The Burnt Cookie Guy

 I’m sure now that you have clicked on this link, your first question is: 

What the hell is a burnt cookie guy?  

Well I’ll tell ya. It ain’t such a good thing.  

It all started the day I was given a container of cookies from the woman I thought I truly loved.   These cookies were so over-cooked that there was no way they could be served at her wine and food social she hosted each month.  

So she gave them to me.   How considerate, I thought.  

It wasn’t long after I received that lovely gift, I was back at my house having coffee one morning. I was trying my best to soften the cookies in the hot coffee to try and make them edible. 

It wasn’t working.  

Not because they were so burnt that they couldn’t get soft.   But mostly because I wasn’t getting enough love in return to have un-burnt cookies.  Unlike the rest of the guests at the social event, I was awarded the cookies that had stayed in the oven too long.    

“How could I be so foolish?”  I asked myself.  

It turns out to be pretty simple. I was the one that stayed in the oven too long.  

Do you think you know what love is?  

Not likely.  Those cookies got me thinking. I decided that love lands in one of three categories. 

First, it is wonderful, special, and two people share a love that lasts forever.  I know you heard of that before. Second, one person in the relationship doesn’t love as much as the other or is lagging behind.  A common tale. Or three,  one of the two has no intention of loving the other as much in return.   Now you can say there are ones out there that say “let’s see where this goes”, or “lets give it some more time”.  But it all ends up in one of those three. 

If it is anything but the first one, you better plan to chisel off a piece of your heart and leave it on the side of the road somewhere.  

In this case I got the dreaded number three.  Get out the chisel kinda number three.. Fortunately the cookie lady was kind enough to help me out of the oven before I was completely roasted. She was a seasoned easy let down artist, using lines like;  “I’m gonna take a step back”, or  “I need to fix me”. 

Both of which are a clear signal that I needed to cut my losses.  

I was heartbroken.  For the first time in I can’t remember ever.  I was mad at myself for missing all the red flags.   I was mad at her for leading me on.   At first, I thought I had lost everything. I knew it wasn’t healthy to think like that. It felt like I was mad at everyone. 

Except my dog Tick.   He always showed the same love.  Unadulterated and unconditional.   

The truth was I had to fix me.  She didn’t need to be fixed, that was just an excuse to drop me.  

I was the one that needed to be overhauled.  

But how?  

As I was sitting having my coffee that morning.  I looked at those terrible cookies and thought of a way.  

The first thing I did was pick up the cute little tin full of petrified cookies that the career homemaker gave to me, and tossed them right in the trash can.  My love for her went with it.  

I felt better.  For a moment.   

I looked my dog in the eyes and said.  “Let’s get outta here”.

He looked back at me as if to say.  “I’m with you buddy”.   After all he had a fondness for my previous lover as well, and may be in of need some repairs himself.  

I wasn’t going to sit around and sulk.  I wasn’t going to remain mad.                                                                 

I was going to take some time off and return to my creative roots to repair the damage.  Dig deep to bring out  new ideas and thoughts.  I would replace all that negativity with new words to write, things to do,  people to interact with and most of all travel.   Tick and me were going on a road trip.  Together with our companionship we would find new people to care about, and replace the lost love with new beginnings and hope. 

I loaded up my trusty 4 wheel drive pickup with all the things we would need and chose a direction of travel.   I had money, resources, no pending commitments and time.   I could go anywhere.  I chose to go East and South from Denver and see what was out there.  It would be best if we were completely self contained.  

I purchased a vintage pull type trailer that needed renovation.  That was the plan.  I would renovate this camper, pull it behind my vehicle and see where the road led. I would write about the people and experiences along the way. I would do my best to restore the trust I had lost.  

Could I find the love that my heart was willing to give and get in return?  

Could I find interesting people and places along the way to write about?   

I decided I could.  It would write a blog that I could expand on at each experience.  As I looked into those requirements it became easy to think through.   I would share my travel and experiences in writing for anyone to read.  Or no one to read.  It didn’t matter.  I was determined to pick up that chiseled off piece of my heart and put it back where it belonged.  

The first stop would be Nebraska, where one of my oldest friends lived. He had a shop and I would use that space to get all the gear ready including renovating the camper.    

Little did I know I would encounter my first person of interest. 

The Nebraska Kid.

The Nebraska Kid

It’s hard to find a traditional cowboy these days.  And even harder to talk to one.  Lately, cattle ranches have become bigger with automated equipment that has limited the need for cowboys in a saddle.  Riding horses and tending to animals has been replaced in many parts by motorized ATV’s and four wheel drive pickups that can cover larger areas and don’t need to be fed or watered.   The old school boys and girls do it on horseback.  For these few, taking care of animals is sacred.  This breed grew up tending to horses, cows and just about every other farm animal you can think of.   Feeding, watering, herding, milking, breeding and branding critters everyday helps these folks remember to be kinder, gentler and more patient.   It’s an age old tale.  Worth telling over and over again.  

If you happened to be in the downtown Denver Greyhound Station some 20 years ago, you may have run into one of these fellas.  

Shane Blanton is by definition an all around cowboy.  He certainly has the skills to rope and ride, but more importantly he makes a living out of cowboying.  I ran into Shane in Nebraska on my journey across the US and starting talking about what it takes to live day to day working a centuries old trade. 

“It’s in your blood”.  He said. 

“I didn’t necessarily choose this profession.  I was born into it,  and I do my level best to make the most of it”.

Born in the same town as the great Hollywood character actor Ward Bond.   Benkelman Nebraska is a small town set in the southwest corner of Nebraska,  not far from Colorado and even closer to Kansas.   Shane first got started riding horses there in the eighties, and with the exception of a stint in Denver, he has been in the area ever since.

That Greyhound Station was just a stop along the way.  This young good kid looking was trying to find a way off of the range and into the city.  

“But what does bull riding ranch hand do in the big city?” I asked.   

“The best he can”. said Shane.

Sitting in that station many years ago this young cowboy was approached by a stranger who took interest in the way he was dressed.   Shane was outfitted in a felt hat, Anderson Bean tall top boots with mule ears and cowboy cut Wranglers made him a perfect tip off.

We don’t see too many buckaroos in these parts”.   The stranger had approached and started the conversation.  

“Nah.  I reckon you don’t”.  Shane replied.  

Turns out, the stranger was recruiting for a company that drives the carriages in downtown Denver.  A business for the locals and tourists to see the city in a sorta timeless means of transportation.  It is enormously popular all across the US.  A wooden spoked four person carriage harnessed the same as the in the 19th century. Usually pulled by an a gentle but strong draft horse.  In every season, especially the winter months , riders would commission seasoned carriage riders to show them the lights, the sights and the sounds of the big city.  Most of the visitors were couples looking for a romantic way to get closer to each other, stay warm and see what Christmas looks like behind the clunk of the shoed hooves rhythmically prancing down the main thoroughfares along the 16th street mall and beyond.  It takes a some training, a lot of patience and natural charm to to keep the wheels turning.

The biggest part of taxiing strangers around the city is really not about navigating the city streets at all.  It’s about the people.  Sure everyone wants to get next to these gentle giants and pretend that they were raised in a manner that they could walk up and start petting or prodding or talking to the horses.  It’s true that most of these beasts are very easy going and love the affection.  In reality most of the time it’s a distraction and not really welcomed by the handler.  

Generally it’s the wanna-be guests that need to be trained in many cases or just flat out talked into the experience.  Every driver has to negotiate the fare based on the limits the owners put on each ride.  The driver makes money on tips and a small percentage of the fare.  You need the ability to talk to people and convince them that they really should to take the ride.  This is something that cannot be taught on the ranch.  This is a learned skill that either comes natural or doesn’t at all.  

“It was really tough at first to get the hang of talking people into the ride”.  Shane said.  

“I’m sure it was”.  I replied as we sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table farm house in nearby Trenton Nebraska.    

“How did you do it”?  I asked. After all.

This was a kid with cowboy good looks and exactly what was needed to get those buggies moving with full fare passengers.  

“I found that cowboy smile you been looking for boss”.  Hanz the stranger in the bus stop said to owner Mark. A partner in the company that relied on the likes of Hanz and cowboys like Shane to keep his investment rolling. 

“Go get him.” Mark instructed the recruiter.  

“I left my number, he said he would call”. Was the only sure thing said in return.

It took 2 months for Shane to call back.  He was only in town for a short visit.  But when he did call back,  he was ready for a change from the ranch.  He was ready for the city.  Hanz agreed to drive to Benkelman and pick him up.   Four hours later they were in Morrison Colorado with the horses in the stable, talking about the job ahead.    

“Ill put you with an experienced hand to to get you started”.  the corral boss told the newcomer.

And just like that.  Shane was riding shotgun with a professional carriage driver in downtown Denver.  The same night he arrived.   

It didn’t take him long to find the ropes.  There was no need for special training or certification.   You rode with another driver for a couple days and then you were set with your own rig.  

Because charisma is what sells anything to tourists.  Anyone knows if you want those hard earned tourist dollars then you have to make it valuable to the buyer.   Shane recognized early on that it was about the experience and not so much the romance or the cost.   Of course there were couples that wanted to sit under the blanket and nuzzle behind the clopping of a horse and carriage.  Since the handler was in front and above them it felt like they were in complete privacy.    

“Trust me, people forgot I was there and made the most of the false privacy”.  Shane quipped.   

“Nobody really knows all the goes on under that heavy blanket.  So I just gave them all the space they needed.”    

“I can tell you this”.  He continued.  I was working for tips, and I wasn’t about to spoil their time.”   

“Two grand a night, sometimes.   He said grinning across the table. 

“Have at it”.

Most guests were genuinely interested in the history of Denver.  Which Shane wasn’t particularly keen on coming from the high plains.   Oh sure he knew some, made up some, and learned more along the way.  The riders wanted a tour guide, someone to talk to, who was there to answer their questions as best they could.   Shane was eager to please.  

By now, I was impressed listening to this very seasoned cowboy talk about his escapades some 20 years on.  Time hadn’t tempered his charm or his good looks.  He never forgot about horses either.   Today Shane is a respected farrier in the region. Traveling the tri-state area helping ranchers keep their horses shoed and healthy.   Shane and his wife Kala had blended a second generation of buckaroos. Kala a real ferrier hand in her own right. Together their 4 kids were learning the same fundamental cowboy skills they had learned when they were young.

It was then his petite and cute wife teased her good looking husband about “being attractive to all kinds of people”. Kala giggled a little and winked at her big man, knowing full she was kidding.

“I’ll ride the pens at the feed lot for a bit if we get slow”.   But I really like shoeing horses best”. Gotta feed them animals Shane answered without a pause.

“Denver was a great experience and every time I go back I have fond memories of many of the people I encountered. By far the biggest part of the people we so kind and generous. They had a lot of fun riding back there, and I had a lot of fun talking horses and ranching in such an urban place.”

“I’d get a celebrity from time to time. Locals. They would ask the same questions as the visitors”.

“The best customers were the ones that asked for extended time. I had an alternate route back to the pick up place on 16th street, and this was just gravy for me”. Using the old adage about cream on top. He continued. “The more I learned the town and the history of Denver coupled with all I know about horses, the job became easier, more natural and a lot more enjoyable.”

It didn’t seem that natural to me. Exhaust fumes everywhere, traffic, and pedestrians crowding every corner. But carriages took precedent. They got the first right of way at intersections. Most vehicles were respectful and kept their distance. This was a kings carriage coming through and everybody loves horses. It added to the charm and beauty of the city. A remarkable time for the drivers as well.

 “So why did you leave the carriage business”.  I asked.  

“Some jackass put a gun in my face and took everything I had”.  

“Damn!”  I was shocked to hear this. 

“It was a wake up call and a reminder that maybe I wasn’t cut out for the city”.  He said.   

“I put the horses away that night, packed my tack bag, and headed back to Nebraska the next day. I’d had enough. That was just too much risk for me to take. He said with his smile fading.

Would you do it again?   I asked.  

“Well,  I wouldn’t do it again, but I wouldn’t change anything either.” He replied.   

“It was something that taught me a lot.  I never really dwelled on the one awful experience,  It taught me to understand people, and care for animals in different environments,  but mostly I learned to respect others.   No matter your lifestyle, or your preferences in life, people want to share a kind and memorable experience.   

“I brought that to them”.   Shane was confident and content with his words.  

I shook his hand and thanked him and Kala.  Just then I thought to myself,  this is an American treasure.  Not often do you find a fella like the Nebraska Kid. It warmed my heart to think such an ancient tradition is being carried on by this young man and his new family.

I didn’t find my true companion in Nebraska that week, but I did find a friend.   

I wasn’t discouraged that Nebraska didn’t bring a new travel companion for my onward journey, after all I really just got started.  I was lucky to get what I got.   I decided I was gonna expand on my newly learned country and cowboy acquaintance.  As planned just Tick and me would expand on this Kid’s words.

“ I need to learn more about cowboys and country.   But this time I’m gonna add music to it”. I said to myself.  

I got it!

I’m going to Nashville.   

Nashville

If you have traveled around the US, you learn pretty quickly how diverse and expansive the music scene is here. There are so many cities that base a good portion of tourism on one thing. Music. I think one could spend a lifetime exploring these cities and even small towns and never hear the same sound twice.

I’ve made it a point to seek out music, players, and unique artists everywhere I have ever travelled. Living in Asia for 15 years was a good lesson in my music search. It’s not easy finding a country artist with an Oklahoman accent in the middle of China. But, I never quit looking.

Some of the most influential cities for music in the US are quite different in their styles. But they can also be very similar. The one similarity is the musicians themselves. They live for their craft. Nearly everyone who ever picked up a guitar or sat countless hours behind a piano will attest to the financial futility for all their hard work. Even though its one of the most skilled trades there is, it doesn’t pay the bills very well. One thing is for certain. The adulation is priceless. A smile, or a connection showing the admiration from an audience member, whether it is around a campfire or in an auditorium full of paying guests. The artist lives for that moment. That kind of admiration pays the bills of the heart. The payment needed to keep the heart fresh, full, and charged for the next round.

Nashville is one of these cities. Broadway is the main street to find these honky-tonks. Lining both sides and scattered around the corner, every beer bar has a stage, and every stage is full of players, well playing and making a living with their instruments.

New Orleans, Memphis, Chicago, Austin, New York, are just a few of the cities that have a long history of influence. When I left Nebraska for Nashville I was going to find out what the difference between these towns really was. I had only been to Nashville one time previously, but I had been to all these other cities many times. New Orleans is considered the birthplace of jazz, Memphis the birthplace of the blues, and Austin the birthplace of Americana. New York and Chicago blended each of those genre’s and made it their own. They all had one thing in common. That was they had nothing in common. If you want impovisation go to New Orleans. If you want gritty blues guitar and vocals it’s Memphis or Chicago. Austin was a songwriters town. The kind of town where musicians try out their latest creations on 6th street in the pubs and beer halls. That’s Americana, the everyday kind of sound. But Nashville? What did they have that was different. I was gonna find out.

Layla’s on Broadway in downtown Nashville was just the place. I learned everything

Oh Atlanta

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