Motor Touring

Riverboat and I took a little southern tour through Wakulla County yesterday just to take the cultural temperature of our more rural neighbors.

We kicked the tour off at the Flea Market, where I learned the word “Dixielicious” from the ass of a pair of cut-offs. You can assume there will be a post titled “Dixielicious” in the future.
I was hoping to find a leaf blower, but instead I left with a bag od mustard greens, 4 sweet potatoes, 2 onions, and 4 bandannas of assorted colors.

Riverboat got a bag of Cajun-style boiled peanuts.

From the flea market we pointed it south to Ouzt’s or Outz’s whichever the case may be and tried not to knock a row of Harleys over as we squeezed into the parking lot. We enjoyed the best oysters of the season and listened to a band called Reveille crank out southern soft rock hits of the 1970’s. Riverboat was wearing a New York Knicks shirt while mine celebrated the great Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Most everyone else was sporting some variation of Stars and Bars. Riverboat was disturbed by this and spoke very few words, which is a shame as his Mississippi accent would have won many of them over immediately.

From there we drifted north to the Southern Spirits lounge otherwise known as “Countyline Lounge.” There we acquitted ourselves with great skill on the pool table against a young man with turrets syndrome and his compatriot who stubbornly wore his sunglasses in this, the darkest of bars. Good fellas though, the both of them.

Sometimes you have to leave the bike in the garage and go mix it up.


18 Responses to Motor Touring

  1. Man. That sounds like the perfect Sunday afternoon. The man and I passed Ouzt’s (how do you spell that?) on our way home yesterday. We should have stopped and wouldn’t that have been a lovely surprise? I never would have thought to see you there.
    I think I’ve met those guys you played pool with. For characters, you just cannot beat Wakulla County. You’ve reminded me of an experience we had at Ouzt’s with a Yankee Jewish lady and her hippie/crazy/lesbian/ EXTREMELY politically correct daughter. I must write about this soon. Maybe I’ll call it “Dixielicious.” Or maybe not. You might sue me.
    Darn. I wish we’d stopped. But we were on our way home to eat our own oysters and clean the boat. And the grouper.
    Whoa. We’re so rich.

  2. Who did I date with the initials R.J.? You know, I’ll bet I could get Taylor to wear some anyway, just for the hell of it. And not out of my house. And now that I think about it, probably not.

  3. Oh, I’m a dork, I get it now. Ha! But no, that would have been hilarious. She could barely stand to look at our flea market, it freaked her yankee heart completely out.

  4. I keep coming back to this picture of the lighthouse. I wasn’t on my bike as much as I should have been in those days of living in Tally, but I remember riding on a trail that went right to the lighthouse and if you dared to look to the right or left of the trail, there would be alligator eyes peeking out of the water, or bumpy backs laying in the sun. Peaceful area, as I remember it.

    Eat some “Dixielicious” boiled peanuts for me, please. Wait, can Dixielicious be used in conjunction with food?

  5. What are the chances…
    bike church had a special edition, down the st.marks to the refugee, and onto some sweet single-track and levee riding. Saw: Gator, Otter, Deer, Boar, Eagle, Unicorn, shesh.
    On the way back, as we passed Oust’s, I tried to get my brethern to pause for fried-oyster po-boys and beer, but they weren’t buyin in. fun though.

  6. Damn straight! I’m wearing “Dixielicious” underoos right now at work; ha, the secret life of a BooYaacrat!

  7. Sorry. :S Yikes! I have to say it was purely based on a fairly recent past comment I remembered, where he was joking about a white Speedo.

    Actually, I am not sure if he was joking. And, like the old bag said, that mental picture was seared. :S

    OK, I am now officially horrified for bringing it up again.

  8. Yes, tightee whitee but the “Dixielicious” is an iron-on; you don’t think I got loot for the REAL stuff do ya? The ferrari’s not even mine!
    BooYaa for the free press, Power to the Creeple.