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-dadderÃa 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.
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