Note to Readers:
My blog is time delayed. I’m writing about events that took place last
week. I’m glad you feel like you’re with
me in the car, identifying with my plight, but I’m sitting in a nice condo in
Sarasota with the patio door open. The locals
think it’s chilly because it’s in the 60s.
Go figure. I won’t start home
till the roads are clear. Thanks for the
worry, but no need. I’m with family and
all is well. Now, back to that snowstorm
in West Virginia.
My decision to turn back from Route 250, made instantly at
the feel of four skidding tires and the sight of a deep ditch on a downhill
turn, choosing instead to follow Route 2 down the Ohio River Valley, had
implications. It implied I was turning my back on the communities of Limestone,
Pleasant Valley, Cameron, Littleton, Hundred, Glover Gap, Metz, Mannington,
Pruntytown, Phillipi, and Belington plus all the twists, turns, dips, valleys,
hills, and vistas in between. Which was
true.
On the other hand, choosing Route 2 implied I was opening
myself up to the towns and the sights along flatter and more navigable roads running
down the Ohio River Valley. Equally
true. I’d been on neither route and had
visited none of those towns. Does it
imply I’ll never make it down Route 250?
Probably. But not
necessarily. These are implications and
not facts. Life is long (hopefully). And in the immortal words of Fats Waller “one
never really knows, do one?”
West Virginia, while seceding from Virginia at the start of
the Civil War due to its opposition to slavery, is (or was) technically the
North. But it feels like the South. And it sounds like the South when you talk to
its citizens. It made me hanker for old
Southern music. A CD in my fancy case, a
torn short brown paper Handy Foods bag tied with twine from a ball in the
shack, called to me; Genuine Negro Jig by the Carolina Chocolate Drops. I was going to wait till I got to North
Carolina but couldn’t. I needed a distraction. It was snowing heavier than ever. But for the Carolina Chocolate Drops, life
was good. Or was it?
Cornbread and butter beans and you across the table
Eatin’
them beans and making love as long as I am able
Hoein’
corn and cotton too until the day is over
Ride
the mule and cut the fool and love again all over
You can hear bones clacking, the sounds of kazoos, and
washtubs thumping behind the banjos, fiddles, and nice harmonies of the Chocolate
Drops. It’s old-time foot-stomping
music. It made me want to set the cruise
control and do a little car dancing. But
I couldn’t. It was doing some serious
driving.
The river was wide on my right, on its other side Ohio. On my left were the steep West Virginia hills
I declined to cross on Route 250. Behind
me was Moundsville. Under me was a snow-covered four-lane road, only two lanes of which were being used. Over me were close gray clouds. Before me
were frantically flapping windshield wipers, driving snow, fog, and the rear lights
of a big truck. Around me was white
mixed in with the snow and wet coming off the tires in front of me and the cars
passing in the other lane. I couldn’t
see the sides of the road, instead following two tracks, more like ruts, cut by
slow-moving southbound traffic. I stayed
in those ruts and followed the lights of that truck.
I made it through Kent, then Proctor. Both were little towns, more like clusters of
homes, with few businesses. I couldn’t
see them well. I just kept moving south,
at about 30 miles an hour. I wasn’t
about to pass that truck.
New Martinsville was a bigger town. I pulled under a canopy covering the gas
pumps of a Marathon station thinking I would get out of the snow. I didn’t.
The wind blew it sideways. The
Buick was a mess, Brownish frozen slush covered the headlights and streaked
down the side panels. I kicked off big
chunks of ice formed behind the tires.
As soon as I got out of this weather, I promised the Buick, I’ll take
you to a car wash. I filled the tank and
filled the windshield washer reservoir with blue stuff. It was almost empty. I never had gone through it that fast.
Inside the station refugees from the storm were wandering
the aisles envying the candy bars, ogling the beef jerky, and coveting the
doughnuts. I approached a guy at the
coolers trying to decide which kind of water to buy (remember when water was
just water?) to seek a recommendation on food.
He looked like he missed few if any meals. Those guys are the best to ask.
“Is there was a good place to eat in town that isn’t a chain
restaurant?”
“Hardly. But there is
a place back up the road called the Blue Sidecar that used to have good
barbeque. Mostly a drinkin’ place, but
the food can be good, dependin on who’s cookin’ and how sober they are.”
“Blue Sidecar? I
musta missed it.”
“It’s on the river side of the road. Just a cinder block place. It’s blue.”
Made sense. I headed
back the way I came and couldn’t find it.
I pulled over. As much as I hated
to, I resorted to my phone. Yelp. It
said the Blue Sidecar was 400 feet down the road. There was a big sign down there but I couldn’t
read it. Too much snow. I drove closer. The sign said ‘Amy’s Candlelight Fine Dining
and Sports Bar.’ Under the sign was a
blue building, a concrete box. I pulled
in.
The place had a little foyer with doors on the right and
left. I tried the left door. Inside were maybe a dozen folding banquet
tables, each set for six, with burgundy table cloths. On each table was a candle. Three people were talking quietly at one table. They looked up. I smiled and tried the right door.
Inside was a long formica bar, three big screen TV’s, some
booths, and the smell of stale beer. It
was empty. Standing behind the bar was a
smiling bartender with a lot of makeup and a ridiculously thick scarf roped
around her neck. She had plucked her
eyebrows completely out, it appeared and replaced them with a brown arc of
eyebrow pencil. She was short and had a
full face.
“Is this the Blue Sidecar?”
“It was till two weeks ago.
Now it’s Amy's Candlelight Fine Dining and Sports Bar. You’re in the sports bar honey.”
“What happened to the Blue Sidecar?”
“The owner drank too much.”
“I see. Are you Amy?”
“No.”
“You serving lunch?”
“Sure am. Want a
menu?”
“Yeah.”
“How about a drink.”
“You got any craft beer?”
“No. But when I get
you craft beer types in here I give them a draft Yuengling Dark. You’ll like it.”
“OK.”
She smiled. When she did
her cheeks moved up and made her eyes smaller. They had a twinkle though. She had
big teeth.
There was a single menu for both the fine dining and sports bar
sides. The dishes weren’t what I would describe as a fine dining type, but then again the sports bar had no candles.
“What’s good here Amy?”
“I told ya I’m not Amy.”
She pointed to a badge pinned to that big scarf. “I’m Katelyn.”
“Sorry. I forgot. So what’s good here Katelyn?”
“I wouldn’t have nothin’ but the brisket sandwich myself.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s all made. The cook
can’t mess that up.”
“OK, I think I’ll have the brisket sandwich.”
“You want fries, sweet potato fries, onion rings, or slaw
with that?”
“Slaw. Can you give
me extra?”
“I’ll take care of you, honey.”
I’d brought my road atlas in to figure out where I was
going. Another road, route 20, would
take me over towards Fairmont and then Elkins.
That was my preferred destination if the weather would let me get
there.
Another woman came in and sat on a barstool at the end of
the bar. She had a portable phone and a
notebook in her hand. She quickly
punched in a number and began talking. She
was loud and all business. I couldn’t help
but overhear.
“I need to place a liquor order. These are all handles, 1.75’s all right? You ready?”
She paused, not looking pleased.
“Now you ready?”
“OK, I want 7 Jack Daniels, 3 Crown Royal, 2 Southern
Comfort, and a Wild Turkey. 8 Captain Morgan. Oh, and 2 Fireball. That price gone down on Fireball yet? “
Pause.
“Salesman
said the price was going down. What’s up
with that?”
Pause.
"Yeah, I still want it.”
Katelyn was changing the stations on the TV’s. “Anything you want to watch honey?”
“No.”
The liquor order turned to clear spirits.
“OK, I need 8 Smirnoff, 4 Apple Smirnoff, a
Grey Goose, 4 Bacardi white, a Malibu Rum, 3 McCormick Gins and a Tangueray.”
Pause.
“I think that’s all. How soon can
you get it here?”
Pause.
"Yeah, I know it's snowin’. Think I'm an idiot?”
Pause.
"Ok, we need this stuff soon.”
Pause.
“OK Bye.”
Katelyn brought my sandwich.
It was huge. She drew me another
Yuengling and went to stand by the woman who placed the liquor order. She was showing her something on her cell
phone and they were laughing.
The brisket was delicious.
The bun could have been better but not the meat. It had a sweet smoky flavor and a soft
texture. The slaw was homemade and
chunky. I put some on top of the
brisket.
“Sorry to intrude,” I said to the woman sitting at the
bar “but that was a whopping order of booze.
Sounds like you’re doing quite a business.”
“Yeah well, it is winter in West Virginia with not a lot else
to do.”
“Do you mind me asking what you do with all that apple
vodka?”
“Appletinis. We got
some old women can’t get enough of ‘em.”
“You must be Amy.”
She pointed to her nameplate and said to Katelyn "Why do we even wear these damn things?".
To me she said, “Nope, I’m Kathy.”
“Who’s Amy then?”
“Amy is the owner’s six-year-old daughter.”
They laughed together. Standing
beside each other, the two women looked alike, right down to their teeth and
eyebrows.
“Are you sisters?”
“Cousins. We get that
all the time.”
“I see you got a map book there. Where you headed?” Kathy said.
“I’m taking the long way to Florida.”
“I’ll say. Where you
going today?”
“I’m trying to get to Elkins. I was going to drive on 250 but decided
against it. There’s another road that would
take me there, Route 20. How’s that road?”
They looked at each other and laughed big, their eyes nearly
disappearing into their faces. Katelyn
finally answered.
“It’s no better than 250 honey. I used to take both them roads to Fairmont when I
was takin’ classes down there. Even in
good weather, they’re hard to drive.”
Kathy chimed in. “Them
roads is just one kiss ass turn after another.”
“Kiss ass turns?”
Katelyn, standing behind the bar, grabbed an imaginary
steering wheel in front of her. She twisted
the wheel far right, threw her butt and head in the same direction, and gave a
little air kiss. She repeated the same
move on her left, then flashed a big smile and said:
“That honey is a kiss ass turn.”
The cousins cackled with laughter. I laughed too. Three of us in a bar in a snowstorm enjoying
the naming of a new American concept. New
to me at least. Kiss ass turns. You learn something every day.
“That Route 20 is awful.
For starters, you lose cell phone service as soon as you get on it. And they don’t plow it. Don’t take care of it hardly at all.”
“Doesn’t anybody live out there?”
“Oh hell yeah. But
they aren’t going anywhere. They come
into town as little as possible. They like
it out there. And if you go in the ditch
and get help from them you might get more than your bargain for, if you know
what I mean.”
The door opened and a man covered with snow walked in. He took off his WVU Volunteers stocking hat,
his gray hair wild and sticking up, and slapped it on his knee. Snow flew.
“Damn girls, it's winter out there.”
Katelyn mixed him a Captain and coke without him asking. He ignored me.
Katelyn mixed him a Captain and coke without him asking. He ignored me.
“What happened after I left last night?”
His eyes darted between the two women. It must have been quite a night. Kathy answered.
“Well, we wouldn’t let Darryl drive home. Had to call him a cab. He was pissed off but oh well. Place finally cleared out but not till almost
three.”
“Jesus Christ, was Darryl was on a bender or what?” the man
said.
“He’d been up for 72 hours,” Kathy added.
Katelyn came down and took my empty dishes.
“So it sounds like it would be smarter going down to Parkersburg
on 2 and take 50 West to Clarksburg.”
"Yeah, that’s the only way today. There’s a good road to Weston too. You can get to Elkins easy from there.”
No comments:
Post a Comment