There I lounged. For a long seven miles. A 12-pack of American lite swill between my legs and an opportunity for a nip of whiskey not too far away. The river’s current was ever so slight, pushing me along with the day’s debris. A handful of companions broke the silence. One stood up and sang in her best Italian accent, transforming the canoe into a gondola. Laughter spread throughout our fleet of kayaks and canoes.
Our group of 10 escaped Sunday from a Forecastle-focused city to Cave Country Canoes on the Blue River in Milltown, Ind. I settled on a kayak because I was partner-less, and had I had one, wouldn’t have trusted her near my beer. Donne said no man is an island, but on this day, I was. I had my own government, I voted when to pee and when not to pee, and I made sure my people were happy and fed. Nature has a way of shaking up my Etch-A-Sketch. Clearing my slate of its troubles and worries and refocusing my mind on what matters most. It’s not deadlines. Or finances. Or faulty DVRs. Or even loneliness. It’s living happy in the moment and being with people who further that sentiment.
If you haven’t been out to touch the trees or wade through rivers, I recommend it — with the right amount of bug spray and beer, of course. Nature told me to tell you not to be a stranger — oh, and to ride your bikes more and not use Aquanet.
Bourbon Lodge letdown
Was anybody else disappointed in the highly touted Bourbon Lodge at Forecastle last weekend? Don’t get me wrong — the fact that the folks at Forecastle believe bourbon should go hand and hand with the music festival is great. Kentucky bourbon should always be a part of major events in this state, and it was exciting to see so many distilleries together under one roof … err … tent. But the pricing system? Total bullshit.
I thought the idea behind the lodge was to celebrate the many bourbons we produce here as well as introduce bourbon virgins to the plethora of styles and tastes. But with some 1-ounce samples going for $12 and up (the price of a full cocktail at Louisville’s fancier bars), who could afford more than one or two? For $6, I got a share of Four Roses Small Batch so tiny that I was envious of rackhouse angels. It wouldn’t have gotten a tick tipsy. For a dollar more, I took that measly half-shot and had them muddle it into a mint julep. Bad move.
I’m sad to admit I had more fun in the cigarette tent than the bourbon tent. I came away with a Zippo lighter, a T-shirt, sunglasses and a Red Bull within five minutes. And I didn’t cry too long over costly bourbon — I knew to load up before I got there.
Back Door gives back
Eating and drinking for charity is like getting a hall pass for unabashed debauchery. On Saturday, July 20, it is your civic duty if you like dogs and cats to eat, drink and be merry at the Back Door (1250 Bardstown Road). From 2 p.m. to close, owner John Dant is donating 100 percent (!) of all food sales and will match up to $2,000 in total profits to help The Arrow Fund, which provides care for pets that have been tortured, abused and neglected. Just one more reason to love the Back Door. Wings, please!
Drunk Texts of the Week
• Ima couple pills short of a 90s party
• Need to shower. Hooked up in a port-a-pot
• Dick flask confiscated; cleavage flask cleared
• Too bad u cant just unscrew him
• The Hunter S. puppet made me horny!
Send your drunk texts to [email protected]. My blog is at barbelle.leoweekly.com. Word.