The Battle Of Perryville took place 150 years ago today. Yesterday I attended a reenactment of one portion of that battle. An Oddment entry, with pictures of the reenactment and associated events, is here.
This blog entry exists as a place for comments.
The porch at Penn’s Store has unquestionably been the setting for scenes like the one at right countless times. The majority probably didn’t include electric amplifiers or microphones but I know an awful lot of guitars have been played at the old store; and mandolins and fiddles and other instruments too. On Saturday, I attended the Great Outhouse Blowout at the store for the second time. My first time was in 2004.
The Penn family has owned the store since 1850 and it is known to have existed prior to 1845. The place has taken a few beatings over the years. It took one in May of 2010 when flood waters rose well above the floor and the store was forced to close for awhile. That floor has been replaced along with some other bits and the store is again open for business. Penn’s isn’t open around-the-clock like a big city 24/7 kind of place but it’s open enough.
Today’s event gets its name from the structure at right. The first Great Outhouse Blowout was held in 1992 to celebrate the completion of the first ever outhouse at Penn’s Store and the big step up from “plenty of trees”. Chet Atkins headlined the entertainment at that first GOB.
The Blowout officially got started with a little parade. There are some pretty cool hot rods and customs in there but I thought these two Fords looked like they really belonged.
A centerpiece of the GOB has always been “outhouse” races but not this year. Although I doubt it’s the full story, liability and the signing of waivers had something to do with the lack of racers. To keep the race course from being entirely idle, a three man foot race was organized.
My interior pictures of the store included one with and one without people. In the one with people, the fellow at the center is Squirrelman. After taking that picture, I spent some time in front of the store talking to a fellow named Bob. Bob is one of several locals who help the Penn family keep the store going. Squirrelman came out while we were talking and the two exchanged greetings. “That’s Squirrelman,” Bob told me. My complete lack of recognition prompted him to explain that Squirrelman was part of Turtleman’s crew. “You know? Call of the Wildman on TV,” he said in a way that made it clear that not recognizing Turtleman would almost certainly lead to questions of mental competency. “Oh yeah,” I answered. The walking race was between Bob, Squirrelman, and another member of Turtleman’s crew named Muleman. Bob barely beat Muleman to the toilet paper with Squirrelman a distant third.
I’ve since learned that Call of the Wildman is one of the Animal Planet network’s most popular programs and that Turtleman lives less than twenty miles from Penn’s Store. Researching local celebs might be a good move before I return for another Great Outhouse Blowout.
Before leaving, I ate some good BBQ, listened to some good music, took a wagon ride with Muleman, and took a look at the festival from inside the famous outhouse.
Some consider Cincinnati’s Mid Point Music Festival second only to Austin’s South by Southwest and some concede even that grudgingly The eleventh coming of MPMF has just concluded and it was only the third I’ve attended at all. I think I was there the first year and again for the second or third but I’m not at all certain. Whichever ones they were, I know they were pretty early on and know that I’ve spent many years since feeling guilty about not going. Sometimes I was out of town or had another legitimate reason but mostly I was just too lazy. The effort that I shied away from was not the driving downtown or the hiking between venues; It was the effort of determining which venues to hike between.
This year is typical. There are 180 bands playing at 16 venues over 3 days. Unlike most music festivals, MPMF doesn’t book the world’s most well known bands to get you to attend. It books lesser known but highly talented bands to get them and you some exposure to each other. Unless you are an industry pro, you’re not likely to be familiar with many of those 180 bands. You can either show up and hope you stumble upon a couple of performers that you like or you can spend time planning your visit in hopes of not missing your next big favorite. Or you can do what I’ve been doing and dodge the whole thing.
Maybe the feelings of guilt finally caught up with me or maybe it was the addition of the recently redone Washington Park as a venue or maybe it was actually recognizing the performer who would be headlining one of the Washington Park shows. It was probably all the above and more that prompted me to at least dip a toe — or ear — back into the Midpoint Music Festival. I decided to attend one night of the three day festival and partake of only the Washington Park offerings. The photo at the top of this post is of Washington Park a couple of hours before the official opening of the festival. That is the glorious Cincinnati Music Hall in the background. At what I believe was the first concert at Washington Park in July, the bands had played from the permanent stage where I stood to take the picture at left. Yes, the music has started but the crowd is almost non-existent. The opening crowd at festivals, especially those with sixteen stages, is often like that and rain & rumors of rain didn’t help. As it turned out, not a drop fell on Washington park during the entire concert.
The group that opened the show and is playing to a lot of grass in the previous picture was the Bonesetters from Indianapolis. The crowd was significantly larger, though far from large, by the end of their set. With a good performance of very solid original material, they deserved more but, being both new and semi-local, the exposure was still no doubt good for them. Next up was the even more local but well established Pomegranates. I’d heard of them but don’t believe I’d ever heard them and know I’d not seen them. From the white clothes and dyed hair to the Fender Mustangs, there is plenty of formula and gimmickry here but it’s backed with solid music, lots of energy, and impressive vocals. The next band, Brooklyn’s Here We Go Magic, seems to basically be a group of talented musicians delivering singer-songwriter Luke Temple’s well crafted tunes. They sounded good and I liked the material but there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of energy or conviction coming from the stage. It appears that band personnel may vary from time to time so maybe there’s a killer …Magic lineup out there somewhere.
That headliner I recognized was Andrew Bird. I surprised myself by recognizing the names — not necessarily the sounds — of at least eight performers. Eight of one-eighty! I doubt many attendees would brag about a 4% recognition rate but this old man is doing exactly that.
It was full on dark when Bird took the stage and, while that didn’t help me get crisp photos, it did show just what those overhead spirals were there for. Spinning slowly and lit by frequently changing colored spot lights, they were a nice visual backing for Bird’s music. I had heard a few recorded tunes so was aware of Bird’s whistling ability but did not realize just how good it was or how much he used it. Where another musician might blow into a harmonica for a little non-verbal music, Bird just purses his lips and blows into the microphone. It might seem like a gimmick for a few seconds but it quickly becomes just another instrument in the mix. That mix includes a bassist, guitarist, and a drummer that plays keyboards. And then there’s Bird. Seemingly equally proficient on guitar and violin, he usually plays one or the other but sometimes uses both in the same song. In the close up, he’s playing a glockenspiel while holding a violin which he will pick or bow then lay down to play the guitar hanging at his side.
Music Hall’s circular stained glass window sure looks good hanging above Andrew Bird’s lighted spirals and there was a nearly full moon floating behind me. I truly enjoyed my one venue return to MPMF. I’m sure Thursday is the least crowded of the festival’s three nights and the threat of rain may have also played a role. The crowd at Washington Park grew steadily as the first three bands performed then took a big jump as Bird’s slot approached but it never reached the shoulder to shoulder mass that I feared and the promoters hoped for. I hope it was enough and I hope to be back next year. Sorry I’ve been away so long.
Not all of the entertainment in Washington Park was musical. Among the food vendors was new-to-me Island Noodles. I happened to be Brad’s first customer of the day which meant I had to wait awhile for dinner but I got a great show and absolutely fresh food in return. Although it’s hard to beat a huge flame, it was also fun to watch the veggies get chopped into the big wok. Before I even finished paying for my noodles, the next customer was beside me and business picked up from there. This is good eating.
This particular operation is based in Florida. That’s where Brad lives but he is originally from Toledo and has spent the summer staying with his parents and working festivals around the state. Events included July’s Bunbury Festival which was also in Cincinnati. As he cooked, we chatted, and Brad said he wished he had learned more about Cincinnati when he was growing up near the other edge of Ohio. “This”, he says, “is the friendliest city I’ve ever been in.” That’s nice to hear. I think so, too.
I was in Indianapolis last week and in my trip journal I raved about a bar-b-que joint named Squealers. It deserved the raves but it reminded me of two things. One, I hadn’t eaten in my favorite ribs joint in quite some time and, two, I had a gift card that would let me do it for for free or close to free. I made use of that card on Wednesday. If I am ever convicted of a capital crime in a country that honors the last-meal-for-a-condemned-man convention, this is what I want; Montgomery Inn ribs, shrimp, and Saratoga chips. Being warned about stirring the sweet plum sauce and hot mustard is as reliable as death and taxes. I kidded the waitress about it and she shrugged. “You don’t know what they do to us if we don’t tell you”, she said.
Tomorrow, July 26, I start down Historic Route 66 for the third time. The reason, or excuse, for this trip is to attend the 2012 International Route 66 Festival in Victorville, California. For the first two trips, in 1999 and 2003, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as an International Route 66 Festival but since then I’ve attended six. The journal for the drive and the festival will be here. It will include the drive home which I expect to be largely on US-70 and US-80.
As I prepped the website for the trip, I added an FAQ page which might help in understanding the site. That page is here.
This blog entry is here to handle comments and questions regarding the trip.
Just as I can no longer hear The Banana Boat Song without seeing a certain dinner party, it’s nearly impossible for me to see a hot air balloon and not think of F Troop.
OK, now that I have that out of the way, I can move on to the 2012 MidUSA Ohio Challenge Balloon Festival that I attended on Friday. The official opening ceremonies were scheduled for 6:00, the gates opened at 4:00, and I arrived a little after 5:00.
The early crowd was naturally sparse but things were happening well ahead of the opening ceremonies. Food, crafts, and other vendors lined the big spectator field and virtually all were open. A small troop of acrobats warmed up near the middle of the field and an Indiana band, The Skallywags, completed their sound check and immediately stepped into their first set on the main stage. Several skydivers rather casually fell out of the sky. There seemed to be just about everything needed for most festivals but this was a hot air balloon festival and there was not a balloon in sight.
One reason for the lack of balloons would be explained during the opening ceremonies. They started with a fellow named Rick Gibbs singing the national anthem. Then Team Fastrax jumped in with gigantic U.S. flags and a group of Native Americans provided a prayer, some music, and some dancing. A small Indian village with a huge tepee is part of the festival and dancing and other activities would take place there throughout the weekend. There were also a couple of short speeches and announcements. One of the announcements was that there was just too much wind for safe ballooning. The announcer pointed out a pole with a red flag flying from it on the far side of the field. No launches could take place under a red flag. A window of opportunity could open later but, instead of a 7 o’clock launch, there would be a 7 o’clock pilots meeting. The red flag might turn green after that.
By 7:20, I was convinced that there would be no balloons flying tonight and started for the gates. At that exact instant, a car with a trailer in tow pulled onto the field; Then another and another. The red flag was still flying but balloonists were at least getting into position. Some unloading was also occurring through at a pace that indicated a complete lack of urgency.
The original plan had been for all of the balloons to take off around 7:00, fly for about an hour, then land and return for a “balloon glow” shortly after 9:00. As I thought about that, I once again became convinced that there would be no balloon flying tonight. I theorized that the balloons had come onto the field in anticipation of the “glow” with no intention of taking off. Again I started for the gate and again action on the field stopped me. Balloons were starting to inflate. Some fellows hauled down the red flag and ran up a green one.
Soon the announcer was describing a “Hare & Hounds” competition where one balloon, the hare, lands somewhere and marks the spot and the other balloons score points by dropping a bag of sand as close as they can to the mark. The hare and the first hound, a sunglasses wearing cutie named Lindy, got off in quick succession. A few others followed but it wasn’t long before a yellow flag was raised and a red one soon followed.
From photo time stamps, It appears that the green flag flew for barely fifteen minutes. I believe that about a half-dozen balloons slipped through that small window. That’s but a fraction of the thirty-five competitors listed in the program and I have no idea whether the flight will count for scoring points or not. I suspect it will since the competition appears to be anything but cutthroat and balloonists are somewhat used to being grounded by winds. So this is as close to as I got to the picture I’d envisioned of a balloon filled sky. But it’s a nice little group floating serenely into the sunset and it certainly looks inviting.
With the late launch, it was a fairly short wait for the glow preparations to begin and I suspect some of those hounds were still in the process of being loaded and trailered back when the glow took place. A laser light show and fireworks were to follow but neither interested me all that much and I left after the glow peaked. This was the event’s tenth year and I’ve wanted to come several times. I’m glad I finally made it and consider a return quite likely. It’s definitely a worthwhile event and I still want to see that balloon filled sky.
I did not make it back to a World Choir Games Champions Competition as I wanted to. Thursday would have been good but it was sold out. I decided to settle for a free Friendship Concert that was to be held on Friday in a park not too far from my home. It was moved, however, and by the time I learned of that and reached the new location, the parking lot was filled to overflowing and I’m sure everything else was, too. I drove on by and on to the balloon festival instead. I had planned on attending the festival on Saturday so this was just a little time shift. It all worked out well except for that Champions Competition thing.
On the south side of Dayton, Ohio, there is what amounts to a small Greenfield Village. It’s now called Carillon Historical Park and is part of the Dayton History organization. Just as Henry Ford was behind the collection of historic buildings that is Greenfield Village, Dayton industrialist Edward Deeds was behind the collection here. I believe the place was actually called Deeds Park once upon a time. In fact, I didn’t realize that Deeds was not part of the official name until I started doing research to write this. At least the carillon that gives the park its name is still called the Deeds Carillon. It was built in 1942 and, at 151 feet tall, is the largest in Ohio.
Today was the day of the Heritage Festival which meant admission was free (just pay for parking), all the buildings were open and staffed, and there were plenty of food vendors. There was also entertainment scheduled throughout the day with the Dayton Philharmonic Orchestra preceding event ending fireworks.
Quite a few bicycle manufacturers called Dayton home and that included the Wright Brothers. Two of the five surviving Van Cleves (the Wright’s , brand name) are in the park but are not part of this display. Both are in a building devoted to the brothers. Huffy originated in Dayton and introduced the Radio Bike in 1955. The three tube radio was built into the “tank” with batteries and antenna on the rear fender. Only a few more years separate the 1890s high-wheels in the first picture from the Radio Bike than separate the Radio Bike from today.
There’s some big stuff, like rail cars and buses, in the transportation building. The 1835 B & O engine is the oldest existing locomotive built in the United States. Because of the way the vertical pistons and connecting rods looked when in motion, locomotives of this type got the nickname “grasshoppers”. The horse-drawn steam-powered pumper was built in Cincinnati in 1883 and used in Sidney, Ohio, until 1916.
I remember this clock standing beside I-75 just south of Dayton. It marked the Reynolds and Reynolds Company headquarters and I guess I thought it always had. Nope. It started out in downtown Dayton on the Callahan Building. That building was demolished in 1978 and the clock moved to Reynolds and Reynolds. It has been patiently waiting here since 2006.
I’m not sure what this fellow’s real name is but he calls himself Wilbur
“…because I can’t grow a mustache”. He is standing in a replica of the Wright’s work shop since Henry Ford took the original to Greenfield Village at the Ford Museum. After doing a wonderful job of telling about the wind tunnel and other experiments that both preceded and followed that first flight in 1903, he tells us that there is a real airplane just down the hall that “…I’ll be flying this afternoon about 3:00.”
This is the plane. It is the Wright Flyer III from 1905. With the 1903 flyer, they got off of the ground more or less when they wanted but they returned the the ground when the plane “wanted” and the flight path was essentially straight. With this plane, they learned to fly where they wanted and land on their own, rather than the plane’s, schedule. When Orville gave the pieces of this plane (it’s about 80% original) to Deeds in 1948, he insisted that it be displayed in a pit so that visitors could look down on the plane and see what was involved it operating it. The pilot’s right hand works a horizontal lever that controls the rudder. The left hand works a vertical lever that controls the elevators at the front of the plane. By moving his hips from side to side, the pilot controls the twisting of the wings which the Wrights called “wing warping”. Orville died before the park opened.
I didn’t make it to the fireworks or even to the Philharmonic but, as always, I very much enjoyed a visit to my favorite neighborhood historical village.
I missed it. I missed an exhibit I really wanted to see. From April through November, the Ohio Historical Center had a display entitled Controversy: Pieces You Don’t Normally See. Of the five items it contained, the retired electric chair seemed to be the main attraction with a KKK outfit, a thumb mitt, an adult crib, and a nineteenth century condom rounding out the bill. I’m sure I drove by the building more than once while the exhibit was in place but, as we often do, I assumed there would always be another chance. It wasn’t until I visited the Ohio Historical Society’s website to sign up for Dickens of a Christmas that I realized that I’d blown it.
Dickens of a Christmas is an annual festival sort of thing that takes place in the recreated nineteenth century village adjacent to the Historical Center. I registered to attend the first night of Dickens of a Christmas and, even though there was no electric chair or condom to be seen, headed to Columbus in time to visit the Historical Center in the afternoon. That’s how I got the picture of the entrance to the recently closed Controversy exhibit.
In addition to the many worthwhile permanent exhibits, the Center currently has a captivating temporary exhibit called The American Soldier: A Photographic Tribute From The Civil War To Iraq and several of the 434 Civil War battle flags in the museum’s possession are on display. Plus, although it’s a poor substitute for an adult crib from an insane asylum, there was, once upon a time, at least a little controversy associated with the two headed calf.
The Ohio Historical Center is certainly a cool place to spend an afternoon but the title of this entry is “Dickens of a Christmas”. My evening at Ohio Village is covered in a separate Oddment page here. It is only the second Oddment page added since the start of this blog. While there is no precise definition of what qualifies one subject for an oddment page and another for a blog entry, it seems likely that I’ve completely covered a subject in a blog entry that might have appeared as an Oddment in pre-blog days and it is all but certain that some of the existing Oddment pages would have instead been blog entries had the blog existed at the time they were created. I believe one of the things that helps decide Oddment or blog is number of pictures. I haven’t posted a huge amount of pictures from Dickens of a Christmas but there are more, sixteen, than I feel comfortable with in a blog entry. Look them over at the Dickens of a Christmas Oddment page.
I know some who see this will have heard of Kickstarter but I’m guessing not all. It’s a method for funding projects with large numbers of small contributions. Learn more about it at the Kickstarter website. Kickstarter depends a lot on word of mouth. Friends tell friends, usually in an indirect Facebook/Twitter/newsletter sort of way, about projects they like and that, in case you haven’t guessed, is what I’m doing here. I’ve contributed to a couple of projects that I liked and blown off a couple more that didn’t quite click with me. I recently learned of a documentary project that I like and, since you’re reading about it here, there’s a chance you will too.
I heard of the project from Dirk Hamilton. It isn’t Dirk’s project but he is in it. I was inclined to give it a couple of bucks ’cause I like the general subject and, of course, I like Dirk but I was hooked for sure when I read the “Part music documentary and part road trip movie…” line. The documentary is called Folk. Check out its Kickstarter page here.
Last night I completed the trifecta of southwest Ohio horse parades. I just happened to be in Greenville on the occasion of their parade two weeks ago. I blogged about it here. Last week I was again in Greenville and came home through Springfield with a goal of getting some pictures of the recently relocated Madonna of the Trail statue. (More on that later.) I was surprised to see downtown Springfield blocked off and more surprised to learn that it was for the city’s first ever horse parade. I certainly had to stick around for that.
Carriage rides were available before the parade and, yes, I took one. Neither the carriage rides nor the parade actually passed the Madonna. The picture at right shows one of the “public” carriages leaving the blocked off area in anticipation of the parade itself. The parade formed behind where I stood to take the picture and turned right to reach the parade route proper.
As mentioned, this was Springfield’s first year for a parade and there were just fourteen entries. All were “hitches”. In other words, there were no horseback riders. The portrayal of the Christmas story in a setting where eighteenth and and nineteenth century covered wagons (albeit with pneumatic rubber tires) was the norm was simultaneously shocking and 100% fitting. I liked it. Future generations of Springfieldians may have a very unique take on the whole Christmas-pioneer-Madonna-covered-wagon thing.
So, after attending Springfield’s first and Greenville’s eighth more or less by accident, I felt almost obligated to attend Lebanon’s twenty-third horse parade. It’s not only the oldest of the three but, with 122 entries, far and away the biggest. It’s also the only double header. There is a daylight version at 1:00 and an in-the-dark illuminated-carriage version at 7:00. Other commitments kept me away from Lebanon until something after 1:00 but I headed there anyway thinking I might catch the tail end of the matinee. I couldn’t even get close. I whiled away the afternoon on the far side of town then returned thinking it entirely possible that I would just pass through again and head home. But I found a parking spot about three blocks from the Golden Lamb. In the Lamb’s Black Horse Tavern, I ran into some friends I hadn’t seen in quite awhile and managed to while away another couple of hours until parade time was near.
I’ve attended both light and dark versions of the Lebanon parade before but it’s been a long time. Both the parade and attendance have had time to grow and they certainly have. All of downtown Lebanon was pretty much shoulder to shoulder and withers to withers.
Several of the parade participants had been at Greenville and a few had been at Springfield but with more than eight times Springfied’s entries and nearly double Greenville’s, Lebanon obviously had some exclusives. Foremost among these were a nineteenth century fire engine and a team of Clydesdales. Both of these actually brought cheers from the crowd when they charged down the street.
During the parade I managed to somehow walk to it’s origin and back. Some of it was pretty awkward but in the end I just stepped into the street and paced the parade. I recall my father once telling me that the secret to getting around a military base is to carry a clipboard and walk briskly. The same technique works with parades using a camera. The friends I had met in the bar told of past success in watching the parade from the balcony at the Golden Lamb. Even though that appeared to be a bit more challenging than in prior years, they were going to give it a try. As the parade wrapped up, I snapped this picture of the hotel’s balcony just in case they were up there. No, I later learned, they had been blocked from the balcony but found an empty third floor dining room where they and another couple watched the parade in relative privacy. The only intruder was a hotel employee who stopped by now and then to take drink orders.
Now, about that Madonna. In 1928 and ’29, as the era of named auto trails came to an end, the Daughters of the American Revolution placed a Madonna of the Trail statue in each of the twelve states through which the National Old Trails Road passed. The one for Ohio was placed in Springfield. Two of the four sides on each statue’s base were inscribed with information specific to the statue and its placement. On Ohio’s Madonna these concerned the end of federally funded construction, which was quite close to the statue’s original placement, and George Rogers Clark victory at Peckuwe which was about three miles from the original placement as noted in the inscription. In the mid 1950s, highway construction caused the statue to be moved about a half mile east. The inscriptions were no longer as accurate as they had been but they weren’t off too much. A bigger problem with the move was that, once US-40 became four lanes wide, there was no convenient access to the statue. Reaching it involved either pulling over on the busy highway or parking in a safe spot and walking along the busy highway.
In September, the statue was again moved. This move was about two miles distance to a park in downtown Springfield. The setting makes the statue much more accessible while making the inscriptions much less accurate. Some consider this a net win; Others don’t. During the hour or so I hung around the statue last Saturday, I saw about twenty people take note of the statue in some way. There was a lot of foot traffic in the area Saturday and the majority seemed oblivious to both the new park and the relocated statue. Of those that noticed it, about half recognized it including one fellow who arrived with camera and tripod to photograph the old gal in her new home. Quite a few of those who had no idea what it was did read at least one panel. Several read them all. Whether or not any of them develop even the slightest interest in any aspect of the history that this Madonna of the Trail represents is anybody’s guess.
A newspaper article about the September 22 move is here. The Madonna can be seen thirteen days before the move here and here.
1992 must have been a fertile time along the big river in southwest Ohio. As noted in last Sunday’s post, the annual Cincinnati Blues Festival was just held for the 19th time. Yesterday, the 19th International Cardboard Boat Regatta took place just a few miles up river from Cincinnati. I don’t know what triggered that little rash of event birthing at Ohio’s southern edge. Maybe Iron City Brewing up in Pittsburgh had a big spill or something. Or it might just be lucky coincidence that got these two wonderful events going in the same summer.
It was definitely a coincidence that I stopped by New Richmond’s Cardboard Boat Museum last month on the day before RoadsideAmerica.com was to arrive for a photo shoot and interview. This is the world’s only cardboard boat museum and the driving force behind the annual regatta. Of course I eagerly returned the next day for a chance to see Doug Kirby & Ken Smith in action. I’d submitted a few photos to the site and exchanged some email with Doug but had never met either of these fellows. For me, it was kind of like meeting Tiger Woods would be for a golfer. The report produced from the visit is here.
Now that the name dropping is out of the way, I can move on to yesterday’s regatta. Even though I’ve heard of it for years and watched many after the fact reports on local news, this was only the second year I’ve attended. New Richmond is one of those river towns that, in recent years, I tend to end up in during semi-aimless weekend drives. I naturally started popping into the museum whenever I saw it open and last year actually knew of the race date in advance. I used the 2010 race as the starting point of my Blue Ridge Parkway drive. As I recall, there were about fifty boats last year. That record was shattered by this year’s fifty-five entrants. There are different heats for juveniles and adults and for single and multiple person crews. Boats with “mechanical assistance” make up their own distinct class.
By rule, the boats are constructed of nothing other than cardboard, tape, and paint. The paint is critical though there is nothing special about it. The same basic house paint that keeps water from soaking into your wooden siding keeps it from soaking into cardboard. Of course, should water somehow find its way in, the cardboard reacts even quicker than peeling wood siding. By using different crews, many boats run in more than one heat. Some run in less than one heat.
After all the various class competitions are finished, any surviving boat with any crew can compete in a wide open free-for-all with the winner taking home the prestigious Cardboard Cup. In previous years, the Cardboard Cup race was the last of the day but this year a new event was added. This double length race would seriously test the stamina of any individual with the nerve to try it. Rather than the single downstream pass of the 200 yard course that makes up every other event, this race required entrants to paddle the course in both directions. The picture shows Sam Richmond about to cross the start/finish line to become the first recipient of the Cardboard Man title.
The Cardboard Man title is clearly out of my reach. In fact, almost everyone in a boat expended a lot more energy than I’d ever consider. The lone exception was the fellow who played steel drums while his wife propelled their craft. Now that’s a gig I think I could handle.
If I had introduced this blog a week earlier, the Cincinnati and Lebanon blues festivals could have been the subjects of last Sunday’s post instead of the “Hi, I’m a blog” thing. The downside of doing it this week is that it’s not near as timely. The upside is I’ve had a week to figure out how to include pictures.
The Cincinnati festival is a two day affair that fills Friday and Saturday evenings starting around 5:00 PM. Lebanon’s event is Saturday only with a start time of 11:00 AM. Both end sometime just short of midnight. Why these two festivals — just thirty miles apart — are held on the same weekend each year is something of a mystery but don’t expect it to change any time soon. Cincinnati was there first. This year was Cincinnati’s 19th and Lebanon’s 13th. So it was Lebanon that caused the collision but they always seems to have all the crowd they can handle and little incentive to move the date. Lebanon’s festival is free. Cincinnati’s isn’t. I suspect Cincinnati’s Saturday crowd is lessened a bit by the freeby up the road but the Cincinnati event is locked into its slot in the venue’s full schedule and couldn’t change if it wanted to..
Some years I’ve gone to neither and some years I’ve gone to both. Other years I’ve gone to one or the other. This was a “both” year. Cincinnati certainly has the bigger festival. It is spread out not only over two days but over three stages. There is a local stage featuring runners up from the local Blues Challenge. The winners, who will represent the Cincinnati Blues Society at the International Blues Challenge in Memphis, open the main stage. After that, it’s filled by national and regional acts. The third stage is alway boogie woogie piano on Saturday and something else on Friday. Last year it was the music of New Orleans. A tribute to the Ludlow Garage, a venue that brought big time acts to Cincinnati in the ’60s & ’70, was held there the year before. This year it was rockabilly.
In theory, acts get better and better as the day progresses and peak with the headliner. I frequently find, however, that my own ranking doesn’t quite match the program. That was definitely the case on the main stage Friday. I was most impressed by Moreland & Arbuckle who were third from the top — right after the local openers. I had heard they were a two piece band and was surprised to see the drummer. Then, when they started playing, I was convinced there was a fourth member and walked across the front of the stage looking for a bass player behind the speakers. Nope. Dustin Arbuckle sings and plays killer harmonica while Aaron Moreland plays bass, rhythm, and lead on a single fretboard. Aaron does play “normal” guitars but I liked him best on his custom made four string cigar box with the top string set up specifically for bass work. The program says otherwise but I believe that is Kendall Newby on drums. His talents are a match for the other two.
On Saturday, I went to Lebanon in time to catch the last four acts. Most of the artists here can be considered local but local includes Cincinnati, Dayton, and Columbus and many bands from all of those cities do a lot of traveling. The Blue Birds Big Band, last year’s Cincinnati Blues Challenge winners, would close out the night but the main draw for me was the lady in the picture, Teeny Tucker, who was on just ahead of them. I had seen Teeny do a few songs in a Columbus bar during a benefit and I was looking forward to seeing her in control of the stage and with her full group. That’s one powerful and soulful young lady.
I saw a lot more good musicians than the ones pictured here and I know there were plenty I missed. There was real top notch blues talent on the stages of Cincinnati and Lebanon last weekend. I can’t say a bad thing about any of them but, baby, you know what I like.
