December 14, 2004; San Antonio Continued

I arrived at the Harley Dealership and promptly snagged one of the showroom tables for the next five hours. While I was there I prodded a couple of guys for good riding roads. All said the same thing: hill country and the motorcycle museum. $499.17 got me all new fluids, a new clutch lever, a new rear tire, and rear brake pads.

I headed back downtown to catch the river walk and the Alamo. Didn't get far before my left knee began to inexplicably bother me again. This had happened a couple days earlier, seemingly unprovoked. As I mounted the bike I realized that my knee hurt because I was twisting it too much when I swung my leg over to get on the bike. Phew, thought I was getting old there for a second, getting injuries from nowhere.

I remember the first time I came to San Antonio for the first Alamo Bowl. Mom, dad, and I drove down in the mini van. I was 14 and had just gotten my permit. I was anxious to drive and dad was anxious to sleep, so I took the wheel for nearly all of Kansas while dad slept in the passenger's seat and mom was on edge in the back. As we came up on Dallas at rush hour I tried to hand the wheel over to dad. He just sat there, shrugged, and said: you'll never learn any younger.

Appalled, I continued to drive. The highway seemed to be as wide as it was long in some spots. Mom was beside herself in the back seat, while dad dozed off again. Dozed off with a 14 year old behind the wheel in Dallas rush hour! He woke periodically (as a result of hard braking) to perform a "palm check", which consisted of him gauging how nervous I was by the sweat on my palms. He was having a great time with the whole thing. When we finally made it through Dallas, he turned to me and said "See, you'll never learn any younger."

Back at the hostel, I ducked my head into the sink and I was ready to hit the town. Over perhaps a few too many pints Paul and I conversed about traveling and the idiosyncrasies of England and America. Did you know that young Londoners' beer of choice is a bottle of Bud? Even with Newcastle being domestic. What a shame.

The night was punctuated by a social security receiving couple. Mr. Gray Fox could not stop blubbering about how England and America has to stick together to Paul. He was a fan of the high-five in conjunction with the "old man death grip." Nearly broke my hand on the first high-five I obliged him with, so on the second I gave it right back. He took this as a challenge and soon we were arm wrestling. I won handily. While shaking my hand vigorously in congratulations he put my elbow into my pint, which shattered on the floor. Apologetic, he went to buy us a round, then promptly forgot about it.

I went up to the bar for a round and was greeted by Mrs. Gray Fox, who was taking a break from grinding with three young ladies next to the bar. As I stood there I noticed something on the back of my knee- Mrs. Gray Fox's foot. My dismissal only caused her to rub harder. The beers came just in time. A couple more seconds and I feared that her hands find their way to somewhere on my person; I didn't particularly care to find out where. The rest of the night Paul laughingly gave me a hard time for not "shagging" her. Yep, it's true. Austin Powers is not the only one who says "shag."

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. We took a cab back to the hostel at about 1:00.