We’ve been in Oakley now since Labor Day 2009, and in addition to ferreting out grape sources, growers and wineries employing them, we’ve endeavored to partake of a few of the local festivals and assorted clambakes around our environs.
For the last couple of years of our residency here, we’ve been reading about the New Year’s Day “Frozen Bun Run” on nearby Bethel Island. Connected by a solitary bridge to the mainland, the island is a levee community perched a whopping 12 inches above sea level, and home to marina boaters, retirees, bikers and the coolest joint on the Delta: the Rusty Porthole. Kathy and I have not gone there nearly enough; summer of 2010 we had one of the best hamburgers we’d ever had, and, walking along the levee, encountered some very friendly residents and their pets.
Kathy’s mom flew down for New Year’s, and K had some great local excursions planned for the end of 2011. This year, Kath decided that we would all go to the Bun Run on Bethel Island on January 1, 2012.
The fog was already enveloping our Oakley digs by 8 a.m., and since the fog emanates from the Delta sloughs around the island, we wondered how this would affect the event. We needn’t have worried about anything.
The Frozen Bun Run began 32 years ago, when a ragtag coterie of New Year’s Day regulars were sitting at the bar, staring out the windows of the Rusty Porthole, coming to the consensus that this would be the perfect time to go waterskiing. Since then, the annual event has morphed into a clothing-optional, wakeboard-approved, Harley-Davidson holy day.
We had a blast, despite the 2-hour fog delay before the first brave soul hit the water. Between the biker chicks, Bloody Marys and bartending al fresco, this was one outrageous event: had to be a thousand people, one hundred choppers and 19 Bun Run registrants on the levee. One could get one’s coffee Irish, Mexican or with Kahlua (all liberally poured, BTW), chowder, burritos; your Mary with Vodka, Gin or Tequila.
It was the kind of bee where some folks were sporting more individual leather garments than they had teeth, but DANG!, was everybody cool! Kath and I were sporting cowls, knitted by K, around our necks to ward off the Delta chill. A couple of very sweet, high-odometer sisters approached us to settle their argument about cowl v. scarf. We were wished Happy New Year by more bikers than I have ever seen.
And then we met Bethel Island Queen 2011; Her Majesty told us, unceremoniously, that she was ChaCha (see gorgeous photo). Kathy and her mom had bought, in different U.S. states, the same coat, albeit in different colors. Queen ChaCha approached Kathy and mom Ione to gush over the colors and cut of their coats. Hmmmmmm, coat of many colors: biblical, and yet reminiscent of throwing the moneylenders out of the temple, or, in this case, converting $5 into a Hot Buttered Rum or an Irish coffee.
As is probably apparent (and with one of K’s parents), a swell time was had by all. The fog was hardcore, and the event was delayed for hours. As Bun Run viewer virgins, we just wanted to hang out to watch at least one masochist hit the water on skis. At 11:30 a.m., it was post time.
Dude made the entire circuit upright, and holding the tether with one hand, at that.
Fog was still thick on the roads back to Oakley. But, ya know, as we left the grounds, Kathy and I realized that we had never heard more Happy New Year wishes directed to us in one place. By big time bikers. With gorgeous wheels.
As Kathy said to me, “This will have to be an annual tradition, now.” And since I have not been awake past 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve for a decade, we could just do this thang.
Cash only. Crazy fun always for 32 years.
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