Everybody has a hobby

I had wanted to ride up to the Mackinac (Mackinaw) Bridge and Island where the upper peninsula connects with the southern part of Michigan but that would be a 12 hour round trip not counting wandering around time. Plan "B" turned out doing a little flea market shopping which yielded nothing.

On my way back to the hotel, I took the scenic view along the Detroit River through the suburbs of Trenton and Wyandotte. They are the older but cleaner and neater areas full of auto plant retirees. The streets are home townish with active shops and little parks along the river.

Getting out at one park, I walked up on a fishing pier where not too serious about fishing families gathered and young sweethearts wrote messages on the rails. One guy caught my eye. He was throwing something into the water and dragging it back in with a ski rope. As I got closer, I could see it was a piece of pipe with hooks fashioned out of coat hangers. He would throw it out, let it sink then slowly drag it in again. It seems he spent his Saturdays doing that, sometimes dragging in lost fishing lures and other objects thrown or lost in the water. Frankly, he was having as much luck as the others.

I guess there's something for everyone.

Air Travel Ain't What It Used To Be

Air travel just isn't what it used to be. Boarding a 757 in Houston, I found an older Asian guy in my seat who insisted I should take his seat in 8E (a window seat) so that he could sit next to his wife. It wouldn't have been that big of a deal but the night before, when I checked in, I specifically worked on getting an aisle seat to accommodate my ever increasing frame and would be able to occasionally stretch my leg into the aisle. Aggravated that he wouldn't get up but kept pointing to his seat and giving me a sheepish grin saying, "You take my seat, okay?" I looked around at other passengers who appeared to sympathize with him. Let's face it, there was no way I was going to win a public relations battle over it so I made my way to his seat where I sat squeezed between the window and a very large Amazonian female for the next 2½ hours. I felt like a pressed ham.

I can remember when flying was a big deal. The first time for me, included getting all dressed up in a suit, buying a cigar and having my picture made at the airport. Boarding a Delta Douglas DC 3 tail dragger at Selman Field in Monroe, Louisiana for a very long ride eventually arriving in Hartford Connecticut, I was ever eager give the appearance of an experienced traveler. That was in 1967.

As the twin engine plane belched fire, let out a puff of smoke and became airborne, you could see the wings bending under pressure as it rose to a cruising altitude. Sitting in the rear, with no one beside me, I lit a cigarette when the seatbelt and no smoking signs went off. By the time we were in the seven to eight thousand feet range, my cigarette had developed quite a long ash. Looking around for an ashtray, I found what looked like on on the side of the plane. Holding the cigarette with my right hand, I attempted to pull on the ashtray with my left but found it somewhat stubborn in it's release. Getting a firmer grip, I gave it a mighty tug a the same moment I swallowed.

Never having been at that altitude, I didn't realize that your hearing was slightly impaired and I would have to swallow to clear my ears. So at that very precise moment that I did so and pulled on the ashtray, all the noise from those twin engines must have tripled in my head. Just in that brief nanosecond, the synapses in my brain began to compile all kinds of tragedies and I briefly imagined I had pulled a hole in the side of the plane and could see myself being sucked through it.

Those were truly the golden days of air travel.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day 2010, Gonzales, LA

Lafayette Car Show

My riding podnuh called me just as I had gotten in from Dearborn Friday night asking what I thought about a ride over to Scott, LA (Lafayette) to an auto show held in the parking lot of Cajun Harley Davidson. "But of course!", was my response. "Where do you want to meet?" was the next question. We mutually agreed on a place so at 9:00, Saturday morning we met for our ride over to the car show.

Before I left this morning, I found my front tire was nearly flat, so I aired it up and when we got to the Harley shop in Scott, I talked to the service people and they convinced me it would better to have a new tube installed. So, for 3 hours we wandered around a somewhat small car show with temperatures at 92° in the shade and can only imagine what it was out on the concrete.

This wasn't necessarily a restored car show for many were fiberglass replicas of custom cars. There was the abundance of 60s Chevys and Fords with a few Rat Rods thrown in for good measure. There was even a motorcycle drawn hearse, compliments of Pellerin Funeral Home.

While we waited on the tire, we sauntered next door to Fezzo's, a local restaurant for lunch. I'm telling you, their version of a loaded baked potato was outstanding. It consisted of a large pomme de terre laden with crawfish etouffe on top. Tres bon! Slap yo mama!

After the tube was finally installed on Boudreaux, we headed south out of Lafayette, cruising through Abbeville, Delcambre and New Iberia. Approaching Breaux Bridge, the bottom decided to fall out of the sky and we found ourselves seeking shelter under the cover of an abandoned service station. I'm not opposed to riding in a little rain but when it's lightening, blowing rain and hail, it's time to draw the line. Besides, riding in that kind of weather brought back haunting images of the Harley drawn hearse back at the car show.

After holding up there for an hour or so, we decided to take our chances getting home. We hadn't traveled 10 miles before the skies opened up again and we found ourselves parked at local grocery store on Hwy 31, just north of Breaux Bridge. At this point, we figured putting on rain suits might not be a bad idea.

Anyway, with a few items of clothing on the damp side we eventually made to Highway 190 where everything had dried out. Even though spots were a bit disagreeable, we both counted it as a great Saturday ride with 300+ miles on our bikes.