Another Little Texas Town

This time it's the sleepy little town of Chappell Hill. It's an old town, in Texas terms. The Red Dirt Girl and I were cruising homeward, from Brenham (previously), toward Houston, on U.S. Highway 290.  I was driving, and beginning to feel a little brain-numb. But then we passed a car-sale place, and I perked up, so we turned around to take a look. Now, sadly, I was not in a position to buy, but, dreaming is free, as, I think, Blondie sang. oh. yes, she did, by the wonder of the interweb, she can sing it right here on my blog.




So, we turned around, and went to look at old cars.  It was the Whiz Motor company of Chappell Hill

Outside the gate, there's the buggy that people like Henry Ford were competing against at the start of the motor-car era. This one is, I'd guess, a very late model, early 20th century, I think it's what was known as a Surrey, but without a fringe on top.

I'm saying that very much as a non-expert on horse-drawn vehicles, especially American ones, but what you see here is a pretty sophisticated piece of work, lightweight, agile, strong. Low unsprung weight. Look at the red parts, lightweight, slim wheels, very lightly dished. Note the axle camber, which leans them subtly outward. I'd better not get into the subject of chassis geometry. Cambered wheels go back a ling long way. but the really neat thing you see here is the suspension.  Three-point attachment, the rear of the body sits on a frame which is mounted centrally to the topmost of three multileaved semi-elliptical springs. Roads were rough, but this arrangement would allow a lot of movement up and down of either or both rear wheels, without transmitting most of that to the passengers above.

This would be altogether a smoother, lusher, ride.

Via Nag on the Lake

Or a car for the jet-age.

 I never knew that a cam-shaft was such an exciting thing....

Editor's note: so it occurred to me to look up Giovannoni Cams, and I discovered Ray Giovannoni in  1959, one of the best when it came to getting more power out of an engine, Giovannoni Cams started out in Washington DC, but later moved his business to Daytona, Florida, famous for its motor races and record breaking speed-run attempts on the famous Daytona beach.

Here's the proof:

 

Don Garlits, legendary pioneer dragracer ran with Giovannoni Cams, for one season, in 1959, and broke world records: In his own words "When I got the call from Giovannoni and he said he’d give me $10,000 to change cams -- now, in 1959, $10,000 was a lot of money. You could buy two homes. It’d be like a quarter of a million dollars today. I called up Ed and told him what was going on, and he told me he couldn’t pay me $10,000 and that I should take Giovannoni’s money. Now the good thing about this is that the California cam grinders had just been sitting on their keisters, and Giovannoni did something to his cam, and the car ran real good. We came out to Bakersfield and ran 185.56 for a new world record and went to Fremont and went 187.10 for another world record, and the California cam grinders realized that this idiot from Florida must know something, so they all got on their camshaft programs and put together some pretty good camshafts, Then Giovannoni decided he didn’t like the business anymore, went back to Washington and opened some restaurants, and that was the last anyone ever heard of him."

That wasn't the last anybody heard of him. Whatever the reason might be that Giovannoni turned his back on the world of fast engine tuning, he took himself to further successes, founding a restaurant called "The Fish Market" in Alexandria, Maryland.

Isn't the internet amazing, I even found the guy who drew the sketch that became the logo......

 Car excitement over.... Though I can see how carrying ones passengers in the dicky-seat outside might be attractive to parents of squabbling kids...

The Brazos Star.

The little town of Chappell Hill has some nice old buildings, but it was not exactly buzzing with activity.

 

Quite a few buildings were apparently disused.

Something a little sinister, this gate should lead to the scary haunted mansion.

The bank actually has a notice on the door encouraging you to bring your gun along in.

I'm assuming that they're confident that they're better armed and have more firepower than any bad guys who might take up the offer.

Horticulture is popular here.

 

Get some very old oil for your very old car?

Nice cast iron seats

Pretty cast fence and gate.

Historic building,  I have trouble not laughing at the reverence shown toward nondescript structures that were built about last thursday, I confess, but to be fair, this was the edge of the known world, around then.

This plaque is more my flavour.

Hats, a Commodity Vital to Texas

Because I'm planning to go out for a beer with my pal, Ken, I'm a bit stuck for time, I'm working on a few long posts, full of pictures, but I thought I'd hurl these pictures into the aether for you folks, I know you all think I'm not working hard enough at this blogging. Truth is, I was up til 3 a.m. this morning, reviewing dense reams of paperwork for the U.S. Embassy in London, and booking rail tickets and a hotel, for next thursday, when I'm away to the big city for my K1 Visa medical. If you've not been there, you can't imagine just how complex the process is, and the embassy warns you, in no uncertain terms, that if you're deficient in one piece of paperwork, then it's turn around and go home, and wait another month. They have a little youtube video showing the hapless applicant who has failed to properly check the list of vital documents. The barbarian is always turned around at the moat. If I had known it would be so difficult to get permission to enter the United States, in order to marry a U.S.citizen, I'd have arranged to be born there. I'd certainly have started keeping an accurate journal and huge scrapbook of significant events and dates when I was sixteen, which is so long ago that I can barely remember who I was back then, let alone every place I lived, for over six months, and the dates I arrived and left. I can't remember the name of the guy who was my immediate supervisor in the job I had in 2001. Well, I do know he was called Chris, and someone told me he died a couple of years after I left. So I don't suppose he'd give me a reference anyway. I lived quite a few places since I was sixteen. More than many, less than some. Study and then work. I digress as usual. As I have to go out for a beer, I'll have to vaguely promise more text later. 

Texas. Old hats. 

And new hats, at High-Brehm Hats, New Braunfels, near San Antonio, Texas.

Here, you can buy yourself a new hat, or take your grand-daddy's hat in, to be cleaned, repaired, re-blocked, and fitted to your head. 

The best known names in Western hats are probably Stetson, and Resistol, who are, these days, both made in Garland, Texas by the same company.  They're not the only hatters in Texas though. There are a very few individuals left who still make made to measure, bespoke hats. 

Here in New Braunfels, we met one. And it may be that one day, I get a new hat from him.

I do wear a hat, the top of my head has less thatching than it did when I was sixteen, and I find it appreciates a little shelter from both the noonday sun and the cold and wet of winter. Mostly, I wear an Australian Barmah hat, not too dissimilar to a western hat, a narrower brim though. When the weather is really nasty, I wear a Rogue leather hat, made in Mpumalanga, South Africa. I've had that hat for fifteen years now, it's been submerged in mud and in sea water, it's been used as a makeshift water bowl for my dog, it's been driven over, stomped on, and somehow it just gets better. 

But it might look a bit out of place in Texas.

Raw hat blanks, felt awaiting steaming and blocking to shape.

The workshop.

Still simple sewing machines and hand-work.

We were made welcome, I'd actually come in to buy a pair of shoes, the  store sells shoes and workwear, the shoes I  really wanted were not in stock in my size, sadly, I'd have been happy to purchase here rather than at a possibly cheaper big outlet, because I believe in supporting real, traditional local businesses.

High-Brehm history link.

'Sugarfoot', and Bandera, Texas.

Back in the day.... When I was a little kid, we didn't want to be spiderman, or ironman or...

No, our heroes were cowboys. I was born in 1953, and my early years happened to be in something of a heyday for the westerns. By the time I was five or six, I had my collection of cowboy and indians figures,I had shiny 'Lone-Star' guns which shot caps,with a bang and a smell of gunsmoke. I had a black hat,with wide brim and sheriff's star,.  We hid behind haybales, and shot it out with the baddies, we ambushed stagecoaches, we rode the pony express through injun country. I was an equal-opportunity kid, I also had a feathered head-dress, a bow, and some arrows. 

We didn't have a television in our house,  but my grandparents did, and it was a treat to lie on the rug in northern england, and be transported into Texas, and adventure. There was Cheyenne, Bonanza.... Bronco Layne, Hopalong Cassidy, .................................................................and 'Sugarfoot'!

Imagine... The Red Dirt Girl and I were in the little Texas town of Bandera, ('Cowboy Capital of Texas'), and found this autograph, scratched in the concrete, outside the 'Dogleg Coffee House'.

I'll confess, it wasn't until some time later that I remembered 'Sugarfoot', the young would-be cowboy, who got into all sorts of scrapes, yet somehow always came out on top. But how cool is that? We're on our travels and I see a pavement signed by a guy who was a god to me, back when I was a fearless cowboy.

 

 

Bandera was fun, we were  made welcome in a little bar, and it was a pity we had a long way to go that night.

More City Centre Walking

Leeds, Yorkshire, England. I'm in the Trinity Centre again, on the top deck. There's a bar called The Alchemist. I'm drawn in by these sofas, I really need to sit down, and I really want one... Just like this. Well, a bit of background. At about 4:30 this morning I wake, stretch, point my toes... SPANG! my calf muscle in my left leg goes into spasm, a huge cramp, I'm in as much pain as I can ever recall, oh my its bad, It hurts so bad that sweat is pouring out of me, within a minute I'm soaking wet. Gradually, gradually, it subsides. I want to get up, go pee, get a drink of water, but not a chance, because that spasm has torn things, I'm in continuing pain, my muscles still tight and bunched, but trying to massage it seems to do no good. And I can't stand, let alone walk..

Hence,  later in the morning, I'm hobbling around Leeds, having taken Ibuprofen, and massaged topical anaesthetic into my leg. by the time I get here, I'm crying out for a sit-down. Southern Comfort with ice. Lots of ice. Oh. And I really want the sofa, did I mention that?

So, I looked them up... Andrew Martin Design.... £4,195.00 This bar has £16,000 worth of sofas just inside the door.... So that means, by the size of the place, it probably cost a quarter of a million or so to fit out.

 

 

 I liked the place though, I was comfortable, popped another couple of painkillers, and hobbled on my way.

 

To the Turk's Head, alias Whitelocks.  It's been down this alley since 1715, and it seems like a good idea to revisit more of my youth, get some sandwiches and a pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord.

 

 

As you see, time pretty much stands still in Whitelocks, An Edwardian gent time-travelling to 2013 might be pleasantly surprised by the electric lights, but otherwise it would feel just like home. The Burmantofts Tile works made those tiles around 1895, I'll bet people back then were shocked when the old Turk's Head unveiled this avant-garde ultra-modern bar!

Whitelocks, mirrors, polished copper, dark wood, tiles, good beer, and great sandwiches.

 

 

 

Look up!

Tempus Fugit

The new arms of a United Kingdom. 1603, accession of James I of England, who was already JamesVI of Scotland. For the first time, the scottish unicorn and the english lion both known as kings of the beasts, met on a shield. Neither the Scottish nor the English, felt particularly united.

"The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown
The lion beat the unicorn all around the town.
Some gave them white bread, and some gave them brown;
Some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town."

Look down! This is one of Briggate's oldest 'yards'.

That's it, I'm done for a while, time to find something to eat.