers it right to your seat. My favourite has been the Smokey Bacon and the Bandit BLT. Delicious. Anyway, the theatre always plays old cartoons and commercials (Fred Flintstone smokes Winstones don't you know). It also has its own unique warning for anyone who uses their phones in the cinema, I can't do it justice, suffice to say it involves zombies and and lots of blood.
So anyway, the Drafthouse is know for its screenings of lots of older films, obscure films, and outright classics (I'm still not doing this place justice). And so on the Drafthouse's penultimate night, and my last one there, I got myself a ticket for the 'thank you for smoking' screening of Breathless. Joined by a couple of friends I made my way there for some heavily nicotine infused movie-watching and even wrote a little summary for a local website, Slackerwood. Feel free to check it out, though it is far from one of my better written pieces.
In other news I went to Houston, but not to NASA, which was hugely disappointing. Did get to see Travis' dad (Larry) again, who is just one of the loveliest people you could hope to meet. Larry took myself, Travis and Chris out for dinner on our last night there and all I can tell you was I had no right being in this joint, but could certainly get used to it. Fine wine and serious fine cuisine. Steak all the way for me - in typical fashion though ordering white wine with red meat (see what I mean by not belonging). Also I got myself a ticket to see the San Francisco Giants play the Atlanta Braves (that's baseball folks) while I am in the Bay area. I'm so excited about this trip now it's ridiculous. Oh, and my birthday is in a mere matter of 2 and half weeks while I'm there. Can't wait for Daft Punk.
Oh, and then there was my discovery of Ann Coulter: the insane, pathological fascist-cum-political pundit. Words cannot do justice to how much I despise this woman. She is a horror to behold. I would direct you to one of the many youtube videos I've watched of her recently, but I just can't do that to you - if you want to find out more you can look her up yourself as I will play no part. However, if I do finally perfect the Nobhead Bomb I've been working on all these years, I believe she could well be the strongest candidate yet to be ground zero.
With once again promises to try to post more, I bid thee all adieu - oh, and the fact that I'm also considering potentially watching The Sound Of Music. Something that will have several ex-girlfriends shouting expletives in shock and disbelief should they happen to read this.
No sooner was I elated to rediscover some childhood heroes this morning then they were tragically taken away from me again. The London Boys - Edem Ephraim and Dennis Fuller - had their short-lived fame back in 1989 with three hit singles, 'London Nights' and 'Requiem' which both went to no. 2 in the UK singles chart, and 'Harlem Desire' which reached no. 17. All these tracks came from the brilliantly titled The Twelve Commandments of Dance...
Why so tragic? Well it would seem Edem and Dennis died in a car crash in Austria back in 1996 and the music world was robbed forever of their hopelessly upbeat dance tunes and moves that would put Kid and Play to shame. Seriously I don't think I've ever seen anyone have more fun performing than these guys either, camping it up like you only could in the 80s - just check out those midriff bearing t-shirts, classic.
I now know where I stole all my dance floor moves from (honestly, anyone who has seen me will testify) and my taste for baggy pants. I'm gutted anyway. It's so strange too because stumbling across them has rekindled so many memories, I know I had the album and I remember seeing them being interviewed all over the shop, showing off their dance moves. I can almost taste that time in my life so strong is the sensation.
A lot has happened since I last posted ramblings about my adventures in the old US of A. I went ‘tubbing’ for the first time; did my first ‘beer bong’ then repeated the feat twice for good measure; fell in love, although with the author Jim Dodge before anyone gets too excited; got into a few arguments; went to many parties; met lots of interesting new people; I celebrated Chris Shea’s 29th birthday; became a San Antonio Spurs follower albeit begrudgingly; and I saw a Blue Moon for the first time. And while some of these experiences have simply been that, moments chalked up in a life of rapidly neglected memories, others have profoundly affected me, which in any person’s being is a healthy thing.
It certainly seems strange to acknowledge it, but 100 days have now passed me by since my tearful departure from Heathrow, leaving the ever reserved and endlessly sincere Graham awkwardly standing with a smile that said everything and more than he needed to. It reminded me of the powerful hold friendship can have over you if you allow it to. That way in which love only reaches its peak when you jump from the highest point imaginable and release yourself to the endless freefall, life rushing past your senses leaving only the slipstream of your dreams behind you. The bonds of true friendship are no less strong.
More time than I expected has been given over to the people I left behind, far and wide, since beginning this little North American adventure. But what has become apparent on this journey is the universality of friends as family. It is all-pervasive, like a melody that echoes sweetly and angrily in a great hall. And like any family, it is, at times, highly dysfunctional. For me this though is a true test of friendship, its ability to function even when something is rotten, when things are messy and when tension permeates. What is important though is the acknowledgment that we are here for one another no matter. I know that what I am writing is somewhat saccharine, but I like to think of this as one of my more endearing qualities. A certain naivety I have always been a subject of.
Nevertheless, I believe it is this that has afforded me the opportunity to see something of the bigger picture in a life fraught with challenges. While mine may not be one of great personal difficulty, the need to find meaning in being is a desire we can all relate to. To this end I have tried to understand the qualities that define different peoples collectively and individually. Most recently that quest, if you will, has led me to explore this in relation to what it means to be an ‘Austinite’ as much as it does to understanding what makes me human. It is simply a microcosm of a bigger picture. How is it that we live together and get along in this ever-shrinking space? The adaptations we make. The sacrifices and the adjustments.
I have noticed certain of my own personality traits have become more extreme of late as I have attempted to forge a space for my own character whilst treading the water of this new pond with its current of personalities, some stronger than others, all the while trying hard not to lose connection to the core of who I am whilst also avoiding intruding on other’s delineated spheres of being. After all, we all deserve a space to be ourselves.
[I started my apprenticeship at KOOP radio station in Austin this past Sunday on The Great White North hosted by Doug the Canuck - a radio show devoted to Canadian independent music. Tune in guys, 19.00 on Sunday nights central time (BST -6.00)]
I knew it. I thought it was just me. Evidence that Cadbury's Cream Eggs HAVE got smaller The people behind this are probably the same bastards that took Smarties out of circular tubes and made Opal Fruits vanish off the face of the Earth. What else are Cadbury's involved in? Could they be responsible for all my odd socks too...
Firstly, sorry this has taken a while to get up but I've been so busy since getting back from Coachella and snowboarding. Myself, Chris and Travis moved into a new house, which is brilliant (I have a bed now and everything, sweet) and I have another feature to write for Beyond magazine. This time on fake Moon landings, which I spend more than a week trawling conspiracy websites for and rambling to anyone who will listen about cover-ups. But here is the story of my departure from Tahoe, the journey to Coachella, music and frivolity:
The time comes for Sam and I to leave Lake Tahoe. I think both of us are glad to be back on the road. For me it was such an experience going snowboarding and the fulfillment of a long-standing promise with Sam. Reconnecting with my old Utah State partner in crime was awesome. Like me, I hope, Sam's one of those people you pretty much pick up right from where you left off, and while it's a buzz to hang out with him, it is also a welcome familiarity during a time of great changes in my life.
We hire a car for the trip, organised at the morning before we leave of course. Departures are always bittersweet experiences I believe. I'm sad to say goodbye to Stan and Renick, who have been real characters to have met and a total pleasure. But new adventures await. Sam and I plan to stop by Sequoia National Park on our way South through California. We travel through some of the most amazing landscapes imaginable, pulling over constantly to take in the sweeping views free of the confines of the car. After around six hours of driving we arrive at Sequoia. It reminds me of one of the greatest things about America.
So here's the thing with Sequoia, it is home to the biggest trees in the world, the Giant Sequoias. These trees are huge. Driving through the park Sam and I find ourselves slowly down constantly to look up and gawp at these seemingly endless organisms reaching high up into the sky. They are stunning and have the power to remind me how small I am as a human being. We get out the car a couple of time to investigate and see up close some of the more impressive Giant Sequoias we pass. The big thing we miss though is the tree known as General Sherman, considered to be the largest living organism on the planet, standing at 275 feet tall with 2,200 years under its considerable belt. I wish I had time to explore the national park in full, but the light is failing and we still have a lot of driving to do. Still managed to get some pretty impressive pictures though.
I finally arrived at Coachella the following day and met up with Joel, Travis and Chris. The first thing to say it that it is so hot there. I mean crazy hot, it is the desert after all. All those video I’d seen of people seeming to be fairly languid during Daft Punk at the previous years Coachella - well I now understand that that is almost certainly something to do with the heat, which was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit everyday. Camping was a real struggle and I don't think I've ever drunk so much water in my life. We were all talc-ing up our private parts to avoid chaffing, check out Joel getting stuck in there.
Anyways, here's the thing with Coachella: 1) You're not supposed to take booze into camping with you, but security was fairly lax, so we managed to get around this without too much trouble. 2) There is a 2am curfew on the campground 3) There is also absolutely no post-music entertainment to help bring down the people who have just been partying all day long. 4) It's outrageously expensive for the states. Beers were $7 for a 330ml can of heineken. So that’s $7 for shit beer then. 5) The campsite is arranged in rows. Seriously. No higgledy piggledy. But full on rows upon rows with one big gap splitting the site in two. Not that this was big problem per say, but is kind of indicative of the whole festival organisation. Rules rules rules rules and then some more rules. 6) Not wrist bands for the event, only camping. Which means that if you leave the main arena there is no re-entry. Lame.
Right, now before I moan any further about it let me tell you about our weekend.
Friday. We queue up for a good 30 minutes in blazing heat and under the sun as we go through the security barriers. The arena is much like Leeds festival I guess. A couple of outdoor arenas, and about 3 or 4 tents. No shopping stalls selling crap you don't need, but that are fun all the same. Only food and official merchandise. Which is disappointing. No new cheap and cheerful festival hats or sunnies for me this year.
So anyways, the music. Well I finally got to see Digitalism and they were brilliant. Not as amazing as I'd hoped, but pretty great nonetheless. They always change up their sets a little, but while the songs were great, I couldn't help but feel the energy just wasn't there in a way it might have been in a small club. Felix da Housecat came out next and was absolutely brilliant. I can't believe I haven't seen him before, but he really did blow me away. Already riding high on the music, me and Joel then danced our little hearts away to Benny Benassi. Got to then see Faithless rock out Insomnia and God is DJ. Wow. Maxi Jazz really hasn't lost it in the slightest. That was such a thrill.
Afterwards we dashed over to see Bjork where me and Joel made friends with a cool random girl in the crowd (hey Evann if you're reading) and her mate in the crowd as we have a habit of doing - also she's cruder than Joel, so of course we instantly like her. Bjork is so much fun. She dances around the stage, belts out her tunes accompanied by a whole choir. She talks to the audience with that delicate childish voice of hers and you can hear everyone in the crowd giggle with delight. She’s amazing. I don’t know how else to describe her really. She’s just so unique and hypnotising. Friday was a great first day.
Saturday
Joel, er, 'showering':
Day gets off to a bad start when Travis gets busted carrying something he shouldn't be carrying into the venue and promptly gets kicked out, ticket confiscated. I don't see this happen as I somehow got filtered into the slowest queue on the planet and had to endure 1 hour queuing in the heat while security dragged their feet, which was more than frustrating, it was dangerous being at not long after midday. I get in fine but only discover then that Travis got booted out. I’m totally gutted and text Travis and tell him to go find a scalped ticket, he does, gets in a different entrance. I give him my poker winnings from the previous night toward the $70 ticket he paid for so it wasn't as bad as it might have been. We see Travis, which is awesome and I'm so chuffed to hear them rock out 'Why does it always rain on me' under the desert sun. Fran is so nice and charismatic. It's a real moment to see them play finally, though memories of an ex come flooding back, it's all good though.
Next up was Kings Of Leon who are great, but really all I can think about at this point is that Arcade Fire are playing after wards. I’m so excited and ready for a truly emotional experience. Arcade Fire are a dream. They were everything I'd hoped for them to be. Epic, deep, powerful and mesmerizing all at the same time. Rebellion nearly brought me to tears, but I held strong. Joel was not so impressed, and later we have an argument regarding their 'religious' undertones. I try to tell him that some of their songs are a critique of religion and not preaching religion. But we decide to have a row about it instead (this was actually when we were back in Austin and drunk - again).
After Arcade Fire I make a bee-line for Justice but only manage to catch the last 10 minutes which is more than a little disappointing. Course there are so many bands I miss its ridiculous. After Justice, LCD play and blow me away. I had no idea they would be this good, but they are. Chris, Joel and myself dance like the crazy fools we are. They close on the Sinatra-esque ‘New York, I love you but you’re bringing me down’, it’s one of those moments that you remember always from a festival. All there was at that time and space was the music and the moment leaving me and a thousand other people entirely enchanted.
After LCD the guys head to see The Good The Bad and the Queen, but I dash to the front for Tiesto closing Saturday on the main stage with all the rest of everyone from the dance tent. He opens with a remix of Imogen Heap, Hide and Seek, and I could cry there and then. Tiesto may not be my bag, but I loved every minute of his deep beats and trance sounds. So many good tracks and he's a pleasure to watch working. Obviously he loves every minute of it especially dropping those big tunes with thumping lines. He closes with Adagio for Strings and I'm spent. Awesome.
So back in the campsite that night, being the night before Rage played (they closed the festival), the riot police (local, state and SWAT cops - plus a helicopter) came into the campsite to break up a party at about 2am. It was nuts. They were armed with tear gas and rubber bullet guns - one guy we saw get beaten up and tazered. I have it all on video. There was a two-hour stand off with campers, of which there was a massive crowd which I was standing in - somewhat inebriated. Canadians were singing 'Oh Canada' English were chatting ‘Oh Lay Oh lay Oh lay oh laaay’, and Rage fans were chanting 'Fuck you I won't do what you tell me'. It was just plain nuts and total brought on by the festival organisers failure to have any post music entertainment for the campers. Music stopped at 12am and there was supposed to be a 2am curfew. Curfew? At a festival. Crazy. It was weird in so many ways it's hard to explain, I mean for sure it was partly due to the fact Rage were playing for the first time in ages and everyone was totally Gee'd up for it. But the festival organisation clearly lacks the foresight to see that people gathered in such a large group need ways to channel their energy. I couldn't believe they sent the police in riot gear in to break up a fairly innocent party. Check out the video and watch out for the dude at the back right getting beaten up by the cops and then tazered!
The only reason it didn't totally kick off was the fact that everyone was filming the cops and if they had fired on the crowd people would have died for sure - can you imagine a stampede in a campsite of all places?!? To the police's credit they did walk away, only after 2 hours of tension though and there were certainly some moments that it nearly happened.
Sunday I decide I want to take it easy on the last day. Spend what money I have on beer and see only the band I really really want to see before Rage and no running around from tent to tent all the time. We see the last couple of Tape n Tapes tracks - I'm gonna have to get their album - then pretty much wait around for CSS and Klaxons. Wow, both are brilliant and totally rock the entire place. CSS were just so much fun and so up beat. Klaxons lead singer is totally charismatic and I can see why they are so popular on the scene. Their music is brilliant and I'm totally buzzing when I hear them play Skans and Gravity's Rainbow. Awesome. Afterwards I check out Soulwax who are their usual intoxicating selves breaking up their Nite Versions tracks with some club classics.
Then we make our way to the main stage after another couple of beers to get in a good spot for Rage and with the added bonus of seeing Manu Chao. He is so good. Everyone is dancing, and happy and totally pumped up for Rage. Then Rage play, 45,000 people cram in and push forward to see them. It's like a out of body experience for 1 hour and 45 minutes. I'm jumping up and down like a crazy madman. Zach only speaks to the audience once during the whole show - but it's worth it as he lays into the American administrations past and present. As one point saying that if the laws applied to Hitler and the Nazi's after WWII were applied to every American government since WWII they'd all be guilty of war crimes and should be hung. The crowd, naturally, goes wild.
And then is comes. When they close with 'Killing In the Name' the whole place almost loses the plot. Everyone is singing and jumping and these brilliant white lights start flashing. It was sick. Travis thinks he may have actually blacked out in a state of trance at this point. Oh yeah, and Joel pulled this girl just before they came on and was playing tonsil tennis with her right through the Rage set. I have to tap him on the shoulder a couple of times to make sure he knows a track is about to drop less he gets his tough bitten off. Hilarious.
There's no riot afterwards. No revolution. Just a load of very satisfied customers. Ah well. In the end Coachella was a fantastic experience, mainly thanks to the music and the people I was with. I'll never go back there. Apart from the heat, the rules and restrictions - the fact that someone somewhere thought they needed to send riot police in to campsite to break up a party left a taste so sour that it will probably be my overriding memory of the festival and the place. Maybe it was something to do with Rage, or maybe its just that in a country where the individuals you meet are so easy going, that the authorities somehow fall at the opposite end of the spectrum. Policing through force (or the threat of) instead of cooperation and consideration. All it would have taken is dedicated entertainment for festival goers after the music had stopped. Where's the Silent Disco??? Can you really imagine these crazy folks starting trouble at 3am on Sunday night at Leeds festival 2006:
Anyways, the drive back to Austin takes us 24 hours. We decide not to stop by Joshua Tree for a nights camping. It's just too hot. Once we reach Texas we find it is totally pissing it down and I nearly crash the car into a ditch, which came at the end of period where we are all close to killing each other. Seriously, skidding, bracing, and about 3 foot from disaster...oops. But we all make it back alive. Which was nice.
And so that was that. Gonna post a video blog soon, try something a bit different.
Season is over. The mountain is closed. And my short career as a snow bum has come to a premature end. But what a way to finish! The last two days of Heavenly say the snowboarding gods smile brightly in one final ironic snow dump over the mountain. Apparently these past two weeks has been some of the best riding conditions the guys here had seen in a while, I guess bringing that British weather with me was a good thing on this occassion.
I've loved every minute of snowboarding with Sam and his housemates Stan, Renick and Tim. All have helped improved my riding skills immeasurably over the last week to the point where I was following closely behind on the black diamond runs through the woods in fairly deep powder. What a rush. Sam heads back to New Zealand to chase the Southern Hemisphere's winter and I'm sorely tempted to follow him there. I always new I'd love snowboarding, I just had no idea how addictive I would find it to be.
Every night I'd go to bed with new injuries and general bodily exhaustion telling myself that I'd take the day off tomorrow. Of course the following morning I would drag my moaning, creaking body out of bed, stick the kettle on and start immediately thinking about what I wanted to achieve on the snowboard that day. Pretty much every day I've learned or done something new, whether that be new runs or pulling 50-50's on the boxes in the terain park - but it's not been nearly enough to quench the desire for more and to be better than the previous day. I know these kind of thoughts come from skateboarding. But this has allows be the attraction to me of these kind of creative sports. It's the challenges you set yourself, moment to moment, trick to trick, run to run and day to day.
But it's over for now, but not goodbye for good. I'll figure something out, but I plan to be riding again somewhere before the year is out. In the mean time I'm going to supplement my thirst by mountain biking over summer and learning some kayaking skills. Girls love guys with skills.
Speaking of which, mine and Sam's long standing apocalypse training continued the day after Heavenly closed after our day of firearms training with Stan. I've never handled a gun before. Not at all. I've never wanted to, although the curiosity was certainly there. But in the aftermath of the shootings in Virginia I must say I was more compelled to understand guns better than I was further entrenched in my dislike of them. To explain, I wanted to experience what it felt like to have a gun in your hands. I wanted to know more about why people feel the need to own guns. I don't think I'm explaining this as well as I thought about it before hand. For sure I had second thoughts about it after what had happened - an event so inevitable that while shocking all of us, probably surprised few of us - but somehow it also seemed like the timeliest of moments to learn more about this historical piece of American culture.
A big part of the reason for taking this opportunity was the fact that it was Stan who was willing to take myself, Sam and Jason (another new Australian friend) out into the Nevada desert to fire an array of weapons. Stan is a snowboarding instructor at Heavenly, one of the most interesting people I've met in the US, certainly one of the nicest, and also a former Captain in the US Army who served in Afghanistan. If I was going to learn how to handle a gun than I could think of no better person. So it was with that we drove to Stan's home town of Yerington (a tiny mid-west town), over the mountains from South Lake Tahoe sat down for tea and sandwichs with Stan's mum before loading up his jeep with a revolver, a 9mm pistol, a repeat action shotgun and a world famous Kalashnikov assault rifle - the AK-74 (not the 47, this is the modernised model). No doubt this was all very surreal.
Ready for action we swung by Junior's Gun Shop to pick up ammo, which is amazingly cheap. Junior and his buddy were leaning over the counter smoking cigerettes and taking to the local sheriff as we four snow bums ("snow bums eh? Well you guys are alright") entered the shop. As friends of Stan's we're welcomed, especially as he announces this is to be our first day shooting guns. Somewhat mesmerized and scared by the contents of the shop I couldn't bring myself to take any photos inside. Needless to say you could write an essay just on the contents of this local gun shop by itself. An array of rifles and shotguns adorn the wall behind the counter accompanied by a history of posters, news clippings and artifacts. Then there are pictures of local boys who are in the US armed forces dotted around the shop alongside messages of 'support for our troops'. Other posters are about gun ownership rights, one with a picture of Hitler, suggesting that taking this right away is akin to fascism (to be clear not a Nazi supporting poster). Talk during this time inevitably sways to Iraq, I-ran, Syria, A-rabs etc. This is returned with silent nodding on our parts while Stan looked for the ammo needed. I don't know what to tell you about Junior, I guess he's just a guy who wants 'the boys' to come home safe and on a basic level I can see his point of view cos it's these nations that are involved, one way or another in the deaths of American soldiers. The very fact of them being there is an altogether different political conversation that I wasn't about to get into.
The jeep now loaded up we headed off into the desert to a range that Stan and, judging but the spent cartridges everywhere, everyone else in town likes to use. Taking matters on weapon by weapon, Stan was careful to explain the workings of each gun and its safe handling. More generally than this, he discussed important basic safe handling techniques to consider at all times - muzzle control, firing-range protocol, safety buttons, checking and clearing the chamber. No doubt about it, Stan is a excellent teacher and each of us, though very nervous, felt totally comfortable and at ease with him. Having talked about the weapon before hand, its range, effectiveness (Stan is, like any good America, a veritable fountain of knowledge), we then took turns under Stan's watchful eye, at firing. As an added bonus Stan also took us through some soldier soldier turning and firing techniques. Seriously, I can't tell you how odd the experience was, and when you watch the video bellow and see me behaving extremely seriously, please remember this was something you could behave no other way in possession of.
First up was the AK, probably my favourite gun to fire both for ease, accuracy and utility. From here we then moved onto the handguns. Unfortunately Stan's CZ75 9mm semiautomatic handgun jammed, but we were able to each take several turns on the revolver, probably the scariest gun each of us handled. The sheer power and brute force was quite shocking, though nothing we couldn't manage. We used three different types of rounds in the revolver, 44 special, 44 magnum, and 44 magnum extra heavy load. The kick from the last type of ammo hurt like hell and really sent our hands recoiling from the force of the discharge. I would add here that I took the prize of the day, hitting a beer bottle from 50 yards using the regular magnum rounds. That said I don't honesty think I knew much about it, I took my aim, but once I was firing the gun all I could think about was squeezing the trigger, holding on as tight as possible and praying the gun didn't kick back and hit me in the face.
Last up was the shotgun, again which we used two different types on rounds, one of which kicked much more. It's got to be said, Sam was a demon with the shotgun (similarly Jason with the AK), pumping it and firing rounds like he'd done it a hundreds times before. I myself was much more of a scaredy cat, firing a round, spending what seemed like an eternity preparing myself for the next and praying it was the last.
What did I learn form the experience? It's hard to say. I certainly solidified my fearful (and healthy) respect for guns and I definitely now know a lot more about their capabilities. When myself and Sam got back to employee housing in Tahoe we were asked if we'd had fun. Neither of us knew quite how to answer the question, though we both agreed that while we had enjoyed learning how to use the guns we didn't consider it to have been a 'fun' experience. It was a jump in logic that was somewhat beyond Sam and I, but marked the difference between our two cultures. But perhaps the most important thing I gained from the day was the ability to defend myself in the event of a Zombie invasion. In all seriousness though, I remain unsure as to the point of owning such weapons. I understand the attraction to many people, and that for others they are simply a tool. However, I don't know if I can get myself around the fact that ultimately they are designed for one purpose, killing. And that is something I don't ever want to forget.
Next up a road trip with Sam down from South Lake Tahoe to Indio in South California for Coachella where I will meet up with Joel, Travis and Chris. I can't wait to see Joel, it's only been a couple of months, but I've missed my partner in carnage. Only one weekend to make up for the lost time...what will we do???
