I really can’t resist street festivals and the like, so this Sunday found me in our tiny downtown area. So I started off in the park, at the Farmer’s Market, with the families, couples and sleeping homeless people.
In summer, the Uncle Wilbur fountain provides a place for children to frolic and get drenched (this is what it looks like at it’s apogee when it is hardly spraying). Usually Uncle Wilbur is hiding under the dome, but he comes out once an hour or so. (The fountain is named after an early resident who liked to play the tuba to “entertain” people).
This stand is named after one of the famous crops grown in our fair state, although it does not contain any actual dope, I hope.
And there was a band in the park, playing in the bandstand, singing soft rock songs about peace and love. But over on the next street there was a festival of a different sort.
They had a band playing covers of hard rock music, to a crowd of black leather wearing, tattooed biker types.
It was all about the motorcycles: preferably loud, decked out Harley Davidsons, but there were other sorts of bikes there too . This young woman and her similarly dressed cohort were there to flog Indian motorcycles. She looks quite knowledgeable about the product, I’m sure the guy was asking about technical specs.
As with last week there were all the elements of a successful festival: music, food on sticks and beer, as well as this fellow wearing a furry helmet as a bonus.