Guest blogpost #2 - Alison Osius
The All-Star Jam
>> By Alison Osius
>>
>> I have been going to trade shows longer than I care to remember. The
>> ski show in Las Vegas: casinos, and dawn bouldering at Calico Basin.
>> The one in Reno; casinos, Donner Summit. The current show iteration,
>> the Outdoor Retailer Summer/Winter Market, is in Salt Lake City,
>> with 100-degree sidewalks and Little Cottonwood Canyon.
>>
>> Each year, semiannually, as we drive the seven hours to Utah, my
>> coworkers and I mull over the old chestnuts and the disasters, some
>> tragic, that have happened to us or others at the show: the time we
>> saw a fatal car accident as we entered Utah; the time a truck full
>> of dynamite blew up on Route 6 (I still habitually crane my neck at
>> the spot to see the flattened trees); and the famous Year of the
>> Tornado, when we saw boiling weather from afar as we headed up route
>> 6 from Green River.
>>
>> "Boy, something's happening!" someone said of the high, thunderous
>> yellows, and we idly started talking about various natural
>> disasters, never dreaming that as we approached to within 30 miles,
>> we'd hear on the radio, "It has been confirmed. A tornado has
>> directly hit an outdoor-industry trade show. At least five people
>> have been killed, and dozens more may be buried in the rubble."
>>
>> The twister had in fact killed one and injured many, though that
>> story is also positive because of the ways in which industry folks
>> pitched in to help each other.
>>
>> One year we had a perfect view of the building across the street
>> burning down; another time, mudslides diverted our crew up into
>> twisty, unmarked mountain roads; and this year a fire in New Castle
>> closed the highway just after we passed by.
>>
>> This year I also added a personal twist to the ride. I had started
>> my packing days early, but only found myself doing the final
>> checklist late the night before our 6:30 a.m. departure. Then, at
>> 4:00 a.m., a skunk sprayed outside our house, the nauseating miasma
>> wafting directly into the open bedroom window. I stumbled to close
>> it, but in the morning, vestiges emanated from my bags.
>>
>> "Why were your bags outside?" one coworker after another in the
>> predawn asked me accusingly.
>>
>> "They weren't," I kept explaining plaintively. "They were in the
>> bathroom, which is by the bedroom."
>>
>> As we drove west from Colorado, Quent, normally the kindest of
>> individuals, said of my fleece jacket, wadded on the seat between
>> us, "Can we get that jacket out of here?"
>>
>> Cynthia obligingly opened the Dodge cab's back window and stuffed my
>> jacket into the truck bed, while telling me that I was lucky he
>> wasn't saying, "Can we get that Alison out of here?"
>>
>> At the hotel, I hung all my clothing around the room, and it aired
>> out sufficiently, or so I'd like to think it.
>>
>> ------------------------
>>
>> This story, though, is about one of the most fun things I have ever
>> done at any trade show. The last evening of the show began with a
>> party given by Rock and Ice's companion publication, Trail Runner,
>> at which our excellent circulation director, Paula, on an
>> unaccustomed two glasses of wine, gave out valuable prizes for
>> people holding squats, cranking pushups, and dancing the can-can.
>> People participated, with alacrity. Paula just hopes there are no
>> photos of her demonstrating the can-can.
>>
>> We staff were all on hand, in special lime-green shirts identifying
>> us with "Trail Runner: One Dirty Magazine," to welcome and help
>> people.
>>
>> After which, I wanted to check out the music scene next door, at
>> Club Elevate, which for unknown reasons has an entrance decorated as
>> an underwater grotto. Misty Murphy, climber, singer and bon vivant,
>> was performing a set at a jam for bands comprised of outdoor-
>> industry people.
>>
>> Mike, my spouse and editor of Trail Runner; Nick, our associate
>> publisher; and I entered the green grottos and stood side by side in
>> our matching puce-green shirts. I felt like a bit of a dork, but
>> wanted to hear the music. Maybe people would think we were a band.
>>
>> The All-Star Jam, organized and emceed by Timmy O'Neill, included
>> the silvery-voiced Misty and segued into great shows by a group from
>> OR, the All-Star Industry Band, doing funk covers, with O'Neill
>> playing drums (well) and our estimable show director, Kenji
>> Haroutunian, on bass; and then a set by Use As Is, which featured
>> Black Diamond employees and friends and played one of my all-time
>> favorites, Pearl Jam's haunting, "I'm Still Alive." We got variety-
>> Highwater, of Western River Expeditions, in Moab, provided skillful
>> acoustic harmony-and I even got some personal history. As the
>> Seattle-based group the Struggles played seven songs (many of them
>> original) in 20 minutes, I realized that the lead guitarist, Dan
>> Cauthorn (Gore, Petzl), was someone I've climbed with, and the
>> rhythm guitarist, Rich Johnstone, had started the Vertical Club, the
>> country's first climbing gym, which I visited just after it opened.
>>
>> There was No Recall, by Caravan Canopy, which covered Weezer, the
>> Foo Fighters and Van Morrison, and had a great singer in Al Guindon;
>> and Doobe and the Other Brothers, who got their drummer from
>> Sterling Ropes and killed it with Southern rock.
>> I have always marveled at how much talent is to be found in the
>> climbing and outdoor community, yet to me the most apt line of the
>> evening was Timmy's exclamation, "Who knew what was in the next
>> booth?!"
>>
>> A funnier line was this rejoinder, later, from Timmy when I thanked
>> him for organizing the event: "Does R and I have a band for winter
>> OR 2010?"
>>
>> That is one bit of talent missing from the community. We could all
>> wear our green shirts, though.
>>
>> If you do have talent, and are interested in the next OR jam, email
>> orallstarjam@gmail.com
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