Are Bikers Dead?

Friday morning, I buried the gold in the pump house, the Hot Granny turned the horses loose and we headed north, intending to hole up in East Texas till the heat died down. Near the town of Navasota, we found some other fugitives from the everyday and followed them to their camp and pitched our tent.

Their camp is a private resort hidden away in the woods, one that hosts a motorcycle weekend every year.
We had to pay a few bucks enter the site, where they banded us like migratory birds. One of the ladies who registered us asked, "Did you ride your bikes?"
I told her, "Well, yeah, this is a motorsickle thangy, ain't it?" She may have been a little embarrassed, not so much by my response, as by Jill's chuckle.

At any rate, we entered and pitched our tent on a flat grassy spot, away from the bandstand and foot traffic but near the dining area where top-notch breakfast is served. You got to plan ahead, you know.



We'd met some of the other riders on previous escapes from the ordinary and we joined them in the huge hot tub and and exchanged probably true yarns and caught up.

Since we would be hiding out for a few days we needed entertainment. A poker run with a route through the beautiful Sam Houston National Forest seemed like an excellent diversion so we teamed up with a couple of other riders (even though a couple were, obviously, characters) for the 135 mile ride. If Jill or I had won the $1000 high hand purse, or any of the lower hands, for that matter, I guess I'd have mentioned it by now but I discovered long ago that I'm not in it for the money.

We returned to the campsite and relaxed and waited for the bike games to commence. Since it didn't seem neighborly to let my faulty petcock leak gasoline on the camp's lawn, I merely spectated, this time out. There were enthusiastic participants but in the wienie bite contest the gals seemed to have had a problem with "going up" on the foot-long. I'm working on a more "real world" design for the wienie holder, but, that's neither here, nor there.

While the games were in progress I took a few minutes to look over some of the entries in the bike contest (some of the bike game participants entered before final judging, too). As per usual, all bikes (with the exception of scooters and vintage) had to be ridden, not trailered, in the poker run.



This beauty is a 1947 Harley-Davidson. Someone smarter than me can tell more about it, but I do know that it was ridden, skillfully, in the bike games and that it stood out in a sea of Ultra Glides.



Earlier in the day, Jill and I came across this Triumph parked in front of a man's tent. He "howdied" us as we walked by and I took that as an invitation to ask about his scoot. The owner told me that its a 1958 200cc Triumph Tiger Cub and somewhat rare due to it's having been marketed to kids and new riders. He thanked me for stopping and looking over his bike, making me wonder how many people attending were real motorcycling enthusiasts, as opposed to those indulging in a trendy past-time.
I was put in mind of an article I'd seen titled, "Are Bikers Dead?"


Now, to be honest, what drew me to the motorcycle contest, and the vintage bikes in particular, was the sight of scrambler "high pipes" and two-tone paint on a beautiful little Honda. I didn't have the opportunity to speak with the owner but the Wackypedia claims the CL200 was only made in 1974, had a five-speed gearbox and was painted "Candy Riviera Blue".



I moseyed on over by the trikes, as well. The machine in the middle is a Can-Am Spyder.



When the thing came by, two wheels in front with a woman pilot and a male pillion, a bystander remarked that the rig looked like it was running down the road backward.

These fiberglass VW trikes used to be six for a nickle. Maybe that's why the rider went to such lengths to personalize this one.



Of course, Texas readers will recognize the historic "Come and Take It" flag, first flown at Gonzales, TX where the godless Mexican army found out that when Texans tell someone to 'stay put', they'd best do so. The flag is used by those who support the Constitutional right to keep and bear arms.



There was only one real custom; the paint looked like colored Mylar. It's really a slick machine, though I don't know if I'd want to ride the poker run route on it.


(click for a larger view)

In the afternoon we ate delicious barbecue and, later, there was great live music and so-so dancing (at least on my part).

Sunday, we broke our fast, said our goodbyes and headed south. Despite my petcock problem, I'm calling the ride a howling success. The weather was perfect, traffic was light and the cops had wooden legs.


Oh, are bikers dead? Without getting into a lot of hair-splitting over what constitutes being a "biker":
Jill thinks they might be endangered, but not dead, though it's hard to tell from this kind of event, but I'll tell you this: When the event ended , one of the people who tried to look like a biker loaded his ride on a trailer behind his fifth wheel and had his dog tied up where he couldn't get out of the sun. When he finally appeared he informed me that his rig was coming through the spot where my bike was parked. Not riding and no respect for those who are (and careless with his dog), so, probably not a biker, despite the biker suit.

Another fellow wasn't going for "the look", but had a beautiful low-mileage Honda Valkyrie Standard entered in the games and show. The bike is, arguably, the best cruiser, ever, and a hell of a road bike.



Need I add?

I guess you're going to find folks trying to blend in anywhere there's fast bikes and whiskey, long-haired girls and fun . It's good that the folks who ride in the rain and know that trailers are for boats are still there, too. They told me so.

High Humidity

Saturday, early afternoon, the weather radar indicated that the heavy rain had moved off and was falling where farmland used to be. That was welcome news; I had a couple of rats to kill in town and didn't want to experience the local traffic low viz conditions. I'd guess that fully 1/4 of the cagers in my town have no business being behind the wheel.  The rest of them ain't that swift, either.



That said, I uncovered the Baby Shadow and snagged my gear. I donned the 3/4 helmet I wear when expecting rain and my denim riding jacket.  I figured the armored jacket would be a better choice than Frogg Toggs, given the circumstances. I warmed up the Shadow while pulling on my gloves and off I went.
Putting through the neighborhood, I admired the varied sky.  One of the clouds looked like it was considering spawning a tropical funnel but really wasn't expending much effort towards that end. As I crossed the bridge that spans Oso Bay I could tell that rain was falling in town, but didn't look like much from my vantage point.
There are times when rain appears to be far away but is actually fairly close. As I was attempting to maneuver my way into the Julio lane and get to my exit I found out just how close the rain was and just how hard it was falling. 

It was close.  It was falling hard, too.  Not just hard, it was falling big; the raindrops were the size of pecans, fitting, in a county named,"Nuts (Nueces)", in Spanish. The looks I got from some of the cagers indicated that they too were thinking, "nuts", but they're cagers.

Once I turned off the feeder road, the rain abated.    As I finished my rat killin' and pointed my wheel east, the rain rebated and poured upon  the just, and upon the unjust, till I got home.  It's been quite a while since I've been soaked to the skin while riding; musical accompaniment to the strip I did on the porch, would have been nice.

For the last couple of months, locals had been telling immigrants that," if we don't get a hurricane, September will be very wet". 
Two Red Wings full of rainwater say the locals are on the mark.

FM's 911 Address

It's the "Gitterdone" season when Americans not of Muslim faith revert to that old time religion:
Trendy Post-9-11-01 Patriotism.
"We will never forget", by God.

The victims of MOVE, in Philadelphia, are conveniently forgotten. There is no memorial for the dead at Waco, no financial jackpot for their survivors. In fact, the anniversary of their deaths was overshadowed by the deaths of the many children in OK City day care center housed, illegally, in the FBI building. We demonized Saddam for using human shields just as we later condemned him and "Chemical Ali" for gassing civilians.

Here's a little blurb for you to chew on while you remember the attacks by the godless rag heads:

"Attorney General Janet Reno called him “a dangerous criminal.” Fort Worth News columnist Bill Thompson called him “a vile mass murderer,” and Bill Clinton referred to him as “dangerous, irrational, and probably insane.”

These people practice what V. I. Lenin advised: “Call your enemy what you are, and always tell the exact opposite of the truth.” David Koresh was demonized to try to justify their heinous crime.

Another most despicable crime of the Waco murderers was the spraying of CS gas into the compound at the women and small children. U.S. Congressman Ron Paul stated that

“CS gas is banned under the Paris Convention on chemical warfare. The U.S. could not use it in war. It is illegal, but they would use it against their own citizens.”

— The Washington Times, April 23,1993. <

Reno and Clinton are still part of the government. Think about it.

Texas Amble

After my critique of last week’s challenging mini truck trip to Austin town, I guess it should come to no surprise that I spent part of the Labor Day weekend in that same danged truck. This time out we I was hauling the people and equipment required to perform Americana music as the trio, “Rosewood”.

Singer-song writer and friend, Al Barlow, had arranged for us to play Sunday afternoon at Oma Gruene’s Secret Garden, in historic town of Gruene
(Locally pronounced, “Green”) in greater New Braunfels, Texas. Oma (German for, “Grandma”) Gruene’s garden is a shaded biergarten, of course, where a variety of beers and German foods are served.

The laid-back atmosphere typifies that of the Texas Hill Country; it’s the kind of place where you can make new friends and meet their kids and their dogs, at the same time. Gruene is also home to “Gruene Hall”, well known to aficionados as the oldest dance hall in Texas and host to many musical heavy-hitters.

There is never a shortage of motorcycles in Gruene, either, since the Texas Hill Country is known for it’s scenic roads and biker friendly businesses.

Darryl and I with Tracy, the lady who makes it all happen at Oma Gruene's Secret Garden.

That said, we had a successful afternoon, saw familiar faces and met new people. We packed our gear, ate Oma’s excellent fare and put our fine selves on the road back to the third world.

The return was pretty uneventful except for the warning I was issued by a DPS trooper. I was going five mph over the posted limit but I believe he may have been driving 25 mph under it. I came up behind him pretty quickly before I changed lanes and passed. His lit up immediately. The consensus was that he couldn’t have clocked me, though I know he could have written me a ticket for something, if he wanted to. After we were rolling, again, Jill noticed that my state inspection sticker is expired; I don’t know how the trooper could have missed it.

During the drive back, Darryl, who I sometimes refer to as, “Guitar Boy”, invited me to join him and a mutual friend for a ride to Riviera, TX, the following day. I accepted.

Darryl rides a 650 Yamaha V Star, our bud, a Kawasaki Vulcan 800 and I followed on the Baby Shadow (1995 Honda VT600-C Shadow VLX).

The little Shadow is fun to ride, and while no “neck snapper”, she has enough power to get out of the way at 70 mph.

Since I’m considering riding the Baby Shadow, rather than my big Valkyrie, to an upcoming event I figured Monday’s 125 mile round trip would be illuminating.

To begin with the Shadow has forward controls that, combined with the stock handlebars and risers, cause me to lean back, slightly. Riding position on the Valkyrie is like sitting in a chair. I’ve replaced the Valkyrie's stock handlebars with ones that let me lean forward, slightly. At the end of the day, I could feel the difference in my back, not that I was hurting or stiff, I could just feel it. I may try putting some risers on backward to see if they’ll push the bars forward, a little.

The riding position wasn’t so much of a concern as the width of the seat. The stock Valkyrie seat is a couch compared to the stock VLX seat. The main problem turned out to be the seat strap, which tends to wedge in between the rider and pillion sections causing it to push against my lower back. That was fixed on the fly.

Mainly, though, I wanted to see if I could have a little fun on a Labor Day afternoon. I rode drag and the others took turns at point. The day clouded up, a little, and the wind was down.

We got out of town and ran into one of the isolated showers that have been occurring in these parts. It wasn’t enough to get us wet but it was enough to remind me now nicely rain stings the face when a bike has an ornamental, rather than functional, windscreen. We have enjoyed summer but the cooling effect of the clouds and the area showers was welcome.

Darryl took us to visit his kin and we all met for cold drinks in Riviera where amazing true stories were exchanged. On our return trip we enjoyed the night air on motorcycles that performed the way God intended. I’m calling the day an unqualified success.