What better way to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day than to attend the sixty-second annual ULTIMATE Sport and RV Show? Well, there probably are better ways; but this is how Earl and I spent the day.
It was clear and crisp when we pulled out of our driveway at 8 AM this morning to drive the eighty some-odd miles to DeVos Place, the exhibition center in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where the Ultimate was being held. We had reason.
Last August we went fishing at Wollaston Lake Lodge in upper Saskatchewan, Canada. It’s a wonderful place which, in Columbus’s day, would have been considered the edge of the universe. We spent five glorious days fishing pristine waters pure enough to drink and five glorious evenings sitting around a fire swapping stories with other fisherpersons and breathing the cold night air. We were so charmed that we signed up to return this summer. Our new friends, the owners of Wollaston Lake Lodge, were exhibiting at the Ultimate, which was the main reason for our interest in the show.
We found their booth, renewed acquaintances, and reveled in anticipation of our return visit this August. Then we went up and down the aisles of the Ultimate to see what else was on display.
By nature, I am not particularly an outdoors person, unless you consider weeding a sport. I don’t hike, hunt, or cook food over an open fire. My idea of roughing it is Holiday Inn Express. So whenever I go to these shows or visit stores that cater to the real outdoorsperson, I’m always aware of a world outside my own. It’s full of boats and motors, a gazillion different fishing lures, offers of bear hunting expeditions, men hawking cookware, and miserable food. I’m not necessarily proud to report I succumbed to the last two things. I can’t wait for my mega-hundred-dollar skillet to arrive; however, the hot dog I had is history.
This particular exposition also had an unusual display of taxidermied animals; and, while I’m uncomfortable killing animals for sport, I must admit these mounts were exquisite. There was also an explanation of the art of taxidermy and the various categories that its devotees fall into. I was impressed.
We roamed the exhibition hall for about four hours, which is pretty good for Earl. He can do the entire Art Institute in Chicago in forty-five minutes. After that, we went down the street to eat at a local bar that had come recommended. Unfortunately, the recommendation will not be passed on. We overlooked green beer — remember this is St. Patrick’s Day — for a real Irish treat: Guinness. And we ordered burgers to accompany it. We didn’t order the loud female guest who sat behind Earl and laughed loudly enough and regularly enough to be heard in the next state. Maybe it was holiday cheer that spurred her on; I only know we ate in record time.
Guinness in the early afternoon meant I took a nap on the way home, while Earl found his way back to St. Joseph. For the record, I dreamt of my new skillet and hoped it would turn me into a better cook. However, I still don’t plan to cook over an open fire
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