Arnolds Park is an amusement park in Spirit Lake, Ia. It has the historic wooden roller coaster ride called the Legend, as well as the usual assortment of carnival rides and midway treats like funnel cakes, foot longs, fried-everythings, and ice cream huts. Three hours in, on a hot, humid day, I was looking for a place to sit. And if I found a place that permitted it (can't smoke in the park), I would have a pipe.
The parking lot, right outside the park and alongside it, is surrounded by flower gardens and benches. Dang it if none of them were in the shade. Oh well. And there was a big setup of "trailer stores" on the far edge of "Cool Biker Stuff" -- the actual words of the marquis.
Eh, wasn't so cool. I looked at everything but returned to the flower gardens. I chose the garden of raised, ornate brick planters in a square directly across the entrance lane where I could see my wife and stepkids and grandkids through the fence, waiting to get on a ride (they were in line 55 minutes!!!).
The bench I chose was along the sidewalk. There I pulled out my tobacco wallet and a meerschaum-lined Grabow. I slowly filled its bowl with the hazelnut beauty of Erik Nording's Labrador (which I smoke when others will be nearby, rather than my non-aromatics, knowing it pleases those who allow it to).
I tried not to be aware of the attention a pipesmoking man drew from the carloads of people entering this lane to turn into the parking lot. Motorcycles, convertibles, restored classics... and rent-a-wrecks people had gotten out on a nice, sunny day.
But I couldn't help notice the behavior of people who now and then chose to pass by me, linger downwind, or walk way around.
I'd say about half changed their path and walked way clear of me. Others kept to their intended route and said hi as they passed (5 - 10 feet in front of me).
And then there were my favorite people -- primarily older women -- who lingered. Watching them out of the corner of my eye, and only gently nursing the pipe, just keeping the cherry barely going for the most part, I would now and then puff it, and watch.
Some of them leaned into it, mouths closing and nostrils flaring (it seemed... I wasn't looking directly at them) as the smoke rolled in the barely present breeze toward them. Some who had been walking on their way would catch the scent and slow down, turning their heads not to look at me, but to inhale more deeply
It was for that little while as if I was a ride meant for adults. Some passed by me, afraid of heights or unfamiliar motions. Some didn't pay any attention to me. And others... they enjoyed a moment on the ride, something they don't experience every day.
All in all, it was a nice afternoon and an enjoyable smoking experience.
The parking lot, right outside the park and alongside it, is surrounded by flower gardens and benches. Dang it if none of them were in the shade. Oh well. And there was a big setup of "trailer stores" on the far edge of "Cool Biker Stuff" -- the actual words of the marquis.
Eh, wasn't so cool. I looked at everything but returned to the flower gardens. I chose the garden of raised, ornate brick planters in a square directly across the entrance lane where I could see my wife and stepkids and grandkids through the fence, waiting to get on a ride (they were in line 55 minutes!!!).
The bench I chose was along the sidewalk. There I pulled out my tobacco wallet and a meerschaum-lined Grabow. I slowly filled its bowl with the hazelnut beauty of Erik Nording's Labrador (which I smoke when others will be nearby, rather than my non-aromatics, knowing it pleases those who allow it to).
I tried not to be aware of the attention a pipesmoking man drew from the carloads of people entering this lane to turn into the parking lot. Motorcycles, convertibles, restored classics... and rent-a-wrecks people had gotten out on a nice, sunny day.
But I couldn't help notice the behavior of people who now and then chose to pass by me, linger downwind, or walk way around.
I'd say about half changed their path and walked way clear of me. Others kept to their intended route and said hi as they passed (5 - 10 feet in front of me).
And then there were my favorite people -- primarily older women -- who lingered. Watching them out of the corner of my eye, and only gently nursing the pipe, just keeping the cherry barely going for the most part, I would now and then puff it, and watch.
Some of them leaned into it, mouths closing and nostrils flaring (it seemed... I wasn't looking directly at them) as the smoke rolled in the barely present breeze toward them. Some who had been walking on their way would catch the scent and slow down, turning their heads not to look at me, but to inhale more deeply
It was for that little while as if I was a ride meant for adults. Some passed by me, afraid of heights or unfamiliar motions. Some didn't pay any attention to me. And others... they enjoyed a moment on the ride, something they don't experience every day.
All in all, it was a nice afternoon and an enjoyable smoking experience.
:
