Chapter 04: The Forks embark, and Professor T. learns
the perceived value of privacy in a “social media” world. 

The day was winding down to a spectacular Kansas golden hour. Neighbors could be heard mowing lawns and trimming bushes with their various landscaping tools. In the distance hot shots in their hot rods were peppering the soundscape with impressive mechanical blats and varooms. Billie Schmidt was tending to last minute service details for the Chool Bus, Professor T. was packing a go bag to accommodate a few weeks on the road, and Jack Dean was enjoying some Netflix and Chill with his current squeeze, Jackie Blue. Somewhere in the distance, neighborhood dogs were playing the “telephone game”. Billie surmised one of them was yelling at a back yard squirrel, and the rest were simply egging him on. 

All was well in the Forks’ sleepy college town, once a wild frontier outpost for the U.S. Cavalry, now home to their Alma Mater. Similar to The Forks, once a wild nihilistic post-punk grunge metal band, now reunited for a year-long odyssey pursuing the “fibrillating heart of the divided nation”, a research project led by Professor T., and faithfully aided by Jack Dean, Assistant Professor on the tenure track, and Billie Schmidt, designer and builder of the finest touring bus this side of anywhere. The Forks were prepped, stocked and ready to tackle the first leg of their tour, the mountain west states of Colorado, Wyoming and Montana. First stop, Fort Collins, Colorado.

Having played every venue open to post-punk grunge along the i70 corridor between Kansas City and Grand Junction, the Forks had seen this stretch of Dwight David Eisenhower’s interstate highway system enough times to nearly make the trip half asleep, and so the hours flowed by in a blur till rolling into Aurora after passing the distant teepees of the Denver International Airport (DIA). Driving duties were to be shared on stretches too long for one person, but Billie handled most of the driving duties herself as the gang agreed six or seven hours was plenty of road time for one day. The GPS unit was a custom piece cobbled together by Jack Dean, but Billie was adept with these things so didn’t need assistance. The gang enjoyed listening to Billie with the vocabulary of a sailer and the GPS in the voice of Samuel L. Jackson.

“I told you to take the mutha fukkin 270 exit through Commerce City,” SDS barked.

“You can shove the 270 exit up your USB hole,” shouted Billie! “That chemical plant in Commerce City stinks, and besides, i rather like navigating the ‘mouse trap.’” Mouse trap is what the locals called the cloverleaf at the junction of i70 East/West and i25, the Valley Highway, North/South. “We can go by the old Mile-High stadium site and jeer the Denver Donkeys.” Billie was a die-hard Kansas City Chiefs fan.

“Hey hey hey, there will be no blasphemy in Broncos Country,” extolled Jack Dean. “I won’t trash the Chumps if you’ll refrain from disparaging the Donkeys.” It was agreed, Jack would cheer for the Chiefs as long as they weren’t playing the Broncos, and Billie vowed the same.

“Don’t miss your goddamn i25 exit,” grumbled Sam jackson via SDS.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Billie mumbled as the Chool Bus glided around the Mouse Trap heading North along the front range, past Longmont, then Boulder, then Loveland, then approaching Fort Collins city limits. Billie steered the Chool Bus to their designated campground on the outskirts and the gang scattered on each individual’s exploring method. Professor T., to his pedometer, Billie on her electric bike, and Jack ducking into the nearest watering hole to get some tips from the local patrons.

After Billie and Professor T. finished their explorings, they joined Jack who was now a couple libations ahead of his companions. Now, Professor T.’s research was a combination of survey data and scheduled focus group interviews. But he also wanted to get up close and intimate with the locals, so he put together a rig for recording conversations and getting what radio and podcast producers call “nat sound”. This rig consisted of clipping a pair of condenser microphones on either side of a pair of half-open studio headphones. This allowed Professor T. to hear what was happening in the environment, and with the mics placed where they were, capture what is known as an “ambisonic” image of the natural sound as well as the conversation voices. One couldn’t really regard this rig inconspicuous, as the microphones were fitted with fur coverings. These coverings guard against breezes that can ruin the recording at worst, create a time consuming noise mitigation measure at best.  So Professor T. looked like some sort of Star Wars alien with his head covered in headphones like those Princess Lea cinnamon rolls and furry protruding ears like Chewbacca.

Billie and Jack were at the bar enjoying locally crafted ale when Professor T. Arrived, saddled up to a bar stool, and began striking up conversation with patrons nearby. It appeared to Professor T. as if the people were shy because everyone he approached made as quick a social exit as possible. That is until a patron sitting at a table nearby approached Professor T. and, only slightly slurring his words, basically gave notice that he was willing to throw hands over Professor T.’s brazen violation of his and everyone else’s privacy. Evidently, this fella had been involved in some embarrassing viral social media moments causing him a fair amount of grief. He saw Professor T.’s audio recording as yet another round with the hoards of cancel happy social justice activists.

Of course, Professor T. was not one to engage in alcohol-fueled violence. Granted, he was the leader of a grunge metal band in the 90s, but the violence was mostly restricted to the mosh pit. It was often said their gig’s success could be measured by the “blood on the dance floor”. If ever there was a direct threat to the band, their roadies would take care of the matter, outside. Anyway, Professor T. was not used to having pissed off drunken bar patrons breathing down his own neck. He tried to reason with the fella, but he wasn’t to be placated, and fists began to fly with Jack, Billie, and a couple strangers all mixed up in a rain of blows. Finally, a voice attached to a rather imposing figure cut in and broke up the mayhem. This is where we meet Buck Wellstone, a recent graduate of the University of Wyoming from Corpus Christi, Texas. His imposing figure got everyone’s attention, but it was his cheerful, good natured southern gentleman countenance that resonated with the members of The Forks. 

Once an equitable compromise had been struck starting with the understanding that Professor T. was not there to involve unsuspecting bar patrons in compromising “gotcha” moments, and the slightly inebriated bar patron confident he would remain anonymous, Professor T. took his ridiculous recording rig back to the Chool Bus and the angry bar patron went back to killing liver cells across the room with his equally marinated companions. The rest of the evening passed uneventful as each member of the troupe faded in his or her time. They were done documenting their interviews in Colorado. Next stop, Laramie Wyoming. Professor T. yawned as he typed out final details into his personal journal, crawled into his Chool Bus sleeping birth, and drifted under sleep’s dark and silent gate.

NEXT WEEK
Chapter 5: Where The Forks recruit another member. Buck Wellstone applies for graduate assistantship and joins the project as Professor T.’s aid de camp.

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