Parade of non sequiturs

Every Saturday my husband and I strap our bikes to the back of our car and drive away from our beloved Weaverville towards Asheville. We head to a popular destination called Carrier Park along with a few thousand other local residents. We arrive to the mecca center for fit, good-looking people with attractive children and too many dogs.

We are the Carrier Park Imposters driving in from a little village outside of Asheville bringing neither children, dogs, nor sadly, good looks. If our deficiencies aren’t magnified enough through comparison, we also wear old ratty clothes in an arena that is meant to showcase athletic name brands and super sexy spandex creations.

While my husband dismounts our bikes from our non-hybrid car (another demerit), I watch skinny moms wrestle baby strollers from hatchbacks that untangle themselves into ginormous beasts with wheels placing Rhett or Daisy, who slowly nibble on an organic apple, gently within its armored safety. There appears to be an unwritten code for dog owners. This park is for serious dog owners only. I’ve seen as many as six dogs attached by a tangled spider web of leashes to one human arm. It’s not unusual for the dog people to own three or four versions of the same dog. They promenade around the park with their dogs spread before them like the pleats in a Southern belle’s dress.

And never mind that the paved path that can transport you across all 31 acres nestled right next to the French Broad River is only 2 feet wide and meant to be used for two-way foot or bike traffic. These are Dog People, and Dog People hold themselves to the noble Conduct of the Kennel Order, which is fancy way of saying “It’s a dog-eat-dog world.”

My husband and park at the end of the trail next to the French Broad Put In. That’s what the locals call the spot where the kayakers and canoers and raft people can put their water toys into the river. It’s odd that with thousands of water players, the parking lot accommodates only six cars plus a handicap spot. People attempt to remedy this oversight by parking on the grass that lines the tiny lot. It may seem odd to non-park goers that people should drive to a green space to enjoy nature and in the process trample and kill the grass and vegetation to park more conveniently to the path’s entrance.

My husband and I are almost never lucky enough to grab a legitimate spot, and so we frequently find ourselves in the grass. When others pull up on the grass to unload their dogs, strollers, bikes or medieval weapons (more on this later) we all avoid eye contact by showing intense interest in our tasks. We say things like, “My goodness but this bike strap seems especially cranky today. I can’t seem to unhook it,” even though it unhooked easily and I’m just pretending it is stuck to avoid communication with the others unloading their toy of choice in a silent comradery of the Guilty of Assaulting a Green Space club. Once we get to the path, the Green Guilt easily dissipates because the path is gorgeous and breezy and, because it runs beside the river, cleansing.

The park is an interesting study in diversity. Like a high school cafeteria, there are loosely formed social clubs that cluster together in various parts of the park. The park lends itself to groupings as the path, which forms a loose figure eight serves as bandstand seating to a parade of non sequiturs. At any given point on the route, I can expect to see anything from a gaggle of inline skaters to group of medieval aficionados costumed and carrying all manner of crude weaponry. We always stop our bike ride when we get this part of the show and sit in the grass to watch the action. There all sorts of complicated rules of conduct like when you are struck on your shoulder you can no longer use that arm in that, had this happened outside of a fantasy situation, it would have been severed and kicked aside to continue the battle.

We see teams of lawn bowlers and thin women bunched together (for warmth) running the long path with happy chatter and impossible speed. The park’s original purpose was to act as a motor speedway, but in 1999 local nonprofit RiverLink gave the land to the city of Asheville, on condition that city officials develop a green space. The race-car people were miffed by the deal, but the local residents were thrilled to have their own giant playground in what would now be a very quiet space. Rumors suggest that the actual playground section of the park, which is nestled into the velodrome area near the middle of the figure eight, was built in nine days, but you know how local people embellish. My husband and I fit right in the rag-tag procession of dissimilar people who are held together by a thinly paved path that weaves us in and out of each other’s thoughts as it connects us both together and to itself.

SHARE
About Abigail Hickman
Abigail teaches English at A-B Tech and is happily nestled into a Weaverville neighborhood. She enjoys eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream directly from the container.

Before you comment

The comments section is here to provide a platform for civil dialogue on the issues we face together as a local community. Xpress is committed to offering this platform for all voices, but when the tone of the discussion gets nasty or strays off topic, we believe many people choose not to participate. Xpress editors are determined to moderate comments to ensure a constructive interchange is maintained. All comments judged not to be in keeping with the spirit of civil discourse will be removed and repeat violators will be banned. See here for our terms of service. Thank you for being part of this effort to promote respectful discussion.

12 thoughts on “Parade of non sequiturs

  1. Simeon

    I love going to the park with my wife as well. We try to make it once a week!

  2. Ellen

    Abigail, I LOVE your writing! Excellent column. Your last line is so beautiful.

  3. karen cragnolin

    Even more amazing we built the playground in 5 days with 1,000 people – River Link received a grant for $100,000 to do it and we hired the Leathers Architectural group to help us engage the community and build that playground – like I said in 5 days with 1,000 volunteers – so from everyone at RiverLink we are thrilled you enjoy it and the park we bought and turned into Carrier Park before putting conservation and deed restrictions on the property and turning it over to the city for citizens benefit

  4. Becca

    Go Mrs. Abigail! I love the article! Work this happens to be an awesome English professor!

  5. Pat

    Beautifully written. A laugh, a smile and a big AWWWWW ending! Bravo!

  6. Brad

    I often feel my “regularness” among the apparent polished masses. I enjoy those places where difference is both obvious and irrelevant. Your last l line speaks that eloquently. Thank you for showing us that connection is still there… that is the truth.

  7. Heidi Meulenberg

    Excellent way of describing this park! “Like pleats in a southern belle’s dress” is a fascinating way of describing multiple dogs being walked by the same owner, as is comparing this feat to a tangled spider web. I can confirm that it definitely feels like a tangled spider web for I used to walk my four dogs all at once . I will not be able to look at Carrier Park the same way after reading this article, for I will be seeing your comparisons and wondering things such as “Do the skinny women stay huddled together for warmth?”.

  8. Eleanor Sexton

    Mrs. Abigail I loved reading your column, I found myself giggling a lot. I am very familiar with the “Dog People” I live with some of them! I couldn’t stop laughing about the medieval weaponry game you observed…I also lived under the same roof (my freshman year of college) with a peculiarly odd being that enjoyed that same game, which she referred to as “boffering” or “boffing” not quite sure but I am sure the foam weapon is called a ‘boffer” and that they don’t like you to mess with their weapons.. To stay the least it was very amusing to watch.

Leave a Reply

To leave a reply you may Login with your Mountain Xpress account, connect socially or enter your name and e-mail. Your e-mail address will not be published. All fields are required.