If the 2015 Perseid meteor shower could only be viewed around 3 a.m. Texas time, there was a good chance that I would never see it — unless I replayed the video from the security cameras to catch it. Too late for my blood on “a school night.” But … forever the optimist, the other night I decided to take a night ride on the Triumph, out west of Fort Worth … away from the city lights to see.
You never know, there could be a few premature shooting stars.
The plan was setting up nicely. The surface of the lake was pink and purple glass, reflecting only a few house lights across the way. The sky was almost black, sprinkled with billions of faint stars — like so many theater lights turned down, waiting for the show. Waterbirds were calling each other across the water. There was only a faint hum of traffic a few miles away. There was barely enough breeze to shake the leaves on the oaks lining the lake. It seemed as if I had the lake to myself.
So picturesque. I just knew my star party was going to be … well … stellar.
No sooner than I parked at an isolated picnic table, I heard an engine start up and headlights cross the path ahead of me. From the far end of the picnic area a white pickup started my way, on the side road that borders the shoreline. Slowly. Was it a park ranger or game warden?
The truck slowed and turned toward my little picnic, moved closer within about 15 feet. It parked. No clues. No insignia on the vehicle. No verbal hints, even though someone had started to roll down the driver’s window. No nothing. I still couldn’t make out the driver.
“State your business,” I greeted aggressively, probably because I have binge watched too many crime dramas or maybe one too many westerns on HBO lately. Still nothing.
I was thinking, “You know (whoever you are) you’re really asking for someone to shoot you,” when I heard what sounded like a very small dog bark and an elderly voice say “Come on now Teddy, sing …” Ha … that’s not really what he said. (That man/dog line is from “Mr. Bojangles.”) I digress … But I did hear the unseen senior citizen hush his pet.
Again, I hailed the vehicle, “Hel-looo-oo!” Finally, the guy said, “Nice bike!” (This guy was really doing and saying all the right things to make me think he was up to no good.) I took note of his parking job — either really sloppy or perhaps brilliant in its attempt at blocking my exit route.
But when I realized he was with Chihuahua, my fear factor dialed down a couple of notches. I kept one hand behind my back near my concealed personal safety device, all the same, as he centered a tiny dog in his lap, allowing it to sniff my way, out the open window.
When the gentleman cracked his door to light up the cab of his truck. There were two Chihuahuas, making him doubly harmless … probably.
“Let me look at that bike!,” he said as if I had any say-so in the matter. He turned on his headlights again, and he was out of the truck and kind of limped over to my ride. He circled it, bending over, stooping to put his head down near the ground … raising up … and back down … much like an old farmer sizing up a steer that he wants to buy and possibly turn into prime rib.
After he concluded he liked the bike, he offered his hand to me. I shook it. He hand a firm grip for an old guy and he held on just a little too long. … “I’m Sasquatch.” (Of course you are, I thought.) The gentleman was probably in his early 70s, had long gray hair leaking out from under an ancient gimmee hat. I was close enough to determine he was wearing a smoke-filled flannel shirt partially hidden behind a bushy white beard that hung down — way down — resembling a Red Lobster bib in the dim light, away from the truck.
Ha … when he moved toward the light, his appearance was something between a ZZ Top-look and Denver Pyle on “The Waltons” or “Andy Griffith” or “Grizzly Adams” … some old show like that.
After giving the bike two thumbs up, Sasquatch hopped back in the truck full of Chihuahuas. He asked me if I had a smoke. I said, “I don’t smoke.” And he said, “Well, then I guess I don’t either.”
I was reeling at this random act of the universe … on a night when I was expecting the more predictable meteorites … This stuff always happens to me. Then he blinded me with science … or rather surprised me with technology. He whipped out a fairly new laptop and fired it up. Touch screen … impressive. (There was no Wi-Fi network available, for the record.)
Under the stars, the screen shone like landing lights on a helicopter. He introduced his presentation like this. “Hey. Look at this.”
For the next 30 minutes I didn’t see any shooting stars, but I learned more than anyone would think possible about some biker bar in Temple, Texas. I also learned about Sasquatch and the women who love Sasquatch. His ex-wife. His ex-girlfriend. His fiancee. More info. followed: his ex-wife’s ex-motorcycle. His ex-girlfriend’s ex-motorcycle and even a scale model — with a certificate of authenticity — of his ex-wife’s ex-motorcycle … and perhaps a few too many photos of his fiancee’s sister
He had several photos of and stories about a guy he doesn’t like at all. Pretty unusual. Anywho … I now feel like I know all of these people and bikes through the magic of a a slide show on the laptop. But the presentation was all leading up to Sasquatch’s pride and joy, a Harley Davidson trike. After such a build up, it did not disappoint.
Again … how do I get in these predicaments? It seems like these celestial events tend to bring out the characters. (Anyone read this one from the Blood Moon? – Blood Moon Crazy )
At some point during the BAVP — the biker audio visual presentation — Sasquatch took a call on his cell. “Yes. Yes. No. Now.” He hangs up and a car motor starts up at the opposite end of the park. “Oh crud,” methinks. I pretended to be scratching my lower back again … just in case. But no worries. Must have been another random thing. The car turned the opposite way, and drove toward Weatherford.
Just a random night under the stars. I live to blog another day.
Know what I sayin?
