The people you meet on the Hike and Bike Trail

There’s nothing like a torrential downpour to make a girl appreciate a Sun-soaked Sunday. And there is no better way to spend said Sunday than with a romp around Lady Bird Lake with your adorable labradoodle friends. So, that’s what I did.

Apparently everyone in Austin had the same idea, because the trail was as busy as I’d ever seen it. Fortunately with 1o miles of terrain from end-to-end, there was enough trail to enable the peaceful coexistence of hippies and yuppies alike.  Please allow me to elaborate on some of the more interesting characters you will find scooting along the sandy shoreline.

1.) Super intense, no-time-for-funny-business-or-smiles workout buff.
Not to be confused with casual, chatty, on-a-light-jog-with-my-friends-or-my-dog exerciser. Those folks exist too, but I’m far less aware of their presence than the previously mentioned work out machines. No duh the trail is a great place to exercise, but some folks take it to an extremely intimidating level. They whiz past at light speed, sporting a “move it or lose it” attitude and are usually wearing work out attire that costs more than an uppity designer dog (or they are hardly wearing anything at all except a shiny, sweaty six pack that makes me hate myself on many levels). Sometimes they pass with an army of other runners and sometimes they fly solo, but every time I spot them I dangle my head in shame knowing I will never join their ranks and feel slightly self conscious that I am some how ruining their workout routine with my slow-footed pace. Sorry, work out man. I’ll try and keep out of your way.

2.) Person on bike who comes dangerously close to running you over.
I know, I know it’s called the hike AND BIKE trail, but this might be the one place in Austin where cyclists are at a disadvantage. There are far too many off-leash dogs, tiny children and meandering pedestrians for you to truly enjoy that bike ride. You can ring that bell all you want but at some point you’re gonna have to tap the breaks and dismount to make way for the golden retriever and its hip stroller-pushing mother making their way to turtle cove.

3.) Posse of hipsters
Wearing some article of neon clothing and probably equipped with an ironic accessory like a vintage camera or dated walkman, the hipsters flock to the trail just like the dog walkers, out of town visitors and work out enthusiasts do. So glad nature and sunshine are still “in.”

4.) Person with out of control/too many dogs.
I’m kind of definitely talking about myself here. I love the doodles with all my heart, but sometimes they are a bit much for the trail. Wyatt pulls on the leash like he’s towing a sled of expectant mothers to the hospital, and Stella has to stop and pee on just about everything—and what she doesn’t pee on, she has to stop and sniff. We’re the people that have to apologize to every other dog walker for allowing our muts to get all up in their business.  Off leash, things aren’t much better. Wyatt morphs into a hyperactive toddler, screaming with glee at every little dog and leaf and speck of dust that passes him by. Stella jumps into the swampy shore water every chance she gets, usually stealing toys from other dogs. Sorry trail mates, for screwing up your hiking experience with our exuberant Ewoks.

5.) Person riding the trendiest new water craft device.
In the past it was kayaks, then it was the stand up paddle board. This go ’round everyone was all about the hydrocycle. And that’s pretty cool, I guess. You’re certainly not going to be running across poorly trained muppet dogs out on the water, so why not hydrocycle really? Way to be, water lovers. Land is for wusses.

Even with aggressive athletes and trendy under-aged hipsters, I love, Love LOVE my time on the trail. At the end of a walk, run or row there’s a undeniable sense of camaraderie with the fellow trail goers despite varying preferences in pooch or pace. It’s our special piece of earth where nature coexists with urban sprawl…and that’s a pretty cool thing to be able to share.

Yeah, I’m practically a celebrity.

“Beep Beep”

What was that?

Oh that? That was just the sound of me tooting my own horn because…

The January issue of Austin Monthly came out and I helped write the cover story! It’s my first cover story since I officially retired from the exciting world of news reporting and it’s nice to know that people who aren’t directly related to me actually enjoy reading what I write.

But wait, there’s more! In the mail last week I received a shiny new copy of Forty Acres of Fun, a new book published by the UT Co-Op which features funny short stories about life on the University of Texas campus. And who’s name is that on page 131? Yep, it’s mine! This may very well be the one and only time I get my words published in a book, so please excuse me for shamelessly plugging it on this blog.

Thanks English teachers for book learning me real good.

Hook ‘em!

Just call me Crabby

Moving has turned me into a hermit crab.

My excitement with home ownership has quickly morphed this once social little creature into a ghastly, fun-forgoing mutant that never leaves the house. Sure, the temporary halt from my usual Austin activities is partly to blame on a sudden draining of funds (house down payments and repairs don’t come cheap and neither does dining out and date nights), but I’ve also backed out of attending one or two freebies without having much of an excuse other than a strangely irresistible desire to choose nesting over nightlife.

Por ejemplo: I realized that despite last weekend being my birthday weekend, an occasion usually celebrated with fancy dinners and elaborate outings, I didn’t leave the house once between the time I got home from work on Friday night and left to go back on Monday morning. Yes, there was house partying in celebration of said birthday (so I’m not to J.D. Sallinger level yet), and yes, I was slightly preoccupied over the weekend working on an freelance piece, but those aren’t really good excuses for bailing on social interactions and general merriment (I backed out on a Halloween house party, Fun Fun Fun Fest night shows and Sunday Brunch at the Dog Majal just to name a few). No offense to the new house, but after confining myself to to our mini piece of property for some 60 hours this weekend (ICK!) I can’t help but feel a little disgusted with myself.

So in service to the blog (which, let’s face it, has been a little lackluster lately) and in service to my mental health, I vow to step out on the town in one form or another every night this week. Look at me, I’m so brave.

ACL Wrapped Up

It’s difficult to write about an event that is so widely reported on it’s almost cliche. Austin City Limits Music Festival. Yes it’s a good time. Yes there is a wonderfully diverse selection of bands that will tickle your ear drums (think everything from Kanye West, Stevie Wonder, Randy Newman and Coldplay). Yes there are massive crowds, expensive beer and weather woes. Despite those shared sentiments, at the end of those three days, the 75,000 festival attendees leave the park feeling as though they’ve each just had a completely unique experience. Such is the beauty of 46 acres, 130 bands and 8 stages.

So, rather than giving a vague, surface level review of the festival as a whole (after all, I’m not a music snob and can’t single out a skilled guitar riff or a sick bass line), I shall opt for an honest recollection of my fourth ACL experience.

In year one I made it my goal to hit the front row of every show. Year two I hung back in the shade. Year three was my first go at festival attending  at legal drinking age and year four allowed me to mix my favorite elements of the other three fests together to create one awesome festival cocktail. For the bands I loved I wiggled my way through the crowd to get as close to the front as decency would allow (there is strict crowd etiquette when it comes to getting front and center) and for the more mellow, less familiar bands I hung back with a beer and an umbrella (which, this go ’round, offered protection from sun and rain).

The final menu looked something like this:

Friday–Fool’s Gold, Foster the People, Kanye West
Saturday–Fitz and the Tantrums, Cut Copy, Chromeo, Stevie Wonder, My Morning Jacket
Sunday–Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr., Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses, Fleet Foxes, Empire of the Sun 

Foster the People, of Pumped up Kicks fame, put on an invigorating show that had 12,000 bystanders singing, dancing, clapping and writhing along with lead singer Mark Foster who was having as good or better a time than the crowd he was performing for. * Having seen Coldplay perform twice before, we opted to rap along side Kanye West for the Friday finale. The rapper put on a show typical of Kanye fashion…that is, it was flashy and self-indulgent. The  1 1/2 hour performance was presented in three acts. Acts one and two were packed with the hit maker’s most famous tunes like Good Life, Gold Digger and Through the Wire. The crowd ate it up, and had the opportunity to behold a fantastic troupe of professional ballerinas in the process. (As a former ballerina myself, I applaud Kanye for exposing his fans to one of the more under appreciated arts, but I couldn’t help but wonder if his desire to hire dozens of professional dancers was rooted less in some deep appreciation for the art of ballet and more in fear of sharing the stage with musical contemporaries who could potentially steal his thunder.) The last act was tired and momentum killing. Instead of turning out his most bass thumping hits, the rapper went off into a slow parade of one auto-tuned memoir after another. Fans who left before the last 20 minutes did themselves a favor. * The Saturday Chromeo performance had people dancing against their will AND included Robert Palmer-esque back up dancers who helped keep the crowd in a constant sway. * Stevie Wonder would have been fantastic if the show was only audible. A failed speaker made it nearly impossible for fans hundreds of yards out to hear hits like How Sweet It Is and Signed, Sealed Delivered. * So we headed to My Morning Jacket across the park to hear a show that at times was peaceable and serene and at others headbangingly wonderful. * Sunday’s performance by Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses was so alluring it got Heath to abandon his post at the TV tent where the Dallas Cowboys game was being broadcasted. I wouldn’t have thought Bingham’s voice could outshine his good looks, but I was pleasantly pleased to see that, even live, it did. * Fleet Foxes sounded eerily, but delightfully, similar to Simon and Garfunkle and provided the perfect wind-down/wrap-up to the festival.

So there you have it folks, the extremely novice and naive opinion of two unprofessional festival goers.

Cheers to next year’s fest. I am already saving up for tickets.