Woke up to a brawl this morning. Mikey has a cat named “shithead” and, he sauntered into the corner I was sleeping in, Gary didn’t take to it too well, and shit got ugly real fast.
As good of a wakeup call as I could ever get, I ‘spose.
Checked a couple emails, said a quick goodbye to Twos and jumped on that big road, I-80, headed nowhere but east.
Wyoming is big, and beautiful, with big skies and grandes expanses. I’ve always loved driving across this state. Things are a little prettier to the north, but, we were south, so, we took what we could get.
Made it outta Salt Lake pretty easy, up and into Wyoming and punched it, all the way to Cheyenne. Took I-25 due south down to Denver. Great skyline.
Each time I come through Denver I think about the following things:
01. The first couple records by the Fluid.
02. Jack Kerouac’s fateful pitstops.
03. The gigantic greaser/’50s scene here. Tons of beautiful broads with bangs and jeans and tattoos and lipstick and shit. Rowr.
04. Bums. Denver bums are like no other. Hard to explain. “Mile high Bums.”
05. How spread out this joint is. Wow.
06. Rod Snell and the good times had in Fort Collins, Breck and Steamboat.
07. Guys like Shumsky, Drago, Marcy and Dave Tuck.
06. And of course, Gary Aleshire. Another favorite “Gary” of mine.
Gary is Bry’s big brother, and, one of Traverse City’s first wave of skateboarder punks. Much respect. He was one of the pioneers in our little Northern Michigan world. He was part of the first wave to “move out west” to Breckenridge. Fuckin’ shred royalty, man.
We put those guys on such pedestals. The 4 or 5 years they had on us seemed like ice ages. It’s amazing how the years just sorta whip by, and you realize how similar all the groups were. Each group had their burnouts and their artists and their slicksters and their scammers and so on. It’s tribal, and, each kid is gonna find their role at some point.
It’s awesome to just sorta be, “Thirtysomething dirtbags, rapping about old days.” Very proud of my roots. I chose well. Let’s just say, “We won.”
Gary and I had hung out in his garage out back of his bungalo, playing selected cuts off old punk records, pounding cold beers and talking shit. So awesome. Thanks for the comfy bed and hospitality, even as I blew it rolling into town way too late.
Lots of Nebraska today, and, some Iowa. Real good. Goodnight from Denver.
Sitting in an IHOP with Mark Sullivan and Jeff Baker from Snowboard magazine. They’re here checking real eastate and getting to know the folks at Freeskier magazine. Gonna meet the higher ups there, and then, get the fuck right outta Colorado once and for all. I got a strong, proud Midwest to get back to.
