Outdoor Event

Eric Greenwell, right, and Sandy.

The snow is starting to melt a little. That makes it packable and perfect for all the things you used to do in the winter when you were in grade school: snowball fights, sledding, and snowmen. Belinda and I decided to throw on our winter gear and take advantage of the powder we get here in the Q only a few times a year by building ourselves a snowman. Well, actually, a snowwoman — with a name and a back story.

Greenwell

I grew up with two sisters. It was always a warm and fuzzy family tradition to throw on snow suites like miniature Michelin men and bounce around the backyard on snow days. Looking back, I wish I had the imagination I had now. Don’t get me wrong. It was fun to roll out three huge balls of snow, try to stack them up, and put the charcoal pieces, carrot and stick arms in the right places. But that’s about as far as it went. Now that I’ve grown up, I realize it’s fun to get a little more creative with it.

I have to admit that I had a little Irish whiskey in a flask that fit snuggly in my back pocket. I guess that made me a little loopier than usual, but it’s also practical. It helped keep me warm.

The picture you see in this blog is the product of our creation. She’s our snowwoman friend, Sandy Clout. She wasn’t that difficult to build. The snow rolled up just fine, and we managed to avoid picking up too much grass or mud. She stacked nicely too. But that wasn’t the fun part. The fun part was finding all the accessories from old junk in our house and telling the story of Sandy’s life.

We did use some of the traditional materials, but we also racked the house for junk and old clothes. Like I said, you have to get creative. We ended up finding a matted Rasta-Santa hat with deadlocks that I found in a dive bar in Carbondale, Ill. — nothing I would ever actually wear on my head — a necklace made of plastic mini football helmets that we won at Krieger’s last super bowl, some beer cans and a so-last-year striped bikini we had to cut to fit around Sandy’s bulbous midsection.

After we put all the right pieces in all the right places, we came up with this short bio for Sandy while pitching balls of snow at each other’s faces:

Sandy drove a big rig out of Beaver, Ark. She worked for a company called Big Bub’s Haulin’ Stuff n’ Such, shipping coal slag and fly ash to barges on the Mississippi or a landfill near Flat Gap in Kentucky. Unfortunately, she was carrying a hefty load in the summer of ’98 when her back gave out. The doc told she had to take it easy, so she moved up to Quincy to be closer to her only living relative: Belinda Boden. Even though Belinda was Filipino and Sandy was a born-and-raised white Southern American, no one asked questions. They live together on Hampshire Street. Sandy is a little rough, but they get along okay. Occasionally, Sandy drinks a little too much when watching football on Sundays and she walks outside in her bathing suit to get some fresh air at halftime. No one knows why she wears a bathing suit to watch football.

Maybe I drank a little more whiskey than I thought, but it was fun bringing Sandy to life. She wasn’t the ideal guest, but that makes her all the more real.

Eric Greenwell

Gardner Park.

A while ago, I wrote about my experience with geocaching, and I mentioned that one of the benefits was fine tuning my outdoorsman skills. Now that I have hunted for a month or two, I can also report another benefit that I never anticipated: an entire new experience and an amended map of Quincy’s parks and outdoors.

This past Saturday, my girlfriend and I took our dog Peter on a walk. She asked if I wanted to go to Gardner Park, which is located on the left just after North 4rth Street merges into Highway 24 East. Just look for the white and forest green park district sign.

She really wanted to show me a cool cache she found buried under some rocks while I was at work. She led me down a curvy, clay colored road into the woods, away from the playground equipment heading south. We walked over a really small one-lane bridge that went over the creek, and the road started to go back uphill. When we got to a curve, she directed me to go straight, off the road, to a small gap in the trees and underbrush that was barely noticeable. It was hikers trail.

While I was shortening Pete’s leash, she admitted that she never would have found the trail if the GPS hadn’t led her off the road and straight back toward the woods.

The cache was only a few hundred feet back, but, in the process of getting there, we encountered several forks and intersections in the trail. This really tickled my curiosity. I love to hike, and I’ve lived in Quincy for (all together) over 21 years. How had I missed this? With that many trails crossing paths, there could be several miles of them. I knew that I was less than a quarter mile from the Mississippi to the west, and I would hit either train tracks or the bottom road before that, but there was a lot of space to roam up north.

We explored as many of the trails as we could in the amount to daylight we had left (gotta love those 5:00 sunsets). The main trail followed a small rock ridge south that dropped off about 15 feet to what I think was the lowest level of elevation on the Illinois side of the Mississippi floodplain in our area. The trail then forked and we took the right branch, which curved back north, running between the ridge we were just on and a set of train tracks.

Greenwell

Sadly, there was some garbage along this route. The largest object we saw was a bathtub, but most litter was small plastic bottles or soggy paper. Aside from that, the route was beautiful. It ran under the bridge on Highway 24 that goes over the train tracks and into Parker Heights Park. We also crossed over Cedar Creek, which starts out near North 36^th Street and channels through town until it eventually empties into the river. This was all through completely wooded areas, which was much different than the shelter-house-swing-set side of Quincy’s residential parks that I am used to.

The interesting thing was that hazards like fallen trees were marked along the trails, and many were sawed off to prevent any blockage, so the Park District (I assume) must maintain these trails. If you’re an explorer, it’s worth an afternoon. We were there for several hours and didn’t get through all the trails. I’m looking forward to going back, winter weather permitting…or not. I’m up for a fight with the wild.

Eric Greenwell

Ultimate on the beach

This is a continuation of my previous blog, Ultimate Frisbee Part I: The Tournament.

Greenwell

I remember testing the limits of my liver in college. I would buy full fifths of whiskey or rum (usually this really cheap stuff called Admiral Nelson that came in a plastic shatter/stumble-drunk-laceration proof bottle) with the full intention of polishing off the entire bottle. I also participated in this ridiculous game called a case race, in which you were zip-tide to a partner and, between you and that partner, have to finish a 30 case of beers faster than any other team. If you break the zip tie for any reason, and I mean ANY reason at all, you lose.

Ultimate Frisbee parties are exactly like that: Go hard are go home. In addition, drinks are either super cheap or included in the super cheap tournament fee. That means, more often than not, drunken shenanigans and treachery are afoot.

I think the best way to explain the relationship between the tournament fee and party is tell you about my experiences at Ultimate tournaments. They’re all different.

Sandblast—Chicago, IL:

This is a world renowned tournament. The name comes from its location on Montrose Beach in Chicago. The tournament fee seems high at first (I paid $40), until you take into account all that it includes.

We had access to all the free spring water, bananas, bagels, Vitamin Water and Monster Energy Drinks we wanted. Lunch was free both days (Saturday and Sunday), provided by Chipotle. There was a gift bag with different coupons and free gifts (this year the major gift was a Sandblast butt pad for sitting on the sand). And, last but not least, Sandblast reserves Fat Patties (a bar) in downtown Chicago for the night on Saturday, and, with a player wristband, all Ultimate players drink free for three hours (nine to midnight). If friends came but didn’t play, they could also purchase wristbands for $10.

There are two divisions at this tournament: spirit and competitive. For spirit division players, the drinking actually starts during the day. Teams usually have a theme. We played teams in pajamas (sleep over), gladiator armor (Roman Empire), red, white and blue leotards and gym clothes (U.S. Gymnastics Team), Big Lebowski characters, and many others. Each spirit team has a celebratory spirit ceremony/game after each match. For example, the Big Lebowski team had us lay on our backs in the warm sand and made white Russians in our mouths.

The party on Saturday was insane. The bar had a stage and hired a cover band to play. The free selection of drinks was awesome: All the Goose Island 312 beer and Svedka vodka you could drink. I was pleasantly surprised. I expected cheap stuff. I was double fisting all night and never spent a dime. It was really crowded, but that just made the dance party that started around 11 p.m. all the more ridiculous. Since everyone was there for the same event, it was easy to strike up a conversation (if you could hear each other). I met Ultimate players from all over the U.S. I’ve never experienced anything like it.

Summer Solstice—Tulsa, OK:

Summer solstice is a national tournament held at an abandoned soccer complex on the outskirts of Tulsa. It’s harder than heck to find, but once you do, you don’t really have to leave. The complex is big enough for about 20 full game fields and camping for each team.

The fee was only $20 at this tournament, which included the unlimited water, bananas, bagels, a brisket and spaghetti dinner for all players (that’s right! BRISKET!) on Saturday night, live jam/country/bluegrass bands all weekend, and, of course, all the free kegs of IPA, stout and porter style beer from a local microbrewery you can drink at any time of the day.

The party actually starts before the tournament. When you arrive on Friday, usually late (we got in at 1 a.m.), people are already stumbling around drunk. No one has to drive anywhere, so they lavishly partake. I was up until 4 a.m., but people stay up all night drinking on Friday because the tournament starts at 7:30 a.m. the next morning anyway. I’m telling you, these kids were troopers.

Saturday is the main event. This is the night everyone showers up after game play, eats the free dinner, and the tournament director busts out fireworks and a Slip n’ Slide. Of course, Frisbee has to be incorporated in some way. Do you remember what “laying out” means from my last blog? Someone off to the side throws a disc in front of the slip n’ slide, and a player dives down the slide to catch it. This goes on for hours and can get wild. I was told that in years prior, it eventually became clothing optional. Once the sun goes down, there’s a huge bon fire. I ended up playing Flip Cup (also known as Boat Races) with a team from Austin, Texas, for a good majority of the night before passing out in my car. On the walk back, I definitely saw a guy passed out on top of a forest green Toyota Corolla. It probably wasn’t even his.

Quincy Hat—Quincy, Il.

Quincy’s tournament is much smaller than the other national ones described above. The benefit is a cheaper fee (only $10), free ice cold water, bananas, a tournament t-shirt and free keg beer and sometimes jungle juice at the party the night following game play. Quincy hat is also a one day tournament, so you don’t have dread running around in the heat the next day with a hangover.

The party is usually held at a gracious player’s house, which will be unavoidably ransacked from drinking games like Circle of Death, Beer Die or Beer Pong. Most of the people that come are either from Quincy or close universities (SIU, WIU, NIU, etc). The party will usually continue to a late bar like The Phoenix because the night doesn’t end until the sun comes up.

So that’s my experience. Keep in mind that tournament directors almost always lose money and time putting these tournaments together, but it’s all done for the game and the players. National tournaments tend to have about 45 to 50 teams with anywhere from 15 to 22 players on a team. You do the math. It’s a tough job keeping all those kids liquored up, fed, entertained and happy, but they consistently manage to do a great job.