Feeling My Roots

So, I grew up in Quincy, California. It's a quaint little town in the mountains, close to nowhere. I loathed the place when I lived there, especially near the end. Let's put it this way, Quincy is a "small town" in all senses of the phrase. Nosey neighbors, narrow-minded church-goers, white bread. I mean, this is California, right? And yet there were like, 2 hispanic kids. Just sayin'. I was always a little different, and you know how cruel kids can be, especially to other kids who don't quite fit the mold. I'm not trying to make myself sound cool, or like a free-thinker, or rebel. I wasn't really that interesting, I just wasn't ever accepted. I had a few close friends, only one whose life I stay involved with. I mean, the occasional Facebook comment doesn't really count as staying in contact, that's just cheating. Anyway, Quincy is the kind of town (it could be that all towns are like this, I just don't have the first hand experience necessary to make that call) where if the kids don't like you, the parents probably don't either. Maybe it's because my parents were kind of antisocial, maybe it's because they spent their weekends playing on kids toys wearing spandex instead of mowing the lawn and going to church, perhaps because their kids said I was a witch . . . . you know what the funniest part of that is? That it actually bugged me - stupid rich, white kids calling me a witch. But I digress. Point is, I always felt that from an early age I was not quite approved of my classmates and their parents, who really ought to know better, but don't. "Witch" manifested itself to "lesbian" in junior high, which also got to me. The LGBT population of Quincy isn't much bigger than the non-white population, or the non Judeo-Christian population. Again, the label bugged me. I have no issue with anyone's sexuality, nor my own, but I think it was just the act of being bullied that got to me, which I suppose is the whole point. I mean, it really doesn't matter WHAT someone says to you, but how.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, so in high school I was kind of punk rock I guess. I was more interested in good music than image (at least in retrospect I'd really like to believe that) so I didn't really listen to much punk. I listened to Neil Young, Idiot Flesh, Melt Banana, Sun Ra, James Brown, the Melvins, Bad Religion, the Ruins, Queen, Frank Zappa - just the stuff I liked, you know? Anyway, the only real sub-group in Quincy was the hippy population. And by "hippy" I mean dreadlocks and weed, not social or environmental activism. So it's kind of a derogatory term in this case. Anyway, I freaking hated the hippies. I felt that they did a disservice to environmentally and socially consciencious people by being such lazy-ass posers. Sorry, but it's the truth. I was a little agro back then (these days I channel my continued tendencies towards aggrivation through my pedals).

Anyway, the whole reason I started this blogpost was that I was feeling like a little bit of a hippy and it made me think about Quincy, and how I've changed in the last (gasp!) 9 years since I left. See, I got this really bad sunburn yesterday because I didn't put sunscreen on my arms before riding for 4 hours in the desert. So today I bought some unrefined coconut butter to rub into my skin. I'm wearing baggy flannels, drinking Kombucha, listening to some mellow girl music that I actually listened to when I was a teenager (whoa, am I not a teenager anymore? daaaamn.), rubbing coconut oil into my arms, and thinking that I could probably pull off dreadlocks, at least as well as any other white girl. Oh yeah! And I bought a Neti Pot, and cleansed my sinuses, which made me feel very holistic. Anyway, I'm going to go do some yoga and foam roller my IT bands, then pass out. I have a long ride to take care of tomorrow - fingers crossed for this damn wind to go away!