News From up the Street- May 2001

We drove our pulsating steeds into the maw of the rising sun, driving and butchering the enemy before us. Ravishing the maidens with lust...um...wrong story, just a harmless game the wife and I...oh never mind.

Commander Cody and The Lost Planet Airmen departed on a magnificent spring morn. Four chrome pork bellies, slinging potatoes, with two pillion warmer's, embarked on an asphalt adventure in search of the perfect bi-valve and barley juke joint.

First stop, Bruce Cafe. To early for the afore mentioned indulgences but needing sustenance just the same. Our waitress, Blue Dot, so named by us for her affection for liberal applications of blue mascara (you go girl) was speaking in a garbled, inarticulate tongue. Not educated in this romance language, your Fearless Leader could not translate "Purty durn good aggs", having had a misspent youth mired in good diction, and was forced into a specific state of starvation.

To the rescue came Big Raul, whose parents had hired him out as the statue in front of Bob's Big Boy Dinner in the 60's and Deputy Fred, a mutant Barney Fife. They were both testament to "Hookt un Fonix rilly wurkt fer mee"

After warding of starvation and being sated by your basic food groups; salt, sugar and grease, the ribbon beckoned. Except there seemed to be extra potato sounds emanating from our steel ponies.

On to weewee in Wewahitchka, Fl where we partook of the Tupelo Honey Festival bon ami. It was a true fanfare for the common man, people you wanna meet. They had a blue grass band playing "Will the Circle be Unbroken", "Nine Pound Hammer", "I saw the Light" and other favorites. When we pulled up they lowered the barricades and had us park inside the fest with the auto show so everyone could ooh and ahh..

In Port St Joe, Fl we stopped at the Florida Constitution Museum which has a lame mechanized exhibit of signers of said paper. It was obvious that Chuck-e-Cheeses had designed it, as it posses no threat to Disney. When asking to see the Constitution they pulled out a loose leaf ring binder with photo copies. Just to much cultured for us.

After riding under that know carcinogen, Old Mr. Sun, we knew we had to defend ourselves against free radicals. The preventive medicine was 2 pitchers of beer and oysters all around at Indian Pass Raw Bar. Twelve miles further, more defensive maneuvers at Boss Oysters on the Apalach River. Twenty-seven miles is all we could muster before cottonmouth disease afflicted us again. This time it was Wicked Willie's in Carabelle. Four dollar pitchers and the slogan "We cheat the other guy and pass the savings on to you" Needless to say we hung around to soak up the savings. The sweet thing behind the bar affectionally know as "Bitch" (really) understood that we were on a mission from God and sent us on our way to a redneck day care center know as 98 Bottles close to our destination of St Marks. After rubbing elbows in the parking lot of 98 Bottles and blending in with the atmosphere we followed the other bikers to Posey's, the Holy Grail of Smoked Mullet. The band was playing, the dancers where performing rhythm abuse, and happy hour was $1 beers until 10 PM. Heaven.

By now I finally got the rhythm of this neckbonics thing and could understand these people, unfortunately they could not understand my slurring. Some one with a better presence of mind asked where we were going to crash. A lone rider took off to reconnoiter the local establishments while we drank his share of the beer. Lordy, only one room left, the other choice was Tallahassee. To much fun and eating to do. We lied and snuck six people into the room.

The night was still young and the sea breeze refreshing so on to Dewey's Grocery, purveyors of food, spirits and fun. The flourescent moon glowing under the awning, children, bikers, ne'er do wells, wastrels, gypsies, tramps, thieves, dogs and cats came together to celebrated Dewey's 24th anniversary in business. He had broken out his best 70's leisure suit and Panama hat and was handing out presents to one and all. Linda, of the bodacious tatas, was strumming her electrified guitar when one of our Lost Planet Airmen strode up, confidently announced he was a picker and he would like to borrow the instrument and perform. Linda graciously turned over her ax. He promptly dropped it. Face down, pickups screaming feed back. How he had the cojones to proceed in front of the hushed crowd and mortified Linda, we will never know. He did, and brought the house down. He had the crowd eating out of his hands. Men bowing up, proud to be an American, women moistening and wearing their party hats. With cheers and drunken laughter behind us we mercifully fell asleep at midnight, smiles all around. What a hoedown!

5:30 AM. Up and at them, no sloths here. Hangovers be damned, the Lost Planet Airmen did the Three S's and moved on to Outzn's Cafe in Newport for coffee and the greatest eye opening concoction know to man. The Oyster Shooter. This contrivance is a freshly shucked oyster, smothered in horseradish, swimming in Tabasco and drenched with beer. Everyone had to have two.

Then on to the St. Marks Lighthouse. Simply panoramic. We had one little incident with a twelve foot water mocassin blocking our path in the middle of the road. A righteous burn out took care of this minor inconvenience. One of the afore mentioned Airmen went to pick it up by the tail and good gawd it was still alive!!! This time a stomping party did the trick.

Heading home, keep on moving on. To Julia Mae's in Carabelle this time by way of Sopchoppy and a little rain. A repast of grilled scallops, oysters, red snapper, grouper throats, fried mullet and beer left us all yearning for a siesta. Solution? More barley and bivalves.

St Georges Island. A must do causeway and bridge. Speed limit 35 mph and signs stating "CAUTION LOW FLYING BIRDS". The nesting seagulls number in the thousands, crisscrossing about eye level. Cover your brake and clutch and go slower than the speed limit or your going to be smiling feathers.

Wonder Bar, a gun and knife club, if you don't have a weapon they issue one at the door. Another slice of heaven here. Right on the beach, open air deck $2.50 pitchers. Could not let this one go by.

Again home beckoned. Half a mile down, Toucan's. Second verse, same as the first. Oh the humanity!

Finally in sight of our local bay. Mango's at the foot of the 331 bridge. Barley is high but the bivalves are only $4.50 a dozen.

AJ's was the final stop. One more beer before crossing that lonesome road between the bridges.

Home. Unpack, cleanup and eat more bivalves at the High Tide. It's Butt Bongo Fiesta night, YEAH BABY!!!

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