Bells and Whistles

It was a pleasant summer afternoon and I’d ridden the Baby Shadow into town to do a little rat killin’. Before heading back to the big Bluff I stopped at my favorite (non-corporate) coffee shop, settled the scoot under a tree and parked my ass on the patio to enjoy the fresh coffee and do a little people watching and light lusting.

While seated there, I noticed a fellow ride by on a beautiful Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Even from many yards away I caught a whiff of that ‘new rider smell’. After parking his bike, he walked over to the, otherwise empty, patio and asked if I’d mind sharing my table for a few minutes. He was a clean-cut guy who looked to be on the fair side of 30, probably Navy. I told him to make hisself to home and, and believe it or not, we got to talking motorcycles.

The fellow allowed as how he was fairly new to motorcycling but was all hot, wet and quivering to ride some roads and see the country from behind bars. He spoke of a desire to tour the Texas Hill Country and to visit Big Bend National Park. He asked if I knew anything about a road a friend mentioned called the Dragon’s Tail and I told him of the roads my Missus and I had ridden and what we’d seen.

I told him to strike while the iron is hot. It’s coincidental that I use that expression since he told me that he couldn’t see getting his missus to “ride in this heat”.
My first impulse was to tell him he was married to the wrong woman, to trade her in. If I had known him for twenty years rather than twenty minutes I might have risked making the comment but, instead, told him that cooler weather was just around the corner.

Out-of-towners sometimes remark on the scarcity of motorcycles where I live, an area where a bike can be ridden nearly every single day. I can only chalk it up to pussification. A person can get up in the a.m. go to work, have lunch and return home without ever having been out of an air conditioned environment for more than a minute. If they were to get out on a motorcycle any time except February they’d risk the possibility of perspiration.

Well it’s hardly surprising that some inventive type has answered the need. Along with clip-to-the-windshield swamp misters and camel hump water-filled backpacks, add: motorcycle air conditioning by EntroSys(LINK)

I’ve got this picture in my mind of a fellow on a bike with a 30” windscreen, stereo, airbag jacket, motorcycle air conditioning unit and a sticker on his helmet that reads, “Cars suck!”

Checking out the Low Life

I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I unplugged my television, five years, maybe? Not unplugged, actually, just unplugged the cable; the television shows I watch, these days, orginate on the Internet, so I’m not exactly in touch with the cutting edge of pop culture.

While browsing Hulu dot COM, recently, I came across a series of shows from 2007 titled, “Livin’ The Low Life” which showcased several California low rider car clubs, their histories, as well as the history of low rider customizing.

I’ve always been a fan of low rider customs, not that I’m a “car guy”, but I like the vintage cars they use and appreciated the creativity of the builders. I find the wild custom paint jobs and dramatic murals appealing, as well, especially the fantasy art featuring sexy Aztecas or pin-up girls.

Glamorous women are very much a part of low rider car shows and photography and the host of “Living The Low Life” held true to form. I hadn’t heard of Vida Guerra, before, but I was entirely impressed with her easy,confident manner and sense of humor. She also matches my scoot, making her a possible subject for a fuel tank mural.

Windmills and Woodcocks

Well, to say that the year 2009 wasn’t exactly a bowl of canaries, for at least some of us, is to state the obvious. The New Year started out well, though, with the sun coming out after weeks of off-and-on drizzle, rain and general gloominess.

“Me and my ol’ lady, we like to, like, get outside.”

I hadn’t even had my minimum morning requirement of coffee before I was informed that there were three ladies who’d had enough of being indoors and were all HWQ* for a bit of saddle time.

Our daughter, the lovely and talented Olwen, reclaimed her position as Jill’s pillion, while Nurse Jo reserved the big yella bike’s “coochie couch”. Daughter took a turn as cameraman as we rode down scenic Ocean Drive around Corpus Christi Bay. Just before we merge into Shoreline Drive she took this shot of Cole Park.

A while back, Nurse Jo had expressed a desire to visit the Papalote Creek wind farm, on the other side of the bay. This day seemed like a good one for a follow through so follow through we did.

Daughter took this picture on the fly as we entered the area.

The wind driven generators are visible from miles away but only when we were in the farm did we truly appreciate their size.

The hub of the generator stands over 260 feet above the ground and the blades are reported to be 135 feet long.

The huge blades made a soft sighing sound as they turned that would be like a sleeping pill for those of us who like white noise when we turn in at night.

If you look behind the three beautiful trespassers you can see a maintenance hatch. Inside, a ladder leads to the computer controlled, liquid-cooled generator. I’m told there’s quite a view from up there. I'll stick with the one at ground level.

There are 109 wind-powered generators in this project that, together, produce enough electricity to power 54,000 homes in San Antonio, 140 miles away.

Windmill watching accomplished, we hauled our sweet behinds back to Corpus town "with songs in our hearts and smiles on our faces", as the saying sort of goes.

We weren’t alone enjoying the sunny skies and brisk temperature, either. There was an unusual number of motorcyclists out, this weekend, even considering that Friday was New Year’s Day.

Snake Road is a name some of us natives remember hearing from our elders.
The name was derived from the twisted configuration of the road itself, rather than from the reptiles living in the brush, nearby. Whether that was ever the actual name of the road is neither here, nor there, but the fact that the brush it runs through surrounding the estuary called, “Oso Bay”, has been kept out of the clutches of developers, is.

Hans and Pat Sutter Wildlife Refuge is a favorite of birders (bird watchers), the Sexy Granny, one of which, is. That is, she watches birds, as do Daughter and Nurse Jo. We walked out the long "boardwalk" that elevates visitors above the marsh to check out the many water birds, some local, some migratory.

Across the bay is Ward Island, formerly part of the Naval Air Station, and now home to Texas A&M Corpus Christi.

It was time to mosey, the afternoon was turning cooler and hot chocolate was calling to the ladies. We admired the local flora on our way to the parking lot, taking a couple of parting shots before getting in the wind once more.

* Hot, wet and quivering