While I was on my “Big Sky Country” trip a couple of weeks ago (see this recent post for more), I simply had to make a pilgrimage to the site of Evel Knievel’s ill-fated Snake River Canyon “Sky Cycle” jump. Or attempted jump, more accurately.
Evel’s name probably doesn’t mean much to this generation, raised on “Dude Perfect” videos. But to men of a certain age — Boomers and Gen X fellas — his name and exploits are etched into our memory banks. He was a daredevil hero to us wee lads. Jumping the fountain at Caesar’s Palace. Jumping cars. Jumping trucks. Jumping buses. Eventually jumping the shark. (Literally – he was supposed to jump 13 sharks in Chicago, but crashed during his practice jump. That wound up being his final stunt attempt.)
He was on ABC’s Wide World of Sports all the time. The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat all rolled up into one star-spangled jumpsuit.
You probably can’t read it on the sign in the photo above, but it list “70 stunts and a world record 433 broken bones…” Watch this clip and you’ll understand the latter part of that equation.
He broke a lot of bones, but he sold a ton of toys sold too!
Even Marvel Comics got in on the action.
Evel’s most successful stunt (133 feet) happened just up the road from me, at Kings Island amusement park, in October of ’75.
But his most famous attempt was more than a year earlier, jumping the Snake River Canyon. 1600 feet. And he originally planned to try it in a motorcycle! His engineer, Bob Truax, talked him out of that. Thus the “Sky Cycle” was born. But the parachute deployed early (some suspect Evel pulled it himself), and Evel crashed into the rocks below.
There’s not much left at the launch site now – just the dirt pile and a couple of concrete footers that once held the ramp.
But it was weirdly moving… maybe even semi-spiritual… when I got to see it. Maybe because every kid wants to fly. Every kid likes to test the limits. And Evel showed us the way.
This YouTube comment sums it up for guys like me:
This song is pure 70s soft rock schmaltz, but somehow it works.
He can climb a mountain
Jump across a winding river
Once he’s made his mind up, there’s nothing he won’t try
There’s something deep inside him
Lusting for the thrills that drive him
Yet he knows someday, he’s gonna have to face, that canyon in the sky…
“Tell me you have a golden retriever without telling me you have a golden retriever.”
Bibo is our official greeter at home. Doesn’t matter if you’ve been gone two weeks or two minutes. He’s always happy to see you. Or to meet you if you’re a stranger. Unfailingly friendly. Loving.
We’re a year and a half into the second term of the Cheeto in Chief. How’s it going for you? Grocery prices? Gas prices? Affordable housing? Peace?
Donnie’s dumped more than $100 billion down the gold-plated toilet for an unwinnable war, which also shut down a key shipping route. It’s wreaked havoc across the world. And here were are in 2026, worse off than when the Obama agreement was put in place more than a decade ago.
And some costs can’t be measured in dollars and cents, because they’re senseless.
Meanwhile, on the home front, Deranged Donnie has “fixed” the Reflecting Pool. Or “pond” as he keeps calling it. It seems more like a fetid swamp at the moment. Why? Because he had a “pool guy… the best!” and awarded a no-bid contract. And he picked “American Flag Blue” as the new paint color, and a darker color creates a better environment for algae growth. And then the “fix” (dump hydrogen peroxide into the water) will kill some algae, but it also peels paint.
Pure genius, Mr. Perfect Score on the Cognitive Tests that they keep giving you. No notes.
It’s not an aberration, it’s a pattern. It’s his M.O.
Jeff Tiedrich summed it up quite nicely in his Substack post from June 22:
He’ll never learn. So it’s up to us.
“Democracy is based upon the conviction that there are extraordinary possibilities in ordinary people.” — Harry Emerson Fosdick
And if you voted for DJT, please take some time for a bit of reflecting. Uh, you’ll have to find a different pool.
Earlier this month, Mrs. Dubbatrubba, our son Peter and I went out west, along with some friends.
Five of the six folks in the photo above had run the Grand Teton half-marathon the day prior to this hike. Three of the people in the photo went on to run the Yellowstone half-marathon a week later. I’ll give you three guesses as to which of folks above was the sluggard who did neither race.
(And yes, I know the background of the picture looks like an Olan Mills studio backdrop – but it’s legit!)
Grand Teton National Park for three days.
A day trip to Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve…
… including a hike through a cave.
Shoshone Falls.
Mesa Falls.
Three days in Yellowstone National Park.
We hiked all over God’s green earth out there (and God’s scorched earth too!) and it was glorious! I’d never been to that area of the country before, and loved every bit of it. (It helped that it was warm – don’t know that I’d love the snow.)
Ken Burns has a documentary called The National Parks: America’s Best Idea. And he’s right. Thank goodness that back in the day, the powers that be decided to preserve these gorgeous areas and make them “for the people” in perpetuity. (Nowadays the powers that be would probably try to put up hotels and golf courses.)
It’s such a treat to be out in nature.
Nature does quiet the mind. And it’s a salve for the soul too!
Last night, at the Woodward Theater, Tommy Stinson had some fun. And that was his primary goal. He said so from the stage. “We’re here to have fun… play some songs… and drink water.”
There were probably fewer than 100 people in the audience. Not always “fun” for a musician. Especially one who spent several years playing arenas as the bassist for Guns N’ Roses.
When I say Tommy’s been on stage his entire life, I’m only exaggerating ever so slightly. He started playing bass in a Minneapolis band with his older brother Bob and drummer Chris Mars when he wasn’t even a teenager yet. They added singer Paul Westerberg and became The Replacements, and Tommy was 13 when they played their first official gig in June of 1980.
Tommy and the ‘mats did their brilliant/belligerent thing for more than a decade before fully imploding. Imagine being a grizzled veteran of a defunct band and being a mere 24 years old. Not only that, but imagine being in a band that kicked out your older brother (Bob Stinson was forced out of the Replacements in ’86). That’s a lot to carry for someone so young.
Tommy then fronted a couple of bands, toured with GNR for six years, then Soul Asylum, in addition to putting out solo albums.
He’s spent 46 of his 59 years on stages, in recording studios, and on tour.
And he’s still having fun. He’s sober now, which no doubt helps. But it would be easy to be down about a paltry crowd on a Tuesday night in Cincinnati. Tommy wasn’t down… he was just down-to-earth. After an opening set from Karla Rose (check out her music here), he played several songs solo, then had a band (Tim Schweiger & the Middlemen) join him to rock out. Then Tim Schweiger & the Middlemen played their own set while Tommy hung out at the merch table, taking selfies, signing albums, and talking to fans, most of whom probably wanted to talk about his glory days with The Replacements. I’m sure he’s seen it all, and heard it all, before.
I talked to Tommy briefly. I was too starstruck to carry on for long. I grew up in rural Arkansas, where there was no underground music scene, no clubs, no “left of the dial” (to borrow a phrase from a Replacements song about the college radio stations that championed emerging artists). In 1987, my older brother sent me a cassette tape with a copy of The Replacements Tim album on one side and Pleased to Meet Me on the other. That truly changed my life. I loved those songs so much that I sought out a station I’d read about that played that type of music (97X in Oxford, Ohio). I wound up working there for several years, and have carried that “indie rock” spirit with me ever since.
All I could manage to spit out was “your music means a lot to me” and then said “thanks for continuing to tour” and he said “What else am I gonna do?”
The life of a touring musician is really all he’s known. But from his blue collar, everyman attitude, I think he also knows that life is what you make it. And to still be having fun is worth more than a dozen platinum records.
Hola! I’ve been using Duolingo to learn Spanish. Or at least to try to learn Spanish.
I’ve been at it for a bit. Or a bit longer than a bit.
Am I anywhere close to fluent? No. (Or, as we say in Spanish… “no.”)
But am I a lot better than I was before I started? Si!
And am I a lot better off spending time on the Duolingo app instead of mindlessly scrolling through social media? Without a doubt! I’ve probably never spent more than 20 minutes on Duolingo on any given day. Most days it’s more like 5-10 minutes. Not enough to make me bilingual. But enough to make a dent.
I’m up to 97 on my Duolingo score. Here’s what that means:
It didn’t happen overnight. I happened over 2112 days. (And yes, I chose that screenshot because I’m a Rush fan.)
I’m not into motorsports of any sort. I blame that time in high school when my friends and I were doing our own late night time trials on my friend Jon’s younger sister’s moped. Complete a loop from his house – down the street, up a hill, another straightaway, then back down the hill.
I was clearly on track for the fastest lap — at least in my head — until I wiped out in turn 4, going down the hill. I still have a scar on my knee from it. Jon’s sister’s moped was none the worse for wear though. Which was a good thing, since she wasn’t home and had no idea that her brother and his friends had commandeered it.
But this past weekend, I had the chance to go to the Indy 500. I’d been to “Carburetion Day” before, but never the actual 500. It was a bucket list thing, and I thoroughly enjoyed the entire experience. Especially the pageantry leading up to the race. They had Indy legends like AJ Foyt, Al Unser Jr., and my personal fave, Mario Andretti, taking a lap around the track, only this time in the back of pickups, not behind the wheel. Then they brought out classic Indy cars from all eras of the race. The National Anthem and “Back Home Again in Indiana.” Navy flyovers. The Purdue marching band. Caitlin Clark as the honorary grand marshal. Brendan Fraser as the honorary starter. “Racers, start your engines.”
I was there with 3 other “rookies” so we did our best to take it all in. The pure chaos of the infield, and especially the “Snake Pit.” Imagine the largest football tailgate party you’ve ever attended, then take that times a thousand. You can bring in your own coolers – where else can you do that?
350,000 people – the largest single-day sporting event in the world. What are the chances that a former co-worker would be seated in the same section?
Actually, in addition to Rob (above), another former co-worker of ours also was in our section, a few rows in front of us, with her dad, husband, and two kids.
It’s not lost on the tree hugger in me that hundreds of thousands of cars were stuck in traffic while waiting to get into the track so they could see 33 drivers waste a lot more gas… when the Strait of Hormuz is closed and gas is $5 a gallon. The concept seems anachronistic. Maybe 10 years from now the race will feature battery pack changes instead of refueling. A boy can dream, can’t he?
And yes, it’s “four left turns” as Indy/NASCAR disparagers like to point out. But there were 70 lead changes (a record) and it also was the closest finish in Indy 500 history. Not bad for a bucket list bonus.
I can honestly say I have zero desire to see a race at any other track. But I’d go back to Indy for sure.
Friday night: Seeing my son Gabriel’s band The Collies play at a bar in Mt. Lookout.
Saturday during the day: working on a basement clean-up project.
Saturday night: Maggie Rose/Molly Tuttle concert in Lexington, KY with Gabriel. (MP Gannon rules!)
Sunday morning: kayaking with my friend Matt. His wife passed away back in February. Friday would’ve been her 50th birthday. I’m making an concerted effort to catch up with him on a regular basis. (I also organized a happy hour with some of our old co-workers a few weeks back.)
Sunday night: Built to Spill/Wussy concert at Ludlow Garage, with Gabriel and my daughter Leah. (First concert that we’ve gone to together!)
I’m not retired (yet!) but when the topic comes up in casual conversation (as it often does for people in my age bracket), some folks interrogate me with variations on these questions:
“But what will you do all day when you’re retired?” and
“Aren’t you afraid of getting bored?”
My answer to #1 is “more of the above” – more concerts, more time with my family (hmm, I probably should reverse the order of those two…), more home projects, more kayaking (and yes, more pickleball), more travel, more time with friends, more reading, more writing, more podcasting, and more of whatever the heck I want to do. (And yes, probably more naps.)
And my answer to #2 is an emphatic NO! I have waay too many interests for that to happen.
Right now I’m working for the weekend. I am starting to look forward to a permanent weekend. Especially if they’re like this past one!
On Saturday, I drove down to Lexington, KY with my oldest kid Gabriel to see an outdoor show at The Burl. (Great place to see a show, btw.)
It was a co-headlining tour, Maggie Rose and Molly Tuttle. I’d just seen Molly Tuttle a few weeks prior. And yes, I’ve been known to double down on artists I enjoy seeing. (Looking at you, Gladie.) But the real reason for the road trip was the guitarist for Maggie Rose’s band. MP Gannon. The dude’s an amazing guitar player.
And he has a fantastic, soulful voice to boot.
And I’d say that even if he weren’t my first cousin once removed.
But he IS my first cousin once removed, and that makes it even cooler! (I know him better as Michael Patrick.)
This doesn’t exactly qualify as a news bulletin, but I love music. And seeing my cousin’s kid up on stage, in front of a rapt audience, doing his thing… goosebumps the entire time! (I can only imagine how my cousin Patty and her husband Paul feel when they see their son on stage.)
In her set, Maggie performed a cover of “I Can’t Make You Love Me” — a ballad made famous by Bonnie Raitt*. If you’re gonna do that classic (or any Bonnie Raitt song, really), you’d better have the voice to back it up.
And Maggie does, in spades.
*that song was co-written by former Cincinnati Bengal defensive tackle Mike Reid, a two-time Pro Bowler whose songwriting career has far eclipsed his gridiron greatness.
Maggie recorded a duet version of “I Can’t Make You Love Me” song with Vince Gill. Which means MP has some pretty big shoes to fill in concert. TBH, I prefer his voice to Vince’s. And I’m not just saying that because he’s my first cousin once removed. (But, as previously established, he IS!)
Speaking o’ big shoes to fill, for Molly Tuttle’s encore, Maggie Rose and MP joined Molly’s band for rousing renditions of “She’s a Rainbow” by the Rolling Stones and “Up on Cripple Creek” by The Band. MP sang a verse of the latter – meaning he was channeling Levon Helm… merely my favorite member of one of my favorite bands. (Because Levon, the only non-Canadian member of The Band, was from my old stomping grounds of Arkansas.)
MP is based in Nashville. And as the Lovin’ Spoonful famously told us in their song “Nashville Cats”:
Well, there’s thirteen hundred and fifty two Guitar pickers in Nashville And they can pick more notes than the number of ants On a Tennessee ant hill
To snag a gig as a touring “guitar picker” is a big hill to climb. To become an integral part of Maggie Rose’s band in just a year with them is a testament to his talent, and his dedication to the craft.
A rockin’ house concert, for our family and 25 other folks – some of whom were friends, but most of whom were just friendly strangers.
That’s Jason Narducy playing to the crowd. He releases music as Split Single. He’s also the touring bassist for Superchunk, one of my favorite bands. Also bassist in the Bob Mould band (Bob’s another fave). And Jason teamed up with actor Michael Shannon to organize the R.E.M. tribute supergroup that I posted about a couple of months ago. Oh, and he wrote a book filled with some fun stories from his life on the road as a musician.
When he’s not touring as a “band guy” he does solo house concerts.
It’s not a glamorous existence, cramming all your gear into a rental car (in Jason’s case, a rental car with the “lane assist” function that he can’t figure out how to turn off) and driving hours upon hours to get to the next stop. And when you get there, setting up all that gear, hoping the host is a decent human being, and that your voice isn’t shot, and that the crowd isn’t dead.
It’s also not a lucrative endeavor. On a good night, you move the people with your music, and you move some merchandise too. Enough to pay the bills, and may put a few bills in your pocket.
From my biased perspective, I think last night was a great night. Jason’s a gifted musician, and a natural storyteller. And he’s a heck of a nice guy. As much as I love hearing music in an intimate setting, I probably enjoy the dead time before the show just as much. It was just Jason and I, hanging out in our kitchen. I won’t delude myself that we’re now besties. But it was good to get to know a bit more about him as a person, not just a performer.
Live music is my thing, but every house concert is a family affair. Peter helped me rearrange the furniture. Tina cleaned after my “cleaning” efforts fell short. Gabriel grabbed the pizza for Jason’s pre-show meal. Leah and Andrew kept the dogs upstairs when guests started arriving.
The show was stellar – mostly originals, with a few tasty covers (The Kinks, Superchunk, R.E.M… on mandolin!) in the mix. Great stories in-between.
We live on Wilaray Terrace and Jason jokingly called it “Wilaray Arena.” I love that. As long as I’m living, our living room will be open for business as Wilaray Arena. Because I’ll take a rockin’ living room over arena rock 100% of the time. Or in Jason’s case “95 Percent.”
Damian on Uno, dos, tres, cuatro…: “That’s where my head was for the title as well, Chuck! Great musical minds…” Jun 2, 21:36
Chuck Wiggins on Uno, dos, tres, cuatro…: “The extent of my high school Spanish memory is being able to to the count off at the beginning of…” Jun 2, 11:19
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