Free The Great Psychedelic Armadillo Picnic by Kinky Friedman Page A

not have been there himself.
    I have a very low fondness tolerance, owing to a rare genetic defect known as Low Fondness Tolerance, or LFT. I lack the gene for sentimentality and endearment toward precocious children. I wear a med-alert bracelet that says so. I believe my LFT originated in a long-dead relative who was fond of absolutely nothing, past memories, children, and still-life art in particular. But as I said, I do have one fond memory of the Congress Avenue bats that has defied my genetic disorder.
    Many years ago my friend Jack Slaughter frequented the hike-and-bike trail at Town Lake. I happened to be staying in a hotel with an unobstructed view of the bridge so I called Cowboy Jack, one of the original Jewboys, to come up to the room to watch the bats after his daily jog. Jack had more degrees than a thermometer, and in his gentle, scholarly way he had studied the bats for years and often, at his own secret hiding place, watched them emerge from the bridge. Rather than waste the perfect room with a view on my bat-indifferent ass, I decided to share my window view with Jack (which turned out to be one of the best spots to view the bastards, and the bats, too).
    Jack arrived at my room shortly after his jog; as he did during the days on the road with the Jewboys, he carried a chicken box from HEB (Herbert E. Butt, Texas’s biggest supermarket chain) with his clothes and other bare essentials packed into it. Jack was a simple man, and everything he ever needed fit into those chicken boxes. Perfectly.
    The bats trickled out from under the bridge exactly on cue. “Mexican free-tail bats” was all Jack said as we watched them emerge, indifferent to the
Homo erectus
crowd gathered at designated bat-watching spots around the bridge. We watched as bats began to pour out from the Congress Avenue bridge, first a small number, then, minutes later, a tsunami of flying mammals that darkened the sky.
    â€œDid you know,” said Cowboy Jack, “that Confederate soldiers mined the bat guano for saltpeter, which was used in making gunpowder? In fact, a gunpowder factory was established near San Antonio.”
    â€œNo shit?” I said.
    Thinking back on it, Jack was what Austin is all about. An expert on forest preservation and endangered animals, he was a gentle spirit who always reminded me a bit of Johnny Appleseed. In 2000, while jogging on the walkway of the Lamar Street Bridge, he was killed by an SUV driven by a teenager. He died almost to the moment that the bats began spiraling out from under the nearby Congress Avenue Bridge.
    Of all Jack’s accomplishments, and there were many, the obituary in the
Austin American-Statesman
began with “Road manager for the Texas Jewboys.” That’s not a bad thing, I remember thinking at the time, to have done in your life.
    On the right, as you head South on Lamar across the bridge, you can see the flowers that someone still places there. The bats arrive at the bridge in mid-March and return to Mexico in early November. While in residence, they can be observed during their emergence display at dusk. Time of year, weather conditions, and colony size all affect bat emergence times. Late July through mid-August is the best time to see the impressive flights, as newborn pups first begin to forage with their mothers. The bats generally emerge before dark, but may fly late if conditions aren’t favorable. For updates and approximate emergence times, call the Bat Hot Line at 512-416-5700 (category 3636).
    HIPPIE HOLLOW: LEGAL SKINNY-DIPPING
    Hippie Hollow is a clothing-optional park that has gained fame as being the premier skinny-dipping spot in Texas. In the 1980s, Travis County officially took over management of this area on Lake Travis and gave it the respectful moniker “McGregor/Hippie Hollow County Park.”
    The county added Hippie Hollow to the county park system and made improvements such as public restrooms with water fountain, a paved