Category Archives: Fayetteville

Fayetteville, Humor, Lemon Moment, Personal

A Story Of Revenge

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Because I got up even earlier than should be possible, I walked the dead man hill route and cut south. When I made it to North Street, the number of young people out around 1:30 was ridiculous. 

By the time I looped back around and walked a short stretch of Leverett, three different cars had driven by with young men screaming from the windows in an attempt to startle me. It happens a lot. I wish I could tell all these young guys who have obviously been drinking that riding around with the back passenger window open while wearing a backward baseball cap is tantamount to catnip for police. 

After I turned on Leverett again, a little white Hondaesque car drove by me slowly. Can you guess? Yet another inebriated young guy leaned out the window and screamed. “Wooooo!”

Even though I was expecting it, I jumped and laughed. The young guy leaned further out the window and waved, laughing. 

The car turned on the very next left onto Hazel Street. It’s very close to Leverett. For no reason at all, I walked around the same corner.  The Hondaesque car had stopped at the intersection of Hazel and Storer. The brake lights were lit, so I knew somebody was in the car. 

I’m pretty sure one of the occupants was either stopping to confirm his membership in the chess club or securing more alcohol. I’ll let you decide which is more likely.

It was at that moment that I realized that Bobby Dean was calling. I walked quickly across the grass and against the trees just in case one of the car’s occupants might see me. When I was about ten feet away, I darted over to the passenger side. Keep in mind it’s about 2:00 a.m.

At the top of my lungs (two feet from the car), I screamed: “WHAT’S UP C*******ERS!” 

(You have to use the terminology that young university men are prone to use, not to mention a nod to my dad.)

It turns out that two of the occupants had exited the vehicle when they arrived. Both passengers in the back seat screamed like elementary school girls. 

It was as if they moved in slow motion as they overreacted. It didn’t occur to me to run off. 

Both of the young guys fortunately thought it was hilarious. 

“Be safe and watch out for the Watermelon Man,” I said before walking away, still grinning like an idiot. 

PS The Watermelon Man is a fable invented by my dad, Bobby Dean. He’s always out at night and you never see him coming until he wants you to. 

.*The picture is of beautiful new buildings recently constructed on the corner of Sycamore and Leverett. I had what should have been beautiful shots of the university skyline, but both turned out to be Mr. McGoo shots.

Fayetteville, Lemon Moment

Surprise Oasis

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I thought I knew this area completely, almost down to the square foot. I saw what I was sure was a brilliant orange Oriole and looked at an angle through the trees. It was a canopied oasis sloping down into a little valley that I didn’t even know existed. Dozens of birds in there, singing and chirping and flying around.

Fayetteville, Personal

They Always Come Back

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Each year, I forget about the difference in Fayetteville at 2:00 a.m. in the morning once the U of A students return. There were troves of young people walking along the hot, humid streets at 2:00. It’s nice hearing them chirp and overlap each other’s conversations. I do wonder what magical ability they possess. I can’t imagine staying up and drinking like that, followed by a sweaty walk home.

I stopped at one of the “reputable” inconvenience stores for a diet soda. There was so much exposed skin in that store that I thought I had walked into the dermatologist’s. The U of A students are great barometers to determine which stores are safe and clean. Even though there are other stores nearby, you will not see students at those.

As for people who shouldn’t be driving, it’s a good thing there’s not an officer at every intersection. I saw at least a dozen drivers who probably need to spend the night in a concrete bedroom.

If you look at the middle of my picture, you can see someone on a moped. As I walked down Sycamore to turn onto Leverett, this guy was going way too fast. I didn’t see it when his handlebars clipped one of the poles. But I heard the bell sound when he did. I watched him come off the moped. Shockingly, he got up and stumbled around. He got back on his moped and headed back in the other direction. Probably from disorientation, if not inebriation. I watched just to see if he was going to keep it upright. He did a fast turn and then roared back past me. The picture’s blurry because I thought I hit the video button. I was 100% convinced I was going to film him careening into something.

Had he hit something at that speed, he would have become Jason (Re)Bourne.

Ancestry, Fayetteville, History, Lemon Moment

Heebie-Jeebies History

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The Heebie-Jeebies Index

There’s no question that the stretch of Oakland Ave. between Sycamore and Mt. Comfort is among the weirdest and most heebie-jeebies-prone streets in Fayetteville. This is doubly true once August arrives. 

The street is unusual for several reasons. It is a chaotic mix of old houses, modern townhouses, sporadic street lights, and one side of the road lacking a sidewalk while simultaneously having a drainage ditch that is a literal hazard to both drivers and pedestrians. 

It was probably during my 100th late-night/early-morning walk on Oakland that it occurred to me just how many weird things I had seen and heard.

The stretch of street I’m referring to is 2,250 feet. One of the fascinating things about part of this area is that Mt. Comfort Road was once a major “highway” for its time. It was cut off when Highway 112 was put in, leaving this little forgotten stub of a highway. Almost no one alive today knows that this strange fragment of road is very, very old, or how many people once passed through Fayetteville east to west (or vice versa) this way. If you are so inclined, you can do as I did and find old aerial photography from before the interstate was built and before the Hwy 112 project cut off Mt. Comfort Road. We forget that “progress” is a seemingly slow, constant march until we scan through and see that even our familiar topography is really a slow-motion, never-ending process.

Fayetteville, Lemon Moment, Personal

Poof

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I walked over to Garland/112 in the unseasonably cool dark early morning. The plan was to watch the panoramic dark sky for meteors. It’s one of the best nearby places because I can walk down the middle of the road without so much concern that a sidewalk will trip me up. 

As I approached the last side street, Ernie Jacks Blvd., I heard somebody driving fast heading north. But I wasn’t seeing the flickering shadowy lights ahead of me caused by headlights. A white vehicle roared past, traveling at about 90 mph. No headlights. No interior lights of any kind. Cannonball Run came to mind. 

Almost simultaneously, blue lights flickered against the white fence along the west side of the road. For a second, I thought an unseen police vehicle fired up its lights as the occupant watched the vehicle roar passed. 

It wasn’t. Instead, several police vehicles were at the apartments on the right side. I took a right and walked down the side dead end street to see what kind of excitement might be going on. The voices were clear but for some reason I couldn’t understand a word. 

The flashing lights and backlit effect created another illusion. I took a couple of pictures because the boundaries of the trees and the contradicting lights made it look like there was a cloud floating about 20 feet in front of me. It’s not real. The canopy of the trees created The strange optical illusion.

It was a beautiful and quiet walk. Almost no breeze, with the temperature actually falling as I wound my way through the dark neighborhoods. Just the insects and occasional voices from unseen people who had refused to give up the night and go to bed. 

For some reason, the movie Backrooms kept coming to mind. If there were such magical places, this would have been the morning where I would not have been surprised to find one. Like magical Narnia wardrobes, except scattered in shadowy liminal spaces. 

I’m definitely going to have to bring out my blue tape and put up some hidden doorways one of these mornings. As a prank, but also as a way to identify people who are either strange enough or magical enough to want to walk up and touch them. Just in case. Those are my people. 

By the time I reluctantly surrendered, there was a breeze to accompany me and the temperature had dropped to 70. That was magical enough. 

Fayetteville, Personal, Razorback Greenway, Safety

Adventure

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I didn’t quite take the walk I expected this morning. As I neared the trail crossing on Poplar, some kind of four-wheeler or golf cart came racing from the north and made an extremely fast turn and loop into the apartments adjacent to the trail.  I knew something weird was going on. 

In less than a minute, two police vehicles approached. They turned their lights off as they turned left/north and began looping in and out the apartments all the way down to where the trail abuts the Agri farm.

Naturally, I sensed adventure and walked through the backside of the apartments. As I meandered through, I could see the police going through the apartments with their lights off. 

As I came back up, I waved down one of the two police cars that was driving down the main side street with its lights off. 

“Are y’all by chance looking for someone driving an ATV or golf cart?”

The officer in the passenger seat looked very reluctant to answer. The driver simply said, “No, we’re not.”

He answered in a way that told me the conversation was over. I kept walking, turning to make my own loops through the short side streets. The police continued their lights-off patrol. 

After about 20 minutes, I returned to Poplar and kept walking. I know the sidewalks meticulously. There’s a stretch that’s not safe to walk on. The trail improvements on the eastside don’t extend past the trail access. So that section of sidewalk is dangerous. Walking next to the curb, I did like I always do and walked against traffic flow. Not that there was any traffic. In fact, they only traffic I had seen were the police officers with their lights off. And they would have passed me on my right on the other side of the road. 

Until the expensive new student housing gets built in the wild oasis area where Leverett ends, there’s no incentive to make the sidewalks safe past the trail. They didn’t even bother to put lights in past the trail. Inexplicably, they put in beautiful modern lighting all the way from the trail up to Gregg. Where almost no one lives, leaving the densely crowded opposite side between the trail and Leverett completely dark. Makes a lot of sense. For those who know the area, that’s where the little building that is supposedly an art project sits, waiting for the next graffiti artist to ignore the purpose of the building.

Just as I was about to step back up under the sidewalk where it became mostly safe again, one of the police vehicles slowed down. I assumed they were going to ask me if I had seen anything. 

“Do you mind stepping up on the sidewalk?” It was one of the officers. 

“Yeah, of course.” What else was I going to say? Everyone on Poplar knows the sidewalk is a trip hazard. Not to mention the people who rent the Veo scooters and ride them 30 mph in the dark. I’ve been doing this for years and probably know more about this neighborhood than almost anybody. 

That’s when the previously unifentified four-wheeler passed me. By the markings on it, I saw that it was obviously part of the efforts of the police department to locate whoever they were chasing through the neighborhood.  

I walked quite a bit more, watching the little four-wheeler zip around Leverett, Poplar, and all the side streets. They obviously didn’t find whoever they were looking for. Had they asked me, I would have told them that only one vehicle came into the entire area in the interim. I knew exactly where it parked. Only one other pedestrian came through any of the streets at that hour. 

Not that I am a criminal, but I know what everyone else knows. If you’re anywhere in the area and don’t want to be found, you step off the wide trail and into the shallow creek. Especially in the area where what’s known as flat rock is. 

The last picture captures how dark it is through there, exactly where the sidewalk can’t be trusted. The middle of the picture captures the brilliance of the endless stream of modern streetlights they installed. 

The police, of course, pulled a U2, because they obviously didn’t find what they were looking for. If only there were a pedestrian like me they could have asked. It may not sound like it, but I’m amused. 

And I appreciate the adventure. 

Only because I’m a preachy bastard will I say a few more words. If someone is worried about my safety, I would recommend they fix the sidewalk and give streetlights the attention they need. But all of that effort is pointless if you’re going to drive up and down dark neighborhood streets with no lights on. This is doubly true If you’re driving a four-wheeler on the streets and sidewalks in the dark.

But what do I know. I’m just a guy who loves walking the dark neighborhood streets at 2:00 in the morning.

Fayetteville, Humor, Personal

Loudmouth

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About twenty feet from this house, it started raining lightly. The colors were beautiful, so I thought I pressed the long exposure button. Instead, I identified the tree as a person in portrait mode. I love the happy accident picture that resulted.

As I walked further down the dark street, I could hear a man angrily shouting. Without really thinking about doing it, I cut along the building, getting closer to the disembodied voice. 

“You’re going to get a free Uber ride with bracelets if you don’t stop shouting.” While I didn’t scream, I shouted it loud enough for him to hear me. 

“Eff you!” I paused for a second, in admiration of his eloquence.

“Okay,” I answered. 

“Okay what?” 

“I will not be using my mobile app to place my order.” I could hardly keep a straight face as I answered. 

Miraculously, the man went silent. I waited. He had no follow-up. My job for the morning was done.

PS The heat and humidity beat on me like an old man slapping the top of his 1972 television.

Fayetteville, Personal

Downtown A.M.

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I prowled downtown Fayetteville and Dickson Street in the dark. There are always remnant people from the night before. Singing in the parking garages for acoustics, sitting bleary-eyed on curbs and benches, slurring their words and futilely trying to get their dead phones to work. Some were trying to break down equipment and food, tired and eager to get home. Even after 3:00, there were people in the back of some bars still not wanting to surrender the night. A woman waved at me from way up on her penthouse balcony, leaving me to wonder whether the drink she held was a continuation from Saturday celebrations or coffee to acknowledge that Sunday was upon us.

Across from the Walton Arts center, I made the mistake of looking at the hands of a homeless person bundled and covered on the bench. That image stuck in my head and made me feel helpless. The wheelchair sitting at the end of the bench didn’t help. I experienced the privileged dissonance of me walking around on a sleepless night in the same universe this person slept wherever they could.

On the corner of Block and West, I laughed at the unlikely coincidence of Calle’s loudspeaker choice of music, blaring alleged entertainment to no one on the abandoned streets: “X Gon’ Give It To You” by DMX. It was so random and bizarre that I would walk by at that precise moment.

I didn’t want to walk to end. The quiet darkness contained too many colors, sounds, and sights. Even the beautiful houses each had their own quiet beauty.

Fayetteville, Humor, Personal

Prank Time

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I was so excited to see my prison jumpsuit and handcuffs arrive when I got off work. Even though it’s hot, I’ve done my inaugural walk up and down busy Gregg Avenue. I couldn’t stop laughing because I could see people slowing down. I got a couple of honks. 

One of my older neighbors shook his head, laughing. “You’re going to get arrested.”

🙂

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