Legends and Harleys

I live in a very small town in the Midwest: under 1,000 people. We have to go to the post office to get our mail, and there is one small grocery store in town. We love it, after living in the capital city for years....our son has the run of the town and we have peace of mind.

But our town gets invaded weekly for "bike night" where the Harleys rumble into town and park downtown. We have live bands every Wednesday night for it, and we can sit on our front porch and jam out. This phenomenon has taken over the Midwest actually -- there are a dozen or so such bike nights in the area that last throughout the summer. Nothing like the roar of an American-made motorcycle to get your innards scrambled.

Last night was a bit different, however. We had a huge bike ride from a nearby town that ended here at the local bar, with several bands playing. The headliner was fucking Edgar Winter...that's right, the albino blues legend himself. Right here in small-town USA. We just walked the two blocks to the bar, walked right in and up front to the stage. We took both our sons and a couple friends, and we jammed the night away. From "Frankenstein" to "Free Ride", this man rocked our socks right off. He was the first to strap on a keyboard, and even played a couple songs with his brother Johnny at freaking Woodstock.

So, after I pooped out my Acai berry, I slept like a baby last night, with visions of a white-haired virtuoso dancing in my head. Of course, the thunderous sound of the Harleys is always in the background -- and my hips still feel the swing of the blues.

AHhhhhhhhhhhh, summer is so good for the soul. It purges old memories and washes the senses with sunshine and rainbows. What fire? What school? What responsibilities?

Think I'll bottle this feeling up and store it away for winter like a squirrell. My cheeks are full of nuts right now and I like it.