Texas Ren Fest

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The sexy granny and I have returned from another jaunt. Circumstances dictated that we truck, rather than motorcycle, far to the north of I-10, across US 290 and into the wild lands northwest of Houston, TX, where we attended Highland Fling weekend at the 35the annual Texas Renaissance Festival.

We arrived at the festival campgrounds, late, Friday night, but we’re no rookies when it comes to pitching a tent in near dark and home away from home was soon established in the “quiet family area”. The other campgrounds might be named the “rowdy revelers area”, I’m not certain.

Saturday morning, we moseyed on down to New Market town. Of all the themed weekends at TRF, the Highland weekend is the best attended. As we entered, King Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon officially opened the festival. That Henry is some snappy dresser, by the way.

We made our way over to the arena, where Highland games were scheduled and found this pipe and drum trio.

The games are a modern contest of strength and skills used in battle. Shown are examples of men “tossing the caber” (KAY-bur). Originally the caber was used to facilitate the scaling of English castle walls. The pole is flipped end over end (to clear the moat) and comes to rest leaning upright against a castle wall. Other games such as stone tossing (like shot put), hay bale tossing (originally burning bales tossed over English castle walls) and an event similar to the hammer throw originated as means to help kill the English. The contests are similar to the carburetor throw and beer keg toss seen at some biker rallies. You got to keep your hand in, you know?

A few hours later, we witnessed other games played by later warrior cultures in the form of the joust. The riders and horses are all accomplished Another element of fun is added by dividing the crowd into German, English, Spanish and French cheering sections who support their knight and boo the others.

Below, you see the English and Spanish knights going at it.

Of course, all over New Market there are musicians, dancers and other entertainment, such as the famous, Ded Bob Show.

and these Irish rouges.

For those who can’t fling, there are dance lessons and then a contest.

This lad was having such a good time he didn’t even notice when the music ended.

After the dancing, we wandered past the Executioner and his helper. And folks wonder why the Highland weekend is so popular.

Now, this was Highland Fling weekend, but there were still a good number of gypsies, barbarians, Cavaliers and, God bless them, belly dancers.

A Spaniard and an American head the Shunyata Bellydance troupe up. Their movements were very subtle and appealing and the music and choreography flawless.

Here, the each dancer balances a scimitar on her hip,

and, then, on her head.

Entertainment is only part of the attraction of the festival; craftsmen demonstrate pre-Industrial Age production.

These women make thread

and this woman uses it to make cloth.

This smith and his helper make tools.

The bellows on the forge is driven by this water wheel.

By this time I was developing a hankering for some gumbo in a bread bowl and we began our meander toward the vendor who vends such. On the way we were fortunate enough to catch a performance by the group, “Circa Paleo”, featuring the beautiful gypsy violinist.

It’s good to be a fiddler.

If you’ve never eaten gumbo in a bread bowl, you are missing out. We found a bench under a tree and people watched while we renewed our strength. This couple sat near us and I couldn’t help but admire him and his girl who wore a wonderful leather choker with large dog collar spikes. They stood out in a crowd of traditionally garbed Highlanders but, at the same time, seemed a natural part of the scene.

Next stop was the “Agora”, Greek for a “gathering place”, where we gathered with other folk to enjoy another belly dance show. We’d seen these folks on a previous trip. The troupe is the baby of a talented Egyptian composer/musician/emcee and is a little more “cabaret” in nature, as opposed to the Shunyata group we’d seen earlier, and included skits and a ‘battle of the belly dancers’ between the new girl and a rival.

We had time before the close of the weekend’s festivities, time well-spent having desert, ogling the fairy women and barbarian girls and admiring the mini kilts worn by some of the Highland womenfolk. Jill shopped.

As darkness fell we returned to the jousting arena to witness an amazing fireworks display accompanied by the music of the rockin’ pipe and drum band, “Tartanic”.

Now, that was the official close of the Festival, but certainly not the end of fun and games. The huge campground I characterized as the “rowdy revelers area” saw reveling into the wee hours. That hot granny and I wandered around till my hooves were sore.

One of the things that fun to watch is the fire breathers and fire whirlers (I guess you’d call them).

This fearless young woman breathed fire then took a turn at whirling fire, as well.

We watched some of the guys (who wore a whole lot more clothing on their upper bodies) and witnessed these tents going up, inflated by the heat of the fires placed beneath them.

Jill had carried her bodhrán, (a flat Irish drum), and wanted to join the drummers at a large bonfire. While they drummed, revelers dance around the fire, getting in touch with some basic self and blowing off the steam of the everyday. I sat on a big log, rested my feet and enjoyed the spectacle.

We’re alive and in Texas.

Hangin’ at the Blue Marlin Saloon

Things have been pretty slow, here, at the end of the block, but we’d got a call from our friend, singer/songwriter Pete Devlin (aka “English Pete”, aka “Pedro”) to be musical accompaniment at an event benefiting one of the locals, Saturday.  Besides having a good time playing music with Pete, this was also an opportunity to work off a little karma.

We arrived at the Blue Marlin bar a little early and spoke with some folks and looked around.

Bikes were already lined up across the street from the crowded parking lot, the riders inside signing up for the poker run.

.

Decent folk were still in church and motorcyclists had streets nearly to themselves.

Chris, who hosts a jam session at the Blue Marlin, volunteered his sound equipment and tent so, along with   high clouds, low wind and temperature (82°F/ 27.7°C), we had it made in the shade.

At sixty past noon, Pete kicked things off, and while some folks were poker running others enjoyed barbecue and shopped the auction items, some store bought or donated, some hand crafted.

We finished and cleared the bandstand only to find that the next pickers were running behind so another talented sing/songwriter, Harley racer and Renaissance man, Dan Brodhag  (aka “Dano”) was persuaded to entertain in the meantime.

I don’t get much opportunity to play music with Dan, so when he asked if I’d care to accompany him I jumped at the chance.

I don’t see most of these folks as often as I’d like to so Jill and I hung out and socialized, some.
One of the bikers from across the bay, who is of my generation, introduced me to a young couple he had in tow who are new to motorcycling.  The young woman told him she hadn’t known that bikers “do so much”.  He’s been showing them around, like that old tramp who schools the young, passing down the traditions; they are in good company.

A good day, all told.  We were able to help one neighbor while entertaining others.  We’re lucky that way.

Sunday, it rained.

My Backwater

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Sunday, I watched a gifted amateur photographer take some pictures at a local hospital.  He’s entered a contest, the subject of which is breast cancer awareness. The sexy granny and our friend, Jo, were two of seven people who volunteered to don hospital gowns and help out.
Since the plan o’ the day included a ride to supper, we arrived at the hospital by motorcycle (not that Jill would have caged, anyhow).

Once the shooting was done, we shot across to Mustang Island and rode through Port Aransas to the ferry landing.  We had only a sketchy idea of our destination.

Now, recently, I’ve received a couple of comments critical of the way I’ve illustrated my posts for the past month, or so. I quote:
“…need more pictures of the sexy granny and none of you.”
and:
“BTW, I noticed there were no pretty girls in your pics this time. Not even the sexy granny got a word from ya? You dead? “

Well, both of these comments come from folks who I’ve ridden with and who know Jill so I decide that, this trip around the bay, I’d try to accommodate them.

Bikes don’t wait at the Port A. ferry but since outbound traffic was light the traffic directors put us in line.  I got Jo off the big yella bike and had her stand next to Jill for a photo.  The flagger was trying to get out of the shot when Jo started taking off her jacket; maybe he thought it was best not to be evidence in whatever  we were up to, but I reassured him.

And here, my friends, you have the flower of Texas womanhood.  There might be some as good, but there ain’t none better.

When boarding the ferry, a deckhand tells you where to park and they’ve become pretty rigid about rules on the boat, with extra security, and all, and the bikes cannot be left unattended. For some reason, he put Jill and I in different lanes so Jill had to sight see from the saddle.  She’s looked over the rail countless times so, if there’s no dolphins about, she’s cool with it.

Jo, on the other hand, wandered over by the rail to take in the view.

Exiting the ferry, we made our way through Aransas Pass and on up the coast to Rockport-Fulton. I decided it was probably time to pick a restaurant so I suggested our old stand-by, Alice Faye’s.

We always have fun with the waitresses at Alice Faye’s, the view is nice and the food is great.  They don’t have any trouble brewing fresh coffee for hungry motorcyclists, either.

Looking over where the shrimp boat, “Jackie Tam” is docked, we could see someone repairing the nets, maybe Jackie, himself.  The object that looks like a large wooden pallet is a
Turtle Excluder Device (called a “Ted”).  TEDs are designed to keep  turtles, especially the endangered “Kemp’s Ridley Turtle” from being drowned in the nets.  The 1987 Federal  order for fishermen to use them was very controversial and tempers ran high in this part of the world.

It’s said that “Time’s fun, when you’re having flies” and as we let the day slip away from us the moon rose over the water as round and red as a freshly spanked behind. It was time to wend our ways home.