Living At Large at the Easton Book Festival

My mind was somewhere between drawing out the three pillars of my Tao and debating whether I was going to get more sausage when I got up to get more coffee when out of the corner of my eye I saw a large patch of dark back hair, the hairiest ass crack I’ve seen since the locker room after high school gym, and what looked like a back tattoo, cutting through the forest of hair like a b-movie explorer.

I was focusing on my eggs, sausage, and coffee. The breakfast at the Valley View Inn and Suites in Bethlehem, PA was a pretty good one. Scrambled eggs, sausage links, breakfast potatoes, the usual array of breads,spreads and jams, decent coffee. I appreciated that they didn’t try putting out biscuits and gravy. I am a bit of a snob about gravy, like I am about chili when it’s chili and not hot dog sauce. Having spent the majority of my adult life south of the World’s Great Wound, the Ohio River, I am particular about gravy. I also don’t eat it often, but that’s primarily because I’m 53 and need to be more thoughtful about what I’m eating and what I’m not eating. On the rare occasion Amanda makes gravy, I eat it: not just because she’s an amazing cook and her biscuits are out of this world, but also because the gravy is off the chain good. Gravy too far north tends to be flavorless pepper gravy. The exception to this rule is in midwestern farm country, especially the northwest corner of Illinois; the sausage is sage heavy rather than spicy, but delicious. 

No muss no fuss

The hotel was comfortable and not especially fancy. Clean and well maintained. Very little muss or fuss. Bethlehem is only about 20 minutes west of Easton on PA 22, a stretch of road that made me wonder if road rules were simply different in Pennsylvania or if I’ve always been a slightly aggressive driver. By and large, no one knows how to merge into traffic from an off ramp there, and I’m not entirely sure why. Notwithstanding my issues with traffic, the time my road dog Frogg Corpse and I spent at the Easton Book Festival was amazing. I had to scramble a bit to get the cash together to make that trip; this involved taking a little money out of a retirement account I’d started with my old business a few years back but hadn’t really done much with. Being itinerantly employed since October 24, 2025 has had a cost; primarily my credit rating and my ability to save against the future, the concern about either not being a natural inclination for me. 

When I was much younger, I’d have just gone and worried about sleeping when I got there; but I’m trying to remember that, whenever possible, having a bed to sleep in and access to at least one meal a day is a good thing. So is a shower. 

And I had to be ready to put on a good show. In addition to some amazing open mics, where I got to share the mic with an amazing array of poets including Frogg Corpse, E Lynn Alexander, Darrell Parry, and Linda Kleinbub, C.O. Moed, and Phillip Giambri, I was rolling out The Tao of Outlaw Publishing for a second, and final (for this year, anyway) time. I’m not much of a people pleaser but I do feel a sense of obligation when people who don’t know me well express some faith in my ability to do what I say I’m going to do. I wanted to do well. And, like most every other time when I travel, I don’t always sleep well after the first night. 

Breakfast Etiquette

It’s entirely possible he thought we were scrubs… what the juggalos used to call societal outcasts. We are poets, and I do drive a car that looks like it’s survived multiple driveby graffities.

My mind was somewhere between drawing out the three pillars of my Tao and debating whether I was going to get more sausage when I got up to get more coffee when out of the corner of my eye I saw a large patch of dark back hair, the hairiest ass crack I’ve seen since the locker room after high school gym, and what looked like a back tattoo, cutting through the forest of hair like a b-movie explorer. Frogg, who is himself tattooed but not nearly so hirsute, had apparently drawn the attention of the man, now and forever remembered in the annals of history as The Juggalo Sasquatch.

I’d seen him outside smoking with a woman. They were clearly traveling together. When I asked Frogg what happened to elicit such a reaction from the man, he only told me that not only was the tattoo a juggalo hatchet man, but a camouflaged juggalo hatchet man. It’s entirely possible he thought we were scrubs… what the juggalos used to call, and may for all I know still call,  societal outcasts. We are tattooed poets, and I do drive a car that looks like it’s survived multiple driveby graffities. We went on about our day, and had a wonderful day at the book festival. When we returned later in the evening, the female companion of Juggalo sasquatch was outside smoking a cigarette. 

“How was your day?” she asked me. 

I answered in a friendly, non-committal way. It had been a good day. Some good panels, some good thoughts, very good coffee at Tapestry, a wonderful coffee shop and bar there on Northampton in the heart of Easton.  Socializing exacts a heavy toll on me and I was needing the quiet of the room, a few hours of non-verbalizing, and maybe some dinner. Frogg was in a similar state. I can’t over-emphasize how important it is that you find some equilibrium with the people you travel with. Not everyone travels well. Not everyone travels well with other people. Frogg and I had done some short road trips before taking on the 11 hour drive to northeast Pennsylvania, so I pretty much knew how traveling with him would go; but you don’t get to know someone on the road until you’re actually on the road with them. Frogg, like me, has a shallow well of social energy he can draw from. We were both needing to not be social for a while. 

When we got back to the room I thought, Fuck. Are we friends with Mr. and Mrs. Sasquatch now? 

Then I realized I said it out loud. I knew it was probably unkind. She seemed nice enough, in comparison to Juggalo Sasquatch who had a look behind his eyes that I would call mildly aggressive. That’s not to say I was especially worried about him being aggressive towards either Frogg or me. But I do take note of such things. And I also wondered about the daily life of the now monikered Mrs. Sasquatch. 

“You have to write that now,” Frogg said while trying not to fall down laughing. I knew he was right. Unkind or not, I was tied to the observation.

Paying Attention

Our future interactions were brief and friendly. I started to look for signs that she wasn’t ok. Maybe unfair, but I’ve seen too many situations in which women are stuck with a low-rent psycho and don’t know how to get out. It’s one of the methods by which women in this country are trafficked: one hairy or not angry guy who is willing to trade time with the “love of his life” for a packet of ramen noodles or a run to a McDonald’s drive thru. I didn’t see anything that made me think she was being held against her will. 

I don’t always act kind, but I do pay attention. And after paying attention, I understood more why they hoped maybe we could all be friends. We all stuck out among the other guests at the hotel. I tend to take on a feral look when I’m out on the road for more than a couple of days. Frogg always looks a little feral. Most everyone else at the Valley View Inn and Suites were more towards the yuppie end of the scale. Frogg always looks the way you think someone artistic and gothically inclined should look. I always look like I just stepped off a 20 hour bus ride.

We didn’t see them the morning we left, but it was early. After all, it was at least an 11 hour drive westbound, over the mountains and back down to the lower Ohio River Valley.

 

[originally published at: https://eymick.substack.com/p/juggalo-sasquatch-lives-in-bethlehem]