Archive for January 2008
Family Tradition
Our guitar picker, Darryl, as his dad calls him, also plays with another band, Johnson Grass. Two of their band members have known their ways around Harley-Davidson motorcycles since “magneto” was a household word. So, with the hot granny and I being stone Honda riders, you can see why Darryl turned up on our doorstep astride a
Yamaha V-Star.
OK, maybe that is, truly, “neither here, nor there”, but playing rally gigs and associating with bikers sparked an old passion.
Yep, Darryl is one of those who rode “back in the day” and has a reawakened interest in riding.
I’ll tell you, it’s gratifying to see someone with his fresh enthusiasm for motorcycling. He even has that new rider smell.
He has taken a thoughtful approach to re-entering the motorcycling world, too, putting hours and miles in the saddle at his own speed, riding his own ride, building confidence in himself and familiarizing himself with his machine.
Now, he says, he’s ready to join the party, so, Saturday having dawned as clear and cold as predicted, we rode around the bay to Ingleside to support the
“Bikers for Baija 5th Annual Memorial Run” benefiting the
South Texas Children’s Home. Baija was a little girl lost to violence; her family organizes the event.
This was my first time to attend. There were club members and independent riders from all around the local area and from as far as 90 miles away, bundled up against the chill wind, come to ride the 160 mile poker run and participate in the auction in support of the Home the Simmons family.
It goes without saying that an important part of any fund raiser in Texas is great barbecue.
Darryl and I took off in between groups of riders, he, being less experienced, in the lead, ready for me to critique his technique and offer riding tips.
Along the way, we had a good time meeting and talking with other riders and the locals. At a stop in Fulton, near Copano (CO-pan-o) Bay, we got our first ever exposure to belt sander racing.
Yes, that’s the end of an accordion you see, blurred by the speed of its trip past he camera via belt sander.
The belt sanders run in a wooden trough. Shower curtain hangers strung on wire allow the green extension cords to play out as the sanders race down the track. It seemed like some dream born of beer, boredom and youthful experience with slot cars come true.
Our need to be back in Ingleside within the hour prevented us from making a closer inspection, but now that we know where the action is…
Making the turn-around point across Copano Bay, we jammed back to ground zero in time for me to find out that I am still unlucky in gambling. Of course, I did have a good time while working off a little karma by supporting the cause.
Bikers went all-out for the kids, donating back several items won at auction.
We decided we had done all we could without showing off, so we shook some hands, kissed some cheeks, hugged some necks and twisted the wick.
A good time was had by us.
Me and my Shadow.
Having been left unsupervised, I decided to take the Baby Shadow on a lunch run. I bundled up as best I could against the frosty 62° air, donned my sun goggles and went ‘looking for adventure and whatever comes our way’.
First I went by my favorite coffee shop on the off chance that my oldest compadre might be there. No luck on that score, but I did run into a couple of motorcycling friends who were taking advantage of the day to get out, a little. They had other rats to kill and declined riding uptown to Knuckleheads.
Knuckleheads is, of course, the eat-and-drinkery housed in the old Grayhound Bus Station that features the best barbecue anywhere, as well as ” the prettiest women and the friendliest people you’ve ever seen”.
Right away I ran into my bud who has recently bought a new Harley-Davidson motorcycle. I don’t know what all the models are but I believe this may be the one called the “GeezerGlide”. At any rate, its a beautiful machine and couldn’t belong to a nicer guy.
I went inside for a minute and, passing the bar on the way out, spotted a woman who looked amazingly like an old flame. She must have caught the vibe, or smelled the pheromones, and soon stepped outside to where I sat chewing the fat, as it were, with the cook. It turned out that her bike was parked next to my friend’s. I’d seen her there, before, but never with her hair down. The guys who know her say she’s no flashy poser, but gets down the road with the best of them.
When somebody asks me why I ride, my first response is “wind in the face, tits in the back”, but while I like a gal plastered to my back as much as the next guy, there’s something about a motorcycle riding woman that gets my blood up.
But, moving on, I finished my coffee and moved on.
I decided to ease on down the road that circles the bay and take the long way home to the big Bluff. Many local riders consider this this street to be a most therapeutic ride at 3:00 a.m. It ain’t bad on a slow Sunday afternoon, either.
This photo was taken at Oleander Point. I guess I could have walked closer to the water and showed the road curving with the bay, but I thought you’d rather see this cool composition of a Shadow under a mesquite tree.
This is what my town looked like, today, January 13, 2008.
A good time was had by me.
First Ride 2008
The cool morn of the first Saturday of 2008 saw me backing the big yella bike out of her shelter for another excursion into the lands north of Interstate-10. I was up and running at the crack of 9:00, had donned my riding thong and winter helmet, snagged the hot granny (also dressed to travel) and set out to visit long-time friends in Austin, TX.
About 30 miles into the ride the sky began clearing and the day ended up being chamber of commerce kind of scootering day with the temperature near 80° and little wind.
We have a favorite trail, a fairly direct route on state and US highways that we haven’t told Mapquest about. Traffic is light and drivers still wave at each other, and at us, on the road we take.
That road crosses the Guadalupe River. She looked a little down in her banks, to me. The winter has been dry and we are downstream from Canyon Dam.
The last town of any size that we pass through is Lockhart, 30 miles from Austin.
My crack photographic team snapped this “on the fly” picture of the Lockhart courthouse.
Of course everyone was glad to see us and one of the girls invited us outside for a game of fetch but we had to make a trip to the cycle shop, so fetch had to wait.
When we were about halfway to Austin I’d experienced a fuel delivery problem that I’m guessing is caused by a too-small in-line filter. The shop where our friend’s VTX was being serviced carries larger filters so I wanted to ride along, pick one up, and check the place out.
Sunday began foggy, as days often do in the Hill Country, but the clearing fog didn’t clear the sky. With more wind, the day seemed a little chilly, but we ain’t skeered. Our associates have elected to take us east for a little off-slab riding to find a restaurant whose name doesn’t end in “Inc.”.
We fueled the bikes and were soon out of town and admiring the countryside’s winter fashion, the trees enjoying the wind blowing over their bare limbs, while the grasses were decked out in warm brown.
The decent folk were still in church and there were only a few other wicked Sabbath breakers on the road, waving at us from their Harleys or Gold Wings.
After my engine tried to stall, a few times, we pulled into a filling station. Stopping for a minute probably did more good than topping off the tank but it’s at this point that one of the ladies mentioned my rear tire looking low. Low. For all practical purposes, it was flat. I couldn’t find any obvious puncture so I wrote it off as a leaking valve and applied new air. Our destination was nearby so I put that on a back burner and made lunch a priority. It’s a good thing we did, too, otherwise we’d have been too late to eat at Klump’s Restaurant, in the thriving micropolis of Round Top, TX.
Located on SH 237, between LaGrange and Brenham, Round Top boasts a population of 77, making it one of the smallest incorporated towns in Texas. Having spotted a handful of motorcycles in the parking lot, we gravitated to Klump’s and found that what Round Top lacks in runaway development and overpopulation it makes up in the quality of its food and folks.
A capable wait staff is an integral part of pleasurable dining experience and it’s neither pertinent nor politically correct to note that ours was a pretty red head. Even though we’d arrived very near to closing time, Courtney’s pleasant disposition and lively sense of humor made us feel at home.
Long on wooden floors and short on stainless steel, Klump’s Restaurant seemed a likely place to continue my quest for perfect chicken fried steak
(the national food of Texas).
I believe I found it.
The Klumps serve a delicious, tender hand-breaded cutlet. They know their way around cream gravy, too, and there’s plenty of it, on the side, so folks can spread the wealth to their fries or mashed potatoes.
Of course, if CFS isn’t to your liking, there are plenty of other selections on the menu. The ladies decided on lighter fare, and while I didn’t taste, the fact that they left nothing behind ought to be endorsement enough.
When in Round Top, eat at Klump’s Resaturnat.
Trust me on this one.
Having finished that excellent repast, we took the long way back to Austin town, enjoying sights common in rural Texas, living the high life.
Soon enough, we crossed the Colorado River, parked the bikes and settled in, but not before engaging in marathon fetch.
Inspecting my bike, I found the valve stem was cracked and seemed to leak only when pulled. Upon leaving I snagged a roll of duct tape and effected a stopgap measure that got us home. I will never again leave home without duct tape.We had a great visit with our friends, enjoyed a cruise in the country and found a new favorite restaurant, but it was time to point our wheel southward.
The big yella bike crossed the beautiful San Marcos River at Lulling, passing the town’s river park and historic mill. Retracing our route we pushed on, ‘making a run for the coast’ as the song goes.
The headwind was gusting to somewhere around 40 mph but the day seemed as perfect as the calm, sunny Saturday of two days earlier.
We’re alive and in Texas.
