THC Excursion

Friday, ante meridian, I, along with my faithful Indian guide, “Sexy Granny”, loaded up the scoots and headed for the beautiful Texas Hill Country. It was sunny and 80°F. in the Sparkling City, but we soon rode under cloud cover and I no longer felt over dressed in my riding jacket.
In fact, one couldn’t have asked for a better ride. We blasted up I-37 to the town of Three Rivers where we stopped for fuel and coffee, and to get on State roads. Good roads they are, too, running through mostly ranch land with fence lines sporting brilliant yellow cactus blooms, the spiny Huisachetree singing back-up with it’s own gold blossoms. The roadside was covered in Black Eyed Susan, with a few Astors and Thistles for contrast, and unused pastures were dotted with White Prickly Poppies. A reg’lar Feria de las Flores ( Flowers Fair), as the Mexicans say.

We turned onto SH16 and into the  Free State of McMullen. “McMullenCounty is one of the few counties, if not the only county, in the US which does not take and has never taken federal subsidies of any kind”. Veering off on SH 173 we ridethrough Camp Verde, home of the U.S. Army experiments with camels, and into Kerrville.

Since Friday night hail storms were a possibility, we had reserved one of the park’s new-looking cabins and there we unloaded the bikes and headed to town. After riding to the Lakehouse restaurant to attend the needs of the flesh, we hiked one of the park’s nature trails, then relaxed and planned for the morning.

Saturday we vacated the cabin and found a fairly cozy spot to pitch our home away from home. First order of business was tacos and coffee at Sombrero de Jalisco Mexican Restaurant. Then we became moto-tourists and motored to a cave we’d never visited (Cave Without a Name), near Boerne. After the cave tour we cruised over to Luckenbach to take the obligatory photo in front of the store for our northern friends. In Luckenbach we ran into an old friend whose cut-off western shirt, straw hat and mullet haircut made him invisible, right at first. We caught up, listened to and discussed music, got introduced around, and then it was time for us to fly.

Fly we did, to the German town of Fredericksburg, home of Admiral Nimitz and good eats. Fredericksburg is a laid-back town where tourists meander the sidewalks carrying drinks they bought from the store-front brewery or wine shop. The “Auslander Restaurant” is another familiar haunt and there we assuaged our hunger with “Opa’s Sausage” and schnitzel.

Since our Made in USA Coleman stove had let us down in the field a second time, and camp firewood was soaked, we picked up a bag of charcoal on the way back to camp. I’m not real proud of that, but I am real proud of the the camp coffee and apple cobbler Jill cooked over it. The park host, again, came by with news of a Thunderstorm Watch, but we never saw a drop of rain.

Predicted heavy rain was the main reason for an early start back to Corpus town. We packed our kit, cleaned our site and headed south. We stopped in Bandera, the Cowboy Capitol, for breakfast at OST (Old Spanish Trail). That is as good a place as can be found for people and motorcycle watching. Danged good for breakfast, too, with pancakes “as big as your head” if that’s what you’ve a hankerin’ for.

The ride home was cloudy and definitely cooler than the ride up. As we neared the city we began to see wet roads and when we were not ten miles from our door we ran into light rain, remnant of the cold front that had ignored Kerrville. The bar ditches in our neighborhood were flooded, evidence of very heavy rain storms, the same storms that were only a few miles in front of us and headed into the Gulf. Nicely timed.

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Bike Bandit customer service

The regulator/rectifier from Bike Bandit, that was delivered and installed moments before leaving on a ride, cratered 200 miles away from home (on Sunday, of course) and boiled two batteries before we could get back.

Leaving the unit installed, I exchanged a few emails with Bike Bandit and they authorized a return, shipping included.

Afterwards, we discovered that the leads from the alternator were too long and had laid on the rear tire. I contacted Bike Bandit, again, and told them that the alternator may not have been faulty except for the leads and connectors.

Bottom line is: Bike Bandit had a replacement regulator in the wind just about the same time I shipped the return. Their email read:
Here at Bike Bandit.com, we strive to provide the best customer support possible.

I believe them and would trade with them again.

Texas Sandfest, Port Aransas, TX.

Saturday afternoon, I rode the 24 miles out to Port Aransas to meet with the sexy granny. She’d enticed me with a promised dinner and a show, the show being the Texas Sandfest. People come from all over to see and participate in this contest. Just off-hand, I saw the state flags of Oregon, Washington, Montana, Kansas, Alabama and Florida. We noticed that one of the sculptures was by a Ukrainian.

The “sand” in these parts, including Mustang Island, is actually “silt”, silt being finer than sand. The quartz silt also has clay mixed in, giving it some adhesion and making for excellent sand sculpting material, which is one reason this event is so popular.

We parked our bikes off the beach and had to walk a ways but the weather was perfect and we ain’t no sissies.

After, we dined on fish sandwich and oyster po’boy at the Island Cafe’ before saddling up and scootering back to the big Bluff, a fiery sunset on our right, and the rising moon on our left.

Life is good on the Third Coast.

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Remember who our friends are.

In case you are not aware, “bikers” are not welcome just everywhere. Not only are we not welcome, but in some states hotels and restaurants are not required to serve us at all, and don’t. Other states have passed an “equal access law” giving bikers the same right to access public places that another distinct group got in the 1960s (that’s nearly a half century ago).

My own Governor wouldn’t sign off on equal access because he doesn’t want motorcyclists to feel ‘like they are a special group’.  Well, we are a special group.

This note was inspired by an article I ran across on a biker news site. It was published in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (JS Online) and tells how Harley-Davidson Co. approached Best Western Hotels about accommodating motorcyclists by making bike washes, reserved motorcycle parking, etc. available. “Besides the partnership with Harley, Best Western has similar agreements with other motor-driven associations, including the NASCAR racing circuit.”

Read it here: “A match made in hog heaven“.

Parade Day

This a.m. I got out before my usual time and headed over to the high school football stadium.

Wild Bill had informed me that the local Confederation of Clubs was parading their motorcycles around the track as part of the opening ceremonies for Special Olympics and invited me to join them.

This was their third year to do so and, of course, the first year I’d heard of it, not being involved with CoC. I did see acquaintances from several segments of the motorcycling community. Members of a motorcycle ministry, cop club and firefighter club rode with clubs of a less specialized nature.

I didn’t get a bike count but it looked like a pretty good turn out for a Saturday morn. As we rode around the track, honking and waving, spectators and Special Olympians cheered ,waved and shouted “thank you” at us.

After, I went to a the local restaurant for a taco with club riders from the town of Beeville, which is about 70 miles north of the Bluff. One of the guys had half a floorboard broken off of his new Kawasaki on the way down when a heavy chair fell out of a truck and grazed it. Neither he, nor his wife, was injured and all conceded that,especially as a new rider, he handled the situation in good form.

All this writing has made the Oreos thirsty. They are calling for milk.

Fair Trade Participation

Now, I’d bet that folks who visit my page, whether involved with motorcycling, or not, know that motorcyclists (” bikers”, for the sake of convenience) support a lot of charitable efforts. The best known is Toys For Tots, but bikers support the effort to cure breast cancer, lymphoma and leukemia, combat child abuse, support children’s homes, nursing homes and women’s shelters, animal rescue, blanket drives, eyeglass drives and on ad infinitum
(that’s Latin for, “you name it”).
We may not all be much to look at but, generally, we’re damned good people.

We also seem to be Big Brother’s whippin’ boys and girls (and not in a fun way). When drivers, many of whom shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car to begin with, kill enough of us, government do-gooders (read: meddlers) don’t try to make licensing more stringent, or enforce traffic laws, or penalize those who kill and maim us. No, they force (there’s a word that should be used sparingly in a free society), they force helmets and other feel-good fixes on us.

In order to protect ourselves from the government, we have formed “MROs”, Motorcycle Rights Organizations. The Texas Motorcycle Rights Assoc. (TMRA II) has a very effective representative in Austin. Some of the folks may have heard of ABATE. ABATE is called, among other titles, “A Brotherhood Against Tyrannical Edicts”.

Now, (to quote Elvis) I said all that to say all this:

A fellow rider and blogger pointed out that bikers turn out and help raise big-time bucks for charitable groups, yet, when the State decides to come down on us, we find ourselves standing alone. He states that he will no longer support efforts that won’t pledge 10% of donations to an MRO. Further, he will publicize what he considers the hypocrisy of, and name the names of, charities which use bikers to raise funds but won’t back us when oppressive laws are proposed.

I read that with interest.

Gathering of the Fools

Once again, we had a great time at the Hotglues’ “Gathering of the Fools”, near Houston.
We packed the tent, and most of our gear, on the Valkyrie in Jill’s “Nelson-Riggs” sissy bar bag, and put the remainder in a roll bag on the Baby Shadow and, of course, our saddlebags.

We had the bikes pointed north and warming up when Fed-X arrived with the part I’d ordered for the Magna.
Since we were not in a big hurry (and Jill really wanted to ride her bike) we installed the new part and switched the luggage from the Shadow.
Then, we skinned it back.

Friday started off nice, but we knew we’d run through a cold front on the way up the coast via SH-35.
Fronts often stall. or slow, at the coastline and, sure enough, we ended up riding to Houston in intermittent light rain, below predicted temperatures.

I was pretty much under dressed but at least I’d brought my rain suit even though I’d left my heavy gloves behind. Rain was blowing pretty hard, at first, and I had nothing between it and my face but one thin layer of skin and a couple of whiskers. The wind fell off, shortly thereafter, and the rest of the ride was marred only by the top snap of my rain suit beating me on the face for the first hundred miles. People who are too stubborn to pull over to fasten snaps should look for the “Velcro” label.

We made Hotglue’s place a little later than planned and had to be step lively to get to the excellent but fast-disappearing victuals brought by the coonass contingent.

Later, Jill gave an impromptu tent-pitching demonstration while I photodocumented the operation for future reference. That’s just the way I am: always thinking of others.

Friday meant cajun food, and Saturday barbecue, with folks who are much like an extended family we don’t see often enough.
Men and women rode in from Kansas, Louisiana, Kentucky, Arkansas and New Mexico on Hondas, Harley-Davidsons, BMWs and Yamahas. Its truly (little “d”) democratic.

We rode, a little, ate a lot, and visited and told lies a whole lot.

The traditional grand finale is, of course, the bonfire, which our host does the way he does anything: In grand style.

One of Hotglue’s bonfires burned for eight days after the party; this one wasn’t quite as bodacious.

Sunday a.m. we broke our fast with homemade taquitos then kissed hands and shook necks and made for a rendezvous with other friends just a little further up the road.

This is when we found that the Magna’s electrical problem, that I thought I’d resolved, was still a problem. But, with some help from the good folks in Wallis, TX we managed to have an thoroughly enjoyable visit and an uneventful ride back to the big Bluff.

A good time was had by all.

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Marking Time

When I got serious about writing a blog I figured that I could find something worthwhile to relate, at least, once a week. Well, this week wasn’t like that. The most exciting thing I did was to feed my frog collection. I keep it outside along with my insect collection.

Another week got by me but we are a week closer to the first groovy camp-out of the year, Hotglue’s annual “Gathering of the Fools”, near Houston, TX.

We’ve attended this birthday bash for a couple of years, now. The sexy granny and I, along with a few other purist types, camp out in the back forty next to the stock tank. Of course the only stock around there now is red-eared turtles and water moccasins. Last year we camped on a high spot knowing that many inches of rain was predicted. We were told that the tank might overflow if the creek flooded, but we’d know ahead of time as the snakes would abandon the pond ahead of the rising water. Its amazing what people learn when they live close to nature.

So, we’re all hot, wet and quivering to get up there and Jill’s bike eats a voltage regulator. I’ve ordered it, paying extry for fast delivery. It would be double plus good if it arrives on Thursday. Send good vibes.
I’ll get back to you as things develop.