Saturday, just about the time I was rolling the big yella bike out of the shed for a ride up the coast, I got a call and invitation to join our good brother, "mrider" (and company), at
Beeville for The Texas Mile. An opportunity to get up with this gang was not to be missed so we changed our flight plan and got in the wind.
Advertised as "Three Days, One Mile, No Speed Limit", it's a chance to see just how fast your car or motorcycle will go. This was the first time Jill and I attended.
We arrived in Beeville, made our customary wrong turn and rode halfway to the next town, returned and found the Chase Field Industrial Complex (formerly Chase Field NAS), site of the Mile.
As we rolled away from the ticket booth we spotted this beauty. During my teen years, the 1955-57 Chevys were the sleds of choice for many despite the production of serious muscle cars by the Big Three. Check out the wheels, classy, functional and non-spinning.
As soon as we got near the vendors area I spotted CMA's water and lemonade station and pulled over for a cold one. The fellow who was tending bar (in a manner of speaking) turned out to be a Honda VLX pilot. He's put serious miles touring on a bike that his buds tell him is too small for that purpose. Being a VLX owner, myself, he didn't have to sell me.
Of course, there were other motorcycles on site, bikes less suited for touring but better suited for chasing the 200 mph mark.
Spectators and participants were parked along an old taxiway. As we rode past them in search of mrider's camp I was impressed with how serious a sport going fast is; big bucks were represented in the cars and support rigs.
There also seemed to be a certain easy-going and general camaraderie not always felt at gatherings of motorcyclists, maybe because there's no way of posing, in this game.
Brother mrider had brought along a very snazzy Polaris ATV. ATVs and golf cars are a pain in the ass at rallies, but very nearly a necessity if one is to properly take in The Texas Mile. We loaded up in his and headed for the start line. Not being a car guy, there's not much I can tell about the vehicles that isn't written on the sides of them, but I could tell, right away, that ass was being hauled with alacrity (French for they were getting off to it ).
After ogling the vehicles and watching some launches, we decided to snag some cold drinks on our way to check out the finish line. We did some mutual gawking along the way. I'm not sure what this was about, perhaps some kind of Studebaker cult.
Form follows function, and damned fine form it is, too.
Here's another classic, form still following function, but not as likely to result in sex with a beautiful stranger.
There were a couple of the Volkswagen vans, both looked pretty plain but I had the feeling they were probably clean in the inside and mechanically sound.
We made our way to the finish line and watched for a while, hoping to see some V twins run. There was only one and he would have had a better top-end if I'd towed him with my Valkyrie. It was looking like the last car had run so we wandered back to mrider's wind-blown camp where we enjoyed fajita tacos, cold drinks and a little plain and fancy yarn spinning.
Despite a generous offer of shelter for the night, circumstances dictated that we take our leave. We'll return, better equipped, come October.
We're alive and in Texas.
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