Hangin' at the Blue Marlin' Saloon

Things have been pretty slow, here, at the end of the block, but we'd got a call from our friend, singer/songwriter Pete Devlin (aka "English Pete", aka "Pedro") to be musical accompaniment at an event benefiting one of the locals, Saturday. Besides having a good time playing music with Pete, this was also an opportunity to work off a little karma.




We arrived at the Blue Marlin bar a little early and spoke with some folks and looked around.



Bikes were already lined up across the street from the crowded parking lot, the riders inside signing up for the poker run.



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Decent folk were still in church and motorcyclists had streets nearly to themselves.



Chris, who hosts a jam session at the Blue Marlin, volunteered his sound equipment and tent so, along with high clouds, low wind and temperature (82°F/ 27.7°C), we had it made in the shade.





At sixty past noon, Pete kicked things off, and while some folks were poker running others enjoyed barbecue and shopped the auction items, some store bought or donated, some hand crafted.





We finished and cleared the bandstand only to find that the next pickers were running behind so another talented sing/songwriter, Harley racer and Renaissance man, Dan Brodhag (aka “Dano”) was persuaded to entertain in the meantime.



I don’t get much opportunity to play music with Dan, so when he asked if I’d care to accompany him I jumped at the chance.



I don’t see most of these folks as often as I’d like to so Jill and I hung out and socialized, some.
One of the bikers from across the bay, who is of my generation, introduced me to a young couple he had in tow who are new to motorcycling. The young woman told him she hadn’t known that bikers “do so much”. He’s been showing them around, like that old tramp who schools the young, passing down the traditions; they are in good company.

A good day, all told. We were able to help one neighbor while entertaining others. We’re lucky that way.




Sunday, it rained.

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.

Staying Sane on the Coastal Plains

This past weekend proved to be both full and rewarding, at least in my immediate corner of the world.

One of the rewarding aspects was that our trio, Rosewood, was invited to play at our town’s oldest festival, Buccaneer Days.


While there were many entertainers, there, I found it gratifying that we had been heard by one of the officials, who then had an assistant contact us. Most send a tape to the Buc Days Commission and play for exposure. We’ve already exposed ourselves many times so we were plied with pizza, beer and gas money, as well.


We were scheduled to begin when the carnival gates opened, Saturday and of course, we were on time and in tune long before the sound engineer finally arrived.



I took a turn around the music pavilion a snapped a couple of photos while the site was relatively empty.




Naturally, someone’s baby momentarily sidetracked me.



There was the requisite Ferris wheel and fun house.




Disco Fever wasn’t the affliction that was on a lot minds, this weekend, though. I’m told attendance was down, considerable, from previous years, probably due to concern about the possibility of exposure to Swine Flu. The school district canceled participation in the traditional lighted parade by the bands and drill teams, so there may have been an uncharacteristic lack on enthusiasm by the public, as well.

The show must go on. The Buc Days carnival is more than stomach-turning rides and cotton candy and it takes people, many who volunteer their time, to insure its success.
One such people is Sandra, who vended beer at the music tent. At first, she was reluctant to be photographed, but, after I explained that I recorded my adventures for motorcyclists, she consented and mugged and said, “Mike’s the best” for the camera (no “cheese” in my pictures).









I wandered back into the pavilion to tune my instruments and, there, met Cornerstone Band members from the town of Goliad.
Since we don’t have a drummer, they asked if they could go ahead and set up their drum kit and put their amplifiers on the rear of the stage. Since we had more bandstand than we needed, and the sound guy still hadn’t turned up, we agreed.



Darryl was joking around with their drummer, perhaps considering life as a rock musician.


Before start-time, soundman turned up and music began.
The day turned hot and so did the fiddling.

Having fulfilled our contractual obligation, Buc Days Commission did the same, finalizing our dealings

with pizza and beer in the travel trailer set aside for that purpose. Now, that’s my idea of carnival going.




Sunday, I managed a little airtime or, rather, time in the wind.
A close friend and erstwhile pillion immerged from her studies and obligations to shed a welcome, though unexpected, ray of sunshine on Rosewood’s Friday

performance.
She had been hitting the books pretty hard so, as an official Pretend Psychiatrist, I prescribed wind therapy, for Sunday.



We hit some back roads skirting the bays, en route deciding to lunch at Alice Faye’s Restaurant, on Fulton Beach.

We were dogging it, living the high life enjoying the view from the deck even though there were few boats in the marina.



Fresh seafood? You bet. This is one of the boats that help bring the good things of the sea to table.




A slow ride back to Corpus town and a stop to drink soda and admire motorcycles at the “biker bar and grill” and it was time to call this day a day.


The road goes on forever.