Easter in Texas

Easter was on the horizon and the luckiest girl in Flour Bluff was making noises about riding and camping over the weekend so, naturally, the leaky rear tire I’ve been trying to nurse a few more miles out of, gave up the ghost. A replacement was ordered with hopes it would be delivered in time for the weekend. It turned out that our girl kid, the lovely and talented Olwen, was able to visit and while she’s put a lot of commuter miles riding two-up on her mom’s Magna, the roomy Valkyrie is her perch for recreational outings.

The new tire arrived Friday afternoon and was mounted on the rim by close-of-business; unfortunately, the tire was mounted backwards. Saturday morning, it was remounted and by Saturday afternoon I’d managed (along with cleaning, greasing and a few false starts) to get it all buttoned back up. In the meantime, Jill and Daughter (with assistance from Granddaughter) had managed to bake a flock of cookies, so it all evened out.

During the afternoon, my longest-time compadre extended an invitation for a coffee break, so we took the Baby Shadow into town to get up with him. He’s not all that good-looking, so I didn’t take his picture, but I did get a shot of his snazzy 1974 custom Sportster.

[Foto 1]

Easter Sunday, we Eastered.

To begin with, Jill and Granddaughter had an Easter egg hunt. I suspect things are a little different at our house than they are at her maternal grandparents’ house.

Afterward, the girls broke confetti-filled eggs, called cascarones, on each other.

Egg-hunting done, it was time to enjoy the local flora.

Daughter, poor child, hasn’t seen salt water in months so, at her request, we “rode the loop”, as we call the route around Corpus Christ Bay.

Once in Port Aransas, we decided to find “Charlie’s Pasture”, an area long favored by locals for fishing and recreating, and newly declared a Nature Preserve.

This is another favored by the birders who come from all over the world to observed birds both migratory and local. On the way to the park area, we spotted this majestic Blue Crane making it’s way down the ship channel.

It’s good the realtors and developers haven’t managed to scrape and pave this area, as they have so much of the island; declaring it a Nature Preserve is one way to keep them from doing so.

To the right is the new pavilion and information center.

There’s some pretty extensive boardwalk built to smooth the paths of visitors and help protect the environment. We took the short route, once around the park, as the saying goes, and moseyed on over to Paradise Pond.

Things were a little slow, as bird watching goes, but the park, itself took me back to a couple of pre-teen years spent in semi-rural Virginia.

I was quite the turtle catcher, in those days and it was a pleasant surprise that we arrive just in time for afternoon bask-along.

Other critters were a little more shy, barely discernible, even with binoculars.

At this point I was beginning to feel that no breakfast I’d had ; after a coffee break we pointed our wheel towards home.

That eve our whole nuclear pod dined at “Doc’s no-gumbo-having seafood restaurant before retiring to the big Bluff.

Life’s good on the Third Coast.

My Backwater

Click on photos for larger size
Sunday, I watched a gifted amateur photographer take some pictures at a local hospital. He's entered a contest, the subject of which is breast cancer awareness. The sexy granny and our friend, Jo, were two of seven people who volunteered to don hospital gowns and help out.
Since the plan o' the day included a ride to supper, we arrived at the hospital by motorcycle (not that Jill would have caged, anyhow).



Once the shooting was done, we shot across to Mustang Island and rode through Port Aransas to the ferry landing. We had only a sketchy idea of our destination.

Now, recently, I've received a couple of comments critical of the way I've illustrated my posts for the past month, or so. I quote:
"...need more pictures of the sexy granny and none of you."
and:
"BTW, I noticed there were no pretty girls in your pics this time. Not even the sexy granny got a word from ya? You dead? "

Well, both of these comments come from folks who I've ridden with and who know Jill so I decide that, this trip around the bay, I'd try to accommodate them.

Bikes don't wait at the Port A. ferry but since outbound traffic was light the traffic directors put us in line. I got Jo off the big yella bike and had her stand next to Jill for a photo. The flagger was trying to get out of the shot when Jo started taking off her jacket; maybe he thought it was best not to be evidence in whatever we were up to, but I reassured him.

And here, my friends, you have the flower of Texas womanhood. There might be some as good, but there ain't none better.




When boarding the ferry, a deckhand tells you where to park and they've become pretty rigid about rules on the boat, with extra security, and all, and the bikes cannot be left unattended. For some reason, he put Jill and I in different lanes so Jill had to sight see from the saddle. She's looked over the rail countless times so, if there's no dolphins about, she's cool with it.




Jo, on the other hand, wandered over by the rail to take in the view.




Exiting the ferry, we made our way through Aransas Pass and on up the coast to Rockport-Fulton. I decided it was probably time to pick a restaurant so I suggested our old stand-by, Alice Faye's.




We always have fun with the waitresses at Alice Faye's, the view is nice and the food is great. They don't have any trouble brewing fresh coffee for hungry motorcyclists, either.


Looking over where the shrimp boat, "Jackie Tam" is docked, we could see someone repairing the nets, maybe Jackie, himself. The object that looks like a large wooden pallet is a
Turtle Excluder Device (called a "Ted"). TEDs are designed to keep turtles, especially the endangered "Kemp's Ridley Turtle" from being drowned in the nets. The 1987 Federal order for fishermen to use them was very controversial and tempers ran high in this part of the world.




It's said that "Time's fun, when you're having flies" and as we let the day slip away from us the moon rose over the water as round and red as a freshly spanked behind. It was time to wend our ways home.

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.

On a Night Like This

The ladies and I agreed that we should ride out to find a restaurant that featured pie and palaver about matters both extraordinary and mundane. We did, and the meeting was fruitful, as was the pie.
Afterward, the Hot Granny decided to call the night a day and head for the barn. Jo, on the other hand, allowed as how she coveted a little wind therapy. Being the proud possessor a tank of gas and five-dollar bill, I felt a moral obligation to help her out.

You got to understand that, despite all the other attractions of motorcycling, there is nothing I enjoy more than a late ride under a clear sky and a full moon. Even having a sweet-tempered hottie on the snatch pad can't diminish the pleasure. Thursday was such a night.

I reckon there is no sight as soothing to the savage breast as moonlight reflecting off of water and we had lots of both as we made the circuit around the bay, "riding the loop", as it's called, locally.
After we boarded the ferry to cross the Intracoastal Waterway, Jo looked over the rail and into the water to spot the huge Redfish that feed in that lighted area. Her enthusiasm for fishing was shared with the deck hand, newly emigrated from Nevada; I'm sure he thought us an unlikely pair.

We dawdled getting through Port Aransas and when I finally had the big yella bike pointed south on the state highway and headed home, it seemed as if we were the only people on the island who were awake.
I had the needle set on 65 mph, the legal speed, and was in that altered state familiar to road riders when head lights, seemingly out of nowhere, appeared in my mirrors.

The car overtook us so quickly that I might as well have been parked. There's no telling how fast he was moving, but what was disturbing was the apparent intention to pass on the shoulder. He was pretty close when I could tell, for sure, that he was going around on the right so I gunned the bike and moved toward the center stripe, jarring Jo out of her reverie just as the car went by.
I flashed my brights without any illusion that the driver cared that he hurt my feelings but, seeing as how my pillion was a little rattled, I couldn't see any advantage to losing my temper. Once sure that the distant headlights in my rear view remained distant, that is, that no one was chasing this moron, I settled down and enjoyed the remainder of the ride.

Now, I got home safe, as you might guess, since I wrote all this stuff down, but it could just as well have gone badly. The cager could have been so engrossed in his phone conversation that he didn't see my taillight till he rear-ended and killed, or crippled, us.

Note that in Texas it's customary to move to the shoulder to let faster traffic pass. Even though the highway was empty there's the possibility that I might have quickly moved right to let the jackass by just as he, illegally, overtook me on the shoulder. It would have been embarrassing to be killed at 3:00 a.m. on an empty road.

Your day can be ruined in a heartbeat, keep your hand upon the throttle and your eyes upon the rail (and rear views).

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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