Going for the Rare Do Over

Long life creates both obstacles and opportunities.  If you happen to be old, the obstacles become increasingly apparent.  Gradual loss of the senses, especially hearing and vision, even taste and feel, are hard to swallow.  Even worse, newly discovered concepts replace old fears.  That process of evolving fears that started when I dreaded the “boogie man” as a kid has never stopped. 

Now, at the age of 70, I consider the idea of “cognitive decline” even more terrifying than “cancer” which I believed not long ago was the scariest word in the English language.  But after having a minor brush with cancer some time ago, I’ve changed my mind. 

Losing the sense of who I was or am becoming, discovering blank pages in my private unwritten journal of what I’ve done and strive to do, that’s the fear that paralyzes me now.  And that set of fears based around the medical reality known as “Alzheimer’s disease?”  I don’t want to talk about it.

Instead, I prefer to look at the opportunities long life offers.  Like do-overs.  Consider this excerpt (edited a little because I can’t help it) from an old blog post six years ago, January 25, 2016, to be exact.

 I abandoned my plan to travel south down Route 250 beginning in Wheeling West Virginia.  It was a decision made instantly at the feel of the Buick’s four skidding tires and the sight of a deep ditch on a downhill turn.  Instead, I chose to follow Route 2 south down the Ohio River Valley.  Like all decisions it had implications. It implied I was giving in to the dangers of a snow and ice storm and 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.  All true.

 On the other hand, choosing Route 2 implied I was opening myself up to the towns and the sights along flatter, safer, and more navigable roads running down the Ohio River Valley.  Equally true.  I’d been on neither route nor visited none of those towns.  Does it also 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?”

There I was, 64 years old in 2016, hoping for more years and now, 70 years old in 2022, I’ve received that gift.  I have the chance to put myself back on Route 250 and complete the trip I once imagined.  I plan to take it.  Who said you can’t have your cake and eat it too?  Was that Marie Antoinette?  No.  She said, “let them eat cake” shortly before losing her head in the French Revolution.  I can still remember.  Life is good.  And that bit of advice from Fats Waller always holds true.

I’m tuning up and cleaning the Buick, buying an up-to-date road atlas, and planning a solo road trip to Florida including West Virginia’s Route 250.  I’ll spend four or five nights between Illinois and Tampa Florida, and when I arrive there, I’ll meet my wife who is flying down.  We’ll spend time with relatives and then take a slow route home. 

We used to do this often before the pandemic hit, four years out of the last seven to be exact.  Our last trip Florida trip was 2019.  It’s been too long.  What’s the lesson in this?  Travel when you can.  It will always be there, but you won’t.  Time’s a wasting.

That does mean though that I’ll miss an opportunity to revisit one of my favorite places in West Virginia’s Ohio River Valley,  Amy’s Candlelight Fine Dining and Sports Bar. Here’s more of that blog post from that rerouted trip in 2016.  You don’t find local color like this everywhere.  

I pulled under a canopy covering the gas pumps of a Marathon station in New Martinsville 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 big chunks of ice off from behind the tires.  I promised the Buick out loud that as soon as I get out of this weather, I’ll take you to a car wash.  I filled the tank and the windshield washer reservoir with blue stuff.  It was almost empty.  I had never 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 very few meals.  Those are the best guys 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 plastic burgundy tablecloths.  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 TVs, 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, looked like, 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.  I wouldn’t put the menu items in the category of fine dining 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 up from the smoker.  The cook can’t mess with it.”

“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 Fairmount 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 1.75’s all right?  Handles.  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 TVs.

“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’.” 

Pause.

“Ok, well we need this stuff damn 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 eavesdrop,” 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’re doing with all that apple vodka?”

“Appletinis.  We got a bunch of old women can’t get enough of ‘em.”

 “You must be Amy.”

She pointed to her nameplate too.

“Nope, I’m Kathy.  Jesus Katelyn, why do we even wear these name tags anyway?”

“Who’s Amy then?”

“Amy is the owner’s six-year-old daughter.”

They laughed.  Standing beside each other, the two women look 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 both them roads to Fairmount 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 storm 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 one of ‘em you might get more than you bargained 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 grey 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.

“What happened after I left last night?”

His eyes twinkled.  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 plate.

“So, it sounds like it would be smarter going down to Parkersburg on 2 and take 50 West to Clarksburg,” I said.

"Yeah, that’s the smart way to go today.  There’s a good road to Weston too.  You can get to Elkins easy from there.”

I paid my bill and said goodbye to Katelyn, Kathy, and Amy’s Candlelight Fine Dining and Sports Bar.  When Katelyn handed me my change, she winked at me.  I was half tempted to see if I could find a room in New Martinsville and experience the sports bar at night but then thought better of it.  I’d been down that road too, a long, long time ago.  Better to stay off that one as well.