Rides and Tales

Observations From Behind Bars

Jump right ahead in my web…

with one comment


I’ve been living in the thriving metropolis of Corpus Christi since before it throve, when it was mostly cotton fields. I pretty much grew up on the edge of a cotton field. For a while, I lived next to what some folks call a “slough”, which is like a big ditch that drains farm and ranch land. When Hurricane Carla blew through here and filled that ditch up, scorpions, snakes, centipedes, millipedes and who knows what all else crawled out of it. Not one of them bit me, not even the rattler I walked up on.

I’ve skinny dipped in the Gulf at night when the stingrays swim in the surf and swum the river with the aggressive moccasins. In over a half a century of living where (to quote a North Carolina immigrant) everything either stings, bites or scratches I have suffered only a few bee stings, fire ant bites and the occasional scratched-up back. So imagine my chagrin when what I thought was a bite from one of those bird-sized mosquitoes turned out to be a spider bite. A spider bit my butt!

Fortunately I was not bitten by the dangerous Brown Recluse, my ass being rather elevated from their ground floor hideouts. Still, I’m a friend of spiders, believing that house spiders are good luck, garden spiders are nature’s artists and jumping spiders and grass spiders are friends to man, so I feel the sting  of injustice as well as an itchy soreness. And that’s not all, by Jorge.
Because of the nature of the venom, spider bites leave indentation in the flesh . So, even knowing that the bite is healing ( or, so I’m told by Jill and the UPS lady) I’m still concerned that the perfect symmetry of of that part of me will be flawed. I reckon we can only hope for the best.

Now, about a week into the spider bite is when I played music on North Beach for the biker’s benefit. What I didn’t report was that, when I opened my fiddle case, I found my instrument in disrepair. The nylon “tail piece gut”, that holds the tail piece on to the fiddle was broken. That just doesn’t happen, they just don’t break.

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In any case, we affected a hasty repair using a guitar string and as I went to tune the instrument a fine tuner busted (“machine”, to you guitar pickers). That’s probably rarer than the tail piece gut breaking, and I remarked on that as I worked around it, just before the string I was tuning broke.
I played only mandolin, that day.

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The following Monday, I bought $80 worth of strings and parts to repair my fiddle and had it together before I notice the crack running the length of the violin’s top.
Damn.
I told Jill, “I’m having trouble with entropy!”
She said, “Yeah, shit happens”.

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Written by fiddle mike

August 26, 2008 at 8:34 am

Posted in motorcycle, Uncategorized

Tagged with ,

One Response

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  1. Damn, between the spider and the fiddle…
    I inherit a fiddle from my grandpa, which in the years in between my ownership and his death, the fiddle also acquired a crack on the face of it., running the entire length of it. some one put glue or something in the crack…at least it was filled in…my violin teacher wanted to buy it from my Mom. I was only ten at the time…so I don’t know if it was a really good violin or what. Anyway, I always thought that violin sounded better than my sisters…who also inherited hers from our grandpa…
    So long story short…can it be filled in and still have the sweet sound you talk about?

    chessie

    August 26, 2008 at 11:44 am


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