This past December I received an email from an old, dear, and distant friend, Mac. It came as a bit of a shock, as the time between this email and the last was quite lengthy. In fact, it had been so long since I’d seen his address that I was suspect, that it was even him. There’s just too much hacking and internet chicanery these days.

My initial reply was brief at best, I was testing the waters rather than plunging in. Mac’s response was something akin to, “Eureka, you’re still alive!” I found this a bit odd since I’ve mostly maintained a fair modicum of health, especially in those years we’d hung out more regularly. Still favoring a more cautious approach, I asked him to, “Define alive?” His next response assured me it was my distant friend returning.

His email was to inform me of the recent death of his Mother. This was a most unfortunate revelation, as I had always thought of her as a sort of surrogate Mother to me. During a portion of my somewhat tumultuous youth, Mac, his Mother, and family had welcomed me into their home at a time I needed their support. I will always be grateful for the kindness they showed me and I hope that at least in a small way it was a beneficial relationship for all of them. I remember this period, likening it to Charles Dickens’, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom… it was the spring of hope,,,, we had everything before us.” We lived and learned a lot!

Mac and I rehashed adventures we’d shared, friends we missed, and tragedies we’d avoided. We both agreed to turn off our wayback machines just before Christmas. Priorities have changed over the course of some three decades, Mac was awaiting the arrival of his children and grandchildren, I am looking to start a new adventure in the Andes or on the Isthmus.

From the sparseness of hair shown in his Christmas card, I hope Mac and Wendy come for a visit and purchase a proper Panama hat. I love you guys!

It’s been 1019 days since I last reported in to The Burnt Crust. You might think I might have amassed volumes to share. Hold that thought, if it’s true it may it may take awhile to get started. I’m glad I have continue to pay for this space to unburden my thoughts through these years since my last visit.

It’s 5:22 AM on a Monday morning and as so often is the case I’m awake long before the Sun, an event that reoccurs far too often these days? I don’t know, maybe it’s age; maybe it’s TB (tiny bladder) or maybe it’s the fact that my fearless therapy dog and almost constant companion, Gabby, was crowding me in bed?

Gabby is a Cairn Terrier or Cairn Terrorist as I often refer to her who although probably only 1/10 my weight and approximately 1/3 my length had positioned herself along my side, forcing me to lay precariously along the edge of my king-size bed. With other larger dogs I would have simply pushed her away. Instead I lay as motionless as possible to not incur what we describe as one of her “Cujo moments”. She is small but she is mighty!

So I put on my glasses and pre-emptively put my hand on her and give her a few gentle strokes to lessen her reaction to my awakening and leaving the bed without permission. I do this as much to assauge Gabby as to not hasten Chari’s awakening that is scheduled to occur in another half hour before she has to leave and begin the visitations to her canine customers.

Several ideas had run through my head before I left my warm bed. One was to add to this blog, others will follow.

For the life of me I’ve never understood why. For the most part I would consider my life as nondescript, but maybe the axiom “one man’s meat…” holds true?

I love to listen to other’s people’s stories and I love to observe and I do love to read. So why write? I ask myself that question as I’m sure most who might happen upon this blog may do. Sometimes i just feel better after leaving some marks on the page and that’s reason enough for me!

I’ve always been attracted to wordsmiths; poets, writers, comedians, and Prophets. I’ve never felt I was one nor have I really aspired to be one. Maybe I’ve simply encountered a larger percentage of boring people or at least those who just never cared what they said or how they were heard. Although I can’t say I’ve accomplished much in life, I will say my life has been an interesting one and it’s easy to say I feel it’s been mostly because of those who have befriended me through the years. I have had lot’s of adventures, not always good one’s. but adventures nonetheless!

I believe my recounting these adventures has lead some people to suggest that I write and others to think I’m preposterous and untrue. A good friend and longtime co-conspirator on many of these adventures coined the phrase, “Why tell a lie when the truth is so much more interesting?”.  Thank you Mark. We both know that that is the crux of the biscuit!

It’s also  a reason I don’t write more. I’ve never been a fan of fiction so I feel my writing is based on non-fiction, my life’s adventures. To my good fortune and the horror of some I have little to no need to embellish, “just the facts…” is enough for me and most other people.

And that’s another thing people have told me I should consider? You should open a restaurant? Two things about that: #1. Cooking is in my opinion an almost a sacred duty because what you feed others becomes part of them and #2. My cadre is limited and I feel they have been well chosen. I don’t feel at risk of having to defend my tastes. I eat some pretty weird stuff! At the same time, in most instances, I’m not cooking to please others tastes other than nutritionally. I feel in many instances my range of appetites far exceeds many of those I “hang with” and that incurs my feeling that I’m sharing with rather than providing for when I cook. Once again the need to teach raises it’s ugly head???

The thought some white-bread MF complaining after I might have prepared something on the edge of my culinary spectrum cause me to consider the possibility of drowning someone in their soup. I realize this last statement reeks of pretentiousness, but I am a believer that “modesty is the opiate of the mediocre”. A chef must lead!

I remember that beginning sentence of one of my surgeon’s report, “We are dealing with a very nice 58 year old male”.  I had always been healthy, not perfectly healthy. I had had my share of bumps and bruises, the mumps on both sides, chicken pox, the measles, my tonsils needed to be removed, I had the flu a number of times, I’d caught pneumonia at Camp Lejeune, I’d gotten a stress fracture marching at Parris Island, and later in my life when we decided to up our insurance I’d found out I had Hep C ! I never had any symptoms of it or ill effects, my doctor said I barely made it on the scale? I endured 16 or 18 months of Pegylated Interferon shots in my stomach with little to no side effects other than some irregular fatigue. I loved to walk, ride my bicycle, and I was in better than average shape for my age. I thought nothing of walking back to the house from the farthest deer blind, I could squeeze through the tightest barbed wire fence without a hitch or climb over it if needed, and I could squat on my haunches “like a Chinaman” until that damn truck broadsided me in the center turn lane on College Avenue.

I had survived riding and racing motorcycles for the better part of 45 years. They were my bread and butter, my passion, and my primary means of transportation for most all of that time. I had skinned a knee or palm on occasion, bruised my ass falling down, but my head had never hit the pavement! Other than the stress fracture I’d never broken a bone. I’d seen my family bone doctor, Dr. Blum, a coupe of times in the ER when I bumped into him while delivering friends to his capable hands. I think all my other family members were his patients at one time or another. So it was without hesitation that I left work late one Thursday night 11/10/2010, birthday of the USMC.

I had a customer I had been working with for weeks. The kind that wants to buy so badly but he just can’t pick up the pen and sign on the dotted line. He had asked and I had answered every question about that motorcycle he could think of twice, maybe three times. He had beaten me up about the price (this was the least expensive model we sold) so much the only way he would have gotten a better deal was if I’d bought it for him. Thursday was our late night and tonight we’d stayed later to finally put him in the street so when it came time to leave I WAS ready. Two co-workers had volunteered to stay late so I could finish the deal and one of them Mark stepped outside with me as I began to put on my riding gear for the almost 40 mile ride home. Although it was November it was not yet cold here in Texas. I’d worn a light mesh spring riding jacket with armor in the elbows and a back protector. It had begun to rain and Mark worried I might get drenched in the mesh jacket and offered to let me wear his all weather jacket. I agreed with him and when he asked if he wanted me to remove the body armor in his jacket I declined the offer to hasten my departure. I took off my mesh jacket and tucked it into the trunk on my Buell Ulysses and then I donned my winter riding pants with various body armor pads while Mark returned with his jacket. I started my Buell and let it warm up before zipping up and heading to the curb before saying good night to my co-workers.

I was later than usual, it was starting to rain, and to further lessen my arrival time at home I had NOT called my wife. College Avenue in front of the shop is seven lanes wide, three eastbound, three westbound, and a center turn lane. My usual exit strategy was to pull to the curb, wait for a break in traffic in both directions, and then cross through the center turn lane in one fluid arc while heading west towards the Interstate and home.

 If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it and always stick to the plan!! I wish I had a dollar for every customer I shared those two pearls of wisdom with, tonight I didn’t!! It was late, it was starting to rain, traffic seemed a little heavier than usual probably due to the rain, and since I hadn’t called and of course I didn’t want her to worry I was pushing myself.

Instead of exhibiting patience and fluid arcs I crossed the three eastbound lanes into the center turn lane where I slowed to a stop facing westbound while looking eastbound for a break in the traffic flow before heading to the house. A man has to know his limitations, especially when he rides a motorcycle! I guess in those over four decades of riding I either had the confidence, or the skills, or the luck to not present myself as a stationary target. That night on College Avenue I was on the wrong vehicle in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m awfully glad if anyone is reading this that you are able to!!

That’s about all I remember of that night. Mark and Greg said they had just locked the front doors and turned to head out when they heard the crash. I have the slightest memory of the bluish light inside the back of the ambulance as I was being rolled toward or lifted into it. I have another vague memory I liken to the intro to The Simpsons TV show with the blue skies and the puffy white clouds. In my memory there are a couple of faces peering through the clouds asking me questions. I don’t know who or whether that memory if from the ambulance or the ER. The next conscious memory I have is three days later waking up in my hospital room extremely parched and asking my wife who was sitting at my bedside for a drink of water.

It’s going to be the seventh anniversary next month and I’m praying that everything that is heal-able will be healed. Trashed my Arai full face helmet. It’s probably why I’m able to tell this story. I trashed my riding pants and jeans, my right boot, and various cosmetic pieces to my Buell. The only external injury I suffered was when I tore the toebox on my boot. I either pulled off or ground off the tip of my little toe. It took several years for the toenail to figure out which direction it should go. For a long time it grew upwards and looked like a rhino horn. It made putting shoes and socks on exciting.

I still have one spot smaller than the tip of a pencil eraser to heal and about 30 days to do it in. I have a metallurgically enhanced leg and foot. I think I had eight surgeries, I went through four wound treatment centers, and I can’t begin to tell you all the doctors and nurses I’ve seen.

I still have my Buell and all the parts I need to fix it. I still dream about riding and doing wheelies. I’m older, I can’t squat like a “Chinaman” anymore, I get hung up on more barbed wire than ever before, and falling down is a lot easier than getting up now. My wife and I drove a Jeep down two of my bucket list motorcycle roads in August and she said WE need to do them again on a motorcycle! I promised the family I wouldn’t get back on the Buell until I healed well that time is around the corner as is the cool weather to get out in the garage and fix it. I still have other roads on my bucket list and that Buell is so damn fun to wheelie!! We’ll see?

I had hoped to be more active in this endeavor, but life doesn’t slow down for new bloggers.

Hurricane Harvey came and went and thankfully we were unscathed compared to so many. We received 12 1/2″ of rain on one day and a total of just under 32″ during Harvey’s visitation. I had never seen such an accumulation of waters as those left by Harvey and it occurred in places I’d never seen before.

Harvey struck the lower Texas coast on Saturday 8/26/2017. We had family dinner plans that night at Aim Thai, my favorite Thai restaurant. The entire family punked out because of Harvey’s impending visit. That suited me just fine, we gave them a “rain check” and went by ourselves. As usual Cho cooked us a wonderful meal and we returned home with nary a puddle in sight.

Sunday 8/27/2017 was different. My better half works for a dog/house sitting service and she loves her job and her four legged charges. Around 10 PM she was scheduled to appear for a bedtime visit with Max and Zack, two beautiful Standard Poodles, approximately 5 1/2 miles from our house. When she informed me of her plan to depart for her duty I peered outside to see some of Harvey’s torrents coming down nearly horizontally. As I mentioned before my other half loves her jobs and her charges, they all seem to love her visits, and their owners always feel better and at ease leaving their furry babies in her care.

My sweetheart drives a universal style Japanese sedan and she has experienced all types of driving weather in it, not wanting to rain on her parade, Harvey had beaten me to that, I suggested it might be more prudent if she allowed me to drive her the 5 1/2 miles in my truck and, thank you lord, she relented.

The two blocks out of our neighborhood were uneventful we’re fairly flood resistant here. The 1st major thoroughfare was something else. As I turned east onto the normally busy four lane street I first noticed that it was unusually vacant, the second observation was the nearly hubcap high water along most of it where normally, even in a heavy rain only occasionally puddled deeply in the curb lane.

We proceeded slowly near or over the centerline often guiding on the double yellow line to keep to “the shallows”. I drove a mile or two east until we neared a lower section of road near a creek and I then turned south on a road I knew to be of higher elevation. The drainage on this road was superior to the heavier traveled roads we had turned off and we continued to the next road east. This road was deep but well lit by a school. I was almost past the school when I became apprehensive as to the depth of the water in the road we were approaching. I pulled into one of the school parking lots that was on higher ground and well lit to survey the road ahead. My confidence was wavering at this point as I had never seen high water in this location in the several decades I’d lived nearby and I’d never dreamed it would get so high here.

My ever faithful canine care giver beckoned me to continue as long as I could still see the centerline, I could, we did. As we neared one of the Villages of upscale homes with tall tree lined streets the road darkened and inched along cautiously. We soon came to a very familiar section of road that contained a concrete bridge over a concrete lined creek as you leave this neighborhood. The road here takes a slight dip before the bridge and we were probably at our maximum depth for passage. Again I was astounded by the amount of water here. I traverse this bridge quite frequently and I’d never seen this. As I was starting across the darkened bridge with higher ground and better lighting in sight I glanced out my window to see that the water was actually coming over the bridge.

I’ll stop briefly here to say I know I know “Turn around don’t drown”. I was raised with that warning drilled into my head and I understand it’s meaning without a doubt! Had it not been so dark exiting that Village I would have seen the excessively high and potentially dangerous waters. I did know the bridge to be robust, with two lanes in each direction, a raised footpath along the outside lane with a footwall? perhaps knee high on the outer side of the walkway, from which two round steel guardrails arose. It was this footwall that had prevented me from seeing the amount of water in the creek bed. This low wall prevented the waters from flowing across the bridge roadway, instead it directed the flow around the end of the bridge into the Village I was exiting. The opposite side was higher, brighter, and with much better visibility.

We continued east for about another mile under much less treacherous conditions. At our final turn to the south we entered deep water again, but we were nearly there and the nearness of the finish line drove us forward. We approached our final turn at what must have been the higher end of the block as there were many trucks and Suburbans parked bumper to bumper almost into the intersection. Turning narrowly between these vehicles in high water again was a treat…NOT! Fortunately our destination was halfway down the block and we were then able to pull up into the driveway and out of the water. Boy were Max and Zack happy to see us!!

We spent 30-45 minutes with the dogs. We let them out for their evening constitutional, dried them off, and frolicked a bit with them before securing them for the night.

When we stepped outside we were not ready for what we saw. The waters that were nearly top-of-the-hubcap high when we entered the street had receded with only a small puddle still standing here and there. On our way home we basically retraced our route from earlier in the evening on normally wet streets with an odd curbside puddle or a low dip to splash through. Recrossing the bridge the creek was well withing it’s banks and not the least bit intimidating.

Harvey’s rains continued to pelt us Monday and Tuesday. We watched the water level in our backyard rise and fall a number of times as bands of rain of varying intensity passed through. We had a small amount of water come under the back door into the back room but it was more hassle than damage and it soon left. We never lost power, never got to try out our new generator, and I’m not even sure if we opened the cases of bottled water we had provisioned. Thank you Jesus!!!

So what the heck does all this driving around in Harvey’s fool rain have to do with exploding chicken gizzards. I thought you’d never ask. Back to 8/26.

Thai cuisine is probably my favorite to eat and one of my most challenging to try to create. I spent the weekend in Gonzales for Come And Take It weekend. We eat, drink, and generally are merry. We also talk a lot about food, family, friends, football, fall hunting season, and the ALDS playoffs. I went to my local HEB and while I was there I decided it was time to cook some Laab Gai so I bought some lizzards and givers, garlic, peppers, and some other stuff. It turned out very well. The next day I decided to heat up some left overs for lunch. I mixed a small bowl of the laab and some rice and popped it in the microwave, set the timer, and headed to the back to answer my phone. I left my two dogs laying on the kitchen floor. Just as I was unplugging my phone charger I heard a loud crack almost like the report of a gun and soon after another. As I turned to investigate my two dogs came sliding around the hardwood floor corner running 90 to nothing into the bedroom with a look of, what the hell was that daddy on their faces!

Of course, when I returned to the kitchen I found two of the already twice cooked gizzards had exploded. So after lunch I washed the dishes, the microwave, and took a nap. Who’d a thunk 90 seconds in the microwave would make such a bang. My dogs sure didn’t.

On tonight’s menu I’m going to cook some Nakji Bokkeum, a spicy Korean dish with some fresh baby octopi I saw at the store this morning. Hopefully it will only be spectacular in flavor!

Cheers

 

This the 1st post in my new blog, The Burnt Crust. It’s 95 degrees outside and Harvey is swirling nearby. I’ve been involuntarily retired due to a motorcycle wreck so I’m doing other things these days. One of my favorites is cooking. I just put a pot of Ca Ri Duoi Bo or Oxtail Curry on the stove. The house is starting to smell incredibly. I’m following a recipe I got from Mai’s Youtube channel, “MaiFoodHaven”. Mai offers a wonderfully diverse cooking experience and many very tasty recipes and I highly recommend taking a look at her channel.