1st qtr newsletter 2013 - gypsy mc mc newsletter q1-2013... · 2013-04-05 · 2013.$ $ $ $ $ $
TRANSCRIPT
1
Newsletter: 1st Qtr. 2013
Pot Roast and Lace By Don Juan The year was 1991 and I was still wet behind the ears and filled with thoughts of adventure. The open road called to me constantly in those younger years and it wouldn't take much for me to set out on what I would think of as an adventure. My favorite road is the one I haven't been down yet, and not knowing what lie ahead was what drew me down many roads. So I am going to tell you about one of the roads that can still be considered one of my favorite. I was standing in a small town in Nevada, winter had passed but there was still plenty of cold weather left to be had by all. I did not know much about this state at that moment, but I was about to learn more than I would have ever guessed. I was standing there trying to figure out which way I wanted to travel that day. When I do not have a destination and I feel as though I have all the time in the world it gives me a great since of freedom. Some people stress over a situation as this, "the unknown" as for me it was a situation I found
myself looking forward to, almost to the point of addiction. I decided to head north up a small two lane Highway that happened to travel through nothing but desert. So I set out on foot thinking I would have an easy time hitching a ride. It seemed as though I had been walking for hours and only one car had passed me during my walk that did not want to stop and offer me a ride. The sun had started to set and there was nothing but miles of desert ahead and behind, so I decided that I was going to build a fire on the side of the road. I started gathering anything I could find to burn and was placing it only about 30ft from the road. I figured since there was no traffic, why not? So there I was the sun had set I had myself a good fire going, in the middle of the desert. This was a new experience for me and I loved it, until I saw headlights coming from the south. They did not just drive by, they began to slow and then there was flashing red and blue lights. I walked over to the car and the officer asked me why I was out here in the desert I told him that I was heading north. He said "no you’re going back to town with me". I was thinking “oh crap I'm going to jail for starting a fire in the desert?” I asked what was wrong and he began to explain to me he couldn't leave me out here because I would freeze to death. I told him I had no place to stay in town. He said that's OK I have a place you can stay. So I put out the fire and got in the car. It was the first time I ever rode up front in a police car. I never did ask how he knew I was out there but later I figured that maybe that one car that passed called the police to tell them there was some dumb ass walking out into the desert. On the way back to town the officer told me I would probably never catch a ride on that road for lack of traffic, and that people have gone missing on that road. I told him I was grateful for his kindness and asked where we were
2
headed. He then told me there was a place in town that would put me up and give me something to eat if I was hungry. I left it at that. Well we pulled into town and I saw a hotel up the road, he passed it, went down the road a little more and pulled into a parking lot with a really big house on it. I don't remember seeing any signs or anything to tell me where I was. He looked over at me and said "OK this is a whore house. Just tell them I brought you here and they will take care of you." I probably had a look on my face that said "Is this really happening? Is this Cop really dropping me off at a whore house?" He must have known what I was thinking and said "don't worry they never really get busy and they will be happy to see you. Now go on." So I got out of the car, grabbed my backpack and headed inside. Just inside the main door there are 2 big dark red drapes hanging over a double door less entry. The room smells of heavy perfume, and I'm getting excited. This is the first time I had ever been in a place like this and my imagination was going crazy thinking about what might happen. The reality of the situation revealed itself, or should I say “herself.” I was greeted by a very large, tall lady, taller than me, and she had a look like, “I will kick your ass” all over her face. This woman looked like she used to be a professional wrestler, very stocky and scary. I smiled out of fear and told her that I was just brought there by the officer whose name I couldn’t remember just then. She looks down at me and gives me the biggest smile. "Well sugar, come on in." Past the drapes I see fancy and not so fancy couches. Then I see women start to seemingly come from everywhere. First I was surprised this place was still in business, because this was the ugliest bunch of snagle toothed, unsexy, “you’re going to have to pay me lady,” hookers I had ever seen. Not that I had ever seen a bunch of hookers before, aside from a movie
with Dolly Parton (Best Little Whore House in Texas), which made everything look so much better than what this turned out to be. All my excitement was now replaced with “man I hope they have something left to eat”. So I gave them a sad story, and did my best to look as cute and innocent as possible and asked if they had anything to eat. As it turned out, they did and it’s probably why they were still in business. Although these women were ugly enough to be the reason many men stayed faithful to their wives in the bedroom, I think that the customers they did have snuck in under the false pretense of “looking for a good time” just to get some of their delicious pot roast. That was the Best Damn Pot Roast I had ever had. So with a full belly I fell asleep on one of the many couches in the house. As for the Road I started to travel earlier that day, well it seems it is still a road I haven't completed. I ended up going a different direction the next day. But if you think about it, it did take me in a direction with a destination I would never have imagined or found without first heading down that road. Who knows what I might have found if I had continued north. Maybe good fortune and more stories, maybe bad fortune, swallowed up by the desert. As it turned out, at least I’m here now with my Gypsy family writing about this small path my life I took one day, a path with ugly hookers and beautiful pot roast. The Aussie Hangaround By Jeff “Truck” Christian My wife spent her teenage years in East Africa at a boarding school with students from around the world. After we met in college, she spoke often of her friend she always referred to as "Michelle from Australia." Who knew that twenty years later, Michelle and her family would come stay with us as they lugged an RV
3
across our continent on their "Great American Roadtrip." The real surprise and why I am writing this story for our Gypsy family-‐-‐(just in case you were wondering where this was going, O faithful reader)-‐-‐is Michelle's son. Ever since he was a kid, long before Sons of Melodrama burst onto the scene, Michelle's son Bodie studied and absorbed everything he could find about MC culture. Once they planned their trip, and once Bodie found out I was a member of an MC in America, their one-‐day stay in Houston set out to be the highlight of his journey. He was not disappointed. When they arrived at our house, I greeted Bodie with a "Support Your Local Gypsy MC" hat from our chapter. I then asked, "Do you wanna go for a ride." I will give you one guess what he answer was. I gave him a helmet, and off we went. Not long after we returned, my Houston Brother, BigJew, showed up for dinner. All the boys sat around the table that night talking MC history, motorcycles, and more motorcycles. Before Bodie left, he and I swapped motorcycle magazines, and I told him to wear his hat proudly. For weeks after, Michelle emailed us regularly saying that Bodie could not stop talking about Gypsys and motorcycles. They returned to the land down under and resumed their normal routines. Their trip is now a collection of memories, photographs, and souvenirs. Only now, somewhere in Australia, there is a young man walking around in a Gypsy support hat, hoping one day we might have a chapter in yet another country.
Writers Needed By Alduro We need your stories, pics, and road trip reports. Please submit them to [email protected] in order to have them published in the Gypsy MC International Newsletter. Get famous ya’ll! Best Restaurant in Hondo By Silver Tongue Another St. Valentine’s Day Massacre has come and gone, leaving only memories and a lot of dried up tire ruts in the mud at the city park in Hondo. I’m still wondering how many people showed up at the Kendall County Fairgrounds in Boerne that weekend. Boy, were they surprised, or what? We used to have the Massacre in Hondo many years ago. I’ve also attended a few other events there, including at least one Gypsy Mandatory, back in the 90’s. (during the “Pappy wars”) Back in my Capital City days, when we used to haul ass from Austin down to Del Rio after work on Friday evening, for the St. Pattie’s Day party, we had a habit of stopping for dinner in Castroville, at Sammy’s, once we had put the San Antonio traffic in our rear view mirrors. Sometimes, however, Sammy’s was just too crowded, and we pushed on a little further, to Hondo. Now, Hondo is not noted for having a lot of restaurant options. The only noticeable one on the highway was the Hermann Sons Steakhouse, right on the east edge of town. The food was good, the prices weren’t too exorbitant, but the service was as slow as molasses flowing that time of year. This year, back in Hondo for the first time in a number of years, Sue and I checked the full length of the main drag, looking to see what kind of new
4
options might be found for a good dinner on a Saturday night in the booming metropolis of Hondo. Well, the best spot in town appeared to still be the Hermann Sons Steakhouse. Now, I haven’t eaten there in years. From the looks of the jam-‐packed overflowing parking lot, I assume they are still putting out great food, as it appeared that the entire population of the county eats there – all at once. Or, maybe it’s just the only place in town to take a date on a Saturday night, who knows? But I figured if they are still anywhere near as slow as they used to be, we would still be sitting there waiting for our dinner, sometime around last Wednesday or so. Anyway, we tried the next biggest place in town. Not that it was very big at all, but it actually did have some indoor tables, rather than just a drive through window. El Rodeo de Jalisco. As we squeezed in the door, we ran into Maggie and Shiek on their way out, and their comment to us was something like “They give you a lot of food!” Wow. Great menu. If you like Mexican food, and you didn’t find it on their menu, then you didn’t look hard enough. And it was not just the usual fast Tex-‐Mex fare. The prices were amazingly reasonable, especially for the amount of food, as they do indeed make sure you don’t go away hungry. The place was just about full when we arrived, yet the service was reasonably prompt for the circumstances. We were careful not to order too much food, but we still ended up taking some home for some good leftovers. So, unless we hear that they have hired three extra cooks and thirteen more waitresses to work the Saturday night crowd on Massacre weekend at the Hermann Sons, I think we have found a new best place to get a good meal in Hondo. See you all next year at Massacre, and if you
look for us on Saturday evening, you’ll probably have to go to El Rodeo de Jalisco to find us. The “Silver Tongue” Gypsy, Lifer Coordinator Lone Star Rally 2012 By Silver Tongue
Fall brings a number of things in Texas, in particular, some periods of good riding weather. For four days at the end of October and the beginning of November, Galveston hosts the annual Lone Star Rally, an event that I attended for the first time last year, and again this year. Expecting some 400,000 motorcycle riders and enthusiasts, they are billed as the largest four-‐day rally in the country. I grew up in San Antonio, and my parents’ favorite recreational pastime was fishing. Throughout my upbringing, my family made frequent trips to the gulf coast, but always to the Corpus Christi area, mostly to Port Aransas. Until a few years ago, I had never been anywhere on the coast in the Houston area, and the difference I noticed between Galveston Island and Padre Island was like night and day. On the water, Padre Island is, well, beach. Period. In contrast, the surf pounding on Galveston Island rolls right up to one of the
5
main tourist districts, Seawall Boulevard, where casual, friendly bars, great seafood restaurants, and typical regional souvenir shops are strewn between a long list of hotels, condos, and weekend suites, in a wide range of prices, and all overlooking the open Gulf of Mexico. The atmosphere on Lone Star weekend could be described as an entire island of “bikers at the beach.” Across the island, the other, more historical tourist area, known as “the strand”, is in the old downtown area, back on the shores of Galveston Bay. This area covers dozens of blocks of vendor booths, totaling hundreds of vendors, typical of everything you would expect to see at this type of event. If you don’t find it sold at the Lone Star Rally, then it has nothing to do with motorcycling. In addition, for the 2012 event, the rally staff brought back a previous practice of setting up another long row of vendors right on the seawall, in addition to the space set aside in the strand district. I don’t typically support the “corporate rallies”, as they are usually hosted by non-‐motorcycling businessmen, who are merely capitalizing on the money to be made by investing a huge amount of money to throw an equally huge motorcycle event, in an attempt to make a huge amount of profit. Rallies hosted by motorcycle clubs, on the other hand, are a fun way to raise money for a charitable cause. However, I have some friends who ride in a club in Houston, and who attend this event each year, and I was encouraged by them to come check it out. Since I paid no money to any corporate entity in order to participate in the four day gathering of bikers from every conceivable point of origin, browse through blocks and blocks of vendors, and see hundreds of the most exotic custom bikes I’ve ever seen, I felt no real contribution to any profiteers, other than the vendors whom I patronized. Unlike any other bike rally I’ve ever attended, there is no entry fee of any kind, unless you chose to park your bike in certain designated areas that are most convenient to the shopping and
entertainment areas. And even that problem is easily circumvented. Shopping early, like Friday morning, will allow you to find an equally convenient parking spot, and avoid the elbow to elbow crowds that build by Saturday afternoon. All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed this 4 day weekend last year, and my return engagement this year was even better. What made this year’s event even better for me was the Saturday evening gathering of club brothers we arranged. I knew that Raoul, and a handful of Houston members, usually attend this event, and that they have a standing practice of renting a suite at the Sheraton Four Points, right on the seawall, around 23rd St. This year, at the Calallen Chapter Halloween Run, we discussed the event with several other members of Houston area chapters. Jeff Jones (“Big Jones”), of the Fort Bend Chapter, assured me that “if you throw a party, they will come!” He assured me that Houston area Gypsys from multiple chapters would take the opportunity to ride down to the island, and join in the festivities. With some internet research, I was able to locate a nice, informal bar, with lots of space, away from all the elbow-‐to-‐elbow, standing room only, hour wait to get inside, no room to park, no tables available, conditions that I knew we would experience at every bar in the tourist area on Saturday evening. This bar was one block off the seawall – just enough to be out of sight. And it was on 85th Street, way west of most of the huge crowd of biker tourists. When I checked with the owner of the bar, he assured me that his crowd usually consisted of locals, who typically stayed home on Lone Star weekend, to avoid the masses of bikers in town. Sure enough, the Lucky Lounge had plenty of room, plenty of beer and liquor, and even had several banners on the walls welcoming the Gypsy Motorcycle Club to the establishment. My original plan, to meet up at Raoul’s hotel, and ride in a big group down the seawall to the bar, didn’t work out well at all, particularly when I found the east end of the
6
seawall mostly blocked off due to the dozens of vendor booths they put out on the street, right in front of that hotel. After waiting to see if anyone showed up at the prescribed departure time at the hotel, I headed west to the Lucky, thinking I may be the only Gypsy perched on a bar stool under the paper welcome banner. What was I thinking?! When I arrived at the Lucky Lounge, the parking lot was full of bikes, and I recognized several of them as Gypsy hardware. Sure enough, when I stepped inside, the party was already in full swing, with about 20 Gypsys doing what Gypsys do best. Big Jones, true to his word, had contacted those whom we shall refer to as “the Faithful Followers of Gypsy Party Time,” and it was ON. Even Jester, from Goliad Chapter, hooked up with Blue, in Rosenberg, and the two of them rode over to the island down at its west end, all the way down at Surfside Beach, and came all the way up to the party. That’s a couple of hundred miles to party with brothers and sisters for the evening. Many chapters in the Houston area were represented, and many members came and went during the evening. Some couldn’t stay too long, as they were heading back home after a good happy hour. Others broke up into groups and went off to find some dinner, and still others rolled on over to one of the major party locations on the seawall, Woody’s, just a few blocks away. If all who stopped by were counted, I would estimate between 30 and 40 members showed up. We took a group photo of about 20 or so, after some had left, and before the last few stragglers had stopped by. Bottom line is, Big Jones was right. “If you throw a party, they will come!” – You just have to tell the right people. I intend to promote this event for next year, and hope that we have at least as big a turnout, possibly with some further enhancements, like maybe a massive order of pizza catered in for dinner at Lucky’s, or maybe a ride to a local bar and grill that a few other members discovered about 10 or 15 miles further down the island at
Jamaica Beach, and then a ride up to Lucky’s, or whatever. Many participants of the Lone Star Rally rent some of the numerous beach houses down the island away from the crowds, which could make the Saturday evening party more accessible to those from out of town. There may even be campgrounds available for a reasonable fee. With a little more research, we should be able to plan an even better party for 2013. At any rate, I know Big Jones and I are going to once again throw a party. And I believe that, once again, they will come. Faith in one’s brothers is a good thing. I still love the ocean, and that still has an impact on some of the other facets of my recreational life. And as long as they continue to hold a rally where I can ride along the beach, in a light onshore breeze, with a smell of salt in the air, I will be there.