born to be wild

As further proof that Big Jim and I live in Redneck South, Spain---today the village is hosting its first officially sanctioned motorcycle rally. So instead of the usual 40 to 50 blond-streaked, mullet-styling 13- to 19-year-olds whipping about the serpentine streets, we have 300! And TWO ambulances in the village on call (instead of the usual one) just in case someone takes a nasty spill!

Late this morning, I set out with two bags of plastic bottles and tin cans to the recycling bank at the edge of the village. Along the way, I was stopped by a black leather-clad youth atop an 8000-euro bike who wanted to know how to get into the village (evidently the two-way road into town switching to one-way in the opposite direction out of town had thrown him, imagine....). And then I saw the signs "moto reunion" and realized that the excessive brake screeching I had heard earlier had not been a dream.

The smell of fryer grease and the strains of Steppenwolf's classic "Born to Be Wild" (no joke) called out from beneath the steel frame of what, some day, will be the village swimming pool/athletic center (that is if the auditors ever find the alleged 20 million euros missing from the town coffers). I don't know when I have seen so much acid-washed denim, well, at least since high school circa 1985....

I carried on to the recycling bank, which was deserted except for the gitano family, who if I didn't know better would think they lived by the recycling bank because they are there every Sunday when I make my weekly trek. All credit it to them for their resourcefulness---today Mrs. Gypsy was hauling a 19-inch tv into the back of their tuk-tuk. I nodded hello and dumped my two bags of plastics and briks.

Before I began my climb back into town, I stopped to admire and pick a couple of wildflowers (or as Big Jim would call them, weeds) when I felt the first spritz of yet-another rain shower and glanced upward to check the clouds, to see whether I had any chance of making it home without being soaked. But the sky was relatively clear, so where was the rain coming fro...

And just then I spotted an aged biker (gray mullet) who had parked on the lot above and rather than following the signs (miraculously posted) for the aseos, decided to take a leak over the bank. Nice. Not. Yuck.

Call me a snob---guilty as charged.

But if the weather stays clear, I may go back and investigate the french fry situation....

hasta pronto,
mylifeinspain