Discovering Nashville

Nashville Did You Knows?

That Franklin south of Nashville is the home of the Franklin Mint. I dare not go there lest I do the place violence on behalf of Letter Carriers everywhere. Do you suppose they smash those figurines before they leave the plant?

The price on Minnie Pearl’s hat was $1.98. No surprise, that wasn’t her real name.

That Nashville had the first FM Radio Station in the US?

The overnight temperature here was 39º F Monday night. Not so bad compared to that in Toronto or Halifax but cool nevertheless. At least I had an electrical hookup last night.

Now if Donald Smith were still alive what would he say about my being in Nashville?

I went on the Day Trip around Nashville Tuesday. It was nice of the sun to hang in there until the cloud cover settled in as we were getting on the bus to return and the rain to hold off until I was finally home at the end of the evening. When the skies opened up it thundered and poured.

Our tour guide/driver was a wealth of information. Who knew that aside from being home to the music industry Nashville is also a major educational centre boasting a score of Universities and a Religious Centre as well hosting the head offices and conference centres of several denominations. A city of 600,000 has 700 churches and about 1600 bars.

Any discussion of Nashville would have to begin with the longest running radio show in America, the Grand Ole Opry. Once it took on a live audience it began a tradition of outgrowing it’s venues. The Ryman Auditorium, its 4th home, began life as a church; it may no longer be a consecrated space but for Country Music Fans it is nevertheless a shrine. I was not tempted to pay $5 to have my picture taken on that stage with a cheap guitar but I would have liked to test out the acoustics reputed to be second only to the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. After all, when the Reverend preached his hell-fire sermons there were neither mikes, amplifiers nor speaker systems. After the Opry moved to its new 4400-seat venue 14 miles distant down the road from the KOA the pews were restored, removing decades of parked chewing gum and concerts resumed some years later.

Most music may be recorded digitally these days and listened to on CD or MP3 Players but the gold standard of the recording industry is still the vinyl record and at the Country Music Hall of Fame Gold Records overcrowd a wall three storey’s high by a city block in length. For the record a gold record has shipped 500,000 copies; a platinum, 1,000,000; and a diamond, 10,000,000. The Hall of Fame acts as an archive and public exhibit of the excesses of the Music Industry beginning with the shape of the building itself. Want to go for a ride in Elvis’ Gold Cadillac? If you lose a hubcap remember it’s gold plated. I wonder how good the reception was on that TV. I’d still like to hear that golden grand piano. Everything from Minnie Pearl’s hat with price-tag--$1.98 to studded, spangled and florescent coloured outfits are on display. Listening kiosks play hits of the past and life-sized mock-ups welcome you in. Tailoring jeans so that the stars look poured into them must be an industry all on its own. Squeezing ‘that’ part of the anatomy obviously doesn’t effect the ability to reach those low notes.

On another road lie the historic recording studios. RCA, Sony, BMI. You knew one of them was owned by Micheal Jackson? One artist it is quipped made her first hit when her car rammed the recording studio. And then the lesser performance spaces. Honky Tonks and Saloons line entire streets where performers work for tips. And if they aren’t performing probably wait tables. At Legends the walls were decorated by entire collections of Sun Records, the doors with life-size images of the greats. At Legends the performer welcomed our tour guide by name.

If you make public performance of Happy Birthday expect ASCAP to come knocking on your door to collect royalties on behalf of the two little old ladies who own the copyright. Anonymous may not collect his royalties but ASCAP does it on behalf of everyone else for anything not in the public domain.

Beyond the music industry Nashville has Federal, State, and City Offices and Courts. Our tour guide made sure we saw several nude statues including a large grouping celebrating the music industry. This wasn’t the only public art to win his ridicule. What looks like the twisted remains of a roller coaster in red is a million dollar public work. Office towers have nicknames including one that looks like Batman. Public Parks and the Bicentennial Mall are graced by more statuary, gardens, fountains, and at present flowering Redbuds. Did you know Nashville had its own full-scale model of the Parthenon with an art gallery inside? A militia group running wind sprints and lifting weapons cases out front were an odd touch.

Nashville also boasts businesses associated with the medical industry. Insurance Companies, Health Care providers and Research facilities associated with the universities including the Sarah Cannon Cancer Research Centre--Minnie Pearl I discovered. After all that rubber-necking I was glad that someone else was negotiating streets alive with after-school crowds and commuter traffic on the four major Interstate Highways that intersect in Downtown.

After a quick supper I wandered over to the Benny Goodman Music Barn here at the KOA for a free performance by Tailor Made Fable a five-man group of up and coming artists from Quebec City who live onsite and act as park house-band. The performers and staff out-numbered the audience but the performance was remarkably good. Four guitars and drummer make an interesting collective. Hope they manage to survive the industry and each other. Jeans, it seems, still need to be skin tight but nowadays the belt line is barely above the crotch.

Day Seven

No armed visitors overnight. The drive today would have been more pleasant had the sun shown his face. Even so the Redbuds sparkled along the Trace with the bronze and yellow green of budding trees serving to provide background colour. The overlook at Water Valley was spoiled by the girder towers and wires of a hydro transmission line. Somehow I missed the cut-off for viewing the famous double arched bridge.

Driving into Nashville after the unobstructed drive along the trace was nerve-wracking. Drivers seemed to be rather polite in allowing others to make left turns between intersections but the pedestrians in downtown were downright rude.

Finding my way to the KOA Site in what I assume is East Nashville involved what seemed to be an endless drive along parkways and expressways. My GPS began the day by asking me to make a turn that led to a dead end, I thought I knew better but drove up to the cul de sac on miss-placed faith. Today it took me on a merry chase through Nashville.

Like so much of Tennessee and even the Grand Ole Opry this Campground suffered from flooding. Much of it looks newly rebuilt including the Main Building. The young staff were polite and smiling. I even got a guided tour to my campsite. The grounds are littered with spiny tree cones. The washroom looks new and modern. Already at 6 PM it’s starting to cool off.

Day Six

I’m in Redneck Hillbilly Country now and nothing brought that home stronger than the two good-old boys sitting around, one on a rocking chair, chewing the fat at the Collonwood Visitor Center. With all the overnight thunderstorms I slept restlessly and after getting caught up online managed to fall back to sleep this morning and nap until nearly 10:00. When I did start off managed to forget to unplug my landline. Fortunately I did no damage to it or the plug-in though I was somewhat embarrassed. This is only the second time I’ve done such a thing. Guess I’m getting used to boondocking in Trace Campgrounds that lack such utilities.

In my travels today I departed the State of Mississippi, crossed a corner of Alabama and entered the home of Bourbon, Tennessee. I stopped to get some fresh air and walk the Dogwood Valley Trail. Alas the flowers in the valley have not yet opened though there was lots of sign of erosion on the trail and a marker for a tree stump that sprouted new trunks which was no longer present. The rolling hills made me thankful I was driving and not biking those inclines though I saw two groups doing just that. I noted in passing milepost 333 making 3/4 of the 444-mile Trace. Mile 385.9 marks the Grinder Stand where Meriwether Lewis then governor of the area lost his life at age 35.

After taking so much effort to create campsites one would have thought the army corps of engineers would possess the ability to make the parking areas level for RV’s. To their credit there are signs of a great deal of effort being taken to improve the park including new picnic tables, new rail fences marking the Old Trace, new tree planting, and a roped off new visitor centre and large parking lot. I may not be particularly superstitious but I did not take site number 13. The drive up though only a mile and half seemed to take forever trapped behind someone babying their fifth wheel trailer over all the bumps. In the end they drove back out and left the park.

Tupelo: Day Four

Day four on the Trace for me was basically a seventy-four mile drive up to Tupelo. After escaping Jeff Busby Park I stopped long enough to heat some coffee and then hit the road. The one look-off I might have enjoyed appeared with too little warning to allow me to slow down and make the turn-off. Too many signs when you don’t want them and not enough when you do.

The Parkway Visitor Center at Tupelo Mississippi adjoins Parkway Headquarters. It has a reasonable collection of books on Black History, the Trace--though the official guide has yet to arrive, cookbooks, nature guides and various memorabilia. There’s a donation box in Plexiglas with slots for each state, Ontario, Quebec, and several off-continent countries. Packets of Confederate money are also on offer. The 12-minute introductory video was somewhat fanciful but at least free. The Park Ranger on duty was pleasant and seemed to know her stuff.

Drove down to the Campground at Barnes Crossing and learned I needed cash to do business which luckily I’d made sure I had. Kroger Grocery store down the road had an interesting assortment of food items including a deli counter with some delectable looking salads I couldn’t resist. Crawfish and crawfish boil not so much. After pausing over a bewildering array of house brand coffees settled on 100% Colombian which turned out to be a fortuitous choice. Jerk chicken it seems is not popular here either. Gasoline was $3.47 at the pump and I didn’t feel like driving around to look for a better price.

Settled in to catch up online and write some E-mail. It cooled off rapidly after the heat of the day and darkness ushered in some heavy thunderstorms which continued all day Saturday culminating in a large hale warning and tornado watch. Not sure I know what to do with that. I’ll be glad when it passes in an hour’s time. The weather seems to be cooling off and I’m headed in the wrong direction.

Day Three

It was so warm last evening I actually ran the generator for a time to cool down the RV. It was a warm evening made warmer by my having over-eaten earlier and by the mild sunburn on my shoulders I picked up while I was out reading. The gang of cyclists down the hill had a banjo and a boombox they’d carried with them and broadcast their joy to the neighbourhood for far too long. I slept well when I did get to sleep but remembered just before retiring that I needed to secure my bike on its stand a feat I accomplished in the dark.

Washed up dishes and performed my toilet before setting out to find a rest area to run my generator to make coffee without causing a disturbance. After breakfast I drove up to Jackson and into a north-end suburb to pick up a DVD at Best Buy. After having been spoiled with the freedom afforded by the Trace driving in city traffic was a pain. Got a copy of the Fighter and left it at that. Not noting a grocery store I resumed the Trace and continued on. I’ll shop in Tupelo. North of Jackson an impoundment of the Pearl River creates a large body of water that backs up for miles. At the north end of it I stopped to visit Cypress Swamp.

Tupelo/bald cypress swamps are home to specially adapted water-tolerant trees which grow ‘knees’ which help them breath when submerged. The trail here included a raised boardwalk through the swamp. I found only a few spring wildflowers blooming but the principle attraction escaped my notice until others pointed them out. I know for a fact that this well-fed specimen was live as I saw him scratch his tummy with his left front foot.

Beyond that point encountered road construction and a flagman who represented the first traffic impediment I’d met on the Trace. I missed the Mississippi Crafts Centre and later the Information Centre and Museum. This section of the trace is overburdened with traffic signs and warnings. The red clay hills and pastureland adjoining the Trace north of Jackson moved me to abandon my normal 30 mph pace and speed up to 50; especially after I was forced to pass a large bus type motor home whose owners were babying it over every little bump.

Jeff Busby Campground is an insult to the politician whose name it bears. Small and cramped hilly sites are crowded around the single washroom. It even boasts a campground host whose principle duty seems to be squeezing in as many campers as possible. I drove around three times before deciding, that must be it. Joined a neighbour for the walk along the adjoining trail to the height of land above. We photographed some dogwoods but weren’t impressed by the view from the top. For one night I decided I’d live without trying to lift my front wheels six inches off the ground to level my home, at least my head’s above my feet in bed.

Day Two

An evening spent around the fire with neighbours from Quebec City while I tried my broken French and they their broken English persuaded me to spend a second day at Rocky Springs. Accordingly I got my bike down after running the generator to heat my coffee, toast my bread, and recharge my batteries. Set out to explore the neighbourhood. Not much distinguishes the picnic area nearby, even the washroom is still closed for ‘winter’.

Up the hill adjoining Port Gibson Rd is the former village of Rocky Springs. Once a thriving community with 2000 slaves, artisans, a store, and cotton gin all that remains to show for the 2616 former residents are two rusting safes, a few cisterns, and the Methodist Church. It was heartening to read on the sign outside that it was still in weekly use for devine worship until I walked inside and learned that the final service last June 2010 was a desecration service. A tall brick building with large windows crumbling brick outline its eaves outside but the inside is well-kept, the former oil lamps electrified, an air conditioning unit sits outside and inside radiant propane heaters. The bell rope has been retracted, the organ is covered and only a guest register and donation envelopes for the Friends of Church who were formerly members remain. Just beyond the church is the cemetery which gives evidence that time treats both the grandest and rudest gravestones with equal impudence. A modern stone marks a death that occurred in 1903; most others are hard to read. I did catch the names Lum and Bobo.

So what killed the once thriving village. First the Civil War; then Yellow Fever brought back by the boys who returned?; the boll weevil; and finally bad land management. The fine loess soil that was blown here in post glacial times suffered severe erosion when cotton plantations occupied widespread areas; the parks service is still attempting to curb that process.

The remainder of my day was spent reading the materials I picked up at the park office and the guide book to the trace. Mid-afternoon I broke to grill jerk chicken. Looked for the rub in the store but ended up mixing my own.

The Natchez Trace--Day One

I went for a mile-long hike on the Original Trace today. Fortunately no highwaymen were lying in wait to rob me. The pathway is incised into the surrounding hills by up to 10 ft so lurking in ambush would be a simple matter. Being either a mad-dog or Englishmen I made the trip in the noonday sun. In shaded dells the May Apples are already in bloom and the wake robins are about to open. Among the fast leafing trees are sprays of white created by wild-growing dogwoods. The price one pays for all this largess so early in the spring: fire ants, cotton mouths, copperheads, and rattlesnakes. I also saw one rather well-fed feral cat. I’m embarrassed to have to admit ignorance of the bird calls here but one bird has been giving his triple call-note all through the heat of the day. I do recognize the call note of a hairy woodpecker. Flowers stay put and admit of closer examination. What first appeared to be Emeralds turned out to be sweet clover once I saw it in bloom.

Finding the starting point for the trace proved a bit of a challenge as my GPS gave me confusing signals. When I ignored it and followed the street signs I hit pay-dirt. The road itself is well-paved and stable creating a perfect ride and at 30 mph ample opportunity to sight-see. Anyone in more of a hurry can pass when they may. I still find it a bitter irony that the official guide to the Trace is out of print and the second edition comes out April 1st by which time I’ll have covered the 444 mile parkway. Today I finally broke down and picked up the Guide to cycling the Trace.

The Parkway passes through gently rolling countryside and has been constructed so that there are no stop signs or traffic lights along its length. Pull offs for picnic sites, garbage drops, and rest areas exist at regular intervals. My first major stop was for Emerald Mound. A pre-historic Native Burial Mound little exists today beyond the 30 foot mound with promontories at either end. Stands were the name given rustic inns located along the trace and at Mount Locust the best built of the lot has been restored. A self sufficient operation 51 slaves saw to the operation of a 150 acre farm. The house rests about a foot off the ground on 3-ft wide sassafras log pillars. Out back a rude stone stands in the slave cemetery.

Milepost 54.8 marks the Rocky Spring Campground. The campground has electrified washrooms with running cold water-no showers, paved parking areas and pull-throughs, picnic tables and grills, even a small amphitheatre and if you find one of the 22 sites available it’s free. No power mind you means no air conditioning and with the sun laying in and the temperature in the 80ies it’s warm for a northerner. My internal thermostat is adjusting slowly but it will be some time before it cools off sufficiently to allow me to sleep tonight. There was a fairly steady breeze today and one could hear the gusts arriving through the trees but with the setting of the sun comes dead calm. It would seem a sacrilege in this peaceful setting to run a generator so I made another cold salad supper. It was nearby my campsite that I found access to the Trace.

Life on the Mississippi

I learned today why I’ve spent the last four days watching tugboats push strings of barges up and down the Mississippi. That string of barges carries the equivalent cargo of a freight train 3 miles long or a fleet of transport trucks 35 miles long. No wonder the local railroad tracks are collecting weeds between their rails. The tugboat generates up to 10,000 horsepower and throws a stern-wave up to half a mile behind it. The string of barges it pushes is up to a quarter-mile long and 3 to 8 barges wide depending where on the river they are operating. Barges come in two shapes: rake and box. A rake is 195 feet and has a slanted bow to cut the water; a box is perfectly rectangular and 200 by 35 by 12 high. Five barges plus their tug are a quarter-mile. Not as romantic as a riverboat but they belch a lot less smoke and modern sonar makes the man with the knotted rope and weight who sounded the river obsolete. In any case the river here at 41 ft is a great deal deeper than the two fathoms that gave Samuel Clemens the call he heard at Hannibal. The army corps of engineers keep the river open.

Finding a campground beside the Mississippi River did not prove to be a problem even if the street names have been changed. River View RV Park and Resort in Vidalia, Louisiana as advertised lies inside the levee with a ring-side view of traffic on the river. Someone reversed the hot and cold water pipes on the shower I used but there was a sign. My site opposite the office resort complex was high traffic but the Wi-Fi signal was good. Traffic on the Mississippi was constant night and day.

My first trip to the Natchez Visitor’s Centre after crossing the mile-long bridge was under-whelming. The people on duty on a weekend knew less about the Trace than I and discovering that there was a charge for viewing the Welcome to Natchez Video was a real turn-off. I went back on Monday, parked and took the walking tour of Downtown Natchez. Lots of real estate for sale but way out of my league. Trinity Anglican/Episcopalian with its Tiffany! stained-glass windows was a wonderful sight. I’d love to have been at service for Easter there to hear their English State Trumpets (en chamade) located in the rear balcony. I’d have liked to have heard their pipe organ any time. I snuck into the St Mary’s Basilica for a peak even though it was closed for the veneration of the sacrament. The Presbyterian Church looked rather utilitarian but the historic photo collection that graced the chapel area was an eye-opener. One photo showed ladies’ bustles. There was a collection of grandly dressed southern belles, riverboats, stately homes, businesses. The home of a freed man who became the town barber is a National Park Site. I found it rather off-putting that a freed slave would engage in owning slaves himself.

On Sunday morning I bicycled up to the small Episcopalian Church of the Good Shepherd where a Deacon conducted service for about thirty people. Without intending to I created a sensation just by singing. It was a welcoming congregation in any case.

Entering Louisiana

This morning I set out and crossed the Sabine River entering Louisiana. Until I reached my first major highway the roads were narrow, without paved shoulders, winding, and passed through small towns, villages, and pine forests. These are not the pines with which I’m familiar in Canada but the clear-cuts behind the narrow bands of trees left along the highway were very familiar. In places not even that pretense was maintained. Highway 8/28 east, once I reached it was largely under reconstruction and hence restricted to a single lane in each direction. The smell of pine woods was frequently strong.

When I reached Alexandria I decided to stop at an Albertson’s Grocery Store. The good news is that the store recorded in MS Streets and Trips was still open and located where the electronic map said it was. I have made three observations after a few hours in this part of Louisiana. No one seems to feel it necessary to signal their intention to make a turn forcing someone attempting to make a turn to wait until they are certain what the guy coming the other way is going to do. In the mall parking lot no one felt it necessary to place their shopping carts in the corals provided, they just dumped them wherever they pleased. When I asked about succotash I got blank stares, apparently it is not popular in this part of the world. It seems on St Paddy’s day it is perfectly acceptable in this part of the world to pinch anyone caught not wearing something green. The only piece of green clothing I own is the tie I used to wear at work on March 17th back in Oakville. The girl in the flower section kindly gave me a strip of green ribbon. Guess I’m thankful I won’t be here for April Fools Day.

Alas not everything turns out to be where MS Streets and Trips says it is. On a lark I decided to stay tonight at the Paragon Casino RV Park as the price was right, they make their money off gamblers. It wasn’t until I struck out for the place following my GPS’ directions that I discovered it was 30 miles out of my way. Natchez and my next campground was only 70 miles distant at that point. The road paralleled a railroad on the right and just out of sight to the left a tributary of the Mississippi with crossroads leading to locks and dams. I travelled alternately beside swamps and farmland. The road was largely straight but seemed to go on forever. Gasoline in Louisiana runs as high as $3.55 and the few places as low as $3.35 had long line-ups outside them.

It was with some relief I finally noticed a small sign that read Paragon Casino 11 miles. At least I was actually on the right road. Casinos here are run by Indian Bands as in Canada and finding the RV Park amid the covered and open parking lots was a bit of an adventure. I’d looked at the map online in the past few days but.... When I finally found the campground office parking was 1000 ft from the door. The unsmiling overweight Native American Female who processed me demanded my drivers licence, my Good Sam’s Card and my Credit Card. She photocopied each after laboriously recording them on her computer station. She even commented on the fact that my Good Sam’s Card is expired, I won’t see the current card until I go through my mail back in Oakville next month. Only after I’d signed a good behaviour document did she return my plastic. At that I have to check back in before I leave before the transaction will be completed meaning that I can’t leave until the office opens again tomorrow. Oh, and Wi-Fi access costs $4 extra per day. Camping is an extra $5 on weekends.

One more disturbing note, the warning of what to do in the event of a tornado on the back of the rear view mirror hanger. No word of adverse weather here but there is a flood warning for the Mississippi in Natchez the end of next week. Having entered the State of Louisiana on a secondary road I have yet to encounter a Visitors’ Welcome Centre. The shuttle bus to the Casino makes regular circuits of the campground and does so 24-hours a day. The restroom facilities were clean and well appointed and the showers were free.

East Texas

I write you today from Whispering Creek Motel and RV Park two miles south of Newton Texas on Hwy 190 E a few miles from the Sabine River and the border with Louisiana. Across the road is Hickory Lane Apartments looking for all the world like a converted motel. I got off around 5:00 AM on Tuesday and after a few challenges finding my way through dark country lanes east of Austin found Highway 290, then 190 and my campground by noon.

Today, Wednesday, has been largely overcast though rain in this arid territory is always welcome. The local high school had to cancel its annual bonfire because of an open fire ban in the area according to the local paper I sat and read in the office. There’s a weekly from Newton, pop 2100; Jasper; and the Beaumont Enterprise, Wednesday through Sunday. When I explored the campground yesterday an 8-inch salamander was sunning himself on the stairway to the locked club room. The ‘Nature Trail’ is closed as the windfall crushing the bridge crossing the Creek makes amply clear. The muddy waterway actually is running though calling it a creek may be an exaggeration. Mind you I did hear frogs calling last evening.

I am pleased to report that I didn’t collect any beggars ticks on my pantlegs when I walked through the dry grass and I avoided the anthills lest they contain the dreaded fire ant. What I did find were flowering trailing blackberries, low growing dandelions, yellow-horned jasmine, and azalea shrubs in blossom. I’m not in Austin any more and nothing makes it plainer than the selection of radio stations--talk or country.

Count-Down to Departure

It may only be March 10th but spring has definitely sprung here and my time in Austin for another season is winding down rapidly. Easter is late this year hence Shrove Tuesday with its celebrations, pancakes, and Mardi Gras excesses has just given way to the Ash Wednesday and the sobriety of Lent. With insects starting to appear, trees and shrubs flowering and leafing out, spring bulbs in full show and annuals being planted I have retired my bird feeding station for the season giving up the war on squirrels. The Day of the Dead ended with some loud heavenly pyrotechnics and a brief show of torrential rain; picnicking in graveyards is not my idea of honouring the dead but it works for some people.

Since my last entry I’ve tried my hand at Jerking Chicken one more time and made Chicken Gumbo. Finally broke down and washed virtually every stitch of clothing I own, folded it and then attempted to find space to pack it all back in. It has been pleasant to see the Looney approaching $1.03 vs. the AMD not so nice watching gasoline approach $3.50 an American Gallon. Though I have yet to tour the Texas Capitol I did get to march on it with the Workers Defence Project carrying cardboard caskets to represent the 138 construction workers killed yearly in Texas.

Rode my bike of a Friday evening for a tour of U of T Campus. We were regaled by the usual collegian hi-jinks and lesser known tales of the founding of the great institution of learning that has expanded from its initial 300 students to the present 51,000. We learned how a run to the general store as the train north was leaving for a game led to the selection of the orange and white ribbons which came to represent the team colours. Having adopted the longhorn symbol Bevo, the Longhorn became the team mascot. A critter with 10-foot horns however did not make for a cuddly campus addition so the first Bevo ended up on the dinner plates at the Annual Football Banquet after he got too old and cranky to attend games. Even Texan students it seems, are practically minded.

As I write this comes word of a 8.9 earthquake off northern Japan. Anything much stronger would tend to destroy the seismograph that would measure it. The tsunami’s set off by the undersea earth movements did more damage in Japan than the actual quake indeed our own West Coast is still on watch bringing back to mind the warning signs, escape routes, and sirens so prevalent along the Pacific Coast Trail. I did not feel deprived at not feeling the earth move while I was in the area.

In other news the State of Wisconsin has declared war on unions while my own has put Canada Post on notice that it plans to take a strike vote. In Ontario the government has declared the TTC in Toronto an essential service. Must protect those subways. In sports comes word of yet another deliberate attempt to injure another hockey player. How long will what would be assault on a public thoroughfare be considered acceptable in a hockey arena? That the player walked away from the hospital two days later after sustaining a crushed vertebrae is testimony to good luck and superb conditioning.