Ep. 10: Lexington

Notes from the 22nd-27th of March

The week at large

Coming off the highs of Spring Break, the next few days really did pass by in a blur. A lot of life-admin was in order, catching up on payments, emails and the like. It was also the first point of the semester that I can distinctly recall feeling like I was actually getting really close to the end of my time at Purdue. Before, there had been the road-trip to look forward to; now there was really nothing sitting in between me and finals.

Those mysterious things...

It was at this time in proceedings that the physical nature of Purdue began to change. With the faintly increasing temperature, the campus languidly began to emerge from its Winter hibernation - and perhaps no better addition exemplified this best than the littering of VEO scooters all over the place that we found after Spring Break. VEO is a micro-transaction/transport company founded by ex-Purdue graduates and is in principle no different to Lime or other such companies that allow you to "rent" scooters and drop them wherever you wish. I don't actually know how their business model or technology differs from their competitors, all I know is that they were everywhere from Week 10 onwards.

And fair enough, too. Indiana is about as flat a state as you can imagine, and West Lafayette was no exception there, so even from January it was possible to see kids zooming around between classes on electric skateboards, bikes and scooters. The VEO idea then is a very natural one, and people didn't seem to mind the (what seemed to me) exorbitant hire costs¹. I only ever used the service once in my time at Purdue (more on that in the next instalment).

Scumbags and misfits

One of the things that I really appreciated about Purdue (and the Midwest more generally, at least from my experience) was that the topic of one's politics was very rarely broached, and if so, never in an overly confrontational manner. This is not in any way to condone Indianan politics², just that the toxic nature of such discourse in Melbourne grows wearisome. And it is certainly in stark contrast to the hyper-polarised attitudes of people out West, especially at the UCs (Californian state universities).

The pointed exception to all of this came Thursday night. I had gone to bachata class as per usual, and had a grand old time. However, a few people carrying rather provocative signage and streams of rainbow tape around the student centres raised my eyebrows. And upon leaving the class, things had only escalated. I went down to the PMU for my usual Middle Eastern takeaway dinner, when I was confronted by a mob of students yelling and causing quite the commotion. Turns out that unbeknownst to me, right-wing pundit Michael Knowles was giving an address that evening at Purdue, and his mere presence alone was enough to cause some of the more liberal-minded students to protest and run a drag-queen show of sorts in opposition. Fair enough, and as for the contents of his address³. I wish to cover them (and perhaps my opinions on conservative politics currently at large) in another piece.

The main thing to take away here is that for a brief flash, the seeming tranquillity of the campus was upended in a very unpleasant way. I appreciate the passion of both parties here but can't say that I find myself settling down on either side of that aisle anytime soon...

On the road again

And with the dawn of Friday, it was time to pack my bags again and head out for another trip! Not quite as glamorous this time, but still a rather significant one I would have to say.

Way back in a long-forgotten time when my dad was my age, he met an American named Jim in South-East Asia. They were both doing some solo travel and really hit it off. Through staying in touch (via letters or some other ancient media) Jim ended up staying with dad in Australia when he travelled on, and then reciprocated the favour for my parents when they were in the States living in Pennsylvania on the Delaware River. I don't know when the last time they saw each other was, but my parents saw Jim's wife and daughter in Italy a few years back and when it was revealed that I was going to Indiana for a bit, not too far away, an offer was put forward for me to go visit for a weekend.

And that is precisely what I did.

Cross-country

No planes this time, though, back on the trusty-old Greyhound just as when I went to Chicago. This time in the opposite direction. And as before, it was a wholly profound experience where I was not expecting one. I commented in this post about how travelling with the Greyhound feels like being in the "true" heart of America, and this was even more so true the second time around.

The passing from Lafayette to Indianapolis was rather uneventful, but it was upon entering the bus again after this stop that a voice chirped up, belonging to a one Alex, a black guy from Chicago. He made some off-handed remark about the pants I had on, I made a joke back, and before long we had settled into steady conversation.

It wasn't long before others joined the fray, pulled in by his undeniable charisma. Next was Eddy, an ex-inmate who had grown up in California and now gave off the appearance of being a reformed Christian. Then it was Joanna, a lady making the monthly trip from Chicago down to New Orleans to visit family. A couple of others chimed in over the trip, and before long the bus had transformed from dead silence to full of cavernous laughter. The first thing to comment on is the fact that most of them were taking trips damn near halfway across the country, in Eddy's case well exceeding 24 hours of total transit time. Sitting on a bus for 24 hours. Wow. Turns out this is really the only way for a lot of people to get around these days in America: land of the free, home of the brave, country of the poor public transport. I suppose people will do what they need to to get by.

More importantly though, you could not have put together a more eclectic mix of people if you tried. Yet surprisingly, there was so much in common. They all had fascinating stories to tell of their lives, their upbringings, where they had come from and where they were going. For Alex, it was the childhood spent on the dodgy streets of North Chicago. For Eddy, the trajectory from high school, to prison, and out again. All made for such wonderful plots that I sat there listening most of the time, entirely captivated. Perhaps most funny was Eddy's interest in my being Australian since his hero growing up had been none other than Steve Irwin.

When we reached the stop in Louisville, I insisted on us all taking a picture together:

Shortly thereafter, I found Julia (Jim's wife) who had generously driven all the way from Lexington to pick me up. Not sure she was the biggest fan of the Greyhound bus stop though 😅…

Bourbon and blue grass

Lexington is a rather beautiful city. For Jim and Julia, I can very easily understand why they would have swapped out the bustling city life on the east coast for the much quieter Kentucky. And Lexington really has a lot offer. It is home to the University of Kentucky⁴, horse racing and, of course, plenty of bourbon. Yet a short drive from the main town are rolling hills, stretching pastures and stunning golf courses.

The Friday afternoon of my arrival was a rather quiet one; we went out for dinner and I finally got a chance to meet this Jim that my dad had told me so much about. On the one hand, it was hilarious to me to hear him repeatedly saying how much I looked like my old man. Fair enough. On the other, dining out for the first time in some while was a remarkably refreshing change from the (increasingly stale) profferings at the Purdue dining courts. I think I had a steak.

On the waters

Despite being the opposite of an avid drinker, I was eager to learn more about one of (perhaps the) biggest export of the state of Kentucky - bourbon. So it was that on Saturday morning I went down to Maker's Mark distillery for a tour with Jim.

Turns out there is a lot more to this liquor than meets the eye, and the science and history of it is something that I can definitely get behind. The first and most important question to answer is - what is bourbon? I'd always thought that it was synonymous with whiskey, a misconception made all the more confusing by virtue of Maker's Mark having bourbon whisky⁵. Well, turns out they are very similar, but there are specific rules for what constitutes bourbon. From seeker.com:

1. Bourbon must be made in the USA, and specifically at least 95% of the ingredients have to come from Kentucky. This is why Kentuckians are a little snobbish about their liquid gold and almost dangle it in front of the luckless Tennessee folk who can only make whiskey.
2. It must be made of at least 51% corn, distinguishing it from other grain-based liquors.
3. The distilling must be at less than 160 proof (80% alcohol), otherwise it is considered moonshine.
4. The whiskey must be aged in charred, American White Oak barrels. This is what gives the very distinct, smoky flavour to the finished product. There is also an insistence on these barrels being new, that is having not been used to age any other liquor, less this contaminates the whiskey.
5. It must enter into the barrel at no more than 125 proof (62.5% alcohol).
6. The ageing process must last at least 2 years.
7. No additional flavouring such as fruits or honey can be added to the aged whiskey.

The tour finished with an obligatory tasting session. If you know me, you know that in Melbourne I am a bit of a tee-totaler, but I do think there is little point in having such strict rules when they can be eased for one-off exceptions that are important (in my opinion) cultural experiences. So it was that I partook in said tasting, which was all up probably not more than 100 ml of five different bourbons. Most of them I rather enjoyed, though the 110 proof one lit an absolute bonfire in my throat. I think I liked walking around the grounds most, the distillery itself was nestled within a fairly sparse forest with a small river passing through it and gave the place such a warm, bucolic feel. They had this adorable old cat, aptly named Whisky, that kept watch over the reception area.

Afters

My remaining time in Lexington was thoroughly enjoyable, albeit short-lived. Some weeks ago when I had organised this trip, I had done so in the hopes that Purdue would make it to the Elite Eight in the NCAA Tournament and I could go watch their match in nearby Louisville, but their absence meant we took in the came on TV. I must confess to adoring the Pezzi's place, in particular the voracious supply of books that littered its many shelves.

I also couldn't help reflect on the many similarities between where I was now and the points of their respective lives that had brought Jim and my dad together. My imagination revelled in the opportunity to search forward many years from now and wonder if I might be so lucky to form friendships here at Purdue or elsewhere that would stand the test of time and international borders.

I called my parents on my final night there and this of course gave a natural excuse for them to catch up with Jim and Julia. It always fascinates me how resilient some friendships can be; like a hardy plant, they need only the most occasional watering every handful of years to carry on merrily and blossom once more when the time is right.

On the topic of interactions, there is always one other matter which perplexes me, and it was present again as I said by to Julia at the bus depot. In life we often find ourselves in the company of a (relative) stranger for extended periods where your experience becomes redefined to include them conclusively within that interior. Then, just as swiftly as they enter, they leave, and these boundaries are once again redrawn. All of this happens intuitively, but there is something quite jarring in the discontinuity that transpires at the moment of farewell and I have never quite properly known what to make of it.

The return trip to Lafayette was uninspiring, a return to the mean after the unexpected joys of the bus ride there. The solitude of it though did allow me time to mull things over. Something about the steady rumbling of the engine and the world outside pulling slowly past you I have always found conducive to deep thinking.

There were plans for me to head back out to Lexington for another weekend later in the semester to take in the annual Keeneland racing festival, a weekend of pageantry and flowering display. Sadly, however, this never materialised. Thus my one voyage to Kentucky would be my last trip for the semester, and I was to bring out the rest of my nights at 1225 W State St until the 7th of May tolled my final day at Purdue.

Footnotes