COUNTRY CORNER, FEB 5TH 2010
There was a man, who kept yelling “next stop Willoughby! does anyone
remember "next stop Willoughby" and someone said "twilight zone" and someone
else said "outer limits oh that’s a good one too!"
Alright then a shot for everyone in honor of Willoughby. And the
bartender gave me a shot of jack daniels in the dingiest shot glass I
have ever drank from, lipstick and fingerprints on the side, dust
bunnies and bits of food floated on top.
At the jukebox I chose a couple of 50’s tunes, the mood being retro
and all but the music that played was not the music I had chosen
although the era was correct. The Willoughby man raised his glass and
asked me to dance. What could I do, he was buying the shots?
Three girlswalked in only interesting because they were young and able to walk,
instantly becoming the darlings of the bar. They were confused by the
lavish attention and not having publicists or handlers or instruction
available they left as they had arrived, upright and shuffling sad,
1 pint heavier but no wiser.
I would have been grateful if they had convinced the young man,
who was tending bar, to pull his pants up so they covered his undergarments.
I don’t even think they tried, I don’t think they even minded.
Their silence might have encouraged him.
The Sweet G and I watched the episode next stop Willoughby on hulu and researched
Willoughby, ohio, which looks like a good place to visit especially the Willoughby
brewing company during their monthly festivus or weekly ladies night or any time the Geezercats are playing.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Monday, October 12, 2009
Veteran's Place at the Roller Derby!
Hosted by the number one thrilling, hard drilling, booty blockin, jammer rockin,
most righteous and riotous babes to ever spin their classic 8's around a derbydrome
Long Island's one and only All Female Flat Track Roller Derby League
The Long Island Roller Rebels
along with
RoadRunners MC
will have as their special guests the
Veterans, Family and Friends of
The Veterans Place
(of Yaphank)
Come join us at the 2009 Championship Bout!
Wicked Wheelers
Vs.
Rolling Thundercats
Sat Oct. 24th
at Skates Safe America
Real Derby Action!
DJ and live band at Halftime!
Long Ireland Beer!
The Fabulous Girls of the Long Island Roller Rebels!
if you are attending please consider purchasing an extra ticket for a Veteran
and if you can't make it, you can still send a Vet to this one of a kind event
contact any RoadRunner MC member
or Scorpion at sryder58@optonline.net
for more info
Thursday, September 24, 2009
yaris = learn the hard way?
didn't want to get into this until I did some more research, but now I'm comfortable with the findings. t'other day I ran in traffic with 3 Toyota Yaris (Yarii? Yarisses?), each one accident damaged and missing some noticeable , vital parts. each had some spray can paint substituting for a Maaco finish. I thought it coincidence , but what are the chances of even seeing 3 of those in a 60 mile stretch, never mind a trio of hoopties? I began to think , do Yarii invite accidents? do inexperienced drivers gravitate towards them, maybe a price thing or an age thing? maybe they only sell them pre-dented, "we'll save you the anxiety of the worrying about the first scratch. let's just lose this rim and BASH, a bowling ball to the side door..............." today I finally saw one on the road in mint condition, but I'm sorry to report that i expect it to be a temporary situation. the driver, much like the drivers of at least 2 of the other cars I saw, was a total asshole and i'm guessing it won't be long until that Yaris has a similiar exterior to the others.
any one else notice this trend?
any one else notice this trend?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Iron Butt Run, NY to San Antonio
So You Want to be a Bun Burner?
14 days, 18 states, 5200 miles. New York to San Antonio and back. My goals were to see some family, see some country, add a few states to the collection of states I’ve ridden in and to obtain “Bun Burner” Certification from the Iron Butt Association (iba.com for all the rules and regs), which is to be able to say that I rode 1500 miles in under 36 hours and I documented the ride such that 2 independent IBA fact checkers could follow my paper trail and consider it proof that I did indeed complete the ride. The IBA documentation consists of a start witness who verifies info such as your ID, make and model of motorsickle and the odometer reading at the beginning of the run (check), time-stamped, dated gas receipts at each gas stop (check), 2 maps with the route highlighted (check) and an end witness (uh-oh!). While not required by the IBA, I also had to make it to San Antonio to meet up my wife and daughter within 3 days. Also not required by the IBA but still pretty important, I would have to get back home. 1500 miles in 36 hours seems plausible enough right up until you make the attempt. Weather, mechanical problems, traffic, construction detours, unplanned routes (I never get lost or make wrong turns – I just take unplanned routes), the frailty of the human body, sanity - anything can sneak up and put the kibosh on your plans. I’ll get back to the kibosh later.
14 days, 18 states, 5200 miles. New York to San Antonio and back. My goals were to see some family, see some country, add a few states to the collection of states I’ve ridden in and to obtain “Bun Burner” Certification from the Iron Butt Association (iba.com for all the rules and regs), which is to be able to say that I rode 1500 miles in under 36 hours and I documented the ride such that 2 independent IBA fact checkers could follow my paper trail and consider it proof that I did indeed complete the ride. The IBA documentation consists of a start witness who verifies info such as your ID, make and model of motorsickle and the odometer reading at the beginning of the run (check), time-stamped, dated gas receipts at each gas stop (check), 2 maps with the route highlighted (check) and an end witness (uh-oh!). While not required by the IBA, I also had to make it to San Antonio to meet up my wife and daughter within 3 days. Also not required by the IBA but still pretty important, I would have to get back home. 1500 miles in 36 hours seems plausible enough right up until you make the attempt. Weather, mechanical problems, traffic, construction detours, unplanned routes (I never get lost or make wrong turns – I just take unplanned routes), the frailty of the human body, sanity - anything can sneak up and put the kibosh on your plans. I’ll get back to the kibosh later.
Conditions Are Go.
I set out on a crisp 37 degree Sunday morning, just after a light but steady drizzle had ended and got my first gas receipt and witness signature at 7am. Then I rode for 22 hours straight, stopping anywhere between 120 and 150 miles for gas, rest room breaks, fluids, and the all-important receipt. From past experience I’ve learned: that some judicious gas stops are necessary just to confirm you were on a particular road and didn’t take a short cut, to drink first and use the little riders room just before leaving a stop, to keep a log of written notes because after so many miles certain facts become blurred, to keep a good list of songs in my head to help me stay focused, and to occasionally nap. With my legs splayed and feet over my foot pegs, leaning back against my passenger seat mounted trunk bag, with my whole head and face covered against the light I could still hear people talking (“Look at that man sleeping on the motorcycle Mommy”) but somehow a half hour in that semi conscious state does the trick. And I eat light. Heavy foods weigh me down and make me sleepy and more important - restroom conditions can vary from clean to yuck to toxic and I try to get thru a whole day without ever having to sit down or do the “hover”. Hey it’s good to be a guy.
I set out on a crisp 37 degree Sunday morning, just after a light but steady drizzle had ended and got my first gas receipt and witness signature at 7am. Then I rode for 22 hours straight, stopping anywhere between 120 and 150 miles for gas, rest room breaks, fluids, and the all-important receipt. From past experience I’ve learned: that some judicious gas stops are necessary just to confirm you were on a particular road and didn’t take a short cut, to drink first and use the little riders room just before leaving a stop, to keep a log of written notes because after so many miles certain facts become blurred, to keep a good list of songs in my head to help me stay focused, and to occasionally nap. With my legs splayed and feet over my foot pegs, leaning back against my passenger seat mounted trunk bag, with my whole head and face covered against the light I could still hear people talking (“Look at that man sleeping on the motorcycle Mommy”) but somehow a half hour in that semi conscious state does the trick. And I eat light. Heavy foods weigh me down and make me sleepy and more important - restroom conditions can vary from clean to yuck to toxic and I try to get thru a whole day without ever having to sit down or do the “hover”. Hey it’s good to be a guy.
The Kibosh
Ok so aside from the cold (I have a heated vest and gloves) there were a few obstacles. Documentation can be difficult. The route I used to get off Long Island and out of NY was not the shortest or most direct which could lead to doubt about the actual mileage. Using a combination of the aforementioned “judicious gas stops” and my EZ – Pass statement I think I was able to prove my route. In Whitehouse, NJ the gas receipt was so blurred it could be hard to read, so I figured I would buy something inside the gas station and get a better receipt. One $2 energy drink later and I now had a matching pair of illegible receipts. When I attempted to get the attendant to sign the back of the receipt to confirm the date and time, I was met with the guttural, hacking dialect that sounded like the man was coughing up a vital organ and typifies the desert peoples. Try explaining the “Bun Burner” to this guy. Near Tom’s River, VA I threw a clip off my brake pedal. I knew this because when I stepped on my rear brake pedal I got the less than ideal result of unatttenuated forward motion. A minor repair for a major concern- just purchase a nut and bolt at the well stocked trucker’s gas stop – right? Nope- they only sell SAE hardware and I only brought metric tools. Luckily as a skilled (desperate) mechanic with many years of experience (too cheap to pay someone to do the work) and the finest tools (ty-wraps) I was able to affect a solid (jerry rig) temporary repair and get myself back on the road in less than an hour. When I was just around the 1K-mile point, in the great state of TN, I stopped at a Highway Patrol Station to see if one of the Officers would sign my end witness form (The 5-0 is recommended as a credible witness by the IBA). So much for southern hospitality. In the parking lot of the station I explained to this giant of a Peace Officer what I was attempting, how far I had come and how he could be of assistance. He eyed me like he was trying to match me up with a poster he vaguely remembered from a Post Office wall, hawked a brown glob of chewing tobacco spittle onto the ground and told me he and his brethren would not be able to sign any documentation. I asked if perhaps there was an Officer inside the station who rode a motorcycle and who might be more sympathetic to my situation and he told me “ they ain nobody in thaya kin hep ya”. Another Officer obviously raised on beef generously laced with Human Growth Hormone pulled his cruiser along side us and asked “eheething ahhiight eah?” and another stepping from the doors of the station asked if “you boys need a hayan?”
Confronted with men of elephantine proportions, suspicious natures and hearing banjos in the distance I thanked them and said goodnight.
A little past the 1K point I decided to stop for an extended time. Pulling into a gas station in Bessemer, Alabama. I knew I had crossed the time zone from EDT to Mountain Time and back a couple of times and I knew I was getting close to Central Time, but wasn’t quite sure where that would occur. In addition it seemed that the time clock on the pumps had not been adjusted for daylight savings, so I knew from my watch that it was 22hrs since I’d left home, but wasn’t real clear on what time it was where I was standing. My conversation with the gas station attendant did nothing to clear up the confusion.
Me: Excuse me, what time zone are we in?
Attendant: It’s 6 o’clock
Me: I know, but what time zone is this?
Attendant: You’re in Alabama
Me: Ok but what time zone is this considered, Mountain? Central?
Attendant: This is Alabama
Me: Do you know the time stamps on your pumps haven’t been adjusted for daylight savings?
Attendant: It’s 6 o’clock
Clearly I had gotten all the information I was going to get. I figured I would get an additional, more accurate time stamp on my credit card receipt from the motel. A young woman attending the lobby of the motel wore various tags on her blouse informing me that she was: a manger in training, a lobby attendant, on probation, a good service representative, able to recommend a discount on my room and would be happy to answer any questions I might have. She had no clue what time zone we were in. My credit card was run through one of those old sliding carbon imprint types and there was my answer – in Bessemer, AL it was 1985. That 1-hour daylight savings offset wasn’t going to make a bit of difference.
Ok so aside from the cold (I have a heated vest and gloves) there were a few obstacles. Documentation can be difficult. The route I used to get off Long Island and out of NY was not the shortest or most direct which could lead to doubt about the actual mileage. Using a combination of the aforementioned “judicious gas stops” and my EZ – Pass statement I think I was able to prove my route. In Whitehouse, NJ the gas receipt was so blurred it could be hard to read, so I figured I would buy something inside the gas station and get a better receipt. One $2 energy drink later and I now had a matching pair of illegible receipts. When I attempted to get the attendant to sign the back of the receipt to confirm the date and time, I was met with the guttural, hacking dialect that sounded like the man was coughing up a vital organ and typifies the desert peoples. Try explaining the “Bun Burner” to this guy. Near Tom’s River, VA I threw a clip off my brake pedal. I knew this because when I stepped on my rear brake pedal I got the less than ideal result of unatttenuated forward motion. A minor repair for a major concern- just purchase a nut and bolt at the well stocked trucker’s gas stop – right? Nope- they only sell SAE hardware and I only brought metric tools. Luckily as a skilled (desperate) mechanic with many years of experience (too cheap to pay someone to do the work) and the finest tools (ty-wraps) I was able to affect a solid (jerry rig) temporary repair and get myself back on the road in less than an hour. When I was just around the 1K-mile point, in the great state of TN, I stopped at a Highway Patrol Station to see if one of the Officers would sign my end witness form (The 5-0 is recommended as a credible witness by the IBA). So much for southern hospitality. In the parking lot of the station I explained to this giant of a Peace Officer what I was attempting, how far I had come and how he could be of assistance. He eyed me like he was trying to match me up with a poster he vaguely remembered from a Post Office wall, hawked a brown glob of chewing tobacco spittle onto the ground and told me he and his brethren would not be able to sign any documentation. I asked if perhaps there was an Officer inside the station who rode a motorcycle and who might be more sympathetic to my situation and he told me “ they ain nobody in thaya kin hep ya”. Another Officer obviously raised on beef generously laced with Human Growth Hormone pulled his cruiser along side us and asked “eheething ahhiight eah?” and another stepping from the doors of the station asked if “you boys need a hayan?”
Confronted with men of elephantine proportions, suspicious natures and hearing banjos in the distance I thanked them and said goodnight.
A little past the 1K point I decided to stop for an extended time. Pulling into a gas station in Bessemer, Alabama. I knew I had crossed the time zone from EDT to Mountain Time and back a couple of times and I knew I was getting close to Central Time, but wasn’t quite sure where that would occur. In addition it seemed that the time clock on the pumps had not been adjusted for daylight savings, so I knew from my watch that it was 22hrs since I’d left home, but wasn’t real clear on what time it was where I was standing. My conversation with the gas station attendant did nothing to clear up the confusion.
Me: Excuse me, what time zone are we in?
Attendant: It’s 6 o’clock
Me: I know, but what time zone is this?
Attendant: You’re in Alabama
Me: Ok but what time zone is this considered, Mountain? Central?
Attendant: This is Alabama
Me: Do you know the time stamps on your pumps haven’t been adjusted for daylight savings?
Attendant: It’s 6 o’clock
Clearly I had gotten all the information I was going to get. I figured I would get an additional, more accurate time stamp on my credit card receipt from the motel. A young woman attending the lobby of the motel wore various tags on her blouse informing me that she was: a manger in training, a lobby attendant, on probation, a good service representative, able to recommend a discount on my room and would be happy to answer any questions I might have. She had no clue what time zone we were in. My credit card was run through one of those old sliding carbon imprint types and there was my answer – in Bessemer, AL it was 1985. That 1-hour daylight savings offset wasn’t going to make a bit of difference.
Day 2
After a 4 hr nap I was up and at it again. Somewheres around 300 miles later I pulled into the Achifalaya, Louisiana visitor center, to see if there might be someone slightly more helpful than the TN police, someone who would listen to my story and who wouldn’t mind signing up to be my end witness. My odometer was still short of the 1500 miles but my thought was that I would take a witness where I could find one and let the gas receipts do the rest. In the parking lot I was gathering my documents when a young man in Coast Guard blues came for the pickup truck I was parked next to. He saw my license plate, asked if I had really ridden all the way from NY, and sealed his fate. There’s a curious look that people get when you try to explain to those unfamiliar with the concept just what an Iron Butt Run is. They sort of tilt their head, squint their eyes and frown just slightly at the corner of their mouths. After some thought, invariably the next question is, “What do you get for doing this?” and when your answer is “ Once it’s accepted that I completed the trip, the IBA allows you to buy their stuff, like patches and key chains and t shirts”, well the squint gets deeper, the head tilts a little heavier on it’s axis and the neck cranes forward just a bit. I imagine that it’s a reaction to the incredible strain of not asking if you are some kind of lunatic, even though that’s desperately what they want to do. By the way – family and friends have no such inhibitions. They’ll just state with complete conviction that you are indeed, certifiable. As this young man, who was maybe not old enough to date my 21 year old daughter, offered the necessary information to complete the form, we spoke about how he’d been stationed in New Orleans since just after Katrina, how the Coast Guard was the only government entity still around to help. He pointed out that you could tell on the bridges how high the water had run (terrifyingly high) and he told me about the 5,000 families that were still displaced. He said he could tell rebuilding was still a ways off as the big construction bonanza was still in the area of demolition and there were plenty of houses where the blue tarp thrown over the roof was the last activity they had seen in quite a while. I had the option of heading west through Slidell, LA but opted to ride straight through New Orleans on route 10. Two years after the levees broke and much of the place looked like the water had run back out just yesterday. Maybe if Halliburton could turn a tidy profit in New Orleans some reconstruction would be underway.
After a 4 hr nap I was up and at it again. Somewheres around 300 miles later I pulled into the Achifalaya, Louisiana visitor center, to see if there might be someone slightly more helpful than the TN police, someone who would listen to my story and who wouldn’t mind signing up to be my end witness. My odometer was still short of the 1500 miles but my thought was that I would take a witness where I could find one and let the gas receipts do the rest. In the parking lot I was gathering my documents when a young man in Coast Guard blues came for the pickup truck I was parked next to. He saw my license plate, asked if I had really ridden all the way from NY, and sealed his fate. There’s a curious look that people get when you try to explain to those unfamiliar with the concept just what an Iron Butt Run is. They sort of tilt their head, squint their eyes and frown just slightly at the corner of their mouths. After some thought, invariably the next question is, “What do you get for doing this?” and when your answer is “ Once it’s accepted that I completed the trip, the IBA allows you to buy their stuff, like patches and key chains and t shirts”, well the squint gets deeper, the head tilts a little heavier on it’s axis and the neck cranes forward just a bit. I imagine that it’s a reaction to the incredible strain of not asking if you are some kind of lunatic, even though that’s desperately what they want to do. By the way – family and friends have no such inhibitions. They’ll just state with complete conviction that you are indeed, certifiable. As this young man, who was maybe not old enough to date my 21 year old daughter, offered the necessary information to complete the form, we spoke about how he’d been stationed in New Orleans since just after Katrina, how the Coast Guard was the only government entity still around to help. He pointed out that you could tell on the bridges how high the water had run (terrifyingly high) and he told me about the 5,000 families that were still displaced. He said he could tell rebuilding was still a ways off as the big construction bonanza was still in the area of demolition and there were plenty of houses where the blue tarp thrown over the roof was the last activity they had seen in quite a while. I had the option of heading west through Slidell, LA but opted to ride straight through New Orleans on route 10. Two years after the levees broke and much of the place looked like the water had run back out just yesterday. Maybe if Halliburton could turn a tidy profit in New Orleans some reconstruction would be underway.
I pulled into Lafayette, with 1635 miles on the odometer, 32 hrs on the clock and no plan for an end witness when suddenly there it was, an oasis in the desert, Honda of Lafayette and here I am on a Honda VTX 1300. A couple of U-turns and a quick picture of a billboard with the most giantest bottle of Tabasco sauce on it (a gift for a good friend aptly nicknamed) and I was talking to a salesperson who assured me they had the part I needed to repair the brake pedal, they could fit me into the repair schedule and they were sure a person or two wouldn’t mind checking out my papers and signing on even though all but one person had no clue what an Iron Butt Run was and more to the point why it even exists.
A gas receipt, a brake repair, a couple of signatures on my completed forms and all that’s left is to submit my paperwork, right? Not Quite. My final verifiable mileage needed to be calculated by a GPS as metric bike odometers tend to be about 5% over and wrong turns and U-turns don’t get added into the final total – just the straight line verifiable mileage. Take 5% from 1635 and you end up with 1553, a safety net of 53 miles. Take into account a couple of u-turns and the 10 mile detour trying to enlist the help of the TN police and ¼.it was going to be close. I contacted my GPS support person, Gadget, who confirmed my mileage on his mapping program as a skin-of-my-teeth 1512 miles.
A gas receipt, a brake repair, a couple of signatures on my completed forms and all that’s left is to submit my paperwork, right? Not Quite. My final verifiable mileage needed to be calculated by a GPS as metric bike odometers tend to be about 5% over and wrong turns and U-turns don’t get added into the final total – just the straight line verifiable mileage. Take 5% from 1635 and you end up with 1553, a safety net of 53 miles. Take into account a couple of u-turns and the 10 mile detour trying to enlist the help of the TN police and ¼.it was going to be close. I contacted my GPS support person, Gadget, who confirmed my mileage on his mapping program as a skin-of-my-teeth 1512 miles.
The rest is all paperwork and the return trip will have to remain just speculation amid the whispers of lunacy for now, but there’s more to tell before the end of this day. As I headed out for San Antonio I was informed by the good people at Honda of Lafayette that Beaumont, TX was the last reliable place I would find for food, gas or lodging – from there to San Antone was 5 hours of nothing open after 8pm. Oh yeah and there was tornados ahead. When the wind began kicking up fierce I did something I rarely do and never do well, which is listen to reasonable advice from a knowledgeable source. I stopped that night just past Beaumont in Winnie, TX at 7PM, 36 hrs after leaving home, with 1732 miles on the odometer and a weary but self satisfied spring in my step.
How Far?
A good part of this trip I spent singing and a good part I spent thinking, specifically thinking about distances. I planned and plotted and mapped and certified and documented my 1500 miles and yeah it was an effort but then there’s perspective. For instance the Milky Way, the galaxy where our Sun parks itself along one of the outer spiral arms, is roughly 100,000 light years wide (that’s the distance light travels in a year at the rate of 186,000 miles/second) and there are an estimated 140 billion or so Galaxies in the Known Universe and it is estimated that each Galaxy contains somewhere between 100 and 400 billion stars. So pondering the immense trip I’d just completed, I was a little humbled at the relative size of it all. It’s just such a small step, in such a small world, and yet so far there’s not much else like it out there as far as we can see. The facts always blow my mind more than anything fictional. It’s probably because I don’t have a sound system on the bike so when I’m not singing I contemplate, ruminate, ponder and yes even mull.
A good part of this trip I spent singing and a good part I spent thinking, specifically thinking about distances. I planned and plotted and mapped and certified and documented my 1500 miles and yeah it was an effort but then there’s perspective. For instance the Milky Way, the galaxy where our Sun parks itself along one of the outer spiral arms, is roughly 100,000 light years wide (that’s the distance light travels in a year at the rate of 186,000 miles/second) and there are an estimated 140 billion or so Galaxies in the Known Universe and it is estimated that each Galaxy contains somewhere between 100 and 400 billion stars. So pondering the immense trip I’d just completed, I was a little humbled at the relative size of it all. It’s just such a small step, in such a small world, and yet so far there’s not much else like it out there as far as we can see. The facts always blow my mind more than anything fictional. It’s probably because I don’t have a sound system on the bike so when I’m not singing I contemplate, ruminate, ponder and yes even mull.
All this riding and thinking and singing got me hungry and Al-T’s Steak and Fish Restaurant was the only game in town. I had dinner while sitting next to a giant Alligator that had been skinned and pinned to the wall, kept company by a Leatherback Turtle similarly mounted. Across from them was a Bass that I’m gonna say was about 4–5 feet long and indeed the main theme of the décor was formerly live creatures. No PETA meetings here. A little celebration libation was in order so after dinner I headed to Al-T’s Lounge where I met and swapped stories with some of the locals. They didn’t seem to appreciate much growing up in a small town like Winnie and didn’t have anything nice to say about it. In fact the bartender told me he gets out of town as often as he can, usually spends 6 out of every 8 weeks in Orlando, FL. He says he works at Disney. And this is where the facts blew my mind.
Me: You work at Disney? I have a friend who works at Disney.
Bartender: Really?
Me: Yeah she’s a dancer, named Michelle.
Bartender: Michelle? About this tall, brunette, talks a mile a minute?
Me: Yeah, that’s her.
Bartender: I’m a dancer too, just finished a show with Michelle. Met her Dad also. Joe, tall guy, salt and pepper hair. Good people.
So on all the planets spinning round all the suns in all the Galaxies in the Universe, the bartender in Winnie, TX, 1700 miles from home, is friends with a woman from NY who used to teach my kid’s dance classes. It's like I hardly went anywhere at all.
Me: You work at Disney? I have a friend who works at Disney.
Bartender: Really?
Me: Yeah she’s a dancer, named Michelle.
Bartender: Michelle? About this tall, brunette, talks a mile a minute?
Me: Yeah, that’s her.
Bartender: I’m a dancer too, just finished a show with Michelle. Met her Dad also. Joe, tall guy, salt and pepper hair. Good people.
So on all the planets spinning round all the suns in all the Galaxies in the Universe, the bartender in Winnie, TX, 1700 miles from home, is friends with a woman from NY who used to teach my kid’s dance classes. It's like I hardly went anywhere at all.
I made it to San Antonio on time. Saw the incredibly solemn Alamo, a ¾ replica of Stonehenge, rode the 3 Sisters, paid my respects to Johnny, Waylen and Willie in Luchenbach. On the way home I took a five hour detour to surprise my sweet, sweet niece with some much needed pantyhose and a nice meal (Mormon Missionaries have some very basic needs, trust me this was well appreciated). The rest of the return trip - I’ll let you buy me a drink if you really want to hear it - but there are 2 other things that were notable: the food and the weather.
Tour De Fork
I like to eat local when I travel, so I always look for a restaurant that typifies the best of the local flavor and I like to try something on the menu I haven’t ever eaten before. So I’ve had Alligator and Moose and Elk and Fried Olives and the fare at Al-T’s did not disappoint. I had fried Boudan (bood-in) a heavily spiced dirty rice wrapped in sausage casing then deep fried, fried sausage which is an Andouille sausage, pleasantly spiced and deep fried and then I had deep fried Mushrooms. The sampler also came with fried Mozzarella sticks, Buffalo Wings and a bowl of Dirty Rice and Beans on the side. You see the trend here? If a food is likely to clog your arteries or stop your heart dead in its tracks, the menu at Al-T’s thumbs it’s nose and says, “Bring it on!” Fried Boudan, the sausage, the Mushrooms and the Dirty Rice were worth taking a bullet over. Simply delicious. Later in the week there was Casa Mia on the Riverwalk in San Antonio featuring the best Mexican anyone in our party could remember having and for lunch one day it was Rudy’s original BBQ (tag line: the worst BBQ in Texas) and then there was the giant and tender gulf shrimp I had in Port Aransas. I could ride and eat and ride and eat and......
I like to eat local when I travel, so I always look for a restaurant that typifies the best of the local flavor and I like to try something on the menu I haven’t ever eaten before. So I’ve had Alligator and Moose and Elk and Fried Olives and the fare at Al-T’s did not disappoint. I had fried Boudan (bood-in) a heavily spiced dirty rice wrapped in sausage casing then deep fried, fried sausage which is an Andouille sausage, pleasantly spiced and deep fried and then I had deep fried Mushrooms. The sampler also came with fried Mozzarella sticks, Buffalo Wings and a bowl of Dirty Rice and Beans on the side. You see the trend here? If a food is likely to clog your arteries or stop your heart dead in its tracks, the menu at Al-T’s thumbs it’s nose and says, “Bring it on!” Fried Boudan, the sausage, the Mushrooms and the Dirty Rice were worth taking a bullet over. Simply delicious. Later in the week there was Casa Mia on the Riverwalk in San Antonio featuring the best Mexican anyone in our party could remember having and for lunch one day it was Rudy’s original BBQ (tag line: the worst BBQ in Texas) and then there was the giant and tender gulf shrimp I had in Port Aransas. I could ride and eat and ride and eat and......
Some Weather
The rain showers in Loo-zee-ana were a little strange, clouds so low it would rain in very specific areas, usually for the 5 minutes I was on an overpass, then it would stop dead – like turning off a faucet, and start up again 15 minutes later at the next overpass. The weather in TX is just scary as hell. Violent tempered and quick to turn, there’s fork lighting that lights up the sky and shoots sideways, like it was worried it might not hit you. It travels fast and is followed by flooding rains. The weather you experience traveling through 18 states in 14 days in the last week of March/ first week of April is a bit variable. When I left NY it was 37 degrees. I got wind burned in 70-degree Louisiana, baked and sunburned in TX, then blown around by severe winds. I Left TX on a 90-degree night and rode for 3 hours north into a lightning storm at the TX- OK border, that thankfully moved passed me to the east as weather.com had predicted it would. I froze in KS and IN and OH and landed as snow was falling in WV. It was 27 degrees when I arrived in NY
3 ½ days after leaving San Antonio. And at 5AM I had a slice of good ol’ NY pizza with Gadget before heading home. You know what Dorothy has to say about home…….
The rain showers in Loo-zee-ana were a little strange, clouds so low it would rain in very specific areas, usually for the 5 minutes I was on an overpass, then it would stop dead – like turning off a faucet, and start up again 15 minutes later at the next overpass. The weather in TX is just scary as hell. Violent tempered and quick to turn, there’s fork lighting that lights up the sky and shoots sideways, like it was worried it might not hit you. It travels fast and is followed by flooding rains. The weather you experience traveling through 18 states in 14 days in the last week of March/ first week of April is a bit variable. When I left NY it was 37 degrees. I got wind burned in 70-degree Louisiana, baked and sunburned in TX, then blown around by severe winds. I Left TX on a 90-degree night and rode for 3 hours north into a lightning storm at the TX- OK border, that thankfully moved passed me to the east as weather.com had predicted it would. I froze in KS and IN and OH and landed as snow was falling in WV. It was 27 degrees when I arrived in NY
3 ½ days after leaving San Antonio. And at 5AM I had a slice of good ol’ NY pizza with Gadget before heading home. You know what Dorothy has to say about home…….
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Let's start a Rebel-ution
Don't forget Sat Sept 19th - another great all female flat track roller derby bout !
Rolling Thundercats Vs Ladies of Laceration (go LOL!!).
these girls got moxie to spare, and are a real treat to watch.
go to http://longislandrollerrebels.com/ for info and Tkts.
tell'em Scorpion sent ya.
Rolling Thundercats Vs Ladies of Laceration (go LOL!!).
these girls got moxie to spare, and are a real treat to watch.
go to http://longislandrollerrebels.com/ for info and Tkts.
tell'em Scorpion sent ya.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
why I really really really really need 2 (or more ) motorcycles
bikes down for repairs. have to admit that over the past 2 yrs of commuting almost exclusively on a motorcycle, I've gotten used to splitting lanes, riding on sidewalks-whatever it took to avoid traffic. occassionally people would comment or give an angry look, but it's nothing compared to how pissed they get when you do the same thing in a minivan. I think it's all a matter of perspective. I call it "creating a third lane where none before existed and thereby relieving traffic congestion". Others, like the "claimant" call it a "sideswipe". semantics........
determined, suicidal
reprinted in a more coherent form, my first facebook entry.......not exactly Shakespeare...
I've resisted this so far. It seems that most use this to disseminate the minutiae of the daily lives to friends, aquaintances and whoever might be interested. In that spirit I offer the following.
At some point recently I got 3 tightly grouped mosquito bites on my ass. I'm not exactly sure how or when. Im not really one to walk around in the buff, usually wear at least a pair of close fitting boxer briefs. I like to sleep under a blanket, with the AC set for "carcass storage" so what I'm wondering is when did 3 mosquitos have a chance to feed off my ass? Do mosquitos even feed in groups? were they seperate diners, who were all clued in to a particularly tasty spot on my heinie? or was it 1 incredibly inept feeder who couldn't find a single place on my rump to satisfy it's bloodlust? and how determined does a mosquito have to be to get at a derriere that'a only exposed for brief amounts of time? Consider this- if that insect fed from my ass, what with the natural eruptions regularly occuring , and lived, maybe we are underestimating their powers. scary.................
I've resisted this so far. It seems that most use this to disseminate the minutiae of the daily lives to friends, aquaintances and whoever might be interested. In that spirit I offer the following.
At some point recently I got 3 tightly grouped mosquito bites on my ass. I'm not exactly sure how or when. Im not really one to walk around in the buff, usually wear at least a pair of close fitting boxer briefs. I like to sleep under a blanket, with the AC set for "carcass storage" so what I'm wondering is when did 3 mosquitos have a chance to feed off my ass? Do mosquitos even feed in groups? were they seperate diners, who were all clued in to a particularly tasty spot on my heinie? or was it 1 incredibly inept feeder who couldn't find a single place on my rump to satisfy it's bloodlust? and how determined does a mosquito have to be to get at a derriere that'a only exposed for brief amounts of time? Consider this- if that insect fed from my ass, what with the natural eruptions regularly occuring , and lived, maybe we are underestimating their powers. scary.................
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