Yeah, yeah… I know I am supposed to write in this blog space every day, but life is worth living when you get to experience it. Sometimes writing about what I did just takes the fun out of it. I mean, what's fun about writing a lengthy article that takes forever to proofread?

Yeah, your right. It is kind of fun to write these things. Kinda.

Kelli and I went to BB&BBQ on Dickson street a while back. I found it to just be a craft fair for bikers. Kind of a snooze for me. If I was still riding, it might have a little more appeal, but I quit riding over ten years ago. I wasn’t that big a fan of the culture then and now that it has nothing to do with me, even less.

The crowd was thick but not as thick as it was in the past. Maybe the biker culture has dwindled, or perhaps it is just too expensive, either way, it isn’t as popular as it once was.

There is always something to be said about the vanishing lines that are created from miles of motorcycles. Mostly just because of the oddity of it all. And then there are the people. The mandatory biker wannabees walking the streets, trying hard to escape real life. The young folks who want to be badasses and work very hard to convey that they are mean dudes and gals. Never really convinced me.

What I did notice this year, and last, was the increasingly larger and larger numbers of actual bikers at this rally. You know, the ones portrayed in movies and the like. Trust me when I say this, they are dangerous folks that you don’t want to be associated with on a daily basis. I have nothing against them. They are free to live their lives as they see fit. But the wannabes and the pretend badasses really don’t understand the biker culture that gets people killed. These guys are smart and very cognizant of what they do and how they do it. In fact, between my friend who grew up surrounded by bikers and myself, the stories we have will shock anyone who hasn’t tasted the culture.

That was all fine and dandy, but I am always looking for a story. My Mother and Father lent me some fodder for my muse and didn’t even know it.

After the “rally,” Kelli and I stopped by their house.

This birdbath, with its discolorations and reflections, reminds me of the old stories we had to read in High School English. You know, the ones with sirens and mermaids. The ones that gave birth to one of my favorite moves, Oh Brother Where Art Thou”.