Saturday May 9, 2009 – Invasion of the Forest FBugs

[snoof]

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee,
Greenest state in the land of the free.
Raised in the woods so's he knew every tree,
Killed him a bear when he was only three.
Davy, Davy Crockett King of the Wild Frontier.

Woke up with that in my head this morning; don’t know any other verses. I’ve been wanting to see some different roads and scenery so last night I decided to travel to the Texas Piney Woods and through the Davy Crockett National Forest. Sounded like a plan so off I went from:

Austin to Round Rock to Taylor to Rockdale to Hearne to Franklin to Marquez to Centerville to Crockett to Kennard to Apple Springs to Groveton to Onalaska to Point Blank to Huntsville to Montgomery to Navasota to Independence to Gay Hill to some roads to Giddings to Elgin to Home. All said and done 13 hours and 479 miles.

I must have been excited because I was up at 5:00 and on the road well before 6:00. My dog Skyler really wanted to come with me but not until a sidecar enters the equation. When I left it was humid muggy and warm so I worn only a t-shirt. In the near dark outside of Hutto I got a little chilled but that felt good. I knew to enjoy the cool because today was destined to be a hot one.

The roads for the first 125 miles were familiar to me, so I just listened to the voices and enjoyed the wind and the sound of RK. In Marquez however we entered new territory. I’ve traveled through this little burg, named for Ponce de Marquez, discoverer of the fountain of youth, but never before did I take the detour onto to Highway 7 which would ultimately drop me off in Crockett.

From the start I saw that 7 was a curious thoroughfare. It was one of those roads where the state signs for speed limits, passing zones, etc as well as the lines painted on the road itself were meant only as suggestions rather than law. Vehicles passed on the shoulder and tooled along in reverse. People were driving at speeds anywhere from ten to one hundred ten mph. Throwing rocks, sticks and baseballs at approaching trucks (the vehicle of choice) was common.

What was also strange was that I traveled for a stretch of a few miles and the road seemed relatively normal; sunny skies, cattle grazing, and for the most part people acting right.

But then I’d hit a stretch into the Bizarro World. The skies darkened suggesting an impending storm, potholes appeared and the road buckled as I watched. The roadkill and wildlife was mutated and scary: two-headed, burned deer; coon-possum crossbreeds, cattle with horse heads, squirrels that spit blood from their eyes, birds that flew upside down and much more. Fires burned on the side of the road.

Probably the worst though was the smell. Imagine combining fairly new pig shit with cattle shit. Marinate that in marshy, methane reeking swamp water along with squirrels that have been dead and in the sun for most of a day. Then pour a bunch of vomit into the mixture. That’s kind of what it smelled like during those stretches.

Just as I thought I’d go insane, the normal road appeared. It went this way, back and forth, through Concord, Robbins, as I crossed under IH 45 at Centerville, through Malvern and all the way into Crockett. Quite the interesting ride. One that I will take again just to see if the oddities repeat themselves.

There are things in our personal histories that are so deeply burned into the brain that we will vividly remember them as though they occurred only yesterday - until dementia tears its final holes into the tissue within the skull leaving more air than spongy material. Where one was at the time of Kennedy’s assassination is an example of this memory phenomenon.

A year before that tragic event Sister Constance made the following statement, in what context I don’t recall, but the exact words are indelibly etched into my grey matter.

“Children” she said, “it is not ours to question the will of God, however, our Heavenly Father must have been on the tail end of a Mad Dog bender when he created the nasty ass-ed (Sister Constance pronounced it like ‘acid’ instead of assed) fuckbugs.”

Although that quote has stuck in my head for all of these forty-six years, I never truly understood its significance until today.

I had no sooner finished maneuvering around the idiots throwing the red caliche-like dirt clods gathered from the dirt mines at me then I was hit with the initial infestation of Plecia nearctica or lovebug or fuckbug.

At first I was amused by the little creatures. Those that managed to survive the impact with my windshield without splattering their guts, and there were several pairs, just kept humping away. I sped up to eighty miles per hour and somehow they managed to maintain their grip on the windshield as well as on each other.

Even more amazing was their ability, at that speed, to light post-coital cigarettes. I just made that up. That didn’t really happen.

But more and more they kept splattering, leaving their innards as well as various external parts on RK’s windshield until I could not see through it. They were also covering my glasses and face and hands. Fortunately I arrived in Crockett figuring that I’d avoid the little bastards and bitches for awhile. I pulled into a gas station and watched the vehicles all around me scouring their windshields to eliminate the dead bugs. One fellow told me, “Tis the season. They’ll get worse before they get better.”

Even as I used the BugSlide I carry with me to clean the dead ones off, a few live ones continued to fly in and land on RK and me. They were shameless, although not that varied in their sex acts.

After a Diet Coke and urination I continued on to the Davy Crockett National Forest. The FBugs seemed to be getting worse as I headed into the beauty of the tall, thick trees. Sure enough there were pines (hence the Piney Woods) but other trees I recognized but cannot name. The sheer green of the scenery was wonderful and put me into a relaxed, soothed mood.

Although they were soiling my Harley and me, I paid little attention to FBugs until I stopped to photograph the road surrounded by the forest. No sooner had I stopped than the annoying insects lit on the Harley. When I walked away to check out the area, they left me alone. But when I returned they were all over RK. I rode as hard as I could and managed to eventually blow the fornicators into the draft behind me. But I continued to smash the free-flying fuckers.

Because the windshield was so gunked up I stopped in Apple Springs and attempted to clean the windshield again. I was unsuccessful because live ones were flying onto the shield and getting caught under my cleaning rag making an even bigger mess. This whole scene was beginning to resemble the Hitchcock movie “The Birds” where the birds congregated in the schoolyard. The bugs became overwhelming.

And dangerous. As I continued on, cars were stranded on the shoulders of the road, overheated as their radiators were clogged by the copulating pests. Where the windows were not completely obscured by dead and writhing FBugs I discerned the horrible fear on the faces of the humans trapped in their cages. These were the lucky ones.

The sky was darkening, this time because of the insect plague, and panic started to grip me. At eighty mph I was now being pummeled not only from oncoming bugs, but from the rear also. They were flying from behind me as well as from the sides. I was being attacked on all fronts.

As I entered Groveton the severity of the situation was driven home. Beside the stopped vehicles, I saw a dozen human bodies covered with the obscene creatures screwing in the deceased’s mouths, ears, eyes. I had to turn my head. I felt for the poor souls but I was concerned for my own survival. Straight ahead was a large, dilapidated building that looked like a school.

I was forced to turn either right or left. The stop resulted in being swarmed. At the last second I pulled off the road, parked RK and ran as fast as I could toward the big old building hoping to gain entry and refuge. But the FBugs were faster. As I tried to yank open the door of what I discovered was an old courthouse, the tiny evil fuckers overcame me.

The door suddenly opened and I was roughly dragged inside by a charmingly pale woman who seemed incapable of such strength. She shut the door behind me and pulled me over to a hand pump which dispensed the water she used to clean me. She forced me regurgitate the insects in my stomach and then cough up those in my lungs. Although a little weak, I recovered rapidly. I sure could have used a Diet Coke about then.

We watched the sex fiends swarm the deserted streets around us. RK silently, but strongly weathered the onslaught of the bugs. She would be OK I was sure. Dirty, but OK. My companion, Cadie, however looked somewhat bewildered.

As I thanked her (I placed her as being in her early 20’s, with a smooth and creamy complexion and wearing one of the white, gauzy peasant dresses that I find so becoming) for saving my life, I asked her what she was doing in the vacant building.

She gave me a puzzled look and said “Why waiting for the trial of Elmer Hoopenhorst, of course. I wait for justice.”

Uh oh. “Out of curiosity, what year is it Cadie?”

Again the puzzled look. “1896, of course. Why do you ask?”

Shit, here we go again.

Cadie told me that Elmer, a wealthy landowner and politician had raped her. When Cadie’s father Thomas demanded satisfaction, Elmer shot him dead. Cadie thought she was here to testify against Elmer. Given that it was 113 years later and Cadie looked not a day over 22, it was a sure bet that I was talking to a ghost.

It is difficult to convince someone that they are dead. No matter how gentle I was with my words, Cadie became more and more distraught. She refused to hear me. All that concerned her was that Elmer Hoopenhorst be tried, convicted and hanged.

On a hunch I pulled my purple stone from my pocket. I put it in Cadie’s soft hand, closed it and cupped with in my own bigger hands. We were both immediately jolted as though by electricity. Cadie closed her eyes and began crying. She was dead, she said. Elmer had strangled her. “There will be no justice” she sobbed. She became inconsolable. It was breaking my heart to see her hurt so.

Suddenly I felt her pain stop. Cadie smiled. “There is justice. There has been vindication for my father and for me, Snoof.” She knew my name. I didn’t recall giving it to her.

“Your great uncle Louis, made things right, Snoof. He took Elmer away, branded the words ‘Rapist’ and ‘Murderer’, one letter at a time on the screaming coward’s chest. Louis then tied each leg and arm to four horses and quartered the demon. He will scream forever in Hell.

“I’ve seen it all Snoof. I am dead, but I can move forth. Thank you.”

She handed the rock back to me. It felt warm and good in my hand. Even better in my pocket.

“But first I will help you”.

Before my eyes, the dress I so liked and that she wore so well, seemed to grow larger. I know recognized it as a funeral shroud. I was sure it was the one in which Cadie was buried. She lifted the garment over me and pulled me close to her naked body. I would be lying if I said I felt no stirrings at the sight and feel of her perky, yet full young breasts and the golden triangle of angel hair between her legs. She smelled wonderful.

With me close to her, under the shroud, we walked out into the swarming FBugs and to Harley. Not a single couple of the fucking creatures penetrated the protective shroud. They were instead repelled by it. As we got to RK, Cadie uncovered me and kissed me lightly and sweetly on my lips.

“Goodbye Snoof. We will meet again.”

Before I could tell her that I wanted to go with her, she became a wind. A powerful wind. She whirled around me and RK blowing away all offensive insects and even removing some of the dead ones from RK. And then it was quiet. All that remained was her delicious smell. I cried.

And then I started RK up and we continued our day. With a lessening of the tormenting insects. The next leg of the trip took us by Lake Livingston. The only other time I saw the lake, its waters were a pleasing greenish-blue color. Today it was a brown and murky as the Mississippi. Perhaps it was the result of recent rains. Perhaps it was the result of the millions of dead and decomposing carcasses of fucked out lovebugs. I didn’t care which.

Passing through Point Blank I thought of my bud MrPiff. He’s one of the few people I’ve actually ridden with. He lives in Point Blank. I think he does. Or did.

Riding through Huntsville I heard more ghosts. These were the ghosts of the hundreds executed at the Walls Unit of the state prison and their cries were those of anguish as they received the jolts of electricity that killed them.

Outside of Huntsville I found more great riding through another national forest, the Sam Houston. I think the ride on 1791 to 149 may be another favorite, best of ride for me. I’ll do it again.

I zigged where I should have zagged, adding a good fifty miles to the trip, but finding myself in Montgomery. There I discovered a neat little shop where I bought a couple of goodies for my wife for Mother’s Day. Ain’t no accidents as they say.

I cruised through Navasota, noticing that I was tiring and getting too much sun. But I didn’t care. RK takes away pain and rejuvenates.

We stopped in Independence, significant in early Texas, where I had a Diet Coke and learned that Baylor University was founded in Independence and then later moved to Waco. I learned some other interesting tidbits too but I don’t remember them.

I rode on aimlessly taking unfamiliar roads as if in a daze until somehow I wound up on 290. Thanks Cadie. I know you were helping.

And then I was home and the work began. RK was filthy and I gave her a good bath and shower. I gently hand washed her and then applied and rinsed the S100 stuff. She’s now squeaky clean and sparkling.

With all the washing I did, I noticed that a large puddle had accumulated at the bottom of the driveway. I went down to disperse it. When I saw that the top inch of the collected water was nothing but little, tiny insect penises, vaginas, and tits I turned and walked away. Enough is enough.

Although the day was long and had its travails, it was a damn good one. I’d do it all over and then again. I just can’t seem to not have a good and memorable time on that motorcycle.

[snoof]

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[snoof]

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[snoof]

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[MLC]

snoof please take this as a compliment ok? reading you is like reading douglas adams only stranger.

[TexasRed]

Can never get enough of your road reports snoof. Very cool pix too!

[mrpiff]

Sure wish you had given me a call while you were in my neighborhood.
When you went through Point Blank you were 4 miles from my house, and in fact we were in Onalaska all day yesterday and would gladly have bought you lunch had we known you were there!

The fucking love bugs are just starting this year. By July and August they will be horrible!!! We have them every year, but once every 4 years they are 100 times exponentially worse. This is that year!

I too enjoy your ride reports along with the twisted and delusional thoughts (meant complimentary) that run through your mind! :grin:

[FATboy05]

Howard, I have to say your description of those damn bugs was right on "free-flying fuckers" :lol: They are very nasty, and hard to get off the windshield for sure :evil: Lucky for you Cadie came into your life, or this might have been the last Great story of yours we would have been able to read!

Are you still going to ROT? We are going to be down that way most of the week

[snoof]

hey guys

good to hear from all of you guys. never any offense taken mlc. red always good to hear from you and even better to see you and george. fatboy i registered for rot last week. hope to see you around.

mrpiff i'll catch you there another time. good riding in your area

thinking about the hill country ride too, but we got a lot of summer before then.