Somewhere around day 9 we arose from our reclusive stench and exile, into
the waiting home and noses of real people. Park City Utah is a lot
like I imagine Aspen was when I was there in the early 80s. Hip,
trendy clean and more than a little wealthy.
We justified stopping in Park City by focusing on a possible free shower and some human company for a change.
At about 3:00 we clumb up the hill into town, used a credit card to park in the street, and walked three blocks each way through the core of the city before settling back at the Sports Bar in front of the truck.
We schmirked over our beer at the bar, letting our stench rise around us. Smoking had become a habit by this time and I had frantically scanned the inside of the bar for an ashtray on our arrival. The only ones I saw were on the bar and that's where we sat.
Bob phoned Al to confirm our arrival. Al erred and answered the phone this time. "come on up - three rights and a left past the Golden Quickie Mart and First Utah National Bank."
We missed the turn first time going by which gave me an opportunity to cajole and coerce Bob into opening a couple of beer for our arrival. Needed to ensure the bad impression. Nothing like pulling up to a fine home in the middle of a quite American suburb, swilling beer and falling out of your vehicle at 4:47 on a Monday afternoon.
Preliminary info from Bob had led me to believe that Al was going to be ragged and a little wild, so arriving with open beer seemed appropriate.
I was in no way ready for the sobering experience that followed. I was caught off guard by the friendly, relaxed and open welcome we received. Susan was prepping supper - a superb roast beef with exceptional vegetables - and both of their sons were home puttering around the house. We were made to feel welcome in a natural and easy way. If we were interrupting they never let us know.
This presentation of perfect hosts and ideal family life yanked me out of my alcohol induced fog and set loose the floods of guilt and shame. Not only had I abandoned my own family for over a week, but also I was here serving as a genuine bad example - something your dad's old army buddy drags out when he's in town.
Things deteriorated. In an effort to make us feel more comfortable Susan
volunteered to provide the judge's nose and determine which of us smelled
worse. I foolishly bet 5 dollars and watched her and Bob split the
winnings as she decreed that Bob stank more than I did.
In a fair and just world I would have won, but Susan has known Bob a long
time and, though she tried to make me feel better by telling me it was
close, I could tell she has a thing for Bob.
After showers, sitting on the deck overlooking the town and ski hills, trying to string together thoughts and sentences about the Niska Treaty, we learned that we were riding on my timing - impeccable as usual. It was Josh's birthday and our arrival coincided with the birthday feast.
I sank deeper into guilt and self-loathing as Josh shared his gifts and talked easily about his plans for further race carting and educating at UBC. Dinner was soon and there was nothing I could do to escape the grace and civility that had engulfed us. I drank and tried to keep up with conversation. After a birthday dinner that could not be beat Bob tried to talk Al into loading some implements of destruction into the back of the Boxster and heading down the highway to dump the trash - but Al was having none of it.
More wine as I stood in the kitchen drying dishes and putting things away.
In a conversation way beyond me I spoke with Susan about the different
lifestyles of the people that either live on or frequent her street. People
who order out and never use their kitchens; people with time to dedicate to
charity and social action; people with hair more perfect than mine. Other
people. Mexican people with children soon to feel disenfranchised despite the
wealth their parents now know compared to what they did know. Children
of an underclass of working poor, cleaning houses and tending gardens in
an affluent city in the mountains beyond the suburbs of Salt Lake.
Resentment and isolation bubbling together in the generation born
in America to parents who came to the U.S. and brought their radio stations,
tacos, music, Catholicism, language, colours, sense of family and salsa.
Children whose parents have seen America through the lenses of the economically
displaced, and have seen America as an opportunity. Children who see not the
opportunity but the limitations of America. Their experience is isolation
and disadvantage - living in and watching a daily struggle up the hill into
town and employment, while the others live in homes on the slopes with the
ski views. How nice it is to live in a world where employment is a disadvantage.
Or so the world seems when you've had not enough wine. The habit of
drinking had taken hold and three or four bottles of wine fit nicely on
top of a day's beer and bourbon. We never missed a drop ... err beat.
Later tales of road kill deer on the highway into Salt Lake. Al giving up night riding because of the danger, great urban myth (the turth) about so and so who rode his bike right through the centre of the deer ... right through it!!! ... kept "thinking through the deer" I imagine ... right bloody through it!!! - no pun intended.
Morning feeling of "god, did I say that?", "what was that that I said?"
Clear memories of Josh opening his birthday gifts at the table - Dan kicking the soccer ball around in the yard like a hacky-sack - a gift to Bob from Dan - excellent duct tape wallet - but do you think he'll use it - no way - likes his stand-by duct tape wallet of 12 yrs. - Christ what a jerk - even I gave up my plastic Expo Ernie wallet after a time.
Through it all though, final memory is that Al is not as ragged or wild as Bob portrayed him - perhaps it was the presence of his sons, perhaps it was the presence of his wife - maybe he just grew up. Either way, he never did give us the keys to the Boxster and the Ducatis probably haven't touched the road in years.