Among the Cheerful Givers

The weekend past was full and rewarding, particularly, Saturday. I had music to play, miles to ride and good-looking women accompanying me in these pursuits.
My trio, Rosewood, was engaged to play at the grand opening of the Two Horse Saloon, in Riviera, TX. The sexy granny, accompanied by our guitar picker, Darryl, drove the little truck loaded with our music equipment while I rode the big yella bike with Nurse Jo behind me on the coochie couch (yeah, the big pillion seat has been renamed).

The ride was hot and a little windy (as is the case in this part of the state at this time of year) and traffic, light. We got fuel and cold water at the speed-trap (no kidding) town of Driscoll, rolled south past Kingsville (of King Ranch fame) and finally into the town Riviera (Ri-VEER-ah) and up to the Two Horse Saloon.
The first time I passed through Riviera, years back, there was a truck stop and restaurant. Now, Riviera has a new motel and boasts a Burger King, and I mean “boasts”; the saloon owner’s daughter laughed about the Burger King being kind of a big deal. I don't agree that it's a sign of civilization, though.
We played our music (the owner, his family and his staff were wonderful) and we had a good time with the patrons who helped raise a nice chunk of change to benefit local youth sports organizations by participating in a poker run and purchasing food and 50/50 tickets.

I’ve written before about fundraisers and examined my participation therein. In this case I was hired to provide entertainment for the business. While fund raising activities at the saloon was an attraction for the grand opening, let me point out that the owner rides; motorcycling is not a once-a-year gimmick to attract business or donations and the money raised stayed in his community (typical of bikers, the 50/50 winner donated the prize back to the cause).

It was a good day; only a slight truck malfunction marred the trip home, and even that didn’t slow us down a whole lot.


Fourteen hours earlier:

I had given my friend, “Harleychik”, a heads-up about the party at the saloon; she replied that she had committed to a fund-raiser that was to occur at a pub right in my back yard, here, in Flour Bluff. She reported that a friend had been involved in a motorcycling mishap and there was a poker run and barbecue sale to benefit said friend.
The sexy granny and I didn’t have to be in Riviera till late afternoon, so we moseyed on over to the appointed place to get lunch and support the cause.

Even though it was a couple hours past “first bike out” there was a goodly number of motorcycles in the parking lot and a few more straggling in as we did.
When we walked inside we discovered that the bikes’ riders were mostly people affiliated with the Boozefighters MC, whose web site tells us:
The BFMC is one of the oldest active motorcycle clubs in existence.

A friend introduced me to the beneficiary, a nice guy who thanked us for coming by. It was good to be able to lend support to a fellow motorcyclist especially when it involved an excellent lunch.
Then, it was time to get home, packup the pickup and head south.


So, there you have it. Once again I was smiled upon, able to do the things that give life meaning with people I love. Along the way, we saw folks who share our passion for motorcycling having a high time helping out their fellow humans.

How cool is that?

Real Benefit

This is a casual observation of an event organized by a group of motorcycle enthusiasts, rather than the local mommy brigade.

Saturday a.m., I fired up the big yella bike and headed into town to collect my erstwhile pillion, the lovely and talented Joanna, then on to the motorcycle doo-daddería to get up with the also talented (though less lovely) Darryl (aka: Guitar Boy). While at the accessory store, Jo remedied her lack of riding gloves and also found helmet stickers that tickled her, one of which proclaims that she, indeed, “tastes so good you’ll want the recipe”.
Yes, we were enjoying the day, alright, but we were also on a more serious mission. The previous weekend I’d gotten word that a friend is sick and his club was throwing a poker run and barbecue for his benefit.

We rolled up to the event headquarters, found parking outside of the reserved area and moseyed on in. It was still pretty early in the day but the place was as packed as I’ve ever seen it. A small band was setting up, and men and women were busy with the usual means of raising funds, auctioning goods, selling 50/50 tickets, etc. It seemed only right that we celebrate signing up for the poker run with a cold one and some people watching, so we did.
Jo is fairly new to the game and has had only a couple of opportunities to observe motorcyclists as a subculture but she could tell these folks are not dabblers. If she read their rockers she could also see that they rode in from all over to support the effort.

Groups of various numbers of motorcycles were still arriving as we began the bar hop that took us into Corpus town then doubled back across the bay. City scenery is nothing to write home about but we enjoyed letting the bikes stretch their legs on the causeway. Hanging out with Darryl and Jo is pretty much a hoot, anyhow.

Since we traveled on the slab, I didn't get much in the way of photos but I did get a shot of Rachel, the very cool bartender at the Whalebone saloon who let her beautiful long hair down before posing with me.


Parking was at a premium when we returned to the event ground zero. We finished the poker run route just a few minutes ahead of "last bike in", drew our hands and looked for grub. The barbecue was all et up, naturally, so we bought sugar cookies with a support slogan written on them. It didn’t seem odd at the time but the mental image of bikers having a bake sale tickled the hot granny when I mentioned it, later; its just not a scenario that fits the stereotype.

The patio side of the bar was nearly as crowded as the inside but Jo and I managed to find a spot to hobnob with friends and munch sugar cookies. Directly, Darryl came wandering out, carrying loot; it seems he had the high poker hand. By then, we were all in need of eats more substantial than cookies so the loot was packed in saddlebags, we hugged some necks, shook some hands and rolled further up the road.

All part of a day in paradise.

A Family Portrait

Another weekend in paradise has been accomplished and Daughter’s birthday was observed along the way. Yes, she’s all growed up and ready to venture forth to the capitol where she’ll study design at the Art Institute of Austin. Since her Yamaha motorcycle is going with her, Jill and I found her a cool tail bag to put stuff in. A girl needs her stuff, you know. When asked how she’d like to celebrate she opted for a family ride and dinner.

We rode Ocean Drive, which curves around Corpus Christi Bay, down Shoreline Dr past the bay front and marina and over the dilapidated Harbor Bridge to North Beach where we patio dined at our favorite restaurant.

Of course, part of Jill’s agenda was to get some family photos before our little bird flies. You may recall from past posts that the restaurant is adjacent the USS Lexington museum. There is a breakwater that curves past her and ends close to the ship channel. It made for a nice setting for pictures, though I was voted down when it came to how far we should walk.

The sun was getting low and the wind was blowing nicely over the breakwater that is weathered and narrow, in some places, but intrepid shutterbugs get their shots. Here is my gang: Lir, Olwen the Jill, the luckiest woman in Flour Bluff.

The picture was taken at the end of the breakwater with downtown in the background. From the same spot, a little shuffling of feet and rotation puts the Harbor Bridge in the background. The bridge was built in 1959 but is no longer maintained since City Council claims we need a new one. The old lift bridge further up the harbor has already been dismantled, so if the Feds don’t come through with funds we’ll be driving 100 miles to get around 100 yards of water. If there’s not a real estate sale involved, they don’t plan very far ahead; but that’s neither here nor there.

Here’s a pretty nice shot of the breakwater and the Lex. The top of the breakwater is narrow, here, so Jill had to work for it.

On the way home we stopped for a little more mugging before the sun got too low in the sky.

We heard birthday cake calling our names so we saddled up and headed for the barn.



Olwen inspected the cake Jill baked for her, telling me, “Alright! Green and chocolate, my favorite colors!”

“Chocolate is a color?”, I asked.

“It is when you’re a girl!”

A good time was had by us. I like my kids.

Aluminum Cleanup

Circumstances have kept me pretty near home base for the past couple of weeks so instead of another exciting tale of adventure and romance I'm to take you into my back yard; it's a good time to pull up in the shade and restart a sidelined project.

The overall project is to clean up my 1995 Honda VT600-C (Shadow VLX), the Baby Shadow, and shining up the aluminum alternator cover and clutch cover is part of that project.

The bike has lived its entire existence on the Texas coast in what is, arguably, the most corrosive climate in the country; the clear coat on the aluminum parts has cracked and pitted, allowing the aluminum to oxidize and discolor in spots.



This clutch cover was cleaned up, a little, before photographing but it's the only "before" picture.
For purposes of demonstration the alternator side will be shown.


I'm going for an inexpensive face-lift without dismantling the bike. I've cleaned the alternator cover with soap and water, let it dry, and it's ready for the old clear coat to be removed. I used a generic gel-type paint stripper and protected the frame with plastic.







I repeated the process to be sure I got off all the old coating, and then applied Duro Aluminum Jelly to clean up some of the oxidation.



After the surface was cleaned up I wet sanded the cover, first with 400 grit,



then with 600 grit sandpaper.



At this point you may want to wet sand with 1000 or 1200 grit sandpaper. I opted to skip this step and finish off with Mothers Billet Metal Polish applied with 4/0 steel wool and a couple coats of Liquid Glass (Ultimate Auto Polish/Finish).



The little Shadow is a workhorse and commuter, rather than a show pony, so I'm calling the quick clean up of this cover a success. At about 5:30 o'clock from the center you can see the reflection of the side stand.

A great show finish can be achieved by polishing with a buffing wheel.

Special Weather for a Special Place

SPECIAL WEATHER
STATEMENT NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE CORPUS CHRISTI TX INCLUDING THE CITIES OF......CORPUS CHRISTI...
...HEAT INDICES BETWEEN 105 AND 109 DEGREES ARE EXPECTED TODAY...

…RESIDENTS WITH OUTDOOR ACTIVITIES PLANNED ARE URGED TO DRINK PLENTY OF WATER...[etc.]

YOUNG CHILDREN AND PETS SHOULD NEVER BE LEFT UNATTENDED IN VEHICLES UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. THIS IS ESPECIALLY TRUE DURING WARM OR HOT WEATHER WHEN CAR INTERIORS CAN REACH LETHAL TEMPERATURES IN A MATTER OF MINUTES.

First, let me say that I don't believe its possible for something to be "especially true". I believe Truth is a superlative and cannot be more, or less, than what it is. When a former US President's Press Secretary said, “He may have ‘shaved the truth’” (the expression is, "shaded the truth", by the way) everyone except the Party zombies realized this meant the President had lied.

Second, people shouldn't have to be instructed by the National Weather Service not to leave their kids unattended in cars. I realize kids don’t come with service manuals, but this should be a no-brainer.

With those nits picked, let me point out that this “Special” Weather Statement has been issued for the past three weeks.
It’s no longer special.

The temperature on this part of the Gulf Coast is in the low-to-mid-nineties every summer. No, it doesn’t seem hotter this year; you’ve been brainwashed by the Administration’s propaganda team. Some place just recorded it’s first ever July snow, and a glacier in Argentina is growing “despite global warming”, according to the news. Glaciers and snow don’t happen where its warm, which is why my town only sees snow every twenty years or so and, while both the Chupacabra and ghost of Chipita Rodriquez have been reported seen hereabouts, there have been no glacier sightings.

I couldn’t live anywhere else.

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Independence Day Fun

Saturday night, July 4 (American Independence Day, for you out-of-towners) found me and Jill playing music with Pete Devlin at the Blue Marlin bar on Corpus Christi's "North Beach". The bar is a block away from the USS Lexington naval museum.

Shortly after dark we broke for an impressive fireworks display, launched from the flight deck of the Lex. The stereo across the street blared Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love" to the rockets red glare while bombs burst in the air between us and the moon.
Was it good? My nipples are still hard.

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Fiddle Mike: crime fighter

Long ago, in a far away land, some old boys were going on about taxation without representation and how that was tyranny, and all, and they demonstrated their displeasure with same by dumping a bunch of tea into Boston harbor. Two hundred-thirty-odd years later some tax payers staged similar protests (called, "Tea parties") for similar reasons.
I found it ironic that, in the time between the modern "tea parties" and American Independence Day, I had a date with the tax assessor's office to protest the over-100% increase in the assessed value of place I call home. I was actually standing on my porch the day the tax guy drove by and assessed my place... without even slowing down.
I felt picked on till I spoke with a few folks and discovered that this was pretty much an across the board increase. The city tries to make it difficult to protest so that most folks will just pay the added freight. The hot granny suggested that if every last one of us protested, we could bury the tax office in paper and people (the same tactic is proposed for traffic court in order to ride the brakes on that hustle).
Admit nothing, deny everything, demand proof.
The day before my appointment I got a call from the assessor's office and was asked if I'd agree to last year's assessment rather than a protest hearing.

I was feeling pretty good about that, and then I got word that Jill's sailboat and trailer had been stolen. A friend let us park it behind his place and while he was out of socket, David, the next-door neighbor moved it to his yard.
We hadn't decided exactly what to do since our friend wasn't due home for a few weeks, then I found out a little more about David.
Short version: he's a sleazy leech who used to acquire peoples' homes for the taxes owed, then rent to them (and you thought you could actually "own" property in the US of A).

On the way back from a trip into town I pulled the big yella bike into our friend's yard and asked Jill if she could see the boat. I knew we were being watched.
When David and his girlfriend saw us looking into his yard, they asked if we were interested in the trailer (obviously, they'd put out the word). I said we sure were, the boat, too, especially since they are ours. I kind of played it cool and listened to him go on about how awful his neighbors are (you know, the ones who never stole Jill's boat) while his alibi wandered all over the map. After I suggested that I might have the heat search the neighbor's shed for the missing sail and rigging they became a little more cooperative and told us we could get the boat and trailer whenever we wanted (I bit my tongue).





They said they had obligations in town so we said we'd be back later, or maybe tomorrow, and went on home. At home, I began having second thoughts about waiting so Jill and I, along with our son, went back much earlier than planned. It's just as well, too, since they pulled up shortly thereafter. I believe they planned remove our stuff. The guy even had the gall to ask Jill to pay for the tires and wheels (maybe worth $30) he'd put on the trailer. She told him that when he came up with the missing sail and rigging she'd consider it.
He's lucky that trailer had good tires; if I'd had to pull it out on flats I'd have called the Constable, for certain.