Rides and Tales

Observations From Behind Bars

In the Breeze

with 2 comments

Well I climbed back aboard my old semi,
Then like a flash I was gone,
I got them old truck wheels a rollin’,
Now I’m on my way to San Antone.
(T. Fell)


OK, it was “my old scooter” and “bike wheels”, but you get the drift: reaching escape velocity, we freed ourselves from the suck of the city and put our wheels on US-181 bound northwest for the general vicinity of the town of San Antonio.

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Some twenty miles outside the town, on the river San Antonio, lays Riverside Ranch, host of the annual Breezy Ride. I thought Breezy Ride referred to the fact that Riverside Ranch is a nudist resort, but there is an old biker living there named “Breezy”.

Riverside Ranch is a nudist resort and community with rules of conduct. It is not a swingers club, and while the riders had fun hanging out (so to speak) with them, the highlight of the weekend, for the residents, was a poker tournament. Some riders particularly like this kind of venue because the atmosphere is laid-back, and they know who is armed.


I was surprised at how rural this area is, being nearly in the loop of San Antonio. Our travels usually take us to the south of the city.

At the rally site, we got acquainted and pitched our tent. Some folks we’d met at other events showed up but, overall, the turnout was sparse, perhaps due to the high price of fuel, not good for the vendors, but OK by me, as it keeps the dabblers away. I’m told a total of twenty-four bikes rode the poker run.

The weather guesser was a little off, again, but Friday’s all night rain was pleasant and mostly deflected by the tree we camped under. When we finally had to zip up the windows the temperature was a little lower and we slept in comfort.
The rain pretty much ended in the morning and the skies cleared as Saturday progressed.


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Saturday’s poker run was one hundred fourteen miles of mostly back-road riding and stops at honky tonks and icehouses, the likes of which are pure Americana from days past.
One sweet old gal had a sausage and cheese buffet set out for the riders, which, of course, went down well with beer or soda.


My personal favorite was this remote watering hole, “ Mule Skinners Inn”. The cactus’ painted leaves is pure folk art and the bottle cap paved parking lot took me back to another time.

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Jill was aghast at woman who decided that a couple plants did not measure up socially, pulled them, and threw them over by the old stock pen. .
Really, who gets on a motorcycle, goes off to play for the weekend and weeds a back-woods beer joint? Times has changed and I have not changed with them, I guess.

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Once again, I drew a trash poker hand, but the ride to get it was gooder than snuff on a rag.

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Later, there were off-bike games and the weenie bite, which Jill won.
I love it; she puts in the effort, I get the congratulations.


Still later, we ate barbecue. I got to tell you, the resort might look a little rustic but the cook really outdoes herself. Her food is excellent and there is plenty of it. We snagged a little extra brisket for a midnight snack.


As the sun went down, the band fired up. I was pleased that they’d booked
Mean Gene Kelton and the Die Hards”. I like white blues bands and this trio rocks.
They played originals, including, “My Baby Don’t Wear No Panties” and
“Too White To Play the Blues”, as well as covers of blues bands, rockers (both southern and generic) and even a few very old country-western tunes (the best kind).
We abandoned the hot tub for the lawn where I tried to entice Jill into dancing the skagunga with me. You’d think that after all this time it would be impossible to embarrass her.


Gene has a CD titled, “Going Back To Memphis: A Biker Band Tribute To Elvis”.
He announced that a portion of the receipts go to Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA).
Mean Gene is the real deal.


The remainder of the night, and part of the early morning, was spent in the hot tub with riders from around the state, relating unembellished stories about motorcycling and intellectual pursuits.

Finally, my sleeping bag called and I slept the sleep of the un-indicted.

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Sunday was a ‘ten’. Since we were close to home, Jill dawdled over breaking camp while I helped by drinking coffee brewed on her new camp stove.

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After settling our tab we hung around the pool, a little, with the few who were staving off Monday, made some dates for future rallies and then got in the wind.

Any ride you can walk away from is a good ride. If the bike is still usable, it’s a great ride. Our ride home was great, light wind in our face and no-one a-swerving in our lane.


Life is good in the Republic.

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Written by fiddle mike

May 19, 2008 at 3:57 pm

Posted in motorcycle

2 Responses

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  1. When I read yesterday about the “prelude” ride, it hit me…you were heading out for the camp! While you had not mentioned the name of the ranch…I would have bet dollars to doughnuts, you were heading to the nudist camp you had mentioned once.

    The weenie bite sounds “dangerous”. On my bike, I would be afraid of leg burns.
    Thanks for the Cactus Art…excellent thought to photograph some of nature at it’s best!

    Chessie

    Chessie

    May 20, 2008 at 5:11 am

  2. […] The ride continues in the following post, “The Breeze”, […]


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