Texas Cosmopolitan 7: Dublin

 

The drive from London to Dublin went directly through the geographical center of the state.  A 50-foot high lookout looks out in every direction, it was vast, no structures could be seen, only land and trees and ledges and creeks and ridges and horizons.  The west is prettier than the east, and so it is with Texas.  Also, on the way to Dublin, I decided to play a 9-hole golf course near the town of Bland my cousin told me about years ago.  His story was so compelling, it made a fine tune...

 

Three Dead Skunks

Maybe it's the goo on my shoe from the backroom hairdoos.

Could be some old food voodoo, maybe their bread is turning blue.

Couldn't really tell what made the smell, but it smelled like hell.

Air was stale like sour milk pails, like a stinky, moldy jail.

(Chorus)

Paid my green fee.

Didn't look like many trees.

Just a slight southern breeze.

But the stink almost knocked me down.

Jumped in a cart about to start, loosening up all my body parts.

Broke my heart, they had no scorecards, keeping score in my head is hard.

Hit nothing but junk, score was sunk, water balls went kaplunk kaplunk.

Was in a funk, was playing like a punk, then I drove by 3 dead skunks.

Rest of the round no putts went down, almost par'd 7 but the ball lipped out.

This small town, hard pan ground, 9 hole course we somehow found.

It was going to pot, place smelled like rot, took a snowman on 8, then took a shot.

By 9 we were fine, we'll remember the time, Blanket Muni Golf Course, the scene of the crime.

...true story.

My experience was similar, and despite the Tuesday Special of a free back nine, I passed on playing 18, the place smelled fine, no dead skunks, but I took my 39 and headed north.  For the final two days of the Texas Cosmopolitan Roadtrip, I rented a small farm house in Dublin, it was essentially in the middle of a giant field behind an old mansion, and it was perfect.  A place to unwind my mind, write chapters, record songs for the Texas Cosmopolitan album, rest, and understand what this ramble, this wander, this jaunt taught me.  Dublin was a fantastic town with clovers all over, they embraced their namesake, like Paris, unlike Athens.  The spirit of the town was unbroken even by the seemingly endless demolitions and constructions underway, detours were everywhere, closed roads downtown, like a scene from the New Deal days, projects everywhere.

The two days went by slowly, my mind was calm and satisfied, filled up and inspired.  The covers were easy:  Dylan's From a Buick 6, Buffett's He Went To Paris, and Guy Clark's Dublin Blues.  Along with the five originals I recorded in Martindale, the album was in the can.  Most of the chapters of the expose were written, but not all, the final sentence would have to wait until a proper reflection.  Overall, some places are striving, some places are inside their own loop, some places are dark, some places are overtook, some places are too close to Houston, some places are heaven, some places have everything but people, and some places are under construction.

Texas Cosmopolitan 6: London

 

If you're lucky, and loved, after you're long gone, you'll have a key chain with your name on it attached to a fence at a picturesque rest stop near San Marcos, Texas.  Milo did, Melissa did. Rest in Peace, y'all.  The land was beautiful as I drove west to Blanco, Texas, on my way to London.  Brushing up on my Matt Kirk tunes, I cruised to the Matt & Ma album and looped it, nothing like a voicey, legendary Texas river gal singing Prine, Cash, and Don Williams tunes, and others, with acoustics, strings, and sway; the music somehow made the drive perfect, Matt's shaker driven, harmonica laced Hypothetically Speaking made me think of trunks and limbs and twigs, "When we start a family tree," Sylvia Kirk, we know where Matt got his chops (He sings Jimmy LaFave better than Jimmy LaFave).

After some eggs in Blanco, 18 holes at Lady Bird GC, and an afternoon dash to Junction, Texas, I was settled in at the Sun Valley Motel.  London was 20 miles outside of town, no lodging was available there.  The baby back ribs at Lum's BBQ hit better than anything in Lockhart, but I'm spoiled by my hometown joint for brisket, not even sure why I try it anywhere else.  Keep your brisket secrets, Hutchins BBQ, can't find better anywhere.  An old Indian man on an old walker kept popping up all around the motel, smoking darts (cigarettes); across the parking lot, then two rooms over, puffing away, by the ice machine, keeping an eye on me it seemed, I ignored him and slept like a rock.

After a 10 mile town bike ride the following morning I left Junction impressed with self promises of a lengthy stay in the mid near future.  A poem on a town painting in my motel room summed up the place...

Are you seeking recreation, 

with surroundings more than fair?

Peace and rest and relaxation,

from a world of weary care?

Come then--come away to Junction,

where the air is pure and sweet,

Mid the rock ribbed hills of Kimble,

where the Llano rivers meet.

Forest, field and rippling river,

rocky hilltops rearing high.

Bring the body rest and comfort 

and delight the weary eye.

Spend a little time with us--

you'll recall it with delight.

Junction, Kimble County, Texas;

Tourist Camp.--J. J. McWright.

...and I dug how J. J. made the signoff part of the poem, probably written in the middle of last century, probably a legendary figure around Junction, great use of punctuation and letter casing.  The 20 mile drive north to London featured blue skies, blue as the Sea Of Cortez, populated with large and small puff clouds, white like cotton, white white.  After Moscow and Berlin, I was worried London was gonna be a blip, or a blur, or a blurp, or a bust, but no, London was intact, 200 folks strong, alive.  The famous London Hall, London Park, London Pub, London Grocery & Grill, London Baptist Church, London Methodist Church, London Cemetery, London Water Tube, London VFD, The Queen Of Junk, and no Dollar Stores or Dollar Generals anywhere in sight, I liked London, classy signage.

Texas Cosmopolitan 5: Martindale

 

The road had done me in, I needed to hide out and get my thoughts together, write something, play something, do nothing for awhile.  I booked 3 nights at the Western 1924 Lofts above Duett's Texas Club in Martindale, Texas.  Set on the upper banks of the San Marcos River, the Aerodynamic Room was a renovated, old, poshy spot, and I can posh with the poshiest poshers that ever poshed, thanks to my wife and daughters.  The next 3 days went by slowly, I left a 5 star review and tried to capture the hazy memory of what went down...

"Felt like a 3 day dream. The pad, Duett's Texas Club, Harper's Vintage, the artist next door. Peace and quiet by day, then rocking and swaying and popping for a few hours, then back to peace and quiet and birds and river and moon. Best bed I've ever Aired To The Bee and Bee, and I've been around. Acoustics were nice, the patio was proper. All amenities were stocked just right and orderly. Thanks for the Tide, not all places set you up, detergent is pricey. No nickle and diming here. Cool to open the windows on a breezy day, the draft hits. River access is close, if that's your thing. Good bike loop of about 8 miles, includes a bridge crossing. Mansions are on the other side of the river, if you're curious. I was. Lockhart State Park is incredible, and close. Barb's BBQ was sold out and Smitty's was disappointing. The burger at Duett's is incredible, I ate it twice. The pork bellies were, eh. They have Flensburger Pilsner in a bottle. Matt Kirk and The Gueyfarers rocked."

The Gueyfarers (pronounced Wayfarers, after the shades) were the reason I came to Martindale, they were headlining a late afternoon show on Sunday, my final day there.  I was acquainted with the drummer, Brandon Custard from Viva Big Bend in '22, he was filling in for The Watters and we had talked for a bit before their fabulous Planet Marfa show, which I bóotleg recorded.  Martindale was a musical interlude of sorts, the Texas Cosmopolitan Roadtrip was halfway through, time to party, time to ride.  Immediately, I started acting like a local, hanging out at Duett's, riding the town, and browsing around. Found my way out to nearby Lockhart State Park for a round of golf and shot a personal best 79, making a 15 footer on the final hole, just one of those days.

The Friday night and Saturday night acts were fine, even spectacular at times, but Matt Kirk and the Gueyfarers were another level.  A complete and built band, they started out with Ophelia, moved into their own catalogue, took a quick break, covered Dylan's From A Buick 6 on my request, and finished with a new tune about the urgency of life, Matt knew time.  After the show, Custard told me they were having a cigarette out back and invited me to hang out.  Matt told me about his new album and we got into other topics, regular stuff, his recent interview tears, McMurtry stories, smoked turkey, shoe technology, Gruene Hall, and London, Texas.  It was a cool hang, they were encouraging and curious about the Texas Cosmopolitan project and understood the creative potential; I left Martindale the next morning inspired and determined, my mind relaxed and observant.

Texas Cosmopolitan 4: Berlin

 

The only thing worse than falling asleep in a gulag is waking up in one.  The less said about the LaQuinta Inn and Livingston, Texas, the better, but you can tell a lot about a town by the condition of their oldest theater.  The poor old Fain Theatre in downtown Livingston is a travesty. No rich local can rub up some coins?  The town left me feeling filmy and gloomy, especially after their empty golf course rejected me due to no tee time, I needed a rejuvenation, I needed a washer and dryer, I needed a break, I was dizzy.

No lunch, no gas fill up, I wanted out of Livingston, wanted to go west, and I went west, heading for Berlin, just outside of Brenham, Texas, world famous for Blue Bell ice cream.  My tension was high, my nerves were skittish, but slowly, the curvey roads and thinning pines provided some relief.  JJ Cale's Grasshopper album finally set me right as I rolled into downtown Brenham, hungry and with my senses back in balance.  Filled up on chicken fried steak, murals, and two scoops of Blue Bell butter pecan in a sugar cone, I was impressed with Brenham.  Berlin was 10 miles west according to maps, I was on my way.

I blew past the supposed town going 85 MPH, only a brief glimpse of a street sign indicating S. Berlin Rd. made me realize I missed it.  From highway 290, you'd think Berlin didn't exist, the suburban new Brenham water tower loomed over the area, a trailer dealer, an energy station, and north and south Berlin Road.  I went south first.  A beautiful, tidy, fully operational, complely historical, small Lutheran Church sat a quarter mile south of the highway, nothing else but pricey homesteads, each with rolling hills and several acres.  North Berlin Road was the same, without the church.

Texas Cosmopolitan 3: Moscow

 

Pine Dunes, near Athens, is an impressive golfing experience, it was described perfectly on their website.

Carved through majestic, century old pine trees with contoured fairways & rolling terrain, Pine Dunes provides the most peaceful setting you'll find for a world-class round of golf.

And so it was, four straight pars to start, a highlight birdie on the long par3 #6, a fairly slow pace, and 3 doubles on the final 4 holes. It all added up to an 86; drained some big putts, but golf is hard, especially from fairway bunkers.  Should've watched a tutorial, I was lost in the sand, and this place was full of it.

On to Moscow, a full two hour drive through the lushious east Texas woods and forests and hills.  This is where the best ranches are, where billionaires live, but nobody knows who lives there, nothing can be seen from the road, they tuck their houses back, probably cameras and sensors everywhere.  Security probably has their own headquarters, tucked even further back.  Machine guns, bunkers, secret doors and tunnels, could be anything going on, or going down.  Must be complicated being a billionaire.

Moscow had a post office, a park, and a burger shack that looked more shack than burger.  The older I get, the more the Greasy Spoon Myth is evident, don't waste your money on trashy food, I found a Dairy Queen later that evening in nearby Livingston, Texas, which was adequate.  Hobby Park, in Moscow, is named after former Texas Governor William Pettus Hobby, who was born there.  He served from 1918-1924 and among his accomplishments were making public school attendance mandatory, raising the age of consent for girls from 15 to 17, and bringing the Texas Rangers to justice after the Porvenir Massacre in Presidio County, where 15 unarmed Mexican American men and boys were murdered.  Nothing in Moscow, It was dusk, things were starting to look and feel Houstany, best I could do was a LaQuinta Inn in Livingston, it had the charm of a gulag, the bed was like a brick, tossed and turned all night, mind wandering, brain wondering, what ever happened to Moscow, Texas.

Texas Cosmopolitan 2: Athens

 

Loop 7 surrounds Athens, Texas.  It's a four lane, 16.6 mile masterpiece of civic organization and planning.  Driving around it, you wouldn't know a fully functioning small city lies within, the small city hasn't made it out to the loop yet.  But it thrives inside.  They have a cancer institute, they have a community college, they have a fishery, and the first hamburger was served there in the 1880s.

Fletcher Davis was his name, and he invented the burger category by frying up ground beef patties, adding mustard and Bermuda onions between two slices of bread, with a pickle on the side.  He took his delicacy to Chicago's Columbian Exposition in 1893.  It was a hit with the common folks, but the snooty class gave it the name hamburger after the barbaric eating practices of the people in Hamburg, Germany.  Something about eating fist fulls of raw hamburger meat.  The word hamburger was meant as a slur.

Either way, kudos to Athens, Texas for its grub.  Ate the best gumbo I ever ate at Tia Juanita's Fish Camp for supper.  The huge place was filled with interesting wall art-- a massive painting of Willie Nelson and George Strait, Chewbacca carrying a surfboard, a B.B. King concert poster, Mick Jagger in the rafters, Stevie Nicks, too.  I sat alone, drank a bottle of beer, and gawked.  No evidence of anything Greek inspired in Athens, Texas, a town all its own.

Texas Cosmopolitan 1: Paris

Can't blame Paris for the ratty greens at Legacy Ridge Country Club.  The golf course is located in Bonham, figured I'd start the Texas Cosmopolitan Roadtrip at a course on the way to my starting point.  Overall, I played well on the front nine after a double bogey on #1, finishing with a 39, swung loose and free, snagged a birdie on #3, the first day of this ramble, this wander, this jaunt.  The back nine, and it's trees, kicked me in the teeth, couple of doubles, a few missed short putts, my typical 43 to finish with a solid 82.  I'll take it.

Then to Paris for a tremendously good fried catfish lunch at Cafe 107 on the downtown square (4 stars).  I was familiar with the town in the northern northeast Texas area, known for the famous movie Paris, Texas, which won the prestigious Palme d'Or at the 1984 Cannes Film Festival.  It's considered a cult classic and one of the greatest films ever made.  Sounds a bit moody and depressing, I prefer epics and space movies.  I'll check it out one day, being a cult classic and all.

Paris has embraced bicycling and has hosted the Tour de Paris for the past 41 years.  A well maintained bike trail goes through the town and into the countryside.  The effort to leverage the culture of its European namesake is evident, a smaller version of the Eiffel Tower has stood since 1993.  It's 1/16th the size of the original.  A massive red cowboy hat sits at the top.

Pickleball Nags

That's when I heard the clackle I was hearing.  Made me coil inside, made my eyes start tearing.

He said hey you play tennis you'd be really good.  I said, I know, but I'm from the tennis hood.

I'm serious, he insisted, it's good exercise.  Wasn't getting the hint, so I looked him in the eyes.

Said no, motherfucker, I'll never play that game, on my death bed I'm gonna say the same.

 (Chorus)

Don't wanna play your pickleball.

Nothing against it, just not my bag.

Seems real fun, seems great and all.

Heard it all before from the pickleball nags.

E

ADE

DAEx3

DDDE.

Mulligan (Another Chance)

 

I'll take a Mulligan,

Gonna hit it again.

Just for my mental health.

Appreciate, my friend.

Don't want to trash my score.

Just wanna hit one more.

Give it another chance.

What a Mulligan's for.

(Chorus)

Like magic, it's a Mulligan.

It never happened, it's a Mulligan.

So in fashion, it's a Mulligan.

You oughta take one more.

Mark it with an asterisks.

Know it was kinda fixed.

If I shoot under par.

It was all just a trick.

In the end, there's no shame.

Unless it's a cash game.

When my nerves knock and shake.

Only myself to blame.

CGC

FC

FGCx3

GFC

Weed Whackers

 

Here come the weed whackers.

Bought by the beer backers.

Looking out for the midnight snackers.

Jerky, chips, seeds, and crackers.

Got out in my fresh cut lawn.

Got out early, just before dawn.

Sipped my coffee, hummed a song.

Let my mind wander along.

(Chorus)

Seems like it's 10% better.

The edge makes it all tight.

That's right, I say 10% better.

The glow, the tunes, the night.

Here come the weed whackers.

Bought by the beer backers.

Looking out for the midnight snackers.

Jerky, chips, seeds, and crackers.

DCDGx4

(Chorus)

CG

DCG

X2

Five Hooks In The Water

 

We got 5 hooks on the water.

We got 5 hooks in the sea.

We got 5 hooks in the water.

And 5 hooks is all you need.

EA

EB7

EA

EB7E

They say they like Abracadabra.

They think I'm cowboy from space.

They say they want Abracadabra.

I think I'll give 'em a taste.

Grew up fishing and having fun.

I was the king of the skies.

Catfish, crappie, and tarter sauce.

I'll take some more of that please.

Little Jonnie Walker up to no good.

Always out chasing fleas.

Little Jonnie Walker up to no good.

But he's always been cool to me.

*Gorman/Hestand/Amos/Big Pink

New America '76: 13. Our Very Own Hemisphere

 

In another time and place, everything is three decades older than it is now.  There is no war.  This is after the revelation of false history and crimes of the past centuries.  The royal killers covered it up in patriotism and nobility.  Honor the brave, celebrate the free.

No wonder the Orient seems uninterested.  Europia fools can't get it together, they are the guilty.  They know nothing of peace, they never have.  Come clean.  Rome has fallen, chill out.

And here we are, on our very own hemisphere. Monroe was on to something with his doctrine.  Only 20% of the world's population lives here, we are the outsiders.  North America, South America, and all points in between, from pole to pole.  Station to station.

New America '76: 12. Water Made Dusty

 

The summer is grand.  Nothing going down except what's actually going down, unless we listen to people telling us what's going down.  The twist, the shake, the on the take.  Listen not, watch not, protect your own wireless connections.  Bluetooth seems the greatest invention this century, so far.

Tell me, tell me of their woe.  How life and fate and decisions created this travesty.  Millions of European kids are dying in the mud, we hear.  500,000 have starved in the past three weeks, were told.  The goldfish must be fed, the water made dusty.

Many have jumped the fish tank, into ponds and lakes and rivers and creeks and bays and seas.  Hooks are everywhere, but there's more room to swim.  On our own and free.  Upstream, downstream, in a school, or prowling the deep.  Tunes all the way through.

Chupacabra Screw 3: Three Fingers To The Crowd

 

Screw the Hattiesburg FC.  Their unstoppable #9 and his glory sky pointing, his three fingers to the crowd as he left the field late, his pushing and shoving and his jawing and his scoring and his winning.  Wish we had him on our team.  The Chupacabras were not ready for the likes of him or weren't aware of the likes of him, or something.  Another lesson learned, the hard way, 3-5 loss, reasons for optimism, but still, dang.

0-3-1 on the season says nothing about wanting to win, the Chupacabras certainly want to win.  The blood, sweat, and tears are all over, spinning wheel, got to go round, they are busting to bust out.  It's a good trait, a solid trait, effort and want to, but it's not enough, to merely want to win.  They must have to win, to not accept losing, to detest it, to become ill by it.  They are making progress.

Tough to take, and medicine's not enough, the mind must take over, the body is a tool to maintain and improve, it must be tamed to perfection, broke in.  And so it is with a team.  Ignore the Refs, they are Refs, any team relying on Refs or blaming Refs is diminished.  Pull up your shin guards, Chupacabras, keep the chins high as your digestive system processes the first 4 games.  Hit the road like desperados, like it must be done, we definitely have the players, we must become an elite pack.

Chupacabra Screw 2: Soft Red Card

 

Screw the Mississippi Brilla.  We're lucky to get out with a draw, 1-1, our first point in franchise history.  #9 was dashing again with an early goal, and #15 showed off his skill and grit all night.  Our goalie made key saves down the stretch, and a Brilla open net header went six inches wide right in the final minutes.  Becoming winners takes time and the entire team seemed collectively disgusted with the outcome, a good sign.

It would be easy to ride the refs, complain about the soft red card on our best defender in the middle of the 2nd half when we were up 1-0.  It's temping to whine about the penalty kick given Brilla late in the game, which they converted to tie the score.  But, no need.  The Chupacabras crowd was relentless, "You're horrible!" from a man to my left, loud and booming, "The Ref sucks!", from another man up front, as his gal cringed.  Even a small boy to my right got in on the heckling, yelling out a a slur, covinced the Chupacabras were being robbed of their first win, as his parents sat gloomy silent.

Somebody has to pull the cards, somebody has to blow the whistle, somebody must take the blame.  It was real anger simmering in the stands.  Gestures, vulgarities, and aggressive pleading.  The sorry Refs can't card us!  We're invested, on the cusp, in the den.

Chupacabra Screw 1: Whiff Of Culture

 

Screw the Denton Diablos. Chupacabras take the 3-4 loss in our home opener, but scored the first goal in franchise history and got gritty at the end to nearly push it to overtime.  Lots of flying around, lots of hustle, couple of weird bounces, just the right amount of yellow cards, and a stone cold penalty kick save from our goalie.  My Jankee Roots Bike Gang brother, Amos, informed me about 80% of those hit the net.  A soccer coach for decades, it's good to have him in the stands for inquiries, thoughts, and other futbol nuances.

Food trucks and remnants of a pre-party when we arrived hot and sweaty on our bikes.  Evidently, Tupps ran out of beer, which was a good sign.  Word was a white SUV on the edge of the parking lot had beer, and so they did (we owe that dude, Amos).  Division 80 busting out on stage, kids kicking miniature soccer balls around, teal everywhere, Chupacabras flags and scarfs.  The whiff of culture. 

We'll get there, 0-2 on the season, #11 and #9 were standouts.  Our defense had a major lapse early in the 2nd half as the Diablos scored 4 unanswered goals in the first 20 minutes.  Our coach made player adjustments and we tightened up, especially after he loudly berated a player for walking.  "You don't wanna be here?!?" he screamed, rhetorically.  The thousands in the crowd were loud and proud, security was tight, the Star Spangled Banner was starry, the sunset set was nice.