Bootfest Victoria Texas

As summer winds down and the days become more tolerable, lots of towns put on some sort of festival and Victoria, Texas is no different, hosting it's own Bootfest.

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It's pretty much the same as other and the idea of a Boot festival in south Texas is like having a Southern Drawl festival in Hattiesburg, Mississippi...everyone has one.

Young and old gathered, some young enough to be in strollers and others old enough to be in wheelchairs and walkers.  Around the square, the usual booths were there such as funnel cakes, barbeque, ice cream and of course, ... beer.  There was a line up of bands and of the couple I heard, they were pretty good.

One group from Cuero was a blend of country, hiphop and rock with a heavy dose of Mexican thrown in with the front man singing and speaking Spanglish   Another band played a mix of 70s music and country. I was really enjoying them until they tried make Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl into their own style.  That ended it for me.  Don't be messin' with Brown Eyed Girl.

Other venders included home crafted art, leather, boots and t-shirts.

What I found most interesting was the car show.  There was the usual restored 58 Corvette, 66 chevys, sports cars and trucks but what really stole my heart was a generous exhibit of Rat Rods.

Here's a few of my favorites that should be right at home on the set of Mel Gibson's Mad Max.

Bikes, Blues and BBQ ... or something like that

"It's not the destination but the ride", the story goes.  Gary, my brother-in-law and I had planned on riding up to Fayetteville, Arkansas last year for the Bikes, Blues and BBQ festival/motorcycle rally but something came up at the last minute that made us back off.

This year, I scheduled a week of vacation for the trip.  No, I'm not all that wound up over BBQ and I've been to a couple of motorcycle rallies which turned out to be pretty boring after you've seen one. As for blues, it's kind of like Cajun or Bluegrass music; after a few renditions of it, you've had enough.  However, it's like my opening line says, it's not where you go, it's how you get there.

Monday, we fired up at the crack of dawn in the general direction of Mena, Arkansas.  Filling up our rides in Krotz Springs, LA, we found our tanks getting very low a couple of hundred miles north and in northern Shreveport.  Pulling over to an Exxon station just north of Cross Lake, we were disappointed to not be able to pump 93 octane gas.  The large tanker truck was there replenishing their supply so they had cut off all pump activity.  Probably a good thing because who knows what trash gets stirred up when the low supply gets refilled.

Anyway, we reasoned that we should move on up the road to another station.  Surely there would be another station...surely, there would be another station...just over the next hill.  As the miles rolled up on the odometers, our gas gauge lights began to flicker.  An executive decision was made to turn around and go back toward Shreveport to find fuel.

As we rolled back south, my bike began to occasionally sputter (I knew the end was near) but kept on the course.  Gary's bike was low too.  Eventually, Boudreaux II wouldn't fire another piston so I found myself pulling to the roadside and putting the kickstand down.  Gary kept on plugging.  After all, why stop if he had gas.  I took off the helmet, walked down to a shady spot by a fence, checked the time on my cell phone and tried to calculate how long it would take him to get the few miles back or run out of gas himself.  After 10, minutes I called.

"Where are you?", I asked,.

"I'm at the Conoco station, gassing up.  I'll bring you some back."  How nice.

Anyway, in about 10 minutes, Gary rolls up with a used plastic jug that once held orange juice in it with a total of 7/10ths of a gallon of gas.  A welcome site.  Enough to get me back down to the station for a fill up.

We were both running relative new bikes and the gas mileage is good but I have to say, if it hadn't been for Gary's bike getting at least one more mile per gallon than mine, we'd either be hitching a ride into town or waiting forever for roadside service on highway 71.

We arrive in Mena, Arkansas later that afternoon, chose a campground and pitched our tents on some pretty rocky ground.  Rocky or not, I was ready for that sleeping bag and grateful it did not rain on us.

The next day, we rode on into Fayetteville and met up with an old friend who had retired from the company 2 or 3 years ago.  Since his retirement, Tom had bought a couple of bikes for himself and had taken a 2 month odyssey from his home in southern Missouri to San Diego and up the coast into Oregon.

Tom gave us the grand tour or the area and we followed him up to a campground near his home in Shell Knob, MO.  After setting up camp, we rode down to one of the local roadhouses and swapped motorcycle war stories before going back to sleep on yet, another pile of rocks.

 At this point, a Motel 6 would have looked like a Waldorf-Astoria.

Wednesday morning, we struck the tents, packed up and rode over to meet Tom and his gracious wife Joann, for breakfast.  It was good to talk and renew acquaintances before taking a ride south through Eureka Springs and on into Fayetteville where the motorcycle rally was in full swing.

We cruised the booths and a few displays before taking a few more rides through all the hoopla of the festival and riding back up to the...ahhhhh.....Marriott.  Man, those beds were comfortable.  We even found a barbeque joint near the hotel.

I'm wondering if the amount of custom trikes on display there in Fayetteville has a message regarding the age of many of the bikers there.

During the night, we began to watch the weather channel and saw a disturbing front beginning to roll in from the west.  A new executive decision the next morning found us all re-packing and checking out of the hotel. Our original plans were to stay in the area another day and night but our calculations said that if we did, we'd be riding at least 650 miles in the rain for the next two days.  While I'm not afraid of a little water, 650 miles and 2 days of it ain't my kind of adventure so we turned our wheels due south and went for it.

I just so happened (likely story), my sainted mother just happened to live a day's ride south of there, so before sundown, Gary and I arrived to partake  of the hospitality of Mrs Ida Belle.  It never gets old seeing her face.

After a good night's rest and a nice sausage and biscuit breakfast, we once again rode hard, escaping foul weather.  Except for a brief 30 minute ride through a northern Louisiana rain shower, it was an easy going 250 mile home putting us in the garage by early afternoon, five days, 1,500 miles and a couple of tender rear ends but entirely worth the effort.

Oh, dey pass a good time, yeah.

When I left the Grand Rapids airport, I was dressed in a leather jacket, wool pants and an Indiana Jones hat which was fitting and appropriate for the 30° western Michgan temperatures.  A few hours later, landing in Lafayette, Louisiana, it was evident that I was way overdressed in more ways than one.

With no particular plans, Darlene mentioned a festival in Girard Park, near the University of Louisiana at Lafayette.  "We're here, so we may as well go", was the agreement.

Lafayette isn't shy about having some kind of festival, party or fais do-do, so here we are with the Festivals Acadiens et Créoles featuring 50 Cajun and Zydeco bands.

The music was loud and plentiful which released the inhibitions of many, not that it took much encouragement as evidenced by the late morning crowd.   I'm sure it would become more "interesting" later in the day or early evening when the Budweiser and Abita beer took control.

Aside from the bands, we found rows of tents selling local artwork, trinkets and displays of handmade musical instruments.   No self respecting south Louisiana festival would be complete without the food tents.  Darlene and I feasted on boudin and cracklings, passing up the jambalaya, barbeque, poboys, fried alligator, funnel cakes and beignets.

After a couple of hours, we enjoyed about as much of the heat and humidity as we could stand in a pair of wool pants, so we made our way back home and left the party life to the creoles, cajuns and those who aspired to be.

It's vacation time for me next week, with no particular plans in mind but just cooling my jets and trying to get business off my mind.

Allons Danser

Still a little displaced because of a certain lending institution dragging it's feet in processing a loan for our home buyers, I took a little break this morning and spent a little time at the downtown Baton Rouge Redstick Market.

It's somewhat of a farmers' market where local growers sell fresh garden items as well as a few artisans presenting their work.

Aside from the jellies, cucumbers and tomatoes, there were other good eats as well.  Music filled the air with the regular zydeco musician playing for tips near the entrance.













Some of the natives seemed to be peaceful enough, even dancing at times.

 

This afternoon, we mowed and trimmed the lawn of the new one.  I would take a picture but I just don't want to jinx the progress. Complete carpet cleaning tomorrow.

Hopefully, we will be able to close on both the selling of our old house as well as the one we are buying within the next week.

North Georgia

September 14: With less than 24 hours since arriving in Baton Rouge from Virginia, I was already booking a flight to Burlington, Iowa. Thinking it impossible to be more remote than that, within 3 hours, the phone rang and my trip to Burlington was canceled and I on the cell phone in traffic booking a trip to Blairsville, GA. Not knowing for sure where that place was, I relied on the travel agent to choose the best airport. She tells me, "Knoxville". "Tennessee?", I asked. "Yep, your other choices are Asheville, Chattanooga or Atlanta". "Well", says I, "that's three states and a lot of space between those towns, are you sure?". Long story short, I'm on a flight early Thursday morning, flying over the tropical storm that had just passed through Louisiana and landing right back in the middle of it. Relying on my trusty (?) Garmin GPS, I took it's advice and went blazing down the road and within 30 minutes I'm on some little road in a drizzling rain questioning the wisdom of Mr. Garmin's invention. When I tell you that road was crooked, that is an understatement. At one point, I kid you not, I looked through the trees to my right and saw a car put on it's brake lights and 15 seconds later, I met that same car in the next curve. My trip to Blairsville lasted three hours through these curves and rain and had me muttering near profanities at the thought of my travel agent and the folks at Garmin Industries.

Blairsville is a Mayberyesque town of around 700 full time citizens with an old courthouse occupying the pivot point of a roundabout. The office where I met up with Wally, the other rep, sits on the north side of it. Unfortunately, it was nearly closing time by the time I arrived so Wally and I went out scouting for a place to stay. We chose Holiday Inn Express after a quick look at couple of other motels, thinking it was the safest bet, not knowing anything about the place.

September 26: After spending the past two days in St Louis, I flew back to Georgia. Thinking it might be best to fly into Atlanta, I flew in on American this time, giving my usual rant about Delta a rest. Feeling fortunate that we arrived on time, I retrieved my bags and tried to find the rental car shuttle bus. Atlanta's signage is less than wonderful so I found myself pulling two large bags to and fro outside the terminal building. After asking and receiving bad advice from two sources, I eventually was aboard the shuttle.

Instead of driving the fastest way, Saturday morning I checked out of my Patel and took Hwy 19 north. It soon became much more scenic than Hotlanta when I began to get into the north Georgia mountains. Arriving in Dahlonegah, I checked out a couple of motels and eventually unloaded at the Super 8. Believe it or not, it had more going on for it than the Holiday Inn Express and a lot cheaper to boot.

Dahlonegah, was hosting a couple of bike rides, one 50 mile ride and a hundred miler. There was more spandex covered butts there than at the flea market in Gonzales, LA. This small college town has a pretty neat historic downtown with satellites of shops and cafes all around the old courthouse. While the main attraction was supposed to be bicycles, the tight turned roads were constantly yielding to various arays of Porches, Beemers, vintage roadsters and everything imaginable in motorcycles.

October 6 and 7: Wow! Were the natives excited about the Sorghum Festival! Complete with a canon shot to start the parade Saturday morning, Blairsville denizens turned out on the courthouse square to take in the sights of all 5 fire trucks, Boy Scouts, people on stilts, Shriners, the high school marching band and every restored Camaro or Mustang still running. True enough, in conventional terms of traveling, there isn't a lot going on for Blairsville but somewhere deep down in your soul you'll find a lot and your heart will be better for the experience.

The last 3 weeks, I decided to stay at the Seasons Inn right on the square. It's an older inn that had been bought and run by a young couple. Furnishing were spartan but nevertheless, it was fitting for my stay in Mayberry......er...Blairsville.