Filled my tank outside of Cincinnati and was on my way. Over the beautiful yellow bridge that spans the Ohio River. The Great American Ballpark overlooks this same body of water. Sometimes when I watch a Reds’ game on ESPN the announcers talk about how Adam Dunn or Willy Mo Pena can hit a homerun out of the stadium and clear out of Ohio.
The problem with this route is, there is no “Welcome to Kentucky” state sign. Nevertheless, going slightly out of my way to take Interstate-471 would be pointless if I didn’t stop at The Party Source in Bellevue/Newport, which is supposedly the 3rd ranked liquor store in the country. I don’t know who ranks them, but they’ve got a pretty sweet job. I stocked up on some interesting beers, including a six pack of Snake Dog, which is an IPA brewed by Flying Dog Ales in Aspen, CO. I picked up a six of some Leinenkugel Honey Weiss, a Wisconsin brew that looked tasty. Their seasonal Berry Weiss looked really good too but I passed on it. From there it was only a few minutes back to I-71 where I remained pretty much until I smacked in Louisville.
Kentucky is a very lush and green state. Whereas Ohio consisted mainly of barren farmlands and a sporadic tree, Kentucky was green as far as the eye could see. At one point I spied a truck belonging to Covenant Shipping, with a large blue bumper sticker that read, “It’s not a choice, it’s a child.” We’re no longer in the blue states, my friends. The towns, with names like Turkeyfoot and Gnawbone, seemed to be filled with red brick houses bearing long white columns. For some reason that’s how I always imagined houses looking in this part of the country. Maybe it’s from history books. Think Monticello, only in Kentucky not Virginia.
Outside of the occasional glimpse of a suburb and highway rest areas, there wasn’t much to admire until the highway dumps you into Louisville. I tried to figure out the directions in my head and successfully steered my way to East Broadway, where I pulled into Firestone. Once I received the green light from the mechanic, I parked in a lot off of Fourth Street and began to walk around. Parking, no matter how long you stay, costs $3.00. Fourth Street Live is what the natives call “like Las Vegas.” It’s a cobblestone stretch of bars, restaurants and hangouts that is lit up beautifully at night and where most of the college kids congregate. Today being dreary and rainy, there was almost no one in sight. I must have driven down the street five different times and never encountered another car driving in the same direction. Then again, I’m not even sure if you’re allowed to drive down the street. I found a Starbucks and wrote for an hour before deciding to venture out into the city.
I wanted to try and find Todd Brashear’s video store, Wild and Wooly Video. I located it without getting lost, but sadly Todd was not in. His wife just gave birth (as I expected), so I could not sit down and talk with him (also as I expected). Despite this loss, my meetings with Stephen George and JK McKnight are on for tomorrow at 1pm and 5:30 pm respectively. Tim Furnish hasn’t gotten in touch so I figure he’s no longer down for a meeting. I’ll call again tomorrow.
After some walking and soaking in of the quaint little city, I returned to Fourth Street to wait and meet Brooke. She arrived after 6pm, straight from work (she’s an intern in a graphic design office). We sat and talked. For those of you playing along at home, Brooke is tall and skinny. She has blonde hair that constantly falls in her eyes. She’s finely schooled in the art of sarcasm. We agreed to eat and she drove to City Cafe, a “great” local spot with good food. We spoke about school, music, life, all those typical new friend conversation topics. We returned to the lot where my car was parked and then I followed her to her apartment outside of the major urban area, close to the University of Louisville campus. She gave me the grand tour of her place, which took all of thirty seconds. Then we plopped down with our Powerbooks and geeked-out over some nerdy Apple things. She departed for her real home (twenty minutes away in Indiana), but vowed to return tomorrow.
I unpacked my car in the empty apartment, laid out my sleeping bag and pillow on the floor (when I say the place is empty, I mean utterly empty), and played some guitar while enjoying a beer. Now here I sit, alone, on the floor, in an apartment that smells like girl, waiting until I become tired and drift into slumber.
