bikelovejones

Yesterday I combined two loves: bicycling and drumming.

Needing a longer ride this weekend, and wanting to honor an invitation to join some drum corps alums for an evening of food and fun, I decided to ride my bike out to Sellwood and back, a nearly 20-mile loop with dinner in the middle.

I wasn't sure I was going to go, even though the organizer had invited me not once, but three times by email. She was emphatic; come and join us, she said. There will be people there who remember you and it will be fun.

I was dubious. I had marched in drum and bugle corps over 30 years ago, Back When The Earth Cooled and we all carried our equipment with webbed cotton slings and leg rests. (I CARRIED a fiberglass kettledrum until it became clear to the instructor that at just over 5 feet tall and 90 lbs. dripping wet, I was too small for the drum. When he learned that I could sight-read equally well in either clef he switched me to the bells. I no longer wilted under the weight of my instrument and my drum corps experience improved dramatically.)
I lasted only one season with the Spartans. My father lost his nightclub gig and was blacklisted by his union, and suddenly my folks couldn't afford "extras" like a summer on the road in drum corps. I made do with my high school marching band after that, no comparison but at least it was free.
I returned to the Spartans as an instructor for a couple of years in the late 80's, and spent a good 15-plus years as a percussion arranger/instructor and drill designer for half a dozen Portland are high school bands. I never stopped loving the pageantry arts. I guess that love had a lot to do with my desire to pick up the sticks and start playing again.

So I went to the party last night. And I had a GREAT time.
The nicest parts of all, in no particular order:

1. I was instantly welcomed, even embraced, by the four other women drummers who were in attendance. They were so happy to meet a fifth woman who loved rudimental drumming, it was fantastic. Two of the women had come from very far out of town for this gathering, so we passed around some drumheads and a Sharpie and everyone in attendance signed them for the Californian and the Canadian as souvenirs. Very sweet, very old-school.

2. A fellow who had been one of my high school students in the early 90's showed up and surprised me. He looked great, well and very happy. He was still playing and in fact could now play circles, even whole continents, around me. (I am not the least bit jealous, only really happy for him. He's one of the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet.)

3. I was surprised at the number of folks who remembered me, and who I remembered, from my days as a drum corps instructor and even as a marching member. Everyone was older, and grayer, and in some cases a little more pot-bellied; but most could still play. For laughs one fellow showed up in his late 80's Blue Devils uniform jacket. He couldn't close the front anymore and his shoulders threatened to collapse the seams, but everyone had a good laugh.

3a. At some point, the food and drinks were cleared aside and a dozen practice pads were brought out. A pair of sticks was handed to me and I was urged to play along. For the next hour we played whatever exercises or other bits and pieces someone could remember and teach us. It was here that both my 12-year hiatus and my age showed. I followed along as gamely as I could, but WOW! it was hard to keep up with everyone else. I learned new "rudiments" whose names were unfamiliar to me (what on earth IS a "cheese", exactly? Another thing for me to research online...), and was reassured when I figured out that something "new" was actually just a series of inverted flam taps. (Flam rudiments have always been weak for me. I must practice them more.)

What a delight to watch three women who could play. One of them especially had the most fluid hands, and produced the cleanest and easiest open roll I'd ever seen. A thing of beauty that made me want to play again even more, even if only for fun.

Most interestingly, it was my right hand that gave out first, and signaled that it was time for me to ride home. (Most drummers have a weaker left hand. My bike accident back in '97 seems to have evened things out a bit.) I exchanged email addresses with the other women, and with my former student, and was greeted with hugs and promises that if another such gathering was organized I would be contacted. And I know that if invited I would definitely come and enjoy. I rode home happy, glad I'd come to the party and hoping I'd hear from these women again in the future.