Column: Making it in Missoula

Tailgating in Many Forms

By Big Sis, 10-17-06

TAILGATE
As a noun:
1a. A hinged board or closure at the rear of a vehicle, such as a pick-up truck, that can be lowered during loading and unloading.
2a. One of the pair of gates downstream in a canal lock.

As a verb:
1b. To drive so closely behind (another vehicle) that one cannot stop or swerve with ease in an emergency.
2b. To participate in a picnic that is served from the tailgate of a vehicle, as before a sports event.

*from American Heritage Dictionary

Other than the downstream gates on a canal lock, I explored all of these definitions of “tailgate” this weekend. Here’s a run-down of the outcome.

1a:
My truck’s tailgate no longer closes after Little Sis’ Homecoming tailgate party.

1b:
I was not able to “stop or swerve with ease” on my bike while tailgating a large truck on my way to aforementioned tailgate party. This led to my debut as a junk show bike wreck on the corner of Broadway and Van Buren.

After hitting the curb artfully at full speed, I splayed out painfully on the asphalt, spilling my coffee on passersby, rolling bocce balls through the road, and losing my battered cowboy hat in the wind. Did I mention there were hundreds of people heading past my junk show on their way to the Homecoming game? Several game-goers passed me by (as I lay prone and moaning on the asphalt) before one couple stopped to help.

FYI: The reason I was tailgating a truck while on my bicycle is due, in large part, to my silly shenanigans the night before. A series of poor decisions on Friday—starting with walking to the Kettlehouse after work and ending with lots of uncoordinated dancing at the Union Club—left me with a heck of a hangover on Saturday morning. However, I knew Little Sis was counting on me to help set-up her first annual Homecoming Tailgate Party, and I was in a hurry to get to campus.

Probably, if not for my spongy, alcohol-soaked brain, I would never have attempted to bike fast with heavy bocce balls slung over one shoulder, a bag full of food slung over the other, and cup full of brain-clearing coffee in hand.

2b:
On game day, after the junk show bike wreck, I participated in a “picnic” of chips, salsa, brownies, and bratwursts (all before noon) on my tailgate (which is now broken) in a parking lot on campus.

In the past, I’ve always avoided the University of Montana’s Homecoming weekend. Don’t get me wrong—football is my favorite sport and I’m proud to be a UM alum. But something about the single-minded fervor of Griz fans, the willy-nilly candy-throwing at the parade, and the overarching goal of most folks to get as drunk as possible before noon just makes me want to run and hide in the mountains.

But this year Little Sis was in the picture. Upon hearing that few of her friends in Missoula had ever attended 1) a Griz tailgate, or 2) a Griz football game, Little Sis undertook a massive planning effort to coordinate food, folks, champagne, beer, BBQ grills, games, music, and—yes—even a piñata for the Homecoming game.

Her tailgating experience stems from four years at UCLA, where tailgating takes place at the Rose Bowl, and entails hundreds of people gathering at one person’s tailgate (definition 1a), lots of mysterious alcoholic “punches,” and bizarre lawn games. Her experience paid off and tailgate was pretty darn fun, even though I avoided the beer and mimosas like the plague. The highlight was watching those who didn’t avoid the mimosas dizzily whacking the piñata with a purple tennis racket.

I’m glad I didn’t run for the hills this Homecoming, and that Little Sis encouraged me to see UM’s annual extravaganza. It was different than I expected—more down-home, I guess. And certainly unique to Missoula.

Even through my hangover glaze and bike wreck pain, I was awed by the crowds, the fall colors, the Griz colors, and the all-around love-fest that spilled from the stadium to the streets and back to my tailgate. Chili bowls sat alongside tofu veggie dogs, and monster RVs parked near Toyota hybrids. U.S. senators marched next to goats, and children and adults alike squealed in glee at the floats.

All in all, I found tailgating (the picnic) novel, and just about worth the banged-up knee and defunct truck latch. Anyone else have tidbits to share from Homecoming weekend or past tailgating (in any of its grammatical forms)?

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

“This magpie just kept pecking her leg, but she wouldn’t wake up.”
- Overheard as I passed a group walking in Greenough Park.

Read the previous Making it in Missoula column: Cursor Controlled Winks

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