Day 15: Saturday, October 14th 2017.
Half way through our trip already. A hazy sunny morning with the promise of heat later in the day as the mist slowly clears the mountain top just visible rising up at the back of Tinker Creek. There’s that pinkish glow all around that promises a beautiful day and it’s Saturday so the energy of the day feels different. Most days, whether at home or away, seem to possess their own character to me, partly born out of a lifetime of working weeks perhaps but maybe also something to do with my inner barometer which I’m sure could gauge what day of the week it is if I’d been woken from a month-long coma. Even though I’m now ‘retired’ – a ridiculous phrase that sounds like I’ve somehow been consigned to a holding pen in preparation for death when it actually feels like an exciting new start – the days still all feel different. I still have a special appreciation for Monday mornings with no obligation to be on anyone else’s time. I’ve been lucky in that throughout my life I’ve always chosen my employment, always followed my instincts, and for the most part been my own boss. I say ‘lucky’, it takes a bit of planning too. But whatever the job there’s usually someone else making demands on you, a boss or a client of some kind to help pay your bills; you can’t work in a vacuum. So I really appreciate that freedom now and that new ‘Monday morning feeling’ is now very much appreciated. But anyway today is Saturday, a day which always seems to have a light and positive energy, and we decide to do Saturday things: go into town, browse the shops and generally dawdle. There’s a big ‘Go Outdoors’ festival on the outskirts of Roanoke so we go outdoors and see what’s happening.
There are hundreds of stalls: clothing, food, camping stuff, hiking, surfing; all manor of check-shirted pastimes (except perhaps the surfing?) And lots of live music too. We missed out on the famous ‘Dogtown Pizza’ in Floyd last night so we decide to have one here. Gooood choice.
Dave and his wife had invited us out tonight to eat at a new place they’d found so after the fair we went back to the house and just sat in the garden and read for a while.
One of Roanoke’s claims to fame is its giant, neon-lit star, built in 1949. It stands at the top of Mill Mountain, just outside the town, and has great views of the valley and the Blue Ridge Mountains apparently, although it’s still somewhat controversial and makes the front page of The Roanoke Times. It’s a lovely evening so we head up Mill Mountain in time to see the sun going down. The evening light, the 50’s-style aluminium and neon star, looking like something from a Dan Dare comic, and all the cars parked at the top of the corkscrew road that leads up to the star, creates the feeling of being in a scene from ‘Rebel without a cause’. We weren’t driving a Mercury coupe though, just a Japanese something or other. But no matter. We once drove up to the Griffith Observatory that overlooks Los Angeles, the setting for one of the most famous scenes in the James Dean film, and this has a similar feel about it. We didn’t get involved in a knife fight or get to play chicken with the local hoods, but the view of the town is indeed spectacular so we watch the sun going down and wait for the star to burst into neon life.
Sure enough, as darkness falls it flickers into life, but sadly without the buzzing and crackling sound effect I expected; the sort of noise that accompanies the monster of Frankenstein arising from his master’s operating table. The 1950’s comic book atmosphere is accentuated by the neon light coming from the 88ft star; surely a voice will boom out at any minute announcing an imminent invasion from Mars and we’ll all passively ascend into the mother ship, never to return. As it is we just take a few selfies and then make our way back to the house to prepare for dinner. ‘Prepare for dinner’? I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life – didn’t people only do that in 1950s American movies? Spooky.
Dave is a very interesting character. He’s hugely appreciative of our presence; we make it possible for him to live in this beautiful place he tells us, with obvious emotion. And he’s also a musician, or was, back in the day (that indeterminate era in which we all once shone).
He was once (back in the day) in a blues band that toured locally and who seemed to have backed pretty much every blues icon you can mention. Names like Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf and John Lee Hooker drop easily from his lips as he regails me with tales from back stage, green room and tour bus. John Lee Hooker (“call me John Lee” he told Dave) once gave him a pat on the back after hearing him play in the support band, which obviously made him up. Another time he tells me he was introduced back-stage to Stevie Ray Vaughan by Stevie’s brother Jimmy. Stevie Ray had just finished a blistering set and his sweat-soaked guitar was sitting beside him. Dave says he was tongue-tied so he just looked down at the guitar then looked up at Stevie. Stevie looked down at the guitar, looked up at Dave then looked at Jimmy.
“Can I trust him?” says Stevie.
Jimmy replied in the affirmative so Stevie invited Dave to pick up his guitar.
“Go ahead, pick it up,” says Stevie. “Just don’t play it”.
This was sweet torture for Dave. Good story.
Dave and his wife drove us to Ballast Point, a new Californian craft beer brewery and restaurant just opened in Daleville on the outskirts of Roanoke. The place was cavernous and the number of craft beers available was mind-boggling. Huge, copper beer ‘kettles’ were visible through the glass walls; it felt like Willy Wonka might appear at any moment to show us round his beer factory.
As we ate, Dave offered up yet more stories about his colourful past, this time not music-related, more his clandestine, overseas operations. I’m not entirely sure I should be sharing this with the world, but as he didn’t seem particularly secretive about it I guess it’s ok to do so now.
He told us, and after a few craft bears we weren’t entirely sure of the significance, that he had once (back in the day) been a member of the NSA – the National Security Agency – and had been involved in covert operations overseas (I can’t tell you where, I would have to kill you obviously) which involved him ‘spotting’ for snipers. We listened incredulously as he described his missions: crouching alongside the sniper, spotting scope guiding him to the target, advising the sniper, reporting back on the ‘hit’. His wife listened impassively all the while; I guess she’d heard it a thousand times. Dave told us he’d had to keep all these details about his past life hidden from her for a long time and he was really appreciative of her acceptance of him now.
We finished eating and they drove us back to Roanoke. I kept a watchful eye out for NSA drones on the lookout for ex-members who might have disclosed too much information after downing one too many Sculpin, extra-hopped IPAs.
(Dave is not his real name. Just to be on the safe side)