STUDENT-SPEAK

bermuda beach

GALVESTON,TEXAS: MARCH 16
A chill Spring Break weekend in Galveston. 7 pm and a few crazies are in the surf. A few throw balls on the beach. Thousands spill out of a rap concert. Cars and bikes crowd the beach road. Kids sit out of car windows; in convertibles on seat backs; on car roofs, feet dangling through sun roofs. A majority are black. Age is unity. All are high on mirth. They shout joyfully in a foreign language, foreign to an Old Brit on a Bike: student-speak.
A kid throws dollar bills from a 4X4. The chill breeze grabs the bills. Kids give chase. The chase is competitive. A people carrier swerves across the road. Chaos!
I sneak through gaps. Five miles to Bermuda Beach where Carol and Peter live...

EVIL MUSLIMS

TO GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
Yes, well...My apologies, readers, if I occasionally write what I feel. We have had Homeland Security PR, coffee, Malls, obesity and politics. Here is a return to travel. I have 650 Ks to ride. Edinburgh to Galveston is flat. A highway fly-over rates as a hill. Cloud hides the sun – fortunately, no rain. Other dangers lurk: primarily, an Old Man's stupidity. I take on gas midway. Three Harleys cruise into the gas station. I ask permission to touch the big, broad, leather seats. Heaven!
Excitement makes me forgetful. I run short of fuel 150 Ks from Galveston and discover that I left my billfold and address book on the gas pump at the last halt.
This is bad.
Actually, this is very bad.
I am almost out of gas. I am staying with Carol and Peter Davis in Galveston.
I have their telephone number. I don't have 50 cents for a phone call.
Very bad...
The gentleman manning the cash register at the gas station is an immigrant from Karachi, Pakistan. Yes, he is one of those evil Muslims. I relate my predicament and offer my camera for a gallon and a half of gas. He is unimpressed by the camera.
He says, “This is something that happens to everyone some time in their lives.” He takes six dollars from his billfold. “Is that sufficient?”
“More than sufficient.”
I ask for his address. He tells me not to be silly.
This is my thank-you letter to a dear kind sweet man....And, of course, one of those evil Muslims.