Rides and Tales

English Pete called for his band, Texas Moon, to set up at Vernon’s Bar this past Sunday night, saying that Umberto was to make a video recording of us playing (Jill and I are side men in the group).

It’s more of a hassle to have a rehearsal with all the sound equipment than not, but its good for the band, besides, I like the place and Pete is getting calls from folks who hear us there, so it’s no stretch.

While Umberto runs for a forgotten piece of gear, we warm up and I check out the patrons. This one fellow was wearing about the cheesiest polyester western shirt I’d ever seen, but , as I mentioned before, the patronage is varied and sometimes strange.

We played, Umberto videoed and, after a while, we took a break and did a little socializing.
That’s when I noticed western shirt guy and Umberto conferring. Well, to make a short story long, Umberto is in a videography contest. Western shirt guy is an officer in the local association and is helping Umberto with his entry. The shirt is costume.
The plot:
Some white people  overhear some Mexican drug dealers planning an exchange. They steal the dope and the dealers later catch and beat them.

Yeah, hardly original, as plots go, and just as likely to be “ripped from today’s headlines”, but the boys and girls are out there making art and I got to credit them for that.
Jill became an extra and her opposite turned out to be a fellow who knows us from years back when we ran a down town jam session.
At any rate, the deal is that Umberto records us playing and gives Pete an edited disc, in return, “Texas Moon” appears in his video entry. How ’bout that, we’re local color!

The predicted high temperature for the day was 92°F, pretty nice for July in Corpus town, so I thought that I’d go uptown to Knucks, get a bite, blow some smoke and take a few photographs.

After greeting the bar maid, and showing proper admiration for her superstructure, I snagged a sandwich and a soda and sat outside, planning to get a few bike shots while I ate. Things sure were slow, today, with only a handful of motorcycles and motorcyclists in the lot. The green flames on one of the highly accessorized bikes made me think they were cops and not bikers.

I ate, then rode to the coffee shop where Bubba told me that there was a big country music fie-esta over on North Beach, which was probably were everyone was.
I didn’t recognize the names of the entertainers so I figured it wasn’t real country but the Nashville imitation.
Billy Joe Shaver sings, “There’s a lot of cookie cutters in Nashville, Tennessee…”, pointing out that once you’ve heard one nasal pretty boy sing a two-step you’ve about heard all Nashville has to offer.

I didn’t U-turn and head back over towards North Beach, no, I dodged the spiritual brothers and sisters of the cagers I’d already encountered in my jaunt, and made it safely back to the big Bluff.

Any ride you can walk away from is a good ride.

Down on the third coast, things have been rather slow, for me, at least. I’ve been doing what’s in front of me, helping Jill with art for our CD project and enjoying the weather.
Since Son enrolled in classes much of our recreating has involved riding herd on his little one. She’s a hoot, alright.

Sunday, I did a little recreating on my own, though. Well, not entirely on my own, I’d invited Darrell (our guitar picker), and a couple of other locals to accompany me on a lunch ride. One rider was headed for the Hill Country, and one had his bike in the shop for fork seals, so it was just me and Guitar Boy.
Darrell had problems with a self-dismantling gas cap (OEM replacement is over $70 USD) but fabricated a plug along the lines of those used for boats. I guess he felt a little self-conscious about it but not enough to keep him in the barn.

At any rate, we met at the coffee shop, had one for the road and “got our scram on”, as we say in my hood. The day was perfect and we quickly cleared the after church traffic as Luby’s Restaurant got tiny in our rear-views. I had Darrell lead, since I sometimes bend the posted speed suggestion, and we motored around the bay, bound for the thriving resort town of Rockport, TX and Alice Faye’s excellent seafood.

Having made ourselves to home in the restaurant, our waitress  quickly became smitten with her two personable (and handsome) customers. I would have blushed at her attention (and intention) had I not lost that ability while traveling in Houston. Darrell must have put the whammy on her since his beer never ran out, my coffee never got cold and we were both thoroughly hugged when it came time for us to mosey.

We decided to return to Corpus town via Port Aransas so we could wave at Sexy Granny’s bike, parked at her place of employ.
Everyone else must have had the same idea as the line at the ferry landing was quite long. Motorcycles don’t wait in line at this ferry landing, though, so we got on the shoulder of the road and passed a quarter mile of impatient cagers. That’s what they get for being cagers.
Bikes go the the front of the line and board the ferry after the last car is loaded.

I had Darrell wave at a boat coming from Port A and a couple of folks waved for my picture. Usually the vacationers wave like they are on the Queen Mary, this bunch must have been hung over from fishing.

So, there you have it. We set attainable goals and reached them. Completing the loop down Mustang and Padre islands and across the Laguna Madre, my compadre continued on to town while I dropped out in the big Bluff .

Life is good.