Greenbrier 2/2

Traveling the World with Christie Cruise and Travel Masters
Alison Christie

In my article in last week's Beacon, I wrote about the world famous Greenbrier, located in the Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia. I recounted the story of my first trip to the Greenbrier at 24 years old and participating in the many tournaments that the C & O Railroad Suppliers Group sponsored. I played in the tennis tournament, the bridge tournament and decided I would give the trap and skeet shooting tournament a try. Visit www.ashlandbeacon.com to read last weeks' story. I ended the story last week telling of my first time ever shooting a shot gun and my superior shooting ability at the skeet range on Kate's Mountain. I had the help of an elderly gentleman at the Gun Club, whom I affectionately called "Good Old Mr. Kate's Mounntain", for giving me instruction on how far to lead the clay pigeons at each station. My first ever round of skeet was shot and I broke 21 out of 25 sporting clays! Now, for the rest of the story.

Lest my readers think I am bragging here, first let me say that I am most definitely not. In last weeks' article, I wrote it was probably pure dumb beginners luck and most definitely the help of my new friend, Good Old Mr. Kate's Mountain, who seemed liked he believed in me. But, the rest of the story is I have gone shooting since then and I'm lucky if I break the sporting clays 60% of the time. Not that I do this very often, maybe 4 other times in my life, but it was dumb, blind luck the time at The Greenbrier.

Fast forward, back in time to that day later on after the skeet tournament. I had to hustle and get ready for the Saturday night dinner and dance, having spent the entire day on Kate's Mountain at the Gun Range, at the tennis courts in the tennis tournament (which I thought may be one of the winners - it was a round robin event and we would know at the end of the evening at the Dinner/Dance) and the bridge tournament (I was NOT one of the winners, probably lucky they didn't kick me out. At that point in my life I knew how to bid, I knew how to recognize if my partner had a no trump hadn, a few more sophisticated things, but, these ladies LIVED to play bridge. They were vicious. My tennis opponents were mere kittens compared to this group of lady lionesses.) Anyway, I digress. I took a quick shower, put on my makeup, fixed my hair, and put on my long, strapless ball gown. Ready for a quick look in the mirror before we leave and "Oh My Gosh! What have I done! There is a bruise on my shoulder and arm the size of a cantaloupe. It is already turning purple. Quickly going over in my head trying to figure out what I could have done to cause such a bruise. Then the light bulb goes off in my head. The shotgun. The kick of the shotgun. Now that I have time to slow down and the adrenaline rush of the day is wearing off, yep, my arm is hurting quite a bit. Horror of all horrors. I can handle the pain, but the bruising in a strapless gown is just not acceptable. No, no, no. I tried covering it up with makeup, powder, nothing helped. Since I did not bring another long gown (formal attire was a must for the evenings' event), I figured that I must soldier on. But all that I could think about was those ladies who brought their own shotguns with them, in their beautiful cases (this was in my first story) and whome probably annihilated all 25 out of 25 of those sporting clays, and how they would be laughing at me, thinking "Greenhorn". Oh well, such is my life, I think. But, after all, I am at The Greenbrier. Really, how bad can life be.

I hold my head high through the cocktail hour, hoping chardonnay would make the bruise go away (it didn't...but it was helping with the pain) and dutifully answer the question of "How in the world did you get that bruise, honey?" for the umpteenth time when the ballroom doors were open for dinner. Dinner goes by in a blur and now time for the awards ceremony. They start with the winners of the Golf Tournament (of course) and they had several different categories that a person could be a winner. Then comes the tennis tournament. They have a Men's and Women's Tournament Champion, determined by the number of games you won during the round robin event. They announce the gentlemen who won first. Then they announce the lady winner and....it was Alison Christie. Woohoo. I make my way upfront to get my price, which is wrapped in a box so I am not sure what it is. I head back to my table to wait on announcements for the other winners. The Bridge winners are announced and here comes the trap and skeet winners. First place winner in the Trap shooting contest is...Alison Christie! What? Me? I only broke 18 of those little pigeons when I shot trap. That was my warmup before the Skeet contest. What I later find out is no one else entered the trap contest. Hehe. Apparently, trap is not as prestigious as skeet and the other ladies didn't want to waste their time or perhaps tire their arm shooting both. As my arm is now throbbing, I can see the logic in that thought process. So, up I go to collect my trap prize (no one else knows that I am the only one who entered) and back again to my table, amidst much congratulations from my fellow tables mates, mostly Ashland Oil executives who attend this event as well. Time for the Skeet winners, they announce the winner of the men, and I am wondering if I will remember if the winner of the women was one of the women who brought their own gun. I am hoping it isn't. I don't know why, that sounds a little mean but those women just acted very snobbish and condescending to the other women. As all of these thoughts are going through my head, I here "Alison Christie" being announced from the podium. I'm still kind of in a daze and my husband, John, has to poke me and say "Alison, you won!" "What? Skeet? NO WAY!, I'm thinking. But up I go and at this point, people are look at my like, wow, who is she? She has won 3 out of the 5 events for women. Or maybe, they have just zeroed in on my bruise, which has blossomed into quite the beautiful shade of purple. I'll never know.

I wish I could just end the story here. But I cant. It gets better. Well, actually, it gets worse. I go back to the table, dancing is starting, people are enjoying dessert and coffee and I decided to open my prizes to see what I won. I open the first one, and inside the tissue paper, very neatly wrapped is a beautiful silver tray, engraved with the particulars of the event that I won. As everyone is admiring the tray, the tissue paper that was wrapped around the trap falls on the small votive candles on the table and goes up in flames. Some quick thinking Ashland Oil Ex (if you are readying this, let me know who you are. I have forgotten or perhaps have chosen to block out part of this night) grabbed what was left of the tissue paper and flung it on the ground. It happened so quickly, I don't think any of the staff saw it. If they did, they chose to ignore it rather than embarrass their guests. It actually burned a small plate size hole in the carpet. And the worst part was several hunks of the tissue paper that was floating in the air that wasn't burned, landed in the hair of one of the older gentlemen that was sitting beside me. He had a very thorough comb over hair do and I didn't know what to tell him. Do I pick it out for him? Would that further embarrass him? I am almost already to the point of hysterical laughter, not the funny kind but the other kind. So, I chose, retreat. I bid everyone a goodnight. And took my bruised body and my well-eaerned hardware with me.

As always, safe travels and Godspeed.
Alison