As soon as the tavern owner got closer to Ragan, he stopped, looking surprised, as if he recognised Lord Ragan.“My stars! Can it be true?” he stam...ered.“Excuse me?” Ragan replied. Surely this man did not know him; he had never been to this town before.“Lord Ragan, is it not?” the tavern owner asked, “I swear if it is not.”“You know me?” Ragan asked, slightly suspicious.“Ah no, of course not my Lord. I meant no disrespect,” the tavern owner explained, “But I did see you speak once at my. With the three of us now geared up, we fire up the bikes, now waking everyone that was asleep, lol, and head for the field. As expected, it was sloppy as a well used ass. Slippin and slidin was about all we could accomplish really, although we did manage to shoot some pretty tall 'geysers' from the rear wheels. The muddy water sailed into the air giving a pretty impressive show, though the three of us were all there was to see it. We only stayed out about an hour—the field was just to wet to do. Billie was a perfect stereotype. She looked so butch wearing slicked back hair, black denims, motorcycle boots and a black tee shirt with a pack of cigs rolled up in one sleeve. Rhonda was a dominatrix all leather and metal, standing there in heels so high she would break her ankles if she fell over. Her tiny cat o’ nine tails hardly looked ominous and only threatened to please every one standing around her. Belly dancers, hookers, tarts, and everything you would hope your friends would think. I always said he should have been a comedian or radio DJ. He was always sarcastic with humor being his delivery. But a delivery driver in Houston was his occupation so weekend get away was his delight. He got to where he would wake me and then go put the boat in the water by lowering the boat slip. Loading and starting the engine to idle and make ready while I sleepily climbed aboard and towards the river we would go. The morning treks into the jungle became routine. Glen could spot a stump as.