There’s a monthly flea market at the Nashville State Fairgrounds. I used to go regularly, almost every month, although it’s been several years since I went. I’ve got more than enough fleas, but that’s another story.
I first started going before I had a driver’s license so I’d take the bus. The one thing about being a regular bus rider is there’s a lot of walking involved. Even now when I only take the bus home from, and occasionally to, work I have to walk to the right stop to get on and then walk home from where I get off. And sometimes I walk in the general direction of home to a different stop, because I know the bus will catch up with me, or I walk in the direction of downtown, where the bus is coming from, in the hopes of catching it that much sooner, although it usually only seems to make the bus run late.
The flea market is on the fourth weekend of every month and I don’t remember whether it was an odd month with five weekends and I’d missed it or whether it was only the third weekend and I was early. Either way I rode the bus out to the fairgrounds, got out, walked up the hill, and found the place was deserted. This was pretty strange. The fairgrounds have become a money pit and the city’s been through some controversial efforts to shut the whole place down and hand it over to developers who want to build luxury condos, but still it’s pretty heavily used. In addition to the flea market and annual state fair there are all sorts of trade shows. Just this last weekend there was a reptile show at a time when most reptiles are still hibernating.
I went back to the bus stop to wait for the bus which, on a Saturday, was scheduled to come every forty minutes. And then, after I sat there for a few minutes, I started walking back toward downtown. Aside from one spot, under an overpass where cars come speeding around the corner, it was a pretty easy walk along sidewalks past small old homes on small lots, starter homes dating, I think, from World War II. The yards were nice and mostly well-tended but, oddly enough for a Saturday, I didn’t meet anyone else. Gradually I made my way through an area known as The Gulch, which, at the time, was an industrial wasteland. It’s now a hip urban area with restaurants and haute couture.
Without ever seeing or being passed by the return bus I made it back to the bus depot. I clocked the entire trip at just about forty-five minutes and, when I checked Google Maps, I was surprised to find that meant I’d been moving at a pretty good pace: a mile every fifteen minutes.
Since then I’ve mostly driven to the flea market which provides a very different perspective from walking, even from riding the bus. One of these weekends I keep thinking I’ll go back, that maybe I’ll even walk there.