(Author's Note: This is an out of order chapter from an autobiography)
I'd finished touring most of the East Coast at this point. I'd been as far north as Vermont and as far south as Florida. I came back to Virginia to tie up some loose ends, see my family, get some more of my things that I figured I'd need and then head west.
I made my way through West Virginia. It was absolutely beautiful in some places and down right soul-crushingly desolate and ugly in others. You'd be driving along a beautiful mountain road, admiring the views and all the beautiful flora when you'd come to a section of the mountain that looked like someone had taken a giant scalpel to.
It was a result of generations and generations of strip-mining for coal. Small little company owned mining towns would be built around this place, with the actual mine and processing plant being the heart. Sometimes the vein of coal would last for decades, which would result in fairly modern looking structures. Other times, it would dry up within years leaving a cliche-looking ghost town of Old-West style wooden facades.
The majority of these places were abandoned, or nearly so. When the mountain had finally exsanguinated, the company would close up and vacate, leaving the citizens of the town without work, without resources, and without hope. Most people left, living a nomadic lifestyle, following the company around and living in company owned houses and buying company owned goods from the company owned stores with money they earned working for the company. Until very recently, the money they earned was only good at businesses owned by the company. You would go to the local general store and pay your bills in company-issued bank notes. If you were lucky enough to have electricity, for example, you would pay the company for it in their own currency and they would in turn pay the power company in legal tender.
I'm sure you can see the problem with this. You were essentially an endentured servant to this company. What you earned was not accepted at any business that was not controlled by the mining company. All this was eventually changed and made illegal, but the sad truth of this is that nearly all the people who were working for these companies relied on them to survive. So when the company folded that particular mine, they either had to follow it to the next one or revert back to a modern hunter-gatherer lifestyle.
You'd come into these deserted towns and it was like driving through an episode of Carnivale. Depending on when the vein was exhausted, you'd see old, rusted, derelict mining trucks laying between half-collapsed stick-built boarding houses and the burnt out husks of brick coal processing plants. Every now and then you'd see a house that couldn't possibly provide anything beyond basic shelter, yet there would be smoke pouring out of the chimney. Someone who couldn't stand to leave their home, no matter what.
I was heading to meet an old friend in Kentucky. His family owned a farm in horse country, a huge rolling expanse of land that was ideal for some camping, introspection, and writing.
I showed up on a Thursday, and we rode in to town to hit the bar. At this point I'd started to cut back on my drinking and my drugging, but I still got pretty drunk. We ended up spreading the word that we'd be having a party Saturday night, and by the time we left it seemed the entire 20-something population of the town was planning on being there.
I woke up Friday morning, and decided to go out on the property to try and find a good place to set up my campsite. I loaded my camping gear on the backrack of one of his extra four-wheelers, gave him a call to let him know what I was going to be doing and took off.
Now when I say these people had land, I mean that these people had land. I'm not sure of the acreage, but it was easily 200+. I rode for nearly half the day non-stop before I decided to stop and eat lunch. I had a little bit of weed with me, so I unpacked a sandwich and some deer jerky, mixed up some gatorade, and rolled a joint.
I ate my lunch in betweens drags, and had a nice, pleasant buzz by the time I was ready to head back out and find a good spot. I was headed for Big Pond, which was, surprisingly, a big pond. There was a nice spot on the bank they had cleared for partying, so I decided to stake my claim early. I made my way around the pond, carefully, and parked the ATV. I pulled out my tent and started to set it up, stopping to smoke a cigarette and just admire the view.
After I had gotten my tent pitched, my bedroll made, and my firepit dug, I started to write. I finished up my stories about Florida, about meeting the Costa Rican girl that stole my car. About nearly getting arrested for taking a piss in the middle of the beach, drunk, around 1 in the afternoon. About getting in a fight with a Cuban national because I dared to speak honestly and openly about Che.
He gave me a call as the sun was setting, and I told him I was going to be staying out there that night and that I'd be up at the house around noon Saturday to help him start getting the party set up.
It was peaceful out there. The sky was clear, and you could easily make out the features of the sky. The Dogstar, Orion's Quiver. The stuff you have trouble seeing in the city. I fell asleep to the sound of crickets and an owl that must have been confused about the smell of my fire.
I woke up with the sun Saturday morning. I heated up some jerky over the fire, sucked down some more Gatorade, and hopped on the four-wheeler to head back. I ended up riding straight back the entire way, without stopping, so I made good time.
We started setting up for the party. His parents were out of town so we'd have the entire place to ourselves. His DJ friend arrived, and set up, and started spinning some good music while we were finishing the setup. We'd started drinking as soon as we started setting everything up, so by the time people actually started to arrive, we were doing good.
The details of the party are pretty hazy, but there was definitely booze, weed, coke, music, dancing, women, and all the stuff that made a good party a good party. Eventually people were either passed out or had left, so the few of us that remained awake decided to go "see the horses."
I don't know who suggested it, but by the time we started to head down to one of the huge barns, we had to "see the horses!" It was imperative to the integrity of the remaining party's fun that we "see the horses."
We get down to one of his barns, and cut the lights on. If you know anything about horses, you know that you shouldn't startle them awake. It freaks them the fuck out, and they can injure themselves, each other, or whoever happens to be unlucky enough to be near them.
I was leaning against a stall door that I had assumed was empty, because I couldn't see anything inside of it before whoever flicked the lights on.
The lights came on suddenly, the horses were startled awake, and a fucking caucaphony of whinnies and neighs erupted throughout the barn. However, I must have been standing next to the stall that belonged to the stoner horse, because he didn't stir along with the others.
Everyone was laughing at the horses going crazy, some of the girls were getting kind of upset and were trying to calm down the ones they were closer too, and I was just enjoying it all. Standing back and leaning against this empty stall, just watching this strange scene play out in front of me. A bunch of drunk, high, zooted 20-somethings acting like toddlers over a bunch of horses.
Suddenly I felt like I was being watched. I felt something hot blowing on my neck. I stood upright, and slowly turned my head to the left to see a giant fucking horse's head mere inches from me.
He let loose with an ear-splitting whinny, and I freaked out and took a swing at him, catching him in the nose while I took a step back. He didn't seem fazed; he just sort of shook his head and then withdrew back into his stall.
I looked to the rest of the party and they were all staring at me with their maws gaping. I started to say something, but all I could manage was some stuttering before the guy whose parents owned the place said, matter-of-factly, "Dude, you just punched my horse."
"Dude, you just punched my horse." Do me a favor, say that out loud. Really. Take a second to actually speak those words. Did you do it? No, you didn't! Come on, say it! Say "Dude, you just punched my horse."
Ok, so you said it. You heard it. You have some idea of what it sounds like. It's not a common phrase. In fact, it's probably something most people will never, ever hear. And rightly so, for punching someone's horse and then being called out on it is far from a common occurence.
You don't know how to react after hearing that. What do you say to that? My response was "I'm...sorry?"
Everyone laughs, we shut off the lights and head back up to the house. I decide to crash in one of the guestrooms since I was in no state to try and navigate my way back to Big Pond and my camp site.
I woke up early to find a strange girl sleeping half-naked, curled up beside me. I know nothing happened because I wasn't black-out drunk. I got up out of the bed, trying my best not to wake this odd creature curled up wearing only a tanktop, and something was stuck to my chest.
There was a note duct-taped to my chest. "You punched my horse. I have officially banned you from the State of Kentucky. Goodbye."
And so it was. I had punched a horse and gotten banned from Kentucky.
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