A first taste of Americana

One of the first things that struck me about Boulder was how quickly people I met liked to observe how dissimilar the town is from the rest of the US. In much the same way as lazy Brits in my experience tend to adopt the scarily reductionist view of America as consisting of Manhattan and California with a vast cultural wasteland in between. Boulder’s locals are excessively proud of their socio-political isolationism, so much so that their identity is framed in direct opposition to America’s perceived national status quo. Perhaps this no bad thing- it's not for me to say. It did however remind me of something Bill Clinton once said when speaking on the subject of contemporary societal problems. His contention was that the single biggest tragedy of our age was that individuals choose to define themselves not by the 95% similarity they share with their fellow man but by the 5% difference- be that religious, political or whatever. It’s a view with which I’m inclined to agree.

Why does this trouble me? Well perhaps it’s because it led me to speculate on the attitude of Londoners. I think we also tend to see ourselves as occupying a distinct universe, separate from that inhabited by the rest of Britain. From our rarefied atmosphere the world’s troubles are easily dismissed as the result of ‘others’ or worse still the result of the ill-educated masses. Consequently we see them as something we have little ability to affect. I believe it’s easier to adopt the comfortable illusion of ‘futility’ rather than engage with the more probable albeit veiled underlying reality of self-imposed ‘apathy’. Perhaps rather than meagerly complaining to strangers about America/Britain’s ills or the failings of our President/PM we should expend more effort exercising our democratic right to protest and vote for that matter. If there is one addendum to Clinton’s polemic above it’s the endemic prevalence of political apathy amongst Western Europe in 21st century.

So anyway, Boulder believes it isn’t part of America. Well I discovered you needn’t go far to find real Americana. The outskirts of Denver as it turns out has it by the bucket load. A few days ago I attended the ‘Maxxis Endurocross’ dirtbike racing event with some friends (or buddies as they’re called in America). It was a blast. There were small children with extraordinary mullets, fannypack wearing dads with short shorts and flat-tops, and pregnant mums called Mary-Beth and the suchlike draped in balling tots. The noise of snarling engines was deafening, the cloying air was thick with an intoxicating smell of high-octane gasoline CFCs and the arcs of hot muck flung up walls by studded motorcycle tyres were exhilarating to watch. I cheered and shouted, whooped and hollered and wore my Baseball hat with unreserved glee. I also realised just how difficult the American National anthem is to sing in public. Spanning so many octaves it is quite the easiest song to convincingly murder. All things considered it was a fantastic night.