The Scorpion Chronicles-June 2001

Forty-eight hours after the Summer solstice, The Chrome Caballeros with lovely pillion warmer's brave the highway abattoir. The arching sun warming our excitement in a madcap adventure to Venice, Louisiana for that tasty crustacean, water scorpions/ mud bugs/ black crawdads that is.

We roar through P'cola on the way to our first ferry crossing, Ft. Morgan to Dauphin Island, Al. Reverently genuflecting as we stop at the birth of kick ass Gulf Coast living, The Flora-Bama lounge.

At Ocean Springs, MS one of the Caballeros went into post natal trauma and insisted on showing us his old stomping grounds. The old family domicile, the gas station were he used to cop beer, the park were he first got lucky, yadda yadda yadda.

After so much time behind the bars it was time to get in front of a bar. The afore mention Caballero, being the only one riding one up, fixed his gaze on a lovely décolletage. Being horny enough to shag a warm scarf he chats her up with tales of bravado. The heaving orbs and big nips drove him to the brink of madness as he convinced her to join us on this wild ride. So, Gena Statutory, got on his pillion while we heard her murmuring something about always wanting to see the Grand Canal.

At last we leave behind the land of pathological obsession with safety. Thus we enter the land where lunchtime drinking is an all day event and the parental hand holding of goverment, business, and groups does not exist. At the Rigolets, LA., Big Betty's Tavern beckoned. The old elite welcomed us and we start to gather intel for our forthcoming travels. Big Betty, got her name from her big heart not her diminutive stature so we thanked her for the hospitality and rode on.

At the Chalmette, LA ferry, Quasimodo, the churlish ferry master who lost a battle with scoliosis as a youngster directs us on where to park the scoots. From there we proceed to enter the land of tar paper shacks and gap tooth smiles, The Plaqemines. Sids in Port Sulphur, LA is the place to gather more liquid intel. The sign on the door says you have to be 21 to enter and the barmaids inside are all seventeen. You gotta love the ungovernable state.

The teeny boppers tell us about the places to avoid. Turns out to be every single juke joint. So naturally we seek them out.

Being arriviste parvenus we use the old tactic of hitting them before they can hurt ya. Buy them a beer and become part of the "atmosphere".

At Buras, LA we pass a fish cannery across the street from the local high school. We couldn't figure out if the smell was from the cannery or the Saturday night prom.

That night we hit The Den Lounge. Thirty oil rough necks and cannery workers and one woman who looked like Miss Lincoln 'cause everybody had taken a shot at her in the balcony.

Order a Scotch on the rocks and you got a 12 oz cup filled to the brim. I wanted mine with a little umbrella but the group thought that as unwise.

Seeing how we had the only fresh meat in town some of the bolder ones weaved over and kept slapping us on the back saying we had some real pretty ladies. Nobody offered money.

After getting higher than an astronauts ass, we were reluctant to open our eyes Sunday morning. The delicious imbibing of Saturday night, made it difficult to get into the discipline of riding. Breakfast at Babara's Place Inc. soaked up that devil rum. The gravel parking lot was a might bit difficult to commandeer as you had to be careful that your kick stand wouldn't roll off the spent .38 caliber casings.

Riding the ferry at West Pointe A La Hache puts us on the East side of the Big Muddy. The river road is strewn with the night kill of 12 pound rats. Local intel says a cottage industry exist for the collection of this organic detritus. It's used in the production of a ladies face cream called Nutrogena.

Next a small breakdown. Luckily it's at a mini mart. What to do. It's hot. It's Sunday. It's BFE (Butt-Fuck Egypt). EUREKA THEY SELL BEER! The cosmos are in balance again. The amity and fellowship of bikers comes through. A guy down the street drives several miles with the much needed part and refuses to take money for his time or trouble. Just wishing us a safe ride.

Back through the Rigolets and Ron Charles Social Club & Restaurant, owned by brothers Ron & Charles Smaltz. Boiled shrimp by the bucket full and a fais do do every night. Got to make it back to Bay St. Louis, MS so's to drink beer and drop off Gena Statutory. We take a vote and it's unanimous. We want her on our future trips. But will she dump that guy?

Last stop Gautier, MS and a great tucked away place called Huck's Landing. The punctilious owner was gracious in his hospitality and we let time get away from us. The push home was via I-10 at flesh stretching speeds ETA 10:30 PM. Total miles 705 and remember it could have been you with that real fine chick.

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