I have no reason to whine

There's a nasty rumor going around (I think I started it when a couple of other reps went to Hawaii while I was in Michigan) in the company that for every week you spend in a place like, say......Hawaii or Florida....or any place under a palm tree, you're jinxed and will have a miserable time at some less than a garden spot. It might even involve snow, blizzards or some dull and boring place involving prairie dogs and tumbleweeds. Well, I must have something gosh awful headed my way because for the past 7 months, I've been hiding out under palm trees and could likely be under one for another month. Then, vacation will come and I'll spend the first three weeks of September back on Maui.

Back in Christmas of 07, I found myself looking for Santa Claus in Honolulu and maintained there until May. Since May, I've been in St Augustine, FL (except for a hiatus in the Land of Lincoln for a week in Springfield, IL).

Eventually, though, you begin to take the greatest of spots for granted and fight boredom like any other place. Usually, it's wandering around in old town St Augustine under the live oak trees draped with Spanish moss doing some serious people watching. Occasionally, I might ride south to Daytona Beach to flea markets and motorcycle shops. More often than not, I walk the beaches. In the two summers I spent here before, tourists kept the streets and beaches crowded but with the price of gas, the crowds are just not here as before.

Two or three things I observed, gave me pause. One thing was the red sand was actually little broken pieces of shells mixed with sand. Millions of broken shells turn the beach into streaks of rust colored sand.

Another thing that made me stop and think was the sign at the beach warning that this was protected habitat of the Anastasia Island Beach Mice. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat???????? Give me a break. There's a $20,000 fine for disturbing these things. Right up the beach is a huge state park where those mice can proliferate but the sign was right in hotel and restaurant row. I'm wondering if the Orkin man is allowed in the city limits. ( You know you can click on these pictures to enlarge)

Okay, here's the third thing. This isn't hate or criticism so don't get those knickers in a bunch and just cool your jets. After finding the beach mouse sign, I was wandering down the beach and something else that just didn't fit. What had caught my eye was the two black women suntanning. One had carefully untied the top of her bikini so she would get even exposure on her back while laying there on a beach cot. What I don't get was...........how was she going to have tan lines in the first place. She was about as tan as one could get just by birth. It just didn't make sense. There's just some things we'll never understand.

Wild Hawg

I guess it's just trying to stay relevant in a world changing quickly and in some way or perhaps it's just one way a guy advancing in age can relive his youth and rebellion in a small way.

Sunday night, with my long 4th of July weekend rapidly closing, my wife and I didn't want to mess up the kitchen nor felt like standing in line at some restaurant pretentiously advertising fine dining. She called Abdul at the Lebanese restaurant and ordered a chicken shawarma plate to go. Firing up Boudreau, I rode up to Prairieville to fetch dinner, wheeled into the parking lot and hit the kill switch next to a Jeep Cherokee.

After I came out, I placed the dinner packet in the rear bag, threw my leg over the seat and hit the starter. When it fired, I heard some kind of horn or chirp noise. I wondered if I had inadvertently armed my motorcycle's burglar alarm but thinking about it, somehow it just didn't seem like the same sound. I rolled the throttle back again and made the engine rev a short bark and heard the chirping again. Each time I revved it, the chirp would sound so I soon discovered that it was coming from the Jeep. My Harley doesn't have straight pipes but it isn't a quiet contraption either so I wondered what would happen if say a very loud noise were produced. I rolled the throttle grip way back and wooohaaaa......Boudreau let out a blast and the Jeep began to "wonk-wonk-wonk-wonk" loudly.

I calmly slipped my bike into first gear, leaned sharply toward the road and grinned broadly as the Jeep continued to bellow. It felt good to feel as if I could still be a nuisance to society even if it was just in a shopping center parking lot in front of Albasha's Lebanese Restaurant.