The Beautiful Life

Bele Chere, Scottish for "the beautiful life", is a three decade old festival which consumes most of downtown Asheville, North Carolina on the last full weekend in July every summer. Like a giant octopus with legs extending out from the central park triangle, block after block is filled with a sea of white tents brimming with artists' work, food of every kind, non-profit displays, street performers and at the end of each arm, a major stage for music - five in all. All day long, the air is filled with blue grass, swing, jazz, rock, and there is even an Anti-Belle Chere venue giving voice to the dark side. After yesterdays frustration, Lance arose at 7, was parked within a block of the festival by 8, had breakfast at Tupelo Honey Cafe (Rachel Ray was right about the pumpkin pancake with peach butter and pecans) and he was on the street by 10, virtually alone. Unfortunately the Festival didn't start until 12 on Sunday, but Lance walked the main streets getting acquainted with the layout and selecting the stages and areas he would visit. It worked like a charm.

Imagine about 75,000 people cruising an entire downtown in 95 degree heat for about 8 hours and you get the picture. Mostly white, mostly young (surprise!), many families and more than the usual sprinkling of real nut cases...like the guy (we'll call him Falwell) standing in the middle of the park with a bull horn condemning everyone to hell and eternal damnation who was NOT a born again Christian. His list was endless including gays, unemployed, welfare cheats, most of the people around him and certainly Lance. Then, another guy (we'll call him Reformed) simply saw Lance watching the first guy's rant and he felt compelled to come over to tell Lance his five point plan, in great detail, refuting everything Falwell was saying. Lance found out Falwell and Reformed had already had it out without a clear victor so now Reformed was trying to recruit Lance to his side. Lance shook his hand, wished him luck and fled, There is a a good reason they sell T-shirts here that proclaim, "Nice Town, Weird People." (Did Lance mention the dog diving contest where dogs run after balls thrown by their masters into a long, measured, above-ground pool to the cheers of hundreds of on lookers? At least the dogs were staying cool!)

On the other hand, Lance would still rather live here than in some of the towns he's visited. This town has many flavors.

The Asheville Civic Arena is a combined indoor event arena attached to the city's primary concert hall. On this weekend, Lance discovered, it was also where all the families with small children went for the A/C and a cavernous arena floor filled with carnival of rides, handicrafts, rock walls, face painting (both simple and complex) and kiddie food. It was kinda like a Kiddie Underground, Lance noted. Emerging again into the sunlight, the outdoor misting sites, Red Cross tents with person-sized air conditioners, plentiful cold drinks at every corner and abundant rest rooms every couple of blocks were indicators of this town's long experience in the festival business. Asheville also boasts a dancing fountains plaza, in-ground architectural water features, terraced lawns and massive permanent stage in front of the Courthouse and Municipal building giving it a certain Emerald City balloon scene demeanor. A fundraising thermometer noted that this little 18M project is only 2M away from being fully paid for by the generous citizens of Asheville (with a little help, Lance guessed from the Biltmore Corporation right across the street.) Ah, the civic pride of it all.

Later that afternoon, Lance found himself luxuriating in a laboratory of human behavioral subjects when he found his way onto the second story balcony of a parking garage overlooking one of the stages. It came complete with cooling breeze, shade from the summer sun, a front row seat to a concert and, best of all, a birds eye view of the entire street of people below, ebbing and flowing like waves on a beach. After a while, his mind drifted away from the music as he focused on the hypnotic movement patterns of the people below him. He became acutely aware of who was leading or steering each small group. After a while, some interesting dynamics repeated themselves with great frequency. For instance, Lance noticed:

- Women with strollers almost always determined where the family unit was going and at what rate. Their husbands almost universally lagged behind. They always seemed determined to get somewhere specific, managing breakaways with a harsh look.

- In young couples, the men usually led. In middle age couples without children, women led, although with more deference toward their men than those women with strollers. In elderly couples, Lance found it nearly impossible to figure out who was leading although the strongest seemed to drive the action over the one in need of assistance.

- In groups of men, the tallest seemed to be in the lead most of the time with the shortest almost never leading,

- In groups of women, there seemed to be an Alpha leader who never gave up the role, at least while Lance was watching.

- In mixed groups of teenagers, well, there were none. There were always girls with girls and boys with boys, occasionally careening into each other, but not consistently following anyone and certainly never constituting a true mixed group.

- And there were relatively few singles, but they seemed mostly to be young men looking hung over from the previous night of street revelry, wincing at the sunlight and noise. Solo women were almost non-existent. Darn it, thought Lance.

- Of course, Lance had to wonder how he appeared to other people, if anyone had stopped to notice him. No one, other than the Reformed guy, spoke to him. Nevertheless, a quick look in the bathroom mirror confirmed they would have seen a denim shirted, baggy short wearing, chubby old bald guy in white tennis shoes, sunglasses with a big black bag slung diagonally across his chest. Lance wouldn't have spoken to someone who looked like that either.

- If there was any indication of being bikers, the men were dominant over their women mates, to an extreme. And the women, maybe depending on them for a ride home, were clearly submissive. A striking culture, those bikers. And there are a lot of bikers on the roads and in the hotels where Lance has been staying. This is rally season in the mountains.

Around three-thirty, the skies started to darken so Lance headed for the car only to arrive just minutes before the rain. A welcome 20 degree drop in temperature followed the brief thunder and lightening show as he headed south toward the Biltmore area, had dinner and drove back to the hotel. He called home after noting the weather advisory for his hometown on his iPhone called for damaging winds, rain and possible power outages. Sure enough the power was out at home, a real travesty to a generation weaned on TV, computers, video games and air conditioning. After taking to the oldest kids and assuring that no one would die or be left alone if the power stayed off too long, he hung up with only a hint of "what kind of parent runs off for a month while his wife is gone, leaving his children to fend for themselves in the rugged urbanity of home?"

And now we are finding out what kind of person does that. His name is Lance.