Day Two: Ah Jist Cain't Hay-ulp Mah Say-Ulf!
I love accents, always have: love to listen to and identify them, attempt them, master them. However, I do not limit my use of them to the stage or funnying about with friends. I am powerless to resist them - nay, I am often unaware that i am slipping into your accent as we speak to each other. When I am with Ju, or talking to her on the phone, I always indulge in a weird mid-Atlantic Jersey/California meets Lancashire. She does it too - might say trunk instead of boot (Kersh, you too) - but I actually change the way I speak. I just can't help it, especially when you happen to be from the north of England. When i used to wait on tables I would imitate customers, unintentionally. On one such occasion, a Greek family proclaimed me one of their own countrymen. I guess my very, very, VERY slight Athenian utterances, plus my big nose and unshaven face, gave me away. Donny has on occasion gently pointed out that, for example, when i speak to Sugar on the phone, i get a teensy bit Black. It sucks when you do the things you judge other people for.
Why is this relevant? Cuz I can't stop THINKING IN A SOUTHERN ACCENT. The diah-lect ah am currently employing is rahtha genteel, as ah am in Fuhredericksveel. I'm sure when i get down to Kentucky, I'll really hick out. I mean no disrespect by any of this; I just fucking love it! AH JIST CAIN'T HAY-ULP MAH-SAY-ULF! Even when I was plotting my journey for the first several days, on my swish Mac laptop back at my desk in LA, as soon as my route crossed from Maryland into Virginia, I started to think Southern. I'm resisting my instincts to actually verbalize my adopted accent, as I actually have a story to tell if anyone's interested (they're not)- though Donny and I did just have some Southern fun on the phone a few moments ago. [Note: If you haven't begun to read this in a Southern accent yet, you aren't channeling me properly].
Day Two saw my first doggie incident! Some of you know that I have been fixated on this likelihood ever since i started to read about touring cross-country on a bicycle. At some point, my fear of bears (and which type you're supposed to be perfectly still for and which you're supposed to "become very large" (?) and scream and shout and dance about waving your arms - grizzly, brown, black, polar, teddy? so many freakin' rules) has been eclipsed by the very very likely occurrence (Kentucky will be the most rabid on the route I'm taking apparently) of being chased by a territorial Rover. Let it be knowm that my dog-attack hymen was first bumped against, then busted through. The initial attempt was curtailed way before the dog got to me. "Berry!" ("Cherry!" "Ellery!") a woman shouted. Berry/Cherry/Ellery, the Shepherd mix, didn't dare get into my situation. About an hour later, however, a big black and brown some-other-guy's-best-friend ran into the road and right into my bike, and then ran away. Even if i had decided to purchase pepper spray having concluded that it was humane to spray a dog in the face, there just isn't time to react. My instinct to cajole animals into engaging with me took over. Before the dog bashed into my bike, I managed to bark (in my own accent though a nanosecond before, in my head, I probably was all Virginian): "It's okay, puppy!" Luckily I did not lose control of the bike and fall into the three-foot ditch that's at the side of every road in Virginia.
Otherwise, it was another pretty flat and short day in preparation for my first standard-long ride (85 miles) tomorrow to my sister-in-law's in Powhatan, near Richmond (Happy Birthday, Jinx!). Not sure of today's exact miles (forgot to look at my cycle computer before i came inside the Wallace Public Lah-brair-ee to post today's edition) but it's about 55. Mostly quiet, ex-urban/rural, farms, cown, fields of yellow flowers, brooks and muddy ponds, countless people mowing countless acres of lawn (why bother?), a brialliantly-colored squashed (or was he sleeping?) red bird on the side of the road, two closed gas station/convenience stores (NOT convenient) that were supposed to be on my map. I only asked for directions twice: first from a couple of Jinxes (ponytailed athletic women in their 30s or 40s who were out for a ride - termed by Donny and me after his sister, Jinx, an avid iron-woman) and once from a friendly mechanic on the side of the road.
For those of you interested in TMI: I used a totally spotless port-a-potty at an abandoned construction site.
And finally stopped for the night in Fredericksburg. For those of you who have been to Fredericksburg, you know that every building looks as though it houses a kindly granny prone to tatting, baking and ingesting spiked lemonade in the summah. These grannies are also patriotic as evidenced by the flags waving in the breeze at every address, sometimes an extra for the garage. I'm poking around a bit today, perusing the ubiquitous civil war placques and statues. I'm no American Hisotry buff but aren't they the ones that lost? I'm pointedly not going to point that out, even with my most skeeled of Southern drawuhls.
Why is this relevant? Cuz I can't stop THINKING IN A SOUTHERN ACCENT. The diah-lect ah am currently employing is rahtha genteel, as ah am in Fuhredericksveel. I'm sure when i get down to Kentucky, I'll really hick out. I mean no disrespect by any of this; I just fucking love it! AH JIST CAIN'T HAY-ULP MAH-SAY-ULF! Even when I was plotting my journey for the first several days, on my swish Mac laptop back at my desk in LA, as soon as my route crossed from Maryland into Virginia, I started to think Southern. I'm resisting my instincts to actually verbalize my adopted accent, as I actually have a story to tell if anyone's interested (they're not)- though Donny and I did just have some Southern fun on the phone a few moments ago. [Note: If you haven't begun to read this in a Southern accent yet, you aren't channeling me properly].
Day Two saw my first doggie incident! Some of you know that I have been fixated on this likelihood ever since i started to read about touring cross-country on a bicycle. At some point, my fear of bears (and which type you're supposed to be perfectly still for and which you're supposed to "become very large" (?) and scream and shout and dance about waving your arms - grizzly, brown, black, polar, teddy? so many freakin' rules) has been eclipsed by the very very likely occurrence (Kentucky will be the most rabid on the route I'm taking apparently) of being chased by a territorial Rover. Let it be knowm that my dog-attack hymen was first bumped against, then busted through. The initial attempt was curtailed way before the dog got to me. "Berry!" ("Cherry!" "Ellery!") a woman shouted. Berry/Cherry/Ellery, the Shepherd mix, didn't dare get into my situation. About an hour later, however, a big black and brown some-other-guy's-best-friend ran into the road and right into my bike, and then ran away. Even if i had decided to purchase pepper spray having concluded that it was humane to spray a dog in the face, there just isn't time to react. My instinct to cajole animals into engaging with me took over. Before the dog bashed into my bike, I managed to bark (in my own accent though a nanosecond before, in my head, I probably was all Virginian): "It's okay, puppy!" Luckily I did not lose control of the bike and fall into the three-foot ditch that's at the side of every road in Virginia.
Otherwise, it was another pretty flat and short day in preparation for my first standard-long ride (85 miles) tomorrow to my sister-in-law's in Powhatan, near Richmond (Happy Birthday, Jinx!). Not sure of today's exact miles (forgot to look at my cycle computer before i came inside the Wallace Public Lah-brair-ee to post today's edition) but it's about 55. Mostly quiet, ex-urban/rural, farms, cown, fields of yellow flowers, brooks and muddy ponds, countless people mowing countless acres of lawn (why bother?), a brialliantly-colored squashed (or was he sleeping?) red bird on the side of the road, two closed gas station/convenience stores (NOT convenient) that were supposed to be on my map. I only asked for directions twice: first from a couple of Jinxes (ponytailed athletic women in their 30s or 40s who were out for a ride - termed by Donny and me after his sister, Jinx, an avid iron-woman) and once from a friendly mechanic on the side of the road.
For those of you interested in TMI: I used a totally spotless port-a-potty at an abandoned construction site.
And finally stopped for the night in Fredericksburg. For those of you who have been to Fredericksburg, you know that every building looks as though it houses a kindly granny prone to tatting, baking and ingesting spiked lemonade in the summah. These grannies are also patriotic as evidenced by the flags waving in the breeze at every address, sometimes an extra for the garage. I'm poking around a bit today, perusing the ubiquitous civil war placques and statues. I'm no American Hisotry buff but aren't they the ones that lost? I'm pointedly not going to point that out, even with my most skeeled of Southern drawuhls.
Danny, I just discovered the blog today (5/13) and can't wait to get caught up in your journey (not pretentious at all). I still hold out hope for my summer Oregon Coast ride, and I'm hoping to take much inspiration from your account. Have fun, my friend, and be safe!
ReplyDeleteI've done a number of jobs in the Fredericksburg area from Dumfries to Spotsylvania. The one thing I have consistently noticed is how UN-DC the area is. That is to say, by car, it's not that long of a trip but the people (for the most part) appear to be much nicer, politer and more layed-back then their neighbors just to the northeast and yes, the accent seems to abruptly change right-around that area. I can always tell I'm no longer in "fake Virgina" that is the western DC suburbs.
ReplyDeleteam a sure lahvin it Daniel.
ReplyDeletewas that a New Jersey accent? sorry it's been a long time since i was at drama school where it was gently explained to us you couldn't just write 'American' in the accents box on your CV.
kersh x