Part one of why you haven’t heard from me is that it’s hard to focus on the creative side of myself while I’m trying to focus on the athletic side.  Call me intense, but I have to focus on one thing at a time for best results.  So, that explains the few months before the Games. 

Part two is that, post Games my mind has been reeling.  It’s not something that is unique to this go-round in Beijing, or a feeling of success or failure.  It’s just hard to put together all the difficult emotions into a package that one can comprehend.  This is my third Olympics and I’ve felt this after each one.  The only thing that makes it easier this time is that I recognize the feeling for what it is and I’m not caught off guard like I was after Sydney. 

8 years after Sydney and what seems like many lifetimes, I still haven’t been able to soak in the fact that I’ve even been to an Olympics at all, let alone three.  I’ve spent every day since I first got on the National Team looking towards tomorrow.  I think that’s about the only way to do it.  As soon as a goal is reached, set a new one.  Eighteen years of goals set, reached and reset, always looking ahead and having minimal time to enjoy the minutes you’re in, let alone the achievements as they pass.  It all adds up to one day standing still and asking yourself, “what just happened”.

So, now I have some time. I’m needing to explore a bit of the world and more importantly myself.  I’ve always found it impossible to do that from my couch, so I’m going to have to get off of it and do some travel. 

I’m going to be exploring the here and now, mixed with heavy doses of reflection so that I can gain perspective and figure out what my future holds.  Sounds easy right?  I’m going to do all this for myself, but I’d love to share it all with you.  I think that over the last 26 years I’ve accumulated some stories that are worth repeating.  Some of them obviously take place around a pool.  However, it’s just as important to look at the things off the pool deck. 

Here’s where I am right now:  Sitting on a bed in the Hilton off Michigan Avenue in Chicago.  Here’s why I’m here:  Last week I was asked if I wanted to be a guest on Oprah with a bunch of other medalists from Beijing. 

Initially I said no because to be honest, with nothing to do, and no deadline for anything, and a little change in my pocket, I could be anywhere on the planet.  Options are relatively new for me.  I sit on my bed, I sit on my couch, I meet up with friends and all the while I feel like I’m free falling.  I wake up at 2 am and I drive around the lake.  I’ve got no reason to be asleep or awake at any time of the day.  I bought a membership to a gym last week so I’d have some form of accomplishment other than making and eating breakfast, which I’ve been doing around 2 in afternoon recently. 

I changed my mind about Oprah when I remembered that she films in Chicago.  My best buddy Adam lives here now, so Oprah was the means to an end.  I decided I’d stay up here for a few days after the taping because I thought perhaps I could get some thinking done. 

You see, for the last two months I’ve been in a hotel room with nothing but time to think.  Omaha, Palo Alto, Singapore, Beijing…books, movies, my guitar, and a purpose for being there.  There’s something about the few months leading up to a major meet.  Everything you need in your heart and mind and body for your best performance gets sucked in and magnified and everything you don’t need gets pushed away.  This doesn’t happen by choice for me, it’s automatic.  Being so focused on something gives you a sort of peace, like the eye of a storm.  It’s one of the most intense experiences to sit through, but it’s also peaceful. 

Now that I’m home, part of that has gone away and I thought that by getting out of the house, recreating the hotel environment, I might be able to think.  Absurd, huh? 

Yesterday it rained all day here.  I sat in my room watching the boats in Lake Michigan and the rain on the street.  I tried to write (which is how I make sense of the collage of thoughts in my head) and couldn’t express anything. 

In the evening, when Adam was done with his Law School functions, we met up for a beverage and had a chance to talk about everything.  A year ago he was in a similar position to where I am right now.  Graduated from the Engineering Department at U of Texas, looking for a Law School, no idea where he would end up.  Now he’s got a nice niche here in Chicago, school is going well, future’s so bright he’s gotta wear shades. 

I have faith that I’ll be able to be there soon enough.  I don’t know how, or when, or what I’ll be up to, but that’s the beauty of faith.  I think that a common misconception about faith is that if you have it, you don’t worry.  For me, worry is desire to contribute.  An artist can’t function without that.  In words so nicely arranged by Bob Dylan, “it’s a restless, hungry feeling”. 

So, that’s where I’m at.  The next thing on my calendar is Austin City Limits Music Festival (ACL) in Austin.  I’ve got some time to kill before then because it’s not for another three weeks.  I have a strong desire to get behind the wheel but I’m going to wait until after the festival because I don’t want to drift too far from Austin and have to break the road trip to come back.  The only place I have on the “must go” list is to mom and dad and home up in Portland, Maine.  I’m going to look through old photographs and videos, boxes of swim meet t-shirts and old ribbons and try to make sense of it all. 

I invite you to come along and I’ll tell you stories of what’s gone on along the way.  Maybe we can find my missing years.  

-Ian

So, here I am in the DallasAirport.  I’ve been here a time or two in the last few years.  This time is particularly unpleasant because my flight from Austin took off at 7:05am.  I’ve got an hour layover until I fly to Colorado Springs to the Olympic Training Center for the second weekend in a row.  It’s been great going up there with the other Texas Pro swimmers because we’re getting a change in training and scenery.  We’re a unique crew and it’s been good to soak it all in together.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about music lately.  Go figure.  No complete thoughts or anything, just a mess of thoughts.  For instance, one thought that crossed my mind recently was how all these song lyrics we grow up singing, and we never even dissect for meaning.  For instance, girls go out to bars (I wouldn’t know first hand) and sing along to these rap songs with their cliques of friends, but if they listened to what they were chanting, they’d realize how degrading it is to them.

Maybe that’s the trick of music: say what you want with rhythm and melody and it masks what you’re actually saying with your words.  There are terribly depressing songs with upbeat melodies and visa versa.  In the end, the lyrical meaning is trumped by the melody.

Have you ever read the verses to “You Are My Sunshine”?  I always thought it was a great, happy song that parents sing to their kids.  That is until my senior year on high school when I worked in a nursing home for a project for school.  It turns out the “Sunshine” was a socially important theme of the Depression Era generation.  You see, as you get to your twilight years big entertainment means gathering in a large room and singing songs from your youth.  For those elderly folks of the Spring of 2000, “You are my Sunshine” was the climax of all of their sing-alongs.  Sometimes they’d even start the signing session with it, throw it in again in the middle, and then sing it for an encore to themselves.  It was that Spring that I heard more than the first verse.  I’m telling you, it’s painful.  Google it.

Another song that just kind of hit me the other day is “Gloria” as performed by the band “Them” in the 60’s.  “Them” was a band that came and went, but Van Morrison was it’s front man, and he came and stayed, I reckon.

Anyway, “Gloria” is a song that was always on the oldies radio station when I was a kid sitting in the back of my mother’s minivan.  For some reason I was walking out of the weight room the other day and I realized that G-L-O-R-I-A is a 12am booty call.  Turn’s out Solomon was right; there ain’t nothing new under the sun.

I was talking to a friend the other day about music from the 90’s because I’ve been hitting up the 90’s alternative station recently in the car because it’s a blast from my high school years.  They play a lot of Nine Inch Nails, which (sorry if you’re a fan) I never got into.  I think that Trent Reznor is a very talented songwriter, I just don’t like the end result.  It’s too sonically intense for me.  But, Johnny Cash did a cover of Reznor’s “Hurt”.  Now there is a song that gets to exactly what it’s pointing at.  If you miss the boat on that one, you’re helpless.  The melody, the rhythm, the lyrics…it’s a complete pluck of the heartstrings.  That’s one of two songs that I have in my favorite song category, that I just can’t really listen to because it’s so emotional.

The other would have to be Steve Earl’s “Fort Worth Blues”.

“You used to say the highway was your home

But we both know that ain't true

It's just the only place a man can go

When he don't know where he's travelin' to”

Ouch, the truth.

Another guy who can just get at the heart of things is John Prine.  He’s a singer songwriter with a special gift.  He can make you laugh and feel awesome, and in the next song, he’ll make you cry like a baby.  Consider a playlist including two of my favorite Prine songs, “In Spite of Ourselves” with guest vocalist Iris Dement, and then transitions into “Angel From Montgomery”.  Talk about a roller coaster.  But the odd thing is you want to do it again when it’s over.  So, you hit up “Let’s Talk Dirty in Hawaiian” and follow it up with “There’s a Hole in Daddy’s Arm Where The Money Goes”.  That’s the fake-out, punch combo that’ll leave you dizzy.

At this point you need to change gears and cleanse the palate with Jimmy Dorsey’s “Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie”.  You can’t take things too seriously after that one.

Bob Dylan was a completely different kind of poet.  He got frustrated with media and societal pressure and got heavy into vagueness.  Sort of like the musical version of Andy Kaufman.  But you can’t argue that his word choice isn’t spot on.  He knew (knows) what he was (is) doing.  Now and then he strikes you with a particularly powerful pill of truth.  Take one of my favorites “Isis” (live version off Biograph, please).  I get the point of it, it’s the push pull of relationships, but who was the mysterious “man in the corner”.  If you know, tell me.  But, he summarizes in the last verse why God created man and woman and made us the way He did.  “Isis, oh Isis, you’re a mystical child, what drives me to you is what drives me insane”.  Bam.  Definition: restlessness.

People ask me all the time which Dylan song is my favorite.  That’s like asking me to choose which of the breaths I’ve taken in the last 25 years is.  I think I’d have an easier time telling you my favorite line from each Dylan song.  He’s a few.  You can research for song and context:

“So I drifted down to New Orleans where I was lucky enough to be employed, working for a while on a fishing boat, right outside Delacroix”

“ You have sleighed me, you have made me, I got to laugh halfway off my heels, I got to know, babe, will you surround me, so I can know if I’m really real”

“I’ve only got me one good shirt left and it smells of stale perfume”.

I guess a playlist of my favorite Dylan songs would include; Spanish Harlem Incident, “Oxford Town”, “I’ll Keep It With Mine”, “Going to Acapulco”, “Up To Me”,  “Baby Let Me Follow You Down”, “Isis”, “It Takes A Lot To Laugh It Takes a Train To Cry”, “Just Like Tom Thumbs Blues”, “Dear Landlord”, “Sugar Baby”, “If Dogs Run Free”, “Most Of The Time”, and “Highlands”.

You can dislike Dylan, that’s fine.  But don’t solidify that opinion until you’ve heard those songs.

While we’re talking about great songwriters who can evoke thoughts and emotions you didn’t know you had, Tom Waits has to be discussed.  I discovered his music a little over a year ago and it wasn’t a moment too soon or too late.  You see, you can’t just tell someone to go listen to Waits and suddenly a new person joins the ranks of Waits fans.  It’s very much a timing thing.  Its not exactly “uplifting” stuff, but he can cut to the heart of it like nobody’s business.  I think everyone goes through a heavy Waits listening period.  Its mid to late 20’s that you get your first taste, and then you’ve made a friend to meet up with anytime life deals low cards.  But he writes in such a way that he doesn’t make you feel worse, you just get a kick of validation that can help you bounce back up.

A typical jumping off point into Waits’ music would be songs like “Long Way Home”, or “Hold On”.  Then you delve a little more.  Songs like “The Piano Has Been Drinking (Not Me)”, “Old Shoes”, “Old 55” give you more of a sense of his foundations.

I think one of the things that has drawn me to his music is his word choice.  We all know there are a million ways to say the same thing, but art is when you can chose the words that make you smell and taste and feel the meaning of the song.  One of my favorites is “Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis”.  It’s a priceless monologue from a certain kind of person whom we all know (not necessarily a hooker).  The speaker dances around the point of the letter so well and for so long that you’re snowballed by the end when the point comes.  Precisely her plan.  In my opinion, that song is one of the best short stories written since the ballpoint pen and typewriters were invented.

Well, this has been a particularly long rant.  That’s my opinion, like it or not.      

A little over two months ago Longhorn Aquatics (the club team I swim for) put on their annual meet, The Texas Invitational.  It was a three-day meet, as it usually is, and there were an assortment of professional swimmers there, as there has been in recent years.  What’s so special about that?  Well, not a whole lot I suppose.  However, on the final day of the meet the pro swimmers who train at U of Texas were confronted with a challenge.  Coach Eddie Sinnott of Southern Methodist University approached us and told us in colorful English that we were weak individuals if we did not participate in a 100 yard Individual Medley at the end of that evenings session (of course I’m paraphrasing).  Not wanting to be known as such, we decided we would oblige his challenge.  After all, we’re sporting types.

In an empty room, this little race would have been relatively unimportant, but the room was not empty.  The people in the stands at the Lee and JoeJamailTexasSwimCenter realized there was something special happening.  They put down their heat sheets and got on their feet.  The 50 seconds that followed shook the walls of pool with excitement and noise.  A few of the swimmers who participated in the short exhibition (myself included) agreed that it was as much fun as we’d had in a pool in a long time.  Judging by the reaction of the crowd, they had similar feelings. 

That night the pros that I train with at Texas decided that what we need as athletes, and what swimming fans need, is a high energy, match racing swim meet that is as far from a typical swim meet experience as it can be.  Thankfully, we didn’t let the idea die. 

And so…allow me to describe a little something we’ve put together:

On Sunday March 9^th at the Lee and JoeJamailTexasSwimCenter a few dozen of the worlds greatest swimmers will compete in a myriad of sprint events in an attempt to break short course meters world records.  Events with records on the line will be mixed in with never before seen events aimed at the entertainment of the crowd.  Each race will feature World and American record holders, Olympic Gold Medalists and national champions.

Tickets and information for the event are available at encoreswim.com.  All proceeds earned by the athletes involved will be donated to the S.W.I.M. foundation (swimaustin.org), which gives at risk children in the Austin area a chance to learn to swim competitively. 

The group of professional swimmers who train at Texas have realized that we have an opportunity to help the Austin community while putting on a memorable and entertaining event for the fans of our sport.  We hope that you will come out and have a good time with us on March 9^th.       

Because of the 2000 Olympics I arrived on campus a few months late for my first semester.  I signed an NCAA Olympic Year Waiver and was able to compete for UT without having to go to class for that semester.  Since then I’ve had to sign similar waivers for two other semesters which is why I’m still in college these days, but hey, who’s counting. 

It was October 15th.  It was raining.  It was cold.  Jaime Rauch (former UT swimmer and 2000 Olympic team member) picked me up from the airport along with Brendan Hansen (who would be my roommate for the next two years). 

We went straight to Mr. Gatti’s Pizza near campus before heading to the dorms.  This was not the best intro to the Austin culinary scene, but oh well, I didn’t really care about good food when I was 18.

An hour later I was moving into Jester Dormitory for two years of cement walls and funky smells in the hallway.  Rumor has it that Jester was designed by a guy who primarily designed prisons, and when you look at the building from the outside, this theory might hold water.   One last fun fact: Jester does have it’s own zip code. 

Within the first few weeks in the 78705 I had my first cockroach experience.  I hate to admit it, but I still have trouble when I see those things. 

In spite of the noted draw backs, Jester had it’s perks.  There were 5,000 students in that building.  A lot of them were girls.  Some of them were good looking.   I remember two roommates; both named Whitney up on the 8th floor.  Also, the acoustics in the cement stairwell were great for playing guitar.  But the best part was that all the swimmers were clustered together.  The sophomores were there to make sure the freshmen were taken care of.  Matt Timberlake was one of the sophomores that lived a few doors down.  Timberlake was a sprinter from just outside of Houston.  I remember he had a killer beard when I first got on campus that fall.  Anyway…once again…beside the point. 

T-lake, as we call him, was as country as cow pies and he was determined to get me to play country songs while he sang.  Even though I didn’t know any country, I’ve always been willing to accompany someone who is willing to sing.  The one song we perfected was “My Hometown” by Charlie Robison.  This song was the perfect introduction to living in Texas, and I think we wore those three chords out. 

Flash forward almost exactly four years…

The Athens Olympics were over.  Things hadn’t turned out exactly the way I wanted them to.  I had left home in early July and it was now late September.  Michael Phelps, Lenny Krayzelburg and I were off touring the USA in our Disney sponsored bus for a month and a half.  I hadn’t been back to Austin yet.  We had a tour stop in Dallas, so a few of us rented a car after our tour obligations were fulfilled and made the three hour drive to the greatest city on earth.  My heart rate picked up pace with each passing mile.  As we got closer to Austin, Sean Foley, who was also a former Texas swimmer, flipped the radio dial to KVET, an Austin country station.  Sean was T-lake’s year and they were good friends.  He had been in our dorm room to offer up some harmony during T-lake and my noise making sessions four years before. 

Much to our happiness, as KVET came on the radio that night in ’04, a familiar voice came through the speakers.  It was Charlie Robison.  He was playing a live show!  I remember being 20 miles outside of Austin proper, coming through Round Rock, Texas and hearing “My Hometown” live on the radio.  It was a moment I’ll never forget.  One of those rare moments when you can say, “we’re not always where we wanna be, but we’re always right where we should be”.  I spent a total of 18 hours in Austin before I had to head back to Dallas to catch up with the tour.

The following week the tour had a stop in Las Vegas for “recuperation” (can you say “oxymoron”).  I decided I didn’t need neon recuperation, I needed my home.  So, I flew back to Austin for another 36-hour visit.  Guess who was playing at one of Austin’s more famous venues, Antone’s…Charlie Robison!!! 

I called up Brendan Hansen and Matt Timberlake and we made a night out of it.  We got pretty rowdy, in a good way, and we ended up meeting the late Cliff Antone (owner, operator and namesake of the place that brought back the blues in the 1980’s…where do you think Stevie Ray Vaughan started?).  After the show Cliff introduced us to Charlie Robison and his Dixie Chick wife.  All I remember of the situation was meeting a very attractive, very short woman, and being very tongue tied when I tried to talk to Charlie. 

I woke up the next morning with a signed CD and a guitar pick stuffed in my pocket, and figured all was good.  There’s no place like home.    

- Ian

- Ian

Man, for a minute there, I was really obsessed with Bob Dylan.  There was a period where the only CDs that were in my car were Dylan CDs.  The way I looked at it, he has pretty much encompassed every important facet of popular American music at one point or another during his career.  My apologies to those who rode in my car often, they may have felt a Dylan overdose.

But I notice there is a pattern going on here in my life.  When I’m introduced to something new that hits me in a good spot, I tend to go head first into it.  During my “Dylan years”( and don’t get the impression I don’t still love Bob, it’s just on a more normal level now) my friends never would have guessed what was coming next in terms of artistic genre I would fall into:  movies and certain directors.  You see, at that time, I could not sit through an entire movie.  For some reason my attention span was not capable of 90 to 120 minutes of focus.  But, that changed.

I still remember the first time I saw “Annie Hall”.  One of my good friends has collected all the movies that have won “Best Picture”.  In 1977 “Annie Hall” beat out “Star Wars” for this honor.  It is truly a Woody Allen Masterpiece.  After my first viewing I felt that everything I had ever seen or felt in relationship life was somehow validated and justified.  And, I laughed my butt off.

Now, I realize that Woody Allen can kind of hit people the wrong way.  Some may think some of his stuff is a little, oh how shall I say…off.  And I’d agree.  But, even his most ridiculous work has that Woody charm and I can appreciate it.  It’s this kind of mindless entertainment that can be perfect for unwinding.  Then there are movies of his like “Match Point” that cause his genius to shine (author’s opinion).

On the Woody Allen front I’ve reached a dilemma.  I own about 90 of his movies.  I would consider my collection to embody all of his best work and a majority of his “what the hell?” stuff.  On a Friday after a long week, to me, there are few things better than a glass of grape juice and an unseen Allen movie.  But I’m running out of movies to see.  I’ve gone from “Annie Hall” to “Zelig, Zelig”.  I have one left that I haven’t seen.  It’s still in the cellophane:  “Deconstructing Harry”.  I really want to see it, but once I have, that’s it.  There’s no new magic until he comes out with something new for the theater.  I’m saving it for a really bad week where there’s nothing else good I can think of to get me on my feet again.  It’s sort of an “in case of emergency, break glass” situation.

There are other writers/ directors that I am semi-obsessed with as well.  My all time favorites being the Coen Brothers.  Knowing that their newest work, “No Country for Old Men” is about to hit theaters has had me excited for months.  Last weekend, however, I went to see a movie with one of my teammates.  Matt McGinnis is my lane mate in workout and an extreme cinemaphile.  When I walk on deck at the beginning of practice he’s always spouting off film reviews and expressing excitement about upcoming releases.

Well, we went to Alamo Draft House (great Austin theater) to see “The Darjeeling Limited” last weekend.  Wes Anderson movies are finally clicking the way they should with me.  I’d highly recommend it.  Don’t forget the grape juice.

- Ian

When I visit a team to give stroke demos and talk, I like to make sure the kids and/or parents I am addressing ask plenty of questions.  If I’m talking to an older group of swimmers (high school aged), one of my favorite questions to answer is “why did you chose to go to The University of Texas”.

“So”, you ask, “why did you?”

Thank you for asking.  I’ll tell you.  (Stick with me if you’re beyond college.  As usual I’m getting at a larger point by making a small one).

There are a few things to look for when choosing a college to swim for.  I guess first and foremost, is it a good school academically that offers what you think you might like to study?  Then, does the team fit your ability level?  How do you like the coach?

These are relatively obvious things.  There are a few things that you might not think of off hand though.  For instance, there’s more to a college than its campus.  The town that the college is in gives that campus a certain vibe.  If you can honestly say that you don’t like Austin, Texas that’s fine, just promise you won’t come back.  Everyone else that sees this place just can’t bring themselves to leave.  Just look at our housing market.  We are the live music capitol of the world.  We are diverse.  We are in the hill country of Texas (that’s right it’s anything but flat).  So, you see, if you’re bored here, you’re a boring person.  Don’t blame us.

But since being a college athlete is more than poking around town, one of the most important parts of finding a college is looking for team cohesiveness.  When I came on my recruiting trip to U of T in the fall of 1999 I found 30 young men all pushing towards the same goals.  Number one, the national championship (which Texas won for the following 3 years in a row), and two, there wasn’t one person who didn’t want to be on the Olympic team the following summer (six Texas male swimmers made the Sydney team).  I could feel the drive of the Texas men’s team on my 48 hour recruiting trip.  There was something else though that made Texas special.

Just before I started being recruited for college I went on my first National team trip.  It was the Pan Pacific Championships in the summer of 1999.  I met a lot of people on that trip.  Most of the athletes on that team were in college and a few had already graduated.  In my mind those people were all ambassadors for their respective universities.  There were four guys I met from U of Texas on that trip; Josh Davis, Jon Younghouse, Bryan Jones, and Neil Walker.  All four of these Longhorn swimmers were amazing people rather than just amazing athletes.  That was what I wanted to become.  Swimming only takes you so far.  After that your success and more importantly happiness depends on how you relate to, respect, enjoy, and are enjoyed by other people.

Josh and Jon both now live in San Antonio and are successful, genuine people.  Bryan is a successful lawyer in Austin with a degree in engineering, an MBA and obviously, a law degree (he also just became a father to a baby girl, so congrats is in order).  Brian uses his know how to help the Austin community in various ways such as starting a non profit swim program for at risk children (he started this business with another former UT swimmer).

I am fortunate enough to still be able to train with Neil Walker.  The combination of his work ethic, sense of humor, and respect for people around him, make him a teammate you look forward to seeing every day (even if training is the last place you want to be).  He’s exactly the type of person the Texas coaches, Eddie Reese and Kris Kubik strive to create in their workshop of life known as the Texas Swim Center.

Another frequent question for athletes to be asked is who their hero is.  I never know how to answer that.  My best answer is anyone who strives to become better (more importantly in terms of how they relate to people than any other achievement).  That, and I guess Neil Walker.

- Ian

Well, after my Kerouacesque trip, now it’s back to life.  It’s been a little over a month since my excursion.  This is my last real semester of college, so I’m doing that full swing.  It’s been going well, save for one issue.

My advisor (we’ll call him Leroy) is a caricature of a Mainer.  “But”, you say, “you live in Texas”.  True, true, but Leroy is the other Mainer who now lives in Texas (besides myself).  I say he represents Maine well, but I suppose only in his accent.  Oh, and the fact that his office looks like a Norman Rockwell painting. 

Should you ever have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Sutherland (Leroy) please take a moment and behold the wonderment of the man.  If Leroy doesn’t have a cigarette in his hand, be careful, that just means he’s looking for one.  He’s got an office right by a doorway to the outside of the Darrel K. Royal Texas Stadium (the one you see on TV).  If you don’t see him in his office, wait 5 minutes…cigarette.  When he arrives back to his desk with his yellow stained fingers and paper coffee cup, you’ll know it.  Leroy is old.  I’m assuming he was born before it went public that smoking is bad for you.  But, there are other theories on the matter of his age.  Some believe he’s actually in his 30’s but the smoking aged him double time.  This notion is substantiated but the fact the he has a young wife.  I would just attribute that to the fact that he’s such a charmer. 

If you find yourself tongue tied in amazement at Mr. Sutherland as he uses his two pointer fingers to punch away at his keyboard as he curses at the computer (one of my favorite things to watch), may I suggest horse racing as a topic of conversation.  He’s been around horses since he was a youngster in small town Maine.  His eyes light up when he talks about furlongs, super perfectos, jockeys and a host of other things that I know nothing about.

But, more importantly, Leroy has inspired me.  He’s got a few things I haven’t got.  One of which is that he’s an Honorary Texan.  Now, I don’t know what that means, or what it entails, or how you go about becoming one.  I do know that there is a plaque in his office that denotes that he is one, and it was signed by former Governor Ann Richards for credibility.  I also know that Leroy is from Bangor, Maine.  I’m from Maine.  So, hey, if Leroy can do it, I wanna do it.  The other thing Leroy has that I don’t is a college degree.  Let me tell you, long and hard I’ve worked for that piece of paper.  Many an obstacle have I overcome.  And lately, I don’t feel Leroy is helping me with my cause.  You see, I did my part.  I chose the schedule I wanted, the time of day when I wanted my classes to be.  But somehow this didn’t get translated into reality as per usual ( I think that step had something to do with Leroy).  Thusly, two days before the start of the semester, I had to scurry to get a schedule together.  And so, for my Spanish class, the only time available was 8 am Monday through Thursday.  That’s right, four days a week 8 am class.  Those of you who aren’t in college yet might not appreciate this to it’s full extent.  But I assure you, you will.

I forgive you Leroy.  But, come on man.  You owe me a degree, and some sleep back.

- Ian

PART 3

After 12 hours of travel I approached the Lincoln Tunnel.  It was raining through New Jersey and as I got close to NYC, so the traffic was a little heavy.  Once I reached the tunnel itself, traffic was intense and adrenaline inducing.  Call me a country boy, I dont mind, but I wasnt built to drive an 18 foot truck in this sort of mess.  I dont know why they bother to paint lines on the road.  Its a free for all.  I used my mild aggression to weasel my way into the proper lane to enter the arched tunnel.  Once I was through to the other side, I was clearly in the wrong lane.  Let me just say, if it werent for my handy little GPS I would be dead on the side of the road in Manhattan.  Which is pathetic since its all laid out like a grid.  Under faint moonlight and neon I made my way through the city, past the Empire State Building, and to a Parking lot with spaces large enough to accommodate my glorified farm equipment.  By the time I handed over the keys to the Parking Lot attendant my heart rate was easily in the 120 range.  I needed good food and a bed.

I met up with a friend, who loves food as much as I do.  We went to a place called Hearth in New Yorks East Village for dinner.  After joyfully consuming the chefs tasting menu which consisted of many wonderful treats such at beef short rib, ribeye, and a shooter of cucumber basil soup, I was in dire need of a bed.

For next few days I bummed around New York and New Jersey meeting friends and family pondering the reasons for my current place in life, in thought, in belief system, in career, and on the map.

I wondered why I went east, though I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.  The wind blew me towards friendship and the ones whom I know and who know me best.  I was pulled from the Velcro that is my familiar setting, and pushed into a purging period of the mind and soul.  Retreats have long been an important part of growth, as I learned through my Jesuit High School education.  Thats just what I was experiencing.

I came to a place of in mind where I felt I had found what I had set out to find, though I had no idea what that would be in the beginning.  I gained a renewed faith and understanding of my duty.  A duty that somewhat resembles my road trip itself.  It asks me to keep moving, keep an open mind and heart, and be ready for where ever the wind takes me.  So, on that, I put my guitar back in its case, and I headed home.

My only way point on the 2000 mile journey home was a small BBQ restaurant called Jim Neelys Interstate BBQ in Memphis, Tennessee.  Why?  Alton Brown.  Alton has a few shows on the Food Network, all of which I love.  His most recent is called Feasting on Asphalt, on which he and a motorcycle riding film crew crisscross Americas back roads in search of authentic American Cuisine.  One night in New York as I lay half asleep I saw Alton and the biker gang go to this hidden jewel off the interstate in Memphis.  I know I wasnt getting home without getting some of those BBQ ribs.

It took me a day and I half to get there.  I pulled into the parking lot of Jim Neelys at 11:30am.  I hadnt had anything but a cup of miserable Tennessee truck stop cappuccino.  I was starving.  I think I ordered the left side of the menu, and a sweet tea.  I got pork ribs, pork shoulder, BBQ beans, coleslaw, BBQ spaghetti (a Memphis specialty), and a slab of ribs to go.  I was ready to throw down.

The sweet tea was the best Id ever had.  I cant tell you why, other than it had a caramel like quality to it.  The pork shoulder, I could take or leave.  The ribs, however, we just as Alton described them on the show Id seen a few nights before.  They had a mild smokey flavor which was not overwhelming, and the perfect tenderness.  I think, however, that my favorite part was the BBQ beans.  Ive always felt they are the perfect BBQ companion, and these were sweet and rich, which complimented the ribs well.

So, with a full stomach, and a slab of ribs in the passenger seat, I set off for the last leg of my trip.  Into Arkansas, past Little Rock, Hope, Fort Smith, and finally back into the great state of Texas.  Through Texarkana, Sulfur Springs, the mess that is Dallas, and the famous Carls Truck Stop. 

I drove from just past noon until 9:30, only getting out of the truck to fill the tank.  At this point I was in a race with the GPS.  Every lost minute from stopping for gas, or traffic slow downs made me miss home and my cats more.

In 4200 miles I went from lost to found.  I pulled into my driveway with a new sense of hope, purpose, and faith.  I went exactly where I needed to go to get just far enough outside myself to find myself.  And if you dont know what that means, throw out your plans and your maps, and go look for a cow on the roof of a cotton house in the great unknown (watch Oh, Brother Where Art Thou).  When youve found what you need, youll know it.

Part 2

I woke up and with the strongest sense of purpose yet this adventure, I set out for Chicago.  It was a day and a half drive.  I made St. Louis my stopping point.  Theres absolutely nothing to see between Amarillo and St. Louis.  And Im sure there are some great places to see in St. Louis, but I had to friend to get to, so after a solid nights sleep in a far better hotel than the motel I was in next to The Big Texan, I had a good breakfast at a crepe restaurant called Rooster which came highly recommended by the hotel concierge (and rightfully so), and I hit the road again.

Sweet home Chicago.  Well, not my home.  Home of a million and one blues legends.

When I drove the truck into downtown Chi town it was the most urban setting I believe she (the truck) had ever seen.  It was an interesting mix of horn honking and lane changing.  Not more than I could handle, but enough to keep me awake.  My first stop was my hotel.  I stayed at The James hotel.  Its a nice boutique hotel downtown that I figured could be a nice jumping off point into what ever trouble we (Adam and I) could find.  Adam is the former roommate whom I have previously mentioned in many blogs.  He is my choice road trip companion for his knowledge, use of resources to find cool places to go, musical taste, and downright agreeable demeanor.

Once I checked in I summonsed Adam to swing by and pick me up to take me to his apartment.  On the way there I couldnt help but notice the smell of chocolate in the air.  Adam said he always smelled when he passes the overpass we were under as we crawled through traffic.  Odd.

Upon arriving at his apartment, he told me I was the first person (besides him) to set foot into his new place.  Its a cozy place in the Bucktown/Wicker Park area.  My favorite feature was the Mexican restaurant down the street.  Their specialty is fried red snapper.  They fry the whole fish, head to tail, and serve it to you upright on a plate, as though its swimming.  Both sides of the fish are scored into bite sized chucks and you just pull it off with your fork.  It was the best fish Id had in a long time.

After dinner we decided to go see some blues.  Theres a little blues bar a few miles from where Adam lives called Rosas.  We soon learned that Rosa has owned the place for 30 years and by the looks, she has been behind the bar, cigarette in hand, for the duration.  She was a happy little Italian procurer of Chicago electric blues.  She told us she was happy to see young guys like Adam and me in to see good music.

And the music was good.  Not great, but good, considering it was a Wednesday night and there were maybe a dozen people in the joint.  The guy playing lead was doing his best to feed off the minimal energy in the place.  After every song hed yell into the mic, if ya got the blues say YEAH!.  I give him and a for effort, but we had another place in mind, Legends Blues Bar, which is owned by one of my favorite entertainers, Buddy Guy.

After the taxi ride to Legends, we looked in the window and saw that it too was suffering for the Wednesday night lag in patronship.  So, we decided to walk and see what else we could find.  After a near mugging, we then decided to cab it to a little dive downtown called Rossis.  It is the dark little place the light of day never shines into where the same lady is always behind the counter and the same folks are sitting in the same seats, all the time.  There are a few of these places sorts of places in every town, all unique, all the same.  Rossis draw, for me, was the internet juke box.  You could get just about any song you wanted on that thing.  The funny part of it was that you could make a playlist and if you dont like the death metal garbage that someone else chose, you can pay extra to skip their playlist and yours will play first.  Im sure this has been the start of many a barroom confrontation.

Later on, in the wee hours, we walked outside to head home, and once again, I hit a wall of chocolate.  One of the guys from Rossis told Adam and me that there is a chocolatier in downtown Chicago and depending on wind direction, you can smell it from all over the city.  At least that mystery got solved.

Day two in Chicago lead Adam and me to his parents camp in Indiana about 100 miles east of the city.  It was a nice drive out there, and a drastic cultural change in scene.  We went from metropolis, which on this particular day was being buzzed by the F-16 Falcon air show group known as The Thunderbirds, to Amish country.  The contrast was stark from bustling streets, to driving down a two lane road and pulling over for horse drawn carriages and Amish men with long beards on bicycles.  After the city, it was a monument to tranquility.

It was everything I could have asked for that day.  Camp fire; good friend; and bratwurst, onions, and peppers braising in beer on a grill.  That night I slept on a couch and probably got the best sleep Id gotten on the whole trip.  This was a good thing because I had 700 miles to go the next day to get to New York City.

to be continued.

PART 1

  It seems that in the daily grind of life we get so caught up in what we have to do that we dont have time to change and evolve.  Its like day to day we are just collecting puzzle pieces and we need some time and space to actually put it all together.  I would say that my last vacation where I really didnt have anything to think about was two years ago.  So, I got into the car with my best friend and together we went off to figure things out.  Theres something about the road that allows you just enough distraction while at the same time letting you do all the thinking you havent been able to do while caught in the grind.

This time is different.  I dont have my best friend.  He moved off the Chicago for law school.  My roommate and person I relate to most, is gone, like so many of my college friends recently.  Theyve gone off to gain higher education and become doctors and lawyers, while I stay in Austin and play the same game Ive played since I was in third grade.  Sometimes I feel like the mouse thats caught in the wheel.

I also dont have my fancy sports car anymore.  Im not complaining at all, it was my choice.  In all of the changes that have been happening in my life which are out of my control, I decided to make a few that I could control.  One major choice was to get rid of my beautiful BMW, Josephine.  She was amazing.  She was fast.  But, I realized something in myself.  I thought I would be content once I could purchase the car of my dreams, but I always found my heart strings being tugged towards something even more refined, with even more horsepower.  I got caught in the same old cliché human dilemma, so I decided to take what I need, and leave the rest.  Meanwhile, I have an old pickup.  Its been to the moon and back.  We have history.  Her name is Bessie and I only have eyes for her (as far as trucks go).

So I took my favorite guitar, my camera, some of my favorite t-shirts (I have a t-shirt fetish), my boots, and my old truck, and I went to find myself at points unknown. 

I needed a place to start driving to.  Anywhere.  My plan was to go west.  Ive never driven west before and theres an awful lot to see out on the left coast.  I decided Id point the truck towards Amarillo, TX.  Not quite west, but it was a start.  It would be a great jumping off point into Colorado and the transition from flat Texas panhandle into the Rockies.  The main reason however, is a little obscure and kind of weird.  Theres a place called Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo.  Its on I-40 as you head just west of town.  In a large barren field sticking out of the ground like a modern Stonehenge are 10 Cadillacs ranging from late 1940s models to the mid 60s.   Theyre all buried with the nose and windshield in the ground and rears of each sticking about 10 feet in the air.  10 enormous cars in a line like dominos.  They are all brightly colored as the custom is for visitors to use spray paint to commemorate their visit.

As I pulled up it I felt a few feelings.  First, I wished I wasnt alone to go see this strange piece of pop culture.  Second, I felt that I had achieved my first destination and now had no idea of where I was going next.  To be honest, it was one of the loneliest feelings I had felt, and that says a lot since all my friends have just moved out of town.

I got out of the truck, pensively, camera in hand, and walked through the gate onto the field.  There was about 100 yards of heavily trodden dirt path to get to the place in the field where the Cadillac graveyard stood.  I could see a few groups of people snapping pictures and one woman with a tripod and some nice camera equipment searching out the perfect angles to capture this neon monstrosity.  The groups left and the woman with the tripod, her dog and I were the last people left to behold the structure.  I got a few decent shots in with a few lenses.  To be honest the sun angle was less than ideal, but I would have had to wait until the next day to get a better one.  The pictures I took, though they have the major elements of the art form captured, (contrast between dirt ground and bright cars, the temporary luxury of what was in their time, the pinnacle of the American dream automobile which seems to echo my own struggle with the status and luxury of Josephine) were mostly meant to chronicle my physical and emotional spot in life.  I was in Amarillo, Texas.  The whole country was laid out before me.  I could go anywhere I wanted to.  I just needed the whim and the wind to blow me in that direction.

After my photo documenting session I sat in the truck for a minute.  I made a few phone calls for some guidance.  I was having a breakdown.  I wanted to go west.  I wanted to get a burger at Patricks Roadhouse on the Pacific Coast Highway.  There was something empty to the idea of going west though.  Whats a good meal without a good companion to share it with?  Whats a long cruise on the PCH without your best friend in the passenger seat?  I decided Id eat in Amarillo and consider my options over a steak.

The Big Texan Steakhouse is I guess somewhat of an Amarillo staple, which I guess gives you an idea of just what to expect from the town itself.  You can get a 72 ounce steak for free if you can eat it in less than an hour.  Sounds ridiculous, Ill stick with the filet.

I wracked my brain while I sat there alone at the end of a long table a few chairs down from a happy family who were enjoying the pride and joy of Amarillo.  I couldnt come up with anything.  I text messaged my former roomie and told him I was thinking of going East now.  To the East was everything I knew and loved.  My best friends scattered like main attractions on a map, my family.  To the west was a huge unknown.  Theres nothing wrong with the unknown, but every great exploration has a pair of explorers.  I didnt feel ready to deviate from that tradition.

I decided what I needed was sleep.  Then, in the morning, which ever way the wind blew me, thats where Id be.

to be continued...

How’s your day going? Mine’s just fine.  I’m gearing up for Nationals. 

Trying to squeeze out every bit of chill time out of the day I can.  That’s actually very difficult for me because I’m one of those “can’t sit still” guys.  So, I confine myself for the most part to my house during taper.  And on a day like today, when it’s pouring rain, home isn’t a bad place to be.

So, here are today’s happenings.  Starting of course with last night…

I was sitting on the couch after watching Back to the Future for that millionth time (it’s been on HBO every other minute recently).  I flipped on one of my favorite shows on the Food Network, Good Eats.  Alton Brown (the host) is a personal hero of mine for his wit and knowledge of all things culinary.  For this particular episode he was doing baby back ribs (for the recipe look up “Who Love’s Ya Baby- Back” on foodtv.com).  He made my mouth water as I watched the show and I then decided that my duty for today was to replicate what I had seen on TV.

So, my morning started off at the pool for a taper-time dip.  Then, as swiftly as the truck could legally take me, I dashed to the flagship Whole Foods Grocery store at 6th and Lamar (if you’re ever in Austin and love food, go there).  I fetched all the necessary ingredients for my rib concoction, and I also made a new discovery.  Jeremiah Cunningham’s World’s Best Eggs.  Naturally, I couldn’t resist.  There are so many things to eat in this world from, the back yard garden to the wild and exotic.  There are however, a few staples that are paramount to the American diet.  These are things that the world just wouldn’t be right without.  I’m talking about eggs and milk.  Unfortunately, these are things that are also surrounded in controversy.  Important issues like how healthy these things are (or aren’t) for you, and how the farms who produce these items are run and the animal’s quality of life.  Some may over look the importance of the animals quality of life, but do you want to eat an animal (or an animal product like eggs or milk) that ate it’s proper diet, or one that was in a pen sitting in it’s own fecal matter eating God knows what?  Yeah, me too.  Well, these Jeremiah Cunningham eggs are part of a cool situation.  The hens that lay the eggs are part of their farm’s self contained eco system.  They live in harmony with the cows and other animal’s on the farm eating what they were designed to eat.  This adds up to some darn good eggs, and darn good for you too.

Why the rant?  People ask me all this time about what’s important to eat during training and before and during meets.  To be honest the most important thing is to eat a well balanced diet (think food pyramid) and make sure the foods you chose are high quality.  The highest quality food is local, organic, humanly raised, and isn’t chuck full o’ hormones.  Go to a farmers market in your home town.  The food will look better, taste better, and be better for you.  And whatever you do, never go cheap on the staples like eggs and milk.

Anyway, right now my baby back ribs are in the oven.  They are making my house smell amazingly.  For that I thank them/me/Alton Brown.

All’s well that ends well, as a feller says.  The truck silence I wrote about a few blogs ago has been solved and I couldn’t be more excited about the outcome.  I got satellite radio installed into the old pickup( and an alarm if the jerk who stole it happens to be reading this).  As my roommate Adam puts it, it’s one of those things you wouldn’t think twice about getting, but once you have it you don’t know how you lived without it.

A few weekends ago Adam and I took his old bass boat out to Lake Travis for a cruise around the water.  We towed the boat to the lake with his SUV, which has satellite radio.  In that short ride to the lake I was sold.  To tell you the truth it was the bluegrass channel that sucked me in.  After that trip I made an appointment at my next free moment to have it installed in the truck.  Now all I want to do it cruise around in the truck.  I don’t know what the folks who own the satellite radio companies did, but somehow they cracked the log rhythmic code to great music and as a result, there is ALWAYS a song you will love playing on one of your favorite channels. 

Beyond that, I’ve found some great artists that I never knew about.  Most of which are from the 50’s (I’ve noticed that my musical taste is going further back in time as the declining trend in new age popular music continues.  From the previously mentioned Django Reinhardt, and Big Bill Broonzy, to Sam Cooke and Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, the old stuff really has a hold on me).

So, as you can tell, I’m loving the new toy in the truck.  But between the old pickup, and the bluegrass, I have a confession to make.  This week I made a small purchase that I’ve been meaning to for a while:  a banjo.  It seems when I tell this to my friends I get crazy faced responses that all have something to do with the movie Deliverance.  But it’s not that kind of party, really.  If you listen to Old Crow Medicine Show, certain Bob Dylan (“You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” is a fav.), Bela Fleck, Gillian Welch, and even select songs from major rock bands like The Who, the banjo is a bad ass instrument.  If you’re not sold by those artists I just don’t know what to tell you.  Me, I love all stringed instruments.  And having the dexterity from the guitar helps me in learning the banjo, even though it’s five strings (well more like four and a half) in a completely different tuning.  But I believe it’s in the same tuning as a mandolin, which will be my next bluegrass musical purchase.

This weekend, however, I’m in College Station, Texas, home of the Texas A&M Aggies (and the most one sided rivalry in the history of sport.  They hate us to the point where 60% of the cars in College station actually have stickers on the window of a Texas Longhorn with the horns sawn off.  I’ve actually gotten guff from a waitress for wearing a Longhorn shirt in this town.  That’s what goes on in one horse towns I guess.).  I’m at a swim meet and I figured I wouldn’t get to play my new five string much, and if I did it would drive the other patrons of the hotel nuts.  So I left it at home. 

Tomorrow, however, I’ll be driving home to in my old truck with my new toy (the radio), and I will then play my new toy (the banjo).  It will be a great day.

- Ian

I hate to admit this, but The Backyard WAS one of my favorite Austin Live Music venues.  It’s a small intimate outdoor setting referred to as Austin’s “live oak amphitheatre” for its oak trees that encompass the stage creating a dreamlike backdrop.  At least they used to.  However, in the name of what some rich jerk considers “progress”, there is now a strip mall in that backdrop.  I shutter.  I quake.

Last Saturday night was my first venture to the venue since the party was crashed by chain stores.  My friend Erin had tickets to go see Norah Jones and ask me to go.  To be honest, I was more excited about seeing the opener, M Ward.  Thanks to Austin’s greatest radio station, KGSR, I found M Ward a few months ago.  His newest album, Post War, is great for a chill car ride or Saturday afternoon beach soundtrack.

He came out on stage with Norah and they opened up with an entrancing rendition of “Blue Bayou”.  Their voices, both smokey, complimented each other perfectly.  They played a few more songs together and then she retreated so he could finish his set.  Moments later I got up to get a frosty beverage.  The line was long, but I waited it out.  Then I heard Jimmy Dale Gilmore announced to the stage.  Jimmy Dale is a great Austin musician, and even though I’d never admit this to his face, my favorite thing he’s known for is his cameo in The Big Lebowski as “Smokey”. 

Priceless.

By the time I was through retrieving the libations, the stage was clear.  I was quite disappointed at the short duration of the set.  At the same time, I can see that for a solo artist it would be difficult to play for a crowd of half empty chairs and people strolling around looking for seats.  I felt guilty for trying to quench my thirst and briefly creating another vacant seat.  I hope he comes back to A town soon, because it was truly a treat.

By the time Norah Jones took the stage for her set her soft voice was competing with the cicadas sitting in the last remaining oak trees.  Nevertheless, I was lulled to a relaxed state by her siren’s voice.  I was, however, sickened by the lovebirds that surrounded me.  I felt I was at some sort of backyard make out session for 40 somethings, a detail I was naively unaware of going into the show.

While Norah and her band sounded great, bottom line is: unless you’re in a mushy mood and with someone you plan on getting mushy with, avoid the Norah show (aka frustrations galore).

- Ian

I originally said that I would review some concerts, and other than Jazz Fest I haven’t really been reporting much on the matter.  So, here’s what’s going on musically.

Two weeks ago I caught wind of one of my favorite bands coming into Austin, Old Crow Medicine Show.  They played a show on Thursday, one Friday, and on Saturday they played a taping of Austin City Limits (ACL).  ACL is an American musical Tradition that has been going on for decades and taking place at 26th and Guadalupe in the Communications Building on the UT campus. 

A majority of the greatest names in American music have performed on the stage in that unassuming building.  Johnny Cash, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Dave Matthews, Ryan Adams, yada, yada, yada, and the list is endless.  Point is, two Saturdays ago it was Old Crows time the shine in the spotlight reserved for true lovers of music.  Did I go?  No.  Here’s why:

I’m trying to graduate.  I wont go into details as to why I haven’t yet, suffice to say it has something to do with swimming.  So, my academic advisor (I wont mention any names) told me that I would be able to take foreign language substitutes instead of a language.  This would mean I have three classes left to finish.  However, I found out a few months ago that this was false.  I then enrolled in Spanish for the summer.  Spanish (a five hour class), at UT in the summer, while training full time is an ugly thing.

I told you that to tell you this:

To get tickets for an ACL taping you must go to one of three previously undisclosed locations in Austin ( hoping you chose the right one) at a time that is announced last minute.  There are only a few hundred seats in the audience for the taping, so there’s no time to travel from one “ticket grab”

location to the next.  It’s all luck.  However, being on the email list for Old Crow, I was advised a week ahead of time that 10am on the following Friday at Waterloo Records at 6th and Lamar (my favorite record shop in

Austin) ACL tickets for Old Crow would be given out.  But alas, I had Spanish class, and all my friends were busy and/or out of town.

Well, it would have been cool.  But instead I went to the Thursday night show at a bar called The Parish on 6th street.  I went with my friends Jess and David (David has an alias on Swimroom.com and he sarcastically claims to be my number one fan but really I know he’s just a probe for a sub par swim news site with which he happens to be affiliated.)  The show was exactly what I needed.  I had a grin from ear to ear and thankfully it was loud because I was singing at the top of my voice.  They did everything I needed them to.  From a quintessential Dylan cover, to their semi hit “Wagon Wheel”, to one of my favorite songs off their latest album Big Iron World, “Virginia Creeper”.  My only regret was that I had practice the next morning so I had to leave the show after an hour and a half.  This is a bummer because in my experience they do great encores.  The last time I saw them they were doing a free show on Town Lake in Austin and they had a limited set time because it was a part of a festival.  They weren’t allotted time for an encore but the crowd insisted.  When they came out, flattered after the people running the show invited then back to please the crowd, they did a bluegrass rendition of Dire Strait’s “Walk of Life”.  That was a performance I will not soon forget.  It’s not often anymore that a group gets up with 25 strings divvied up on five instruments, no percussion, and blows a room away.  That’s just they do.  It gets me every time.

- Ian

Comments: 13  

There was a rumor going around that Lyle Lovett was staying at our hotel in Geelong for a few days. This makes the world seem like a small place. Why you ask? A month ago I went to the Collings guitar factory in Dripping Springs, TX (right outside of Austin) with a friend named Jon. Jon swims masters at the U of Texas pool, and his company built the factory. Collings guitars are the pinnacle. If you’re looking for perfection and/or to burn a hole in your pocket, you need look no further. The owner and chief luthier, Mr. Collings himself, has another interest besides his handcrafted instruments: cars. Truth is, he’s got so many, that he just doesn’t know where to put them. There’s the body and frame of a ’32 ford roadster in the middle of one of the large rooms in the shop amongst heavy machinery.

There’s also an early fifties Plymouth ragtop in his office hiding out until he gets around to finishing its restoration. Scrap car parts and exotic wood samples for the high end guitars were strewn all over the interior of the Plymouth. There was also a guitar with Lyle Lovett’s name inlayed on the neck (just kind of resting atop the pile of rubble). Upon inquiry, they told me that Lyle predominantly plays Collings guitars and they have made dozens for him. I guess this one was a proto type (probably still worth more than my soul). The next week I was watching Lyle’s taping of Austin City Limits and sure enough, he played at least two Collings during his 30 minute set. I was told that if I ever get the chance to meet him I should, because he’s a very humble, kind person.

The "Lyle in Australia" situation reminded me of the time I drove all the way to Maine with Adam (which I mentioned in a previous writing), and saw James McMurtry play in Portland. McMurtry is an Austin musician who plays a regular gig at the Continental Club (an Austin staple, 5 miles from my house). I’d been meaning to go see him play for over a year and never did.

So, I drive two thousand miles and he happens to be playing a concert in my hometown. An odd twist of fate, and he rocked.

As it turned out, Lyle was not the guy that was at our hotel. My source was faulty and the tall Texan was most likely back in the Republic of Texas, where we would associate him to be. Suddenly the world may possibly be as big as it seems, especially when I think about my Martin guitar sitting where I left her, strings going to rust, on the other side of the planet. I remember the day I got my dream guitar.

I got home from Athens in the fall of ’04 a bit haggard. I’d been gone since the middle of July. It was now the middle of October. It was a rollercoaster of trials and triumphs. I’d closed on a house in the end of June and I still hadn’t slept in it yet. Once I was finally home, I set out on a mission to find the one. I’m referring to a guitar of course. I went to Ray Hennig’s Heart of Texas Music and asked Austin legend Ray what to get. Ray is as old as music itself and has sold guitars to every troubadour to pass through the Live Music Capital of the World (that’s Austin for all you rookies) including Stevie Ray Vaughan himself (if you watch SRV’s Live at Austin City Limits DVD to the end, during the montage of music history set to Stevie’s cover of Little Wing, there’s a shot of Heart of Texas Music and then a man behind a guitar shop counter. That’s Ray. Go buy something from him for the experience of it). Well anyway, Ray told me that he didn’t care how much I paid for a guitar, it wasn’t going to get any better than a Martin HD35. Don’t get me wrong, the thing’s worth half as much as my truck. It was love at first pluck. After two and a half years and a lot of nights on the porch she’s only gotten better. It’s worn in to my style like the perfect pair of jeans. I miss the hell out of that guitar on trips like this. Recently, when I brought it in to the shop, Ray’s guitar tech asked where I bought it. I told him I bought it there two years prior. He said that my Martin was the best he’d ever played. I like to think I’ve got good taste. Hopefully, someday, I can do it some justice.

I have had dreams about a Collings recently (I wish I was kidding but I’m not). But in the end, I’m trying to learn to be content with what I have.

This is difficult idea to grab for most of us, especially if "us" is referring to the US National Team Members. The last real content athlete you saw was most likely bound for the bench. It’s just not in our vocabulary. That’s why next time I get up against Roland Schoeman in a 50 fly, I will have figured out how to beat him to 15 meters and win that race.

-Ian

Comments: 8  

Hi, I’m Ian Crocker and I’m excited to be a part of SwimRoom.  I think it’s a great opportunity for the swimming community to come together and network with each other.  I look forward to connecting with other swimmers from around the world because we all have a lot we can learn from each other and you can never make too many friends. 

      First, as a little background on myself, I have been a member of the US National A Team since 1998.  In that time I have been to three Pan Pacific Championships, three World Championships, and two Olympic Games.  From 2000 to 2004 I competed for The University of Texas in Austin, Texas, where I was a part of two National Championship-winning teams.  I consider the 2001 NCAAs to be one of my greatest moments in the sport.  It is, after all, where I earned my Longhorn tattoo.  I’ve also broken multiple American and world records over my career for relays and individual butterfly and freestyle events. 

      I say all this up front because to be honest I love swimming, but it is not my favorite topic of conversation.  I like to share where I’ve been with people who are curious, but for myself, I think it’s always better to keep looking ahead.  I have learned a great deal from training and competing. I have experienced some good, some bad, and some mind-blowing meets.  For me though, the parts I can’t get enough of or say enough about are the people I’ve met along the way that have shaped who I am now and introduced me to the things I get out of bed for.  Things like my guitars, photography, cooking, cars, my cats, the great city of Austin and all its music and diverse restaurants, my friends, and my faith.  These are the things I’ll chose to write about instead of what sets I did in workout.  We all get enough of that on our own.

      I will share stories about what’s happening during trips like the upcoming World Championships in Melbourne, Australia.  Anything I deem interesting that is happening in the Austin swim community will also be included.  After all, Austin is a great place to be if you’re a swimmer, but not everyone can be here.  And feel free to ask swimming-related questions and I’ll do my best to answer them.  But you can find career highlights and best times of all the national team athletes all over the internet.  What is harder to find is what makes us tick as people.  That is what I would rather share.  I’ll post pictures I’ve taken of places and things I find inspiring artistically, and I’ll even occasionally post music I’ve recorded.  I’ll give reviews of concerts I’ve see in Austin and surrounding areas, and give a full report on the greatest weekend of food and music of the year, New Orleans Jazz Fest.        

      I look forward to sharing these things with you as often as I can and I hope that you enjoy reading about my life as much as I enjoy living it!  

-Ian

Comments: 3