Dateline: 2017-18. This entry will be longer. That's what she said. If you know Boise, which is nearly nobody, you'll know Hyde Park is a small, 1-mile square bubble, just north of downtown. Even wee houses are ridiculously expensive. Every other car is a Subaru. I've never so many Subaru in my life until moving to Boise. Anyhoots by sheer luck I found myself renting a nice house in this groovy neighborhood where the old timey main street was 4 short blocks away. Coffee shops, bicycle shops, several bars & restaurants, my hair salons, an ancient shoe store, a candy & ice cream store...all the necessities. One of the java joints, actually named Java, had a brekky special I took advantage of 2-3x/week. Before 9am: eggs, toast, bacon AND COFFEE for $6 dollars! Astounding! Free refills on the (drip) coffee also, sweet jebus. I accidentally discovered a loophole: they didn't make decaf drip, ergo ordering decaf meant they had to make a decaf Americano. Stop me when this gets too exciting. I lived in that neighborhood for a year. Was a regular I reckon. Met various folks. Met a knee buckling gorgeous (married) bicycle racer named Barb, we chatted weekly. Another knee buckler I met waiting in line, leggy blond named Jennifer, looked like a model. Ergo I chatted her up, she was friendly, even more so when she said she's a real estate agent & I replied I'm a renter looking to purchase (which was true). We sat & chatted & one year later she reentered my life, more on that later on. During snowmageddon we all had cabin fever. I joined the YMCA, where David was a member, just a mile down the road. I would jog there, snow be damned. I was there often, 3-4x/week. Lifting weights, TRX classes, taking saunas. It was pretty great actually. Somehow I met the Director and ended up chatting in his office one day. I still don't know how but it happened. Only mentioning as had the most astounding, coincidental conversation I've ever had with anyone, ever.
For 25 years I've been a massive Fela Kuti fan. You've never heard of him Wonder Bread white person? He invented the music genre called Afrobeat. Nigerian funky hypnotic driving blend. Discovered him in my 20s and went nuts. Bought piles of CDs, as in dozens. I even flew to New York City to see a musical based on his life, on Broadway (won tons of awards, toured the world). BUT! Before that Broadway musical not many Americans ever heard of him, which is the story of my life in a nutshell. Fela died in the 90s & I never saw him live. I have however seen 2 of his sons, Femi & Seun, perform several times each. Took this pic at The Cedar in Minneapolis 15 or so years ago, it's astounding music when performed live:
Let's focus. Somehow, I find myself in the office of the YMCA head guy, and we're chatting about life. I have no idea how Fela Kuti came up but it did. Turns out, he had his own Fela Kuti story, and to this day it blows my mind. Fela Kuti died in the 90s. In 2012, out of nowhere, a live bootleg recorded in Detroit in 1986 appeared. I bought it. Not a good recording, has buzzing throughout, not that great a concert either, but no matter: for Fela fans, we purchase everything. You can listen to it here & decide for yourself.
Turns out, the YMCA director who I'm chatting with RECORDED THIS BOOTLEGGED CONCERT ON A SMUGGLED CASSETTE RECORDER! He let his friend listen to the cassette tapes. His 'friend' never gave them back. His friend sold them to a shady operator, claiming them as his own, and now this concert CD is on Amazon, streaming, etc. Unless you're a Fela fan this is a totally boring story. But I'm a yuuuuge Fela fan, as outlined earlier. And it happened early on in Boise. So there.
My lifelong Boise friend David also worked out at the Y. He happens to be among the fittest in the world in his age group I reckon. Don't believe me? This is him in his mid 50s, when he's not mountain biking or on his motocross bike:
The scene in their locker room eventually got to me. David didn't even go down there. It's like a dungeon with nekked dudes walking around. For me that is the definition of hell on earth. The final straw for me, my last locker room visit, I was changing into workout clothes at a locker. At the end of the aisle, blocking the exit, was a giant, standing there staring at me. At least 6 and a half feet tall, and way over 300 lbs. Just standing there, staring at me. That was it, no more locker room. By then started going to the sober gym anyhoots.
By the way, after months of YMCA visits, took this pic on my 50th birthday, jelly?
Let's refocus.
Before I even moved to Boise, I met 2 locals. Both are bicyclists. The bird we'll call Jenny, grew up in SoCal riding motorcross motorcycles with her brothers. Total tomboy. Which I dig. Met her on Tinder when I visited Boise whilst still living in NC. I was there a week and we rode our bicycles several days that week. Then we rode each other, if you know what I mean. Earmuffs. We dug each other so much that after I flew back to NC she herself flew there to spend a week with me. More bike riding, more human riding, we had a grand time. I was so happy she visited. The monthly ArtWalk occurred during her visit. We were at a gallery, I turned a corner & almost walked into the yoga teacher. She was also on a date, the scamp. We chatted briefly, I walked away couldn't resist looking back at her. She was staring at my date & I, later hassling me about it (we broke up monthly). Jenny decided to purchase my spare bike she had been riding in NC when she wasn't riding me. I had a bike box there. I was boxing it up for her to take back on the plane with her & she offered a packing suggestion. I replied 'yup done this many times.' And at that very moment the relationship ended.
She informed me of this as I was driving her 2 hours to the Raleigh airport. She said that comment reminded her of her ex husband. Great. Just like that. Over. I did see her off & on the next few years, no hard feelings, we stayed friendly.
So the other person I met before even moving there? I met him online through bicycle related organization. Asked him for biking routes, the usual. We'll call him Pornstache Tom. He and I met early on, going for long bike rides. One of them was all the way into Oregon, over 100 miles. Anyhoots, on these looooong rides there's not much to do but talk, and talk he did. One of his favorite topics was complaining about his ex girlfriend we'll call Suzy Q. It went on and on for weeks of riding together. Someone I didn't know, never met, etc. Couldn't care less.
The gist was, he was hurt badly in a slow motion bike crash when she swerved into him to avoid a snake in the road. He toppled over, broke his pelvis or something, was off the bike for a year or whatnot. However, 2 tidbits related to this: he didn't have health insurance! What the fuck kind of idjit rides thousands of bicycle miles a year and doesn't have health insurance? The stupidity of this is incomprehensible to me. The accident wiped him out financially. As it does, in America. To not have health insurance is beyond stupid. The other tidbit? Suzy Q & I would meet a year later, riding our bikes of course, and became good friends, to this day. She gave me the real deal on Pornstache Tom & what really happened. I would occasionally ride with Pornstache Tom over the years but never once, not ever, mentioned Suzy Q & I were chums. Easier that way. The final straw I had with Pornstache Tom occurred years later. He & I decided to go to winter 'bicycle training camp' in Arizona. Just the 2 of us. He tells me two days prior to departure a 3rd guy was joining. Didn't ask me, just told me. Generally, this wouldn't bother me but something similar happened a year earlier. He & I were going to ride a 300 kilometers ride out of Portland, Oregon, a 6 hour drive each way. The day prior to departure he tells me, wait for it, a 3rd guy is joining us. Oh and: he needs to get back on Sunday. Ergo, we would finish the ride Saturday around midnight, after a 12 hour bike ride, then get in a car and drive all night. I said 'yeah I don't need to get back on Sunday I'm sleeping in a nice hotel after the ride. What the fuck dude?' So I didn't go, happily. Back to the Arizona trip. I had booked us a hotel in Utah or wherever, was excited to go, when he does this last minute shit with me again, without consulting etc. I called him and he fucking exploded: I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP YOUR BITCHING. I just hung up. Called the hotel & canceled the reservation. Fuck him & his temper. All the while actually relieved I dodg ed a bullet. Called up Suzy Q to debrief and she applauded my decision. And confirmed his temper outburst she has also witnessed. One final comment on Pornstache Tom. Early on we connected when he mentioned he went to AA meetings. I didn't but was sober a few years at that point. So I liked him early on for that. Until I started asking him about his experience. Turns out he never had a drinking problem. He had a reefer problem. This is a yuge difference. I speak from experience, with regard to both activities. I found that weird then & still do. No crime, but AA is about honesty (I have gone to AA meetings, can't stand them). Actually, in Boise I did go often to the weekly downtown noon 'lunch bunch' meetings simply because the folks there were normal with senses of humor. Not the relentless 'lost my job, lost my marriage, lost my house' sorry bastard tales of woe that typically occurs. Real uplifting. I walk out of those meetings needing a stiff drink, har har.
Anyhoots.
Speaking of hitting the hootch, my arrival in Boise, by sheer luck, coincided with the launching of a 'sober gym' called The Phoenix. You can read about it at that link (and you should) but the gist is a free gym open to anyone in recovery via drugs or hootch. They rely on corporate & private donations. The fact it exists at all is astounding and this Ted Talk from the founder discusses the origin.
I heard about The Phoenix as a bird I had begun dating knew the founder of this new chapter. Or the person bankrolling it anyhoots. Bankroller was married to an apparently very wealthy surgeon, amazing house in the foothills (she hosted planning meetings there) & a son who was a heroin addict.
Anyhoots, this bird I met on Tinder. Her profile consisted of: 2 identical photos of her face and 1 photo of an art piece (she was a part time artist). No verbiage of any kind; just the 3 pics of which 2 were duplicates, and that's it. That alone was a red flag to me (no attention to detail=limited career options) but hey, I was new to town. I suggested we meet for java, she thought I meant meet at Java (the coffee shop). In going back and forth it occurred to me she literally did not know that the word java = coffee. But anyhoots I went, she was sitting in the very back of an empty room (another red flag...weird, why?). I said let's move out to the couches which she agreed. I said 'so I know nothing about you, there's no info in your profile.' She didn't know what I meant, I had to explain that to her. Another red flag. Marketing was not her specialty. But we chatted & she was plenty pleasant, a sweet person actually, and we ran around for 5 months or so. When snowmageddon melted, the water melt from the mountains was so historic the giant drainage pipe feeding the Boise river created an absolutely enormous fountain. It became a tourist attraction. Thousands drove out to it to view. The snowmelt hadn't done this for decades. We biked out to it:
So what happened? Well ok, since you asked. She would remind me her brain didn't seem to be operating full capacity. Two examples. At my rental house she was pressing down hard on the kitchen faucet and said 'it leaks when I press down on the faucet.' I replied, checks notes: 'then don't press down on the faucet.' But the other was the biggie, in fact the dealbreaker for me. We had biked up a big one mile climb, to the 'warm springs mesa' neighborhood where my stereo buddy lived. Just to say hi and a place to bike to. Up there is a spectacular view of the eastern view of the city. Way down below, guessing 4 miles away as the air is perfectly clear, the Boise airport. Planes flying in and out next to the control tower. We were admiring the view and I commented 'amazing view of the airport.' She replied, I kid you not: 'that's not the airport that's the mall.' Which was many miles away on the other side of town and she was a local but regardless, there's planes taking off & landing in full view.
We actually stood there arguing about it. I'm pointing at the planes, she's digging in saying no that's the mall. And that was it for me. There were several weird examples like that, but for me, I couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't even gaslighting; she's too nice for that. Kind gentle person though. Pity.
She did introduce me to the person behind the big push to get The Phoenix gym up and running. In fact, beforehand, my ladyfriend went on, and on, and on, and on about 'how beautiful' this person was. She was soooo beautiful. She kept repeating it. Why is she saying this at all? One day I'll write a blurb about women describing & defining other woman this way and how insulting it is. Describe them as being talented, skilled, accomplished, etc. Not solely on how they look. It's disrespectful to a person's actual accomplishments, no? And woman will complain when men ogle them? Don't get me started.
Imagine me describing my buddy Stan as 'so handsome with those big vein laden meathooks omg.' Yeah not gonna do that. Dudes don't talk like that or think like that. Not with other dudes.
We need to focus.
So I met this person at a downtown java joint. Was she sooooo beautiful? No. She was a normal looking 60-year-old woman. Who happened to be smart, organized, wealthy, articulate & committed to seeing this project realized. Anyhoots we chatted for a long time. I told her how fascinating this concept of a sober gym is as it combines two of my life commitments: sobriety & physical exercise. She & I became friends and chatted off & on for years actually. I became one of the gym's 1st participants. There was no physical gym back then, we met in a CrossFit gym with friendly supportive owners. In fact! My very 1st workout there, one of the 1st of them all actually, the local newspaper reporter was there with camera gear. They took pics during the one hour workout class and interviewed us for soundbites after class. Including me. Which is still online, a quick 10 second clip of me yakking, & several others.
The sober gym finally did open in it's own space on the edge of downtown, next door to a homeless shelter. Very exciting for us that had been spreading the word from the beginning. From the grand opening, the mayor is on the far left, and the overall founder flew in of course, he's in the middle:
One of the other early participants, we'll call Carla. She was a bit of a looker. In her 30s. And her life was a complete mess due to her drinking. Broke, jobless, living with parents. Spend her days uploading selfies to social media. Relapsing, often. 2 kids with different blokes. We became friends, or at least friendly, & even went on outings together now and then for several months. Kept it strictly platonic.
Well, almost. The only time I ever touched her was after a fun dinner outing at The Hyde House, back at my place we smooched a bit. Literally that's it. She sat on my lap, for about 20 seconds of necking. I'm thinking the same thing you're thinking right now: finally, it's showtime! High five!
And then, just like that, she stood up, put on her jacket, and walked right out the door. Not a word. Just split.
And the next time I would saw her would be 6 months later when I picked her up from jail.
Turns out Carla had a typically dysfunctional on / off relationship with baby daddy #2. Who happened to be a Boise police officer. And who, according to her, knew about me & our friendship and was not pleased about it. And had threatened to come to my place 'to beat me up.' I'm thinking a) why are you telling him about me at all? b) if you are mentioning me try not to leave out the part where we're simply two people in recovery supporting each other. She would go on and on and on about this guy: he's a hoarder, he's a sex addict, he's a controlling weirdo, yadda. None of which I gave 2 fucks about. But you know addicts. Nonstop drama & bad judgement.
Oh right, so the jail part. After Carla walked out my door she stopped going to the gym as she relapsed (again). I was told this from our gym crowd. Then a few months later the gym chatter was that she was in jail. I sent her a supportive postcard in jail with my phone number. And she called me from the pokey. Turns out she relapsed ugly. On the night in question she drove to his house & attacked the house. Throwing rocks and whatnot. At a cop's house. Guess what happened next? Lots of cops came. Charged with felony destruction of property. Sentenced to 4 months in jail. Actually 2 months, then had another hearing for violating probation or something and got another 2 months. But here's the kicker: every week she & I would have a video chat for 20 minutes or so. And I would send a bit of money, not much, like $50/month which apparently goes a long way in the pokey. We became jailhouse pen pals. Yeah, I had a pen pal in the pokey. Crossed that off the bucket list.
And here's how this friendship disintegrated into the sort of drama only addicts can muster. So I picked her up from the pokey after her 4 month stint. Let her stay at my place, but she stayed at her parents house mostly. A few days after she got out we were strolling the park across the street chit chatting and I said something that triggered her to a freakish, explosive degree. Something about her time there, me helping her, and I made the mistake of saying 'you're welcome by the way.' She went ballistic. walked back to my house picked up her phone and was sms nonstop, I think to the backer of the gym. A taxi or someone picked her up and I'm thinking 'oh I get it now.' Explosive outbursts. I dodged a bullet here, take care. A week or so later she came back with her dad to get her clothes or whatever she had left. He and I chatted off and on and he was normal, not an addict. So we're in my garage because I'm giving her a spare bike I had to get around. She had no driver's license at this point of course. So I gave her a bike. And she looks at me and declares the immortal quote 'you need help.' Indeed. You just spent 4 months in jail on a felony rap but I'm the one needing help. Roger that. I ignored it, not keen on another shriekfest.
But it was the final time I saw her that is one for the history books. She & I occasionally kept in touch because months later she sms she was living in a sober house for women. I thought (wrongly) bringing her flowers would be a nice gesture. So I wrote a pleasant 'all the best, maintain your sobriety, take care' letter. Drove it to the sober house I found by a search. Turns out that was the bloke house. Someone there told me where the Betty house was, mentioning no blokes allowed inside the house. I get there, there's construction guys going in and out of the house ergo figured the rules were a bit lax. But the problem was this: I set the flowers down on the stoop. They were in a glass vase. It was windy. I walked back to my car but heard glass breaking. Vase tipped over and broke. Sharp edges. Didn't want anyone to slice their hands picking up the vase so I knocked, no answer. Walked inside just to tell someone be careful of the vase. Saw Carla chatting with another. Gave her the vase, saying be careful etc, and left. She was happy to receive, all was well. Because she sms half hour later saying so. And that was that. But no!
That evening I got this voice message from the house mom saying call me back. So I do and she says 'no blokes allowed' and 'Carla doesn't want to see you again' and 'do I need to get a restraining order?' The fucking drama with this Carla. Life of an addict. Lying is like breathing. But, my fault also; never should have went there. Being threatened by some minimum wage sober house mom? Presumably this was a kneejerk auto reaction to all the actual shit for brain blokes that actually are in the lives of female addicts. Anyhoots. Onwards.