Harvest Classic Weekend.

Friday morning, that lucky Flour Bluff woman, and I, were on the road about the time the sun made her appearance. We were bound, ultimately, for the Harvest Classic European and Vintage Motorcycle Rally, at Luckenbach, TX.

Our first 65 miles were ridden on wet streets and in light rain, but by the time we rendezvoused with friends at Seguin, 104 miles later,  we were dried.

Another 100 miles of fantastic riding country found us at Armadillo Farm Campground, about a half-mile from the Harvest Classic.



After making camp, we decided to mosey on over to Luckenbach and see what was what, and what wasn't what.

It was still early, for the event, but not too early for music to be played and beer to be consumed.  Security rode around on an invisible motorcycle making sure all was secure.

The vendors and the participants in the swap meet and bike show were still setting up.  We left them to their preparations and met the Texas chapter of the Valkyrie Riders Cruiser Club, for eats.

1967 Honda CB450



Saturday, we decided to forego an organized ride, and take our own tour of the Willow City Loop, close to near-by Fredericksburg, TX.  In the spring, the Loop is a favorite for bluebonnet runs.

No bluebonnets, this time of year, but some of the fenceposts were in bloom, probably due to recent rains.

Boot on fenceposts.

People live on the Loop, but you'd never guess by looking at the terrain.

The view is worth the ride, any time of year.

The fence is made of stone.

Now, I'm not sure what this is all about, but I suspect it has something to do with bragging rights.

Our tour of the Willow City Loop, completed, we rolled back to Luckenbach, to check out some motor cycles.  Rather than post small pictures, I've posted them to my picture blog,  Click on the link or the pic of the Harley to go to
 Road Storyer (a Wordpress blog)

Link to pictures

Later, we stood around a campfire and spun mostly true yarns .  The ride  back to Corpus Christi could not have been better,  we traveled some roads we hadn't seen before, and the weather was fantastic.
After all was said and done, the weekend was an unqualified success.

Bitch Seat

(reposted)

The lovely and talented Joanna called to see if we could go for a putt around the bay; her offer to buy the gumbo was an unnecessary enticement, but where I come from it’s a sin to turn down hospitality.  I mounted the big yella bike and was OTB (over the bridge) and at her door in short order.

How the lady had grown into the full flower of womanhood without having been exposed to bikes is anyone’s guess, but she was surely hooked after her first ride.  And she didn’t just want to be a passenger; she wanted to be a good passenger and that meant learning about every aspect of motorcycling.

Jo put her stuff in the saddlebag (“A girl needs her stuff.”) then grinned up at me and asked, “So, did you Armor All® the bitch seat, again?”

“I don’t have a bitch seat”, sez I.

She’s not the first woman I’ve ever known so it was no shock that she wouldn’t accept a mere fact as an answer.
“Well, Clarke told me the back seat is called a bitch seat and when you ride there you ride bitch.”

Clarke’s a RUB, a nice guy, but a RUB; that is, after his new Geezer Glide’s second oil change, Clarke still doesn’t know which side of the engine the drain plugs are on.

“Clarke’s a RUB,” I told her, “he probably doesn’t mean to speak like ghetto trash (putting it delicately), but he’s a product of a pop culture that marginalizes women.  Back in the day, we referred to riding two-up (as it’s called) as packing”.

“So, what did you call the, uh, passenger seat?”

I looked her in the eye and replied, “The snatch pad”.

After a couple of minutes she had regained some of her composure, dried her eyes, and asked for a description of said pad. Without going into detail, just let me say that her reaction cost us another couple of minutes.
(Yeah, some called it a “P pad” but I always figured it was probably a non-functional
accessory for anyone who couldn’t say “pussy”.)

“Since motorcycling has become more of a genteel sport, or lifestyle”, I told her, “ I usually just use the term, pillion, as they do in the British Isles.  The word is Irish, as am I, and can mean either passenger seat or passenger ”.

This talk of passengers and their seats brought me back to my purpose for being there.  I backed the bike out onto the parking lot and signaled Jo to mount up.
“So, you have a snatch pad, not a bitch seat; I can’t be a biker bitch, so does that mean…”
I lifted an eyebrow.
You got to love a gal who has the capacity to blush.

Next:  Jo renames my snatch pad “the coochie couch”.

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Navasota, Texas, Ride 2013

Thursday, early afternoon, the Missus and I set forth on a ride to the vicinity of Navasota, Texas.  The weather could not have been better, and traffic in the towns we passed through was light.
Once we made camp, she took her place on the Valk's  pillion, where she operated her camera with her usual skill.

We decided to ride into town to eat and get a few necessaries for the weekend;  we had to travel from off the beaten track to get to the State highway.

There are a few ranches and  a couple of very small, isolated, communities, out this way.

Once on the highway, we crossed the Brazos River.  Nearby is Washington-on-the-Brazos, site of the signing of our Declaration of Independence.

"The Filling Station" is our diner of choice, when in Navasota.  There's good food, friendly, competent waitresses, and decor I can relate to.

And, they are motorcycle-friendly.

On our way back to camp, we stopped at the local store  for supplies;  no giant grocery monopoly, here.  Jill found Dino, outside, but I told her she'd probably have to explain to the younger set that he was not "Barney".

We returned to the campground the way we came and settled in for the evening.

Friday, one of the neighbors had a little battery trouble.  His bud, being the conscientious biker he is, offer a jump start. .

 In spite of this help, the rider managed to get his bike road-worthy.  It's amazing what some  campers bring along, including generators, laptops, fans and battery chargers.
                                               

Saturday morning, we set off on a 140-mile poker run, prize: $1000, but, being lucky in love, I didn't expect to come away with anything more than a great ride with good company.

Cotton belt riding.












The old and the new.

Texas makes the biggest Ace bandages in the world.  Some are trucked to reducing plants in Louisiana and Arkansas.

Cotton modules, probably bound for Mexico.

Poker run stop.

The area roads were great, with  nice turns.  I wasn't quite sure how to deal with the lack of  fork seal-busting potholes, right at first, but I adapted.

Not interested in riding with the pack, we  rode along with a few people we'd met in years past.  

    

Circumstances, being what they were, this lady arrived late, by cage, and without a helmet.   I'd taken my half-shell along, to wear in the poker run, so I volunteered my road helmet for her use.  I told her she might have to shim it up with a baseball cap, but the darned thing fit her!

There are no coincidences.

Other happy campers.

We stopped at Yankee's Tavern, in Carlos, TX, and found this Harley-Davidson hanging from the ceiling.  No one could remember seeing one like this.

We continued on our way.

Back through Navasota town to our starting point.

We spent the remainder of our stay telling almost nearly true stories, and discussing whether time travel could be achieved by pressing together a certain number of nipples, but, that's neither here, nor there.

There was more music and dancing, till we finally called that night a day an found our tent.

On our return trip, we stopped for lunch at the Oakridge Smokehouse Restaurant, in Schulenburg, TX.  Once seated, I decide to move the bikes around to where we could watch them from our table.

Jill has a real knack for photographing me when I'm not at my most photogenic, as when I get my boot hung up on the luggage and  seat of her motorcycle.

The ride home  was cloudy, but we didn't encounter the heavy rain we'd anticipated, it must be all that clean living, paying off.

We're alive, and in Texas.