Saturday May 2, 2009 –Mission to San Antonio

[snoof]

In 1962 during a near death experience I first met the Grotesques. I was barely a year away from the foot and leg surgery where muscle, tendon, skin, and bone were cut, severed and then reconnected. During that summer of ’61 while my brothers, cousins, and neighbors played in the back yard with the Wham-O Slip ‘n Slide, I laid on my back in the dark, wood paneled den counting the holes in the acoustic ceiling tiles and waiting for the pain to kick in strong enough so I could take one of the pills that made me feel numb in my body and good in my head.

The morphine in the hospital and whatever else it was they fed me the remainder of the summer gave birth to the addiction monster that fucked with me and I with it for the next twenty-seven years. But that’s not what today was about.

What today was about started the next year in 1962, when Wham-O came out with the Water Wiggle (which eventually had to be recalled. They said it was for safety reasons. I believe it was because the squirting toy spent more time inside little girl’s swimsuits than it did flitting around to and fro).

1962’s summer vacation brought me a tonsillectomy. It was done in the outdated, even for that time hospital of my home town. The foot surgery had been in Houston where they knocked my ass out good. All I remembered from that was the sensation of going down an elevator mostly asleep and then cold hands on my bare ass as they lifted me on the surgery table. Nothing else except for the pain.

For the tonsils I was wide awake being wheeled to the operating room, while being placed on the table, and the worse part, while having the mask through which that nasty ether was pumped into my lungs stuck on my face. I felt like I was being suffocated by the sickly sweet gas. My face went rubbery and I fought as hard as I could. The doctors and nurses yelled at me to shut up and to hold still. They very forcible held my head, my arms and legs down until I died.

I went through a long black tunnel feeling alone and scared until I was deafened by the noise of screeching and grinding metal machinery. I saw a huge space station like structure before being sucked back into darkness. I was deposited in a vast barren wasteland of jagged red boulders, mountains and blowing red dust. The sun was hot and red outlined by a black ring. Ugly, distorted, freakish, mean creatures wandered the area. Many years later I learned that these were Grotesques. At the time I thought they were demons and monsters. I did recognize the Gargoyles that flew the skies. I was helpless as they descended on me and began their cutting, probing and hitting. Worse though was the terrible sense that this was to be my lot for eternity.

But it was not. Though a heavy, black veil I heard a male voice, the prick doctor I assumed, saying, “He’s back. If you want to keep your jobs, keep your fucking mouths shut”.

My next memory was of searing throat pain and a heavy, hurting head. Even though I had no idea where I was, I recalled feeling relief that I wouldn’t spend forever in that hell I’d just experienced. But when I opened my eyes one of the Grotesques was licking the blood that was coming from not only my mouth and nose but from my left ear. I was in a narrow hallway of the hospital. No humans were around. Only the subhuman on my face (to this day I can hear the sound and feel the roughness of his tongue lapping my face) and another one sitting at my feet waiting his turn.

When a nurse finally did come with ice chips, she had one of the creatures on her shoulder. The licker moved over to his buddy and they watched the nurse. She could not see the demons. I could not talk or scream because of the pain to let anyone know that a portal had been opened through which these creatures had followed me.

I’ve told no one because no one would believe me. Once every few years since the tonsillectomy I am visited by these things. For the most part they are merely annoying and mischievous, although I have met some that are evil and dangerous. I am usually alerted that they are coming by the unexplained arrival of a small head resembling their own but made of stone. And then, in a nightmare where I relive my ether death, they enter the world to torment me.

An evil one once revealed himself to my first wife which led to her nervous breakdown and decision to divorce me (I know this even though she used many other reasons but not this incident as grounds for the breakup).

Thursday a new little head was on the doorstep of my office. Last night I had the ether nightmare and a 3:00 a.m. awakening as one of the little bastards leapt from his netherworld onto on my chest. “San Antonio”, he said before jumping back into what remained of my dream. I’ve found that if I just do what they say, the experience seldom exceeds a day and they do no harm to those around me. And I’m good for another couple of years.

So off I headed to:

Dripping Springs to Henly to Blanco to Spring Branch to Bulverde to San Antonio to Converse to Schertz to Cibolo to Marion to McQueeney to New Braunfels to Canyon City to Wimberley to Mountain City to Manchaca to home. About 233.3 miles.

The morning started out strangely. As I was packing my provisions for the trip I started seeing double. But it was not the drunken double vision where you see duplicated images side by side but rather the same sight one below the other. I squinted and focused and eventually was able bring back the single vision. For a minute I thought it was a stroke, but if it was it would have to wait for another day.

I left around 7:00 to an overcast, grey morning which I like. There was not much traffic and I hummed Edgar Winter’s Frankenstein as I moved quickly through the city. The buzzards I saw this morning were exceptionally large and handsome. One fellow, startled by the roar of RK, was so big that I could see his nuts dangling a good hundred feet above me.

Highway 281 which became McAlister Freeway was a good ride and today was the first time I took it all the way to downtown SA. Don’t know how it is during the week but it sure beat riding the Harley on IH 35.

They wouldn’t let me park the bike in the covered garage at River Center Mall, probably because of all the car alarms I set off last time, but I had no trouble finding a secure lot actually attended by people. I had a Diet Coke and set off to find the Grotesques.

I noticed that the Alamo hadn’t changed and I cut through the Hyatt to the River Walk where they were dragging out the last of Friday night’s swollen bodies. It too was not yet crowded. I’ve been on that river where I was shoulder to shoulder with the masses and didn’t much like that. Today was good except for something a little out of the ordinary. Every woman that I saw, which ranged from those in their teens to their seventies was pregnant.

When they were with a man he looked like a Stepford Husband with a blank look on his face and a goofy grin. Not the grin of a proud father to be, but like he was hypnotized or something. Strange. The air was thick with all of those pregnancy hormones and I got more than a glare or two as the ladies seemed offended by my astonishment that every female was knocked up.

Entering the haunted and tall old office building I saw that the Grotesques had already taken care of the security. Two guards were either dead or rendered extremely unconscious. That bothered me because that kind of violence is usually indicative of the work of one of the evil ones.

Before I could ponder the fate of the guards any further I was swarmed by eight of the little beasts and three gargoyles. Without a word we hit the River Walk again. It does no good to talk to them or ask what’s going on because they won’t answer me. I just follow them and they reveal to me what I need to know.

They sped ahead of me but left directions like the old Burma Shave signs on the necks, chests, legs and bare backs of pregnant woman that I encountered. Red welts spelled words on the ladies: “Walk” appeared on the exposed skin above the sundress of a blonde. “Faster” on another pg blonde’s shapely legs. “Old Man” on a redhead appearing ready to domino any minute.

“Having” “Fun” “Yet?” on three more Mommies to be. “Let’s” “Go” “To” Ripley’s’” on four more. Though the raised, red lettering on the pregnant woman looked painful, they didn’t seem to mind or even notice that they had been marked.

I acquired a burning desire to pee and neither the Grotesques nor the Gargoyles were anywhere to be seen (I doubted anyone but me was seeing them anyway). As it reached a critical point I yelled out loud, “I’ve gotta pee, NOW!” That got the looks of the big-bellied women and even their dimwitted mates. I was immediately surrounded by my crew of supernaturals. “To the Hyatt” became written in the River in what appeared to be blood.

So I went into the Hyatt, up the elevator with the rowdy Grotesques who cracked me up by sticking their pointy animal-like fingers up the noses and ears of the unsuspecting tourists. Then up the escalator I went to the conference and meeting rooms where I was sure to find a john only to be pulled aside and told that I didn’t belong there by hotel security. Just as I was going to lie about giving a lecture on early childhood development, a very attractive and pregnant woman stepped up and told the guard I was with her.

She then took me up the elevator to the tenth floor and to her room. She said that I could use her toilet. By this time I was in no position to argue. When I finished my business and came out of the restroom, she was lying stark naked on top of the covers of her Queen-sized bed in all of her pregnant glory.

“Don’t you know that pregnant women still get horny?” she asked, seeming to have detected my lack of interest. It’s not that she didn’t arouse me, but that I am betrothed to another. That plus the demons had formed the words “fuck her, fuck her” to appear on her forehead in those red welts. Plus the whole entourage of imps was squatting on the headboard like they had ringside seats to a world championship fuck-off. Even if I had chosen to satisfy the lady I think the circumstances may have brought on a little performance anxiety.

Instead I sat next to her and held the lucky and healing purple stone I had reclaimed two weeks ago to her temple causing the welts to dissipate and her to calm. I thanked her for the use of her bathroom and she you’re welcomed me with a nice kiss that included some tongue. I had to get out quick, which I did, before my mind changed.

As I left I felt the presence of the supernaturals behind me and upon exiting the hotel I met another beautiful pregnant lady with the word “homo” welted across her neck. I guess my companions were disappointed they didn’t get to see Snoof and the lady upstairs do the old in and out.

We went to the Ripley’s Believe It or Not” Haunted house where I was the only customer. A 55 year old man in a Harley t-shirt, vest, bandanna and boots. After listening to some pimple-faced kid tell me what rules I had to obey I started the tour. It was an OK place with the usual haunted house stuff including the live “actors” that I was warned may touch me. But the damn joke was on them. They were thrown around, lifted off their feet, wedgied, welted, bitch-slapped, you name it, by the Grotesques and Gargoyles. The actors were scared shitless as their chainsaws flew through the air and the other props were tossed at them. Some of the really terrifying looking actors were crying like little babies. It was great.

My ugly pals had a great time and I did too. As I walked though the last dark hallway of the by then deserted haunted house the flaming words “Until we meet again, Snoof” were burned into the ceiling. That wasn’t bad at all. Maybe those guys as well as I are mellowing with age. Perhaps I shan’t dread our next encounter.

Walking back to RK I decided to head east to see what the H1Swine1 Flu deal in Schertz and Cibolo was all about. Five or seven schools in the area had shut down until May 11 and I wondered if I might be of assistance. Besides I’d never been to those towns or made the ride before. I took the big loop and skirted Randolph Air Force Base where things seemed fine.

Then suddenly not fifty yards past the base I was surrounded by bodies strewn everywhere and cars dead in the road. There were no cattle, birds, bugs, or any sign of life. It was like one of the apocalyptic movies. Night of the Living Dead, except these dead were not zombies, they were dead dead. Eerie.

It was the same all the way through Cibolo, Marion, and into McQueeney. It was a little too much, even for this loner. I stopped at a convenience store in McQueeney where there were five cars with four drivers slumped over dead inside their cages and one guy dead, outside his car still holding the gas pump in his hand. Figuring he couldn’t use it and that it didn’t matter if his credit got wrecked from not paying his credit card charges, I took the pump and filled up RK. I had to pee again and went inside the store where I saw the dead cashier and the dead pizza/sub-making guy.

I stole a Brillo pad and a bottle of rubbing alcohol which I used on my hands, arms, and privates after I urinated. It hurt but I think I got all of the potentially deadly pig germs.

It actually felt good entering the outskirts of New Braunfels, like I crossed the plane into the land of the living. Buzzards and skunks again lived, I smelled cut grass and was actually glad to see traffic. No prom in Cibola or McQueeney this year, but jolly folk northwest of there.

I decided to hit the Gruene Harley-Davidson Dealership and maybe pick up a t-shirt because the combination of Brillo and Alcohol that I’d gotten ground in my shirt was irritating my nipples. And damned if they weren’t having the Rally on the River. I fought the bikers and their bikes for a place to park and strolled into the dealership then through the vendors outside. I saw nothing worth parting me from my hard earned dough.

The noise and crowd got to me and after declining invitations to cage fight and judge a wet t-shirt contest, I left. “Homo”, in red welts, I imagined seeing on an imagined pregnant girl’s face. There’s an excitement I get about these events, and just last night I registered for the Republic of Texas Rally in June, but I’ve got to be in the right frame of mind and rested. After being rudely awakened way too early by a Grotesque and dealing with their shenanigans I was neither.

But it was a good ride from there. Toobers were making use of the Guadalupe River near Canyon City and I stopped to watch them for awhile. The river was low and not a single pregnant chick. I kind of missed that though. Especially the babe in the Hyatt.

The road breeze felt good and for the first time today I really felt relaxed. A few cars were going slower than I usually liked them to but I didn’t mind and I didn’t pass them. I turned off 306 to 32, I think it is and enjoyed cruising on the Devil’s Backbone.

I can’t seem to make this ride without thinking of Jeanie. I never met her but knew of her. I learned from others that she was also a friend of Bill W. and had taken the HD Rider Safety course. She bought a Sportster and was thrilled to heck about it. Then one Sunday she was riding with a group, there on the Backbone when she went off the road and killed herself. I’ve heard that maybe she was trying to keep up with the group, riding beyond her limits. Maybe she didn’t know the bike well enough yet. Maybe she panicked in a turn. Maybe she hit a slick spot in the road. Maybe we’ll never know. But she’s dead. RIP Jeanie.

Instead of riding right through Wimberley I cut off before and being too tired to pull out a map, followed my nose and the road almost to Kyle. Then I accidently made some correct turns that took me through Mountain City and Manchaca where I wanted to go.

Lo and behold I was soon fighting the cagers on the screwed up, under construction South Lamar. I followed it to the Y where I work out and then got off onto the faster MoPac.

This was a day where a whole lot happened in not all that many miles. Country roads. Big ass buzzards. Big City. More pregnant women in one place than I’ve ever seen, including maternity wards. Bizarre creatures. A naked woman. Spook House. Decimated villages. Biker Rally. River floaters on inner tubes. Hills. Traffic. Road King. My Road King.

Shit. Life used to be so dull. Hardly worth living. Thanks RK.

[snoof]

pix

[snoof]

mo

[snoof]

last uns

[TexasRed]

Great pix & trip report snoof

[speed]

Snoof,

If you don't already write professionally you need to look into it.

Once again an interesting and entertaining read.

Cheers,

Speed

[snoof]

thanks speedman. i've been editing the first year of rides from sept 07 through sept 08 and will try to do something with it.

we'll see. thanks for the encouragement

[FATboy05]

I agree, I Love reading your "stories!" Especially ones where I was there{Hill Country} you have a real talent Bro!

p.s. in case you didn't read it in another post, I still have the Halloween gift you gave me, it rides on my tank. I get lot's of comments on it

[snoof]

i'll have another one for you this year fatboy. thanks