Parade

I have, to my mild shock, been elected unanimously to the post of Grand Marshall for the Magdalena Old Timers' Parade. That means I lead the parade, folks; sadly, the herd of half- wild Corriente cattle they used to drive through town ahead of it has gone the way of the street dance in the STREET, open containers, drive in windows, Juan's West Bar, and the oldest of Los Borrachos Perdidos, Monico Baca.

The position is usually a horseback one. Here is Tom Olney last year:

But I can no longer sit or control a horse easily,
 so my mind turned to thoughts of a mount. John Wilson's Triumph TR 3 came to mind, but he babies it, and would have to trailer it to town.











 Then my Scottish friend Bodie Littlejohn-- collector of cars and guns, and armor, falconer, Deerhound man, Karateka, horseman, shrink and, well, more, came to the rescue, offering his fabulous collector- fine Shelby Mustang, a car that shakes the ground when you turn on the engine. I am ecstatic, as is every fine car nut in town.

Says Bodie, "I'll drive-- you would have a hard time with the clutch anyway.Your job is to wave your hat at the pretty girls."

 I think of the last line in Tom McGuane's Crow Fair:

"Lately, I've been riding a carriage at the annual Bucking Horse Sale like an old timer, which I guess is what I'm getting to be."