day 7

San Antonio to Houston, TX – 380 Miles

We had another great night planned with more television-related acquaintances, this time with friends Pat, Vicki and their beautiful seven month old daughter Kaitlyn. Pat is an Emmy Award winning audio mixer for ESPN, who had worked on the previous night’s Monday Night Football game (and was toasted several times for his efforts at Lance’s party) and was going to ride his Harley halfway to San Antonio to a town called Bastrop, meet us, and lead us back to his house. Even mildly hungover, I tried to get up extra early to be packed before Abi, but somehow his bike was already loaded when I got outside. I chalked it up to the fact that Abi went to bed after the game, and I stayed up to celebrate with Lance and the rest.

We made a quick stop at the Sister Creek vineyard to pick up a nice bottle of wine for the evening. After a very small self-guided tour of the vineyard and wine making process, we were allowed to taste a few samples of various wines. By her wildly rambling slurred speech, it became apparent that the woman behind the cash register had also been tasting samples, possibly all morning or longer. “The M… Mer… Merlot you’ve picked is very wonderful and com… com… compecchh flavored! It’s my faaa-vorite!” Then followed a ten minute battle between this woman and her cash register.

Proving once again that my hatred of airlines isn’t unfounded, we soon learned Pat’s flight from Cincinnati to Houston was delayed, giving Abi and me some extra time to explore. On another ride years ago, I was taken to the tiny town of Luckenbach that Willie Nelson made famous in a song with the same name:

Let’s go to Luckenbach, Texas,
With Waylon and Willie and the boys.
This successful life we’re living,
Got us feuding like the Hatfields and McCoys.
Between Hank Williams’ pain songs,
And Newberry’s train songs,
And “Blue Eyes Cryin’ In The Rain”,
Out in Luckenbach, Texas,
Ain’t nobody feeling no pain.

Since we had the time, we went to Luckenbach to see Waylon and Willie and the boys. We never saw them, but two bikers we met gave us a tip about a Stonehenge replica just outside a tiny town called Hunt about forty miles west. Rumor has it that two cowboys with plenty of money and time took leftover concrete from a patio they’d built and started erecting a half-scale reproduction of the original Stonehenge. Though one of the cowboys has since passed away, his invitation for all to visit still stands. With a few hours left until Pat was due to land, it was a no brainer to go and seek out this awesome imitation.

The Luckenbach biker’s tip was good, because the roads leading to Hunt were fun, but the directions were not, as we never managed to locate the fabled Hunt Half-Size Stonehenge. During the search, Pat called. He was suited up and heading to Bastrop to meet us, so we cut our exploration short. (It turned out we missed the replica by less than a quarter mile. Ah well, we’ll just have to go back next time!)

Our pilgrimage to the mythical patio concrete monument had taken us much further west than I realized. The GPS indicated over 100 miles between us and our meeting place. I guess I forgot how big Texas really is, we had to haul ass to meet Pat. Even hauling ass, we were still late, which meant our ride to his house ended in the dark, and worst of all, we were late for dinner. I scored a perfect ten on the douch-o-meter for bungling the timing so much.

As Pat led us to his house, a cat appeared in the road. He swerved to miss it, and I nearly crushed it with my front wheel. A closer look revealed this was no ordinary cat, it was armor plated. I was thrilled at my very first armadillo sighting, as Pat said, “Welcome to Texas!”

Even with our late arrival, the day ended with some of Vicki’s excellent home cooking, chilly Coronas, more Texas sized hospitality, and great laughs with great friends, which is what motorcycle trips are really all about.

On to Day Eight

Author: frenchy