On September 21, 1993, Nirvana released the “In Utero” album, the long awaited follow up to “Nevermind” (“Incesticide” being a collection of old singles, outtakes and b-sides). Nirvana had been my favorite band since 1991, I never wavered on that like the other Pearl Jam and Soundgarden jerks I knew. My close friend had his mom take him to get the cassette, something I knew I wouldn’t be able to contrive due to my mom’s disdain for my interest. He let me borrow the tape for a little while, but I feverishly yearned to have a copy of my own.
One weeknight while my dad was out of town for work, my mom and my older sister were headed out somewhere for the evening, and I hatched a plan. My hometown of Aurora didn’t have anywhere where you could buy music, the closest option was the neighboring city of Solon. I not-so-subtly asked my mom what time they would be home, and I calculated that I could ride my bike to a store in Solon, buy the album, and make it back home before they got back.
Right after they left, I put on my Cleveland Browns jacket and began to pedal like hell. They had recently built a housing development that acted as a bit of a shortcut to Solon, something I had noticed the previous year when carpooling with my friend and his dad when we both went to summer school at the Solon High School. Something I didn’t count on was a light rainfall occurring, but it was now or never.
After turning the corner out of the development, I started down the main stretch towards my destination, Route 91. The rain was picking up a bit, and there didn’t seem to be a ton of street lights to help out. It’s probably in my mind, but I seem to recall semi-trucks and their horns going “BERRRRNNN!!!” at me while passing to my left in the pouring rain. I eventually got to market area where I went to Blockbuster Video* and got my grubby wet hands on the album. As soon as the deed was done, I got right back on the horse and headed back.
I got back in plenty of time, but I made the mistake of leaving my jacket out in our living room. My mom took one look at the wet, muddy splatter all over the back of my jacket and angrily demanded an explanation. I told her that I inexplicably decided to go out and ride my back around in the immediate neighborhood while she and my sister were out. “Oh, so THAT’S why you wanted to know when we were coming back,” she growled. In retrospect, while this was better than the truth, I’m not sure how normal it seems for someone to lie in wait for a parent to leave so they could maniacally ride their bike around in circles while it rains, but she bought it, and that’s the important thing.
Included here are pictures of the tape, as well as my route to Solon. In the past when I’ve told people this story, they often say “You rode your bike from where to WHERE?,” but if you look at the map it’s only around a half an hour. One short P.S. for the tape - as we were a church going family, I did attend Sunday School, and one Sunday morning when the teacher (or whatever) was out of the classroom, I put the tape in the player they had there just to be an obnoxious cool dude. During the outro of “Heart-Shaped Box,” the pastor’s daughter got up and angrily pressed stop on the player, which caused a little damage on the tape which can still be heard on it today.
*This didn’t seem to make sense, so I was wondering if my memory was failing me, but I looked it up and there was a time starting in 1992 where they would sell music, not sure how long that lasted.