Lake Hopatcong, NJ, January 15, 2012, Polar Bear Motorcycles Blog

Lake Hopatcong, NJ, January 15, 2012
Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog

By: Chris Loynd

We finally got some polar bearish weather for our winter motorcycle rides. Sunday the temperature was 17 when I started out. By the end of our ride temperatures had not climbed even 10 degrees. I finished at a still frigid 24.

As I pulled up to the Dunkin' Donuts launching point, just in time, maybe even too close to just in time (had some trouble finding my really cold weather gear), Captain was holding court to determine who would lead. Since I was so close to the start time, and it was so cold, I left my bike running and my helmet on. So shouting back and forth, Captain and I had very poor communications.

We tried to goad Fonz into taking the lead. "I can get us to New Jersey," he offered. We then suggested he could sweep instead. Actually Fonz is a good sweep. He's responsive, proactive and cars move over for those funky lights of his.

I was trying to suggest that whoever was leading would take the more scenic route that I had suggested earlier in the week in my e-mail setting the time. Captain answered that Pogy and Token2 were picking us up en route. So I shouted back I would take the lead and pulled out to start our line.

Captain pulled up next to me and I wanted to confirm where we were catching Token2. My plan was to stick to I-287, crossing on the Tappan Zee bridge. Captain said yes, that was where Token2 would be waiting. As John J. pulled into the group of bikes, I took off. Only at lunch when communications were again established, and this time without helmets in our way, I found out Captain felt I stole the lead from him. He was gracious in conceding it all the same.

Looking at Google Maps the week before our ride, I had spotted a nice rural route alternative that added only a few minutes more to our ride. Instead of riding I-287 to I-80, expressway all the way, Route 23 took us up through some New Jersey woodlands.

As cold as it was Sunday, I probably should have checked the topographic or satellite view of my proposed "scenic" route. At the very least, the section riding on "Oak Ridge Road" should have tipped me.

As I led my motorcycle buddies off the Interstate, we started climbing into the New Jersey mountains, well, if not mountains, at least foothills. My GPS said we topped out near 800 feet in elevation, not all that much. Then again, we started at sea level.

Oak Ridge Road really does run on a ridge, or up on the western side of a ridge. It was scenic, but as we passed a bank, it informed us we were back down to 17 degrees. Another one warned of minus nine degrees, but that was Celsius; that's15.8 degrees Fahrenheit.

Scenery did not disappoint. We rode past some beautiful lakes and reservoirs, along steep rock falls and even had some twisty roads for one little bit. It was a nice break from the Interstates.

Another reason I should have taken a closer look is that maniac turn from Route 15 onto Route 181. You no sooner exit then cut back, almost like you're getting back onto 15. The GPS shows this curly-que which is technically accurate by mind boggling. More than a few times, we've missed or nearly missed this turn.

Fortunately Captain was on his p's and q's and made the tight right flawlessly. Me, I was trying to signal and wave with one hand, push the bars out with the other, coordinate brake and throttle. I went way wide, but I made her all the same. It musta' looked ugly in the back of our pack, but I received no disparaging comments.

Only after settling into Route 181 did I remember, "Oh yeah. That #$@*& turn gets us every time." I believe on past rides it has engendered a few U-turns.

Slower speeds of scenic secondary roads did little to alleviate my tingling-cold fingers. My Gerbing gloves are fine, up to a point. But for my long, skinny fingers, they just don't make it at these temperatures, even inside hippo hands. I should have known better. So for the ride back I switched to my down mountaineering mittens from NorthFace with a chemical heat pack in the end of each. Those are almost too hot. Almost.

Our Grand Tour hosts received their new shipment of this year's rockers. All of us on this ride have already earned the red rocker. Captain, of course, received red and gold. He is eligible for his 60-point pin too, but our flight leaders did not have them yet.

Wearhouse Grill had a special Polar Bear menu that included onion soup in a crock and chicken noodle. At first John J. ordered the chicken. But when most all the rest of us ordered onion, he caved to the peer pressure. Captain stood fast, however, when his turn to order came and resolutely ordered the chicken noodle. Maybe he knew something we did not.

As it turned out, they brought his chicken noodle right away. For the rest of us our soup came after our entrees. The soup hit the spot on such a cold day.

We missed Grumpy. He is back on night shift at his job keeping all our cables full of television shows. Fonz took over most of the photo duties. Anticipating Grumpy's absence, I packed my tripod and took the group shot. To see a version of this blog with more pictures, follow this link: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm

Pogy surprised me by saying that this Blogspot blog was the only one he knew. He got a new computer and I e-mailed him links to save to favorites on his new browser. Guess he'll have to do some back reading. Several seasons of motorcycle polar bear blogs are posted on this other site.

Generally I post here on Blogspot first because it is easier to access from anywhere. I am also experimenting with SEO for both my blogs. The other blog site is on my former company web site. There I have more control, and room for all the photos I wish to post. I generally also use Photoshop to size and sometimes crop or adjust the photos. And that program is only on my home computer. Blogspot I can use from my small laptop or tablet.

My Blogspot blog also allows comments, but my readers rarely do.

Eventually, I will have to upgrade my company web site. New web management tools will offer much of the same functionality. All I have to do is learn a whole new program. But hey, we all know what that is like. This technology treadmill never ends.

Vineland, NJ, January 8, 2012 Polar Bear Motorcycles Blog

Vineland, NJ, January 8, 2012

Polar Bear Motorcycles Blog

By: Chris Loynd

Vineland is a pretty long way to go for a ride to nowhere. And after a two week hiatus (the past two Sundays falling on Christmas and New Years) my back was not used to doing such miles. I was ready to get off the bike when I got home.

Fortunately the riding was easy. Anything not expressway was through some scenic towns, the Pinelands and farms. By the way, didn't it used to be called the Pine Barrens? I guess the government switched to a nicer sounding name.

We are back to North Carolina winter weather. Temperatures climbed above 50 in South Jersey. They were a bit colder for our ride start up in Connecticut, but not at all bearish. We had a long distance to ride, so we started at 8 a.m. The sun was just up. Still, it was in the high 40s for most of our miles.

A note of caution sounds in my psyche. It is a deep, far-off, disturbingly familiar tolling.

I hinted at it with my fellow Bears on Sunday. While I could not clearly recollect the time or even season, I recall a warm Polar Bear winter some time ago. I mocked Mother Nature in the blog, suggesting she had forgotten winter. And the very next week she slapped us hard with snow and subzero temperatures.

There's no making that mistake again. Let me just say we are respectfully grateful for the warm and dry weekends.

One of my Facebook friends who is also a rider, Art, took credit for the warmth. He asserts that if he had not winterized his Harley, tucking it into the back of the garage, turning on the battery tender and turning off the insurance, we all would be knee-deep in snow right now.

Connecticut experienced a 55 degree day Saturday. That brought out droves of motorcycles and even a few convertible cars. I was out front of my house doing a bit of “fall” gardening when my neighbor came home. Seeing me there with the leaf rake he called over, “Aren't you supposed to be shoveling snow about now?”

Grumpy led us over the interstates and parkways to the turnpike. He graciously allowed for a bathroom break. The others scoffed at me, but I grabbed the opportunity to top off my gas tank despite their scorn. Fonz caved too, once I took the hit, and stopped at the pumps while the other riders waited patiently. I hate riding with that fuel light winking at me. And true to form, later in the day Grumpy ran the other bikes down so close to empty that Mac broke formation and came up to insist on a gas stop. I just smiled and topped off again.

Fonz repaid the favor of me supporting his early gas fill when we got to our destination. We arrived just after 11:30 and the parking lot was already full. Grumpy pulled into a spot that would maybe fit just one more bike, but where he'd have to back out on gravel.

His wing man, I decided the gravel lot was plenty wide for a center row of bikes and so started one. Pogy and Token2 blew right by me and ended up parked helter-skelter at the driveway's mouth. Mac, well, I'm not sure what he was thinking. He just sort of found a spot and nearly blocked in some blockhead who was parked perpendicular to all the other bikes. (Maybe Mac was making a statement.) I was signaling to my fellow on-coming riders with a back and forth swish of my arm. Fonz was first to pick up on it and pulled in next to me. Captain came in too on the other side of me. And behind him was another group of bikes and soon our new row was firmly established.

The line held. As we came out of lunch it was stronger and thicker, with a double-up row forming farther down where the parking lot widened. Those of us on the line simply pulled out of the gravel lot with no foot paddling.

Fonzie did not endear himself to all our riders this day. On the way down he had what he himself described as a “momentary lapse in concentration.” It was in an area where the DOT workers had placed cautionary cones right on the edge of the highway travel lane, right on the fog line. Fonz clipped one.

He quickly corrected. But Pogy following behind had fewer options. The cone caught his highway peg and snapped it off like a twig. Highway pegs on a Goldwing stick out pretty far. And they appear to be made of some sort of cast metal; it looks like aluminum but breaks like porcelain.

Pogy was fine. And as he lamented, you can't buy just one peg. So I guess he'll replace the broken one and then have a spare. If he's like me, he'll put that spare in a special place. And when he finally, years from now, breaks another highway peg, he will have no idea where that replacement peg might reside. But then again, Pogy is likely more organized than I.

The Japanese continued to have troubles this ride. Captain had replaced his one Goldwing antenna after it broke off on an earlier run. Over this week's ride the new antenna drooped like it was made of play dough. He's headed back to the dealership too. Maybe Captain and Pogy – both now retired – can make a day of it!

Token2 even had trouble with his ST. Something not right in the harness for his electrics left him adding layers and stuffing chemical heat packs into his gloves and boots. Pogy even lent him a sweatshirt.

At sign-in I offered my thanks to Rich and Dave. They do so much as our Flight B leaders. Dave even came all the way up to Connecticut one year to attend our winter dinner.

With more Polar Bear rockers and pins on their vests than you can count, they have decided it would be fair to have someone else pick up the paperwork going forward. Thank you both for all you do and your perpetual good humor. These are some big shoes to fill.

Five Points Inn proffered a fine brunch buffet for a very fair $10. Pogy picked up the tab for us all. He retired this week and I guess he was feeling generous. Thanks!

Pogy has plenty of life left in him, by the way. His retirement was one of those take the early package or else deals. So if any blog readers know of a position open for a technically adept senior customer service or sales director with international experience and a work ethic that will scare the bejesus out of his fellow workers, send me an e-mail and I'll pass it along.

It's true that like Forrest Gump's chocolates, you never do know what you're going to get. As John Lennon said, “Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.”

I don't know where this economy will take us. It's hard for guys like Mac and Pogy to give a whole life to a company only to be offered an “early retirement package” backed by a layoff threat.

I don't know if the Polar Bear Club will survive a change of leadership. Bob is asking for a replacement, now Rich and Dave too.

Ah, but what future is ever certain? This is the year the Mayans say it all ends, 12/26/2012. So be sure to get out and ride as much as you can. Me, I still plan to go on a Polar Bear ride 12/30/2012, if the Grand Tour folks will have me.

Happy New Year!

Snyderville, Penn., December 18, 2011, Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog

Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog; Snydersville, Penn.; December 18

By: Chris Loynd

Winter finally found us. For the motorcycle polar bears it came a few days early. If it ever got above 30 degrees Sunday, such was but brief. My electrics were set on “nuclear” for most of the day. I broke out the snowmobile boots and doubled up on chemical heat packs under my feet.

Our ride over to Schoch's Harley-Davidson would likely have been warmer, at least for the start, if only we had left later. A mistake in the departure alert e-mail by CT Blogger Chris Loynd (yeah, it was all my fault) lit the fuse of confusion that set off a bomb of controversy. Fortunately when the dust settled we are all still pals, committed to good humor. No feelings were permanently damaged. Leave the Captain alone! I mean it now!

When I sent out the departure time alert this week I slavishly followed Captain's meticulous spreadsheet of rides and recommended departure times. Only it turns out he was not so meticulous. (I know! That's crazy talk! Can you believe it?)

Captain's sheet recommended leaving Stratford at 8:00 a.m. In the subject line of my e-mail I set 8 as launch time. But then, in a perhaps Freudian slip, in the text I stated 9.

Mac was the first to catch the confusion. He e-mailed all the regulars looking for clarity. That only kicked off a flurry of competing e-mails espousing the virtues of either 8 or 9. As the controversy reached a fever pitch one of our riders even broadcasted a call for calm. Can't we all just get along?

Unfortunately, I had long since walked away from the computer. And I am not one who has e-mail pushed to his cell phone. I know how. I just don't care.

I only became aware of the tempest in my teapot as I glanced at the e-mail trail before shutting down my computer just before bed.

As I read through various missives the most strident was a dire warning from Captain that if we left after 8 a.m., we were doomed to arrive past noon. Now I did not really care one way or the other. Unlike some of my com-padres, I like riding at night.

Figuring the Captain to be the most demandingly precise of us all, well aware of his flag etiquette and other sundown worries, I sent a correction e-mail confirming my original 8 a.m. departure time. I mean the Captain was once the navigator of a submarine. Certainly he was qualified to calculate the travel time of 150 motorcycle miles. I did not do the math myself.

We got to Schoch's Harley-Davidson almost exactly . . . an hour early.

We gassed the bikes and proudly took those hard-to-get, front-row parking spaces. We killed some time taking the group picture (the early morning light was dramatic) and discussing the virtues of MapQuest-suggested travel times.

John J. had a printed copy of Captain's Excel sheet and pointed out several other rather questionable entries, including one suggesting a 10 a.m. departure. (Mmmm, yes, that does not seem quite right. Guess I should double check.)

In a way it all worked out better than usual. There was no line for the bathroom. We got the very first pieces of cornbread. The soup and chili, courtesy of Mrs. Schoch, her family and her HOGs, was delicious and piping hot. And we had a relaxed time sitting around the table and catching up on the news of our various lives as we waited for sign-in to open.

The Connecticut Motorcycle Polar Bears are a diverse group. Some of us are wealthier than others. Some are working, some retired, some face uncertain futures. Some, like me for example, have gone through dramatic change in the time we've ridden together. I went from having my own business to working at The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk, put one-and-a-half kids through college, lost some hair and gained some pounds.

It makes for interesting conversation. And we're all close enough in age to share some of the same perspectives. Any TV producers out there? We are ripe for a reality show! I guarantee we'd be better than that Hairy Bikers tripe.

Grumpy promised a ride home more interesting than the interstate. (Silly reader, segues are for kids.)

So we mounted up 'pert near noon. As we were preparing to pull out of our preferred, honestly-earned parking spaces a bunch of dweebs on metric hardleys started filling in a row of bikes ahead of us. Could they not see us getting ready to pull out? Certainly they did not respect our early arrival. They thoughtlessly blocked in several of us.

However there were more of us than of them. So those of us blocked in were able to exit – after a bit of backpedaling – through the gap left as our fellow riders moved out.

Soon after the Delaware Water Gap, Grumpy led us up New Jersey Route 94, headed north and east.

He found us an old timey tunnel to ride through, some quaint towns and scenic farmlands. In the town of Fredon an honest-to-gosh bald eagle lit from a limb and flew right over our line of bikes, not 30 feet above our heads.

At Franklin we transferred to NJ Route 23 for a slightly southerly and more directly easterly ride to connect with Interstate 287.

As we sipped our coffees at Chez GSP, to a man we approved of the non-Interstate part of our ride.

(We didn't get Token2's vote. He ditched us on the last coffee stop for a family obligation.)

It can be a drag just blasting up and down the New Jersey Garden State Parkway and Turnpike. For many of our Polar Bear rides the distances involved require the most direct route. Also, once the “S” word happens – no it's SNOW, not that other “S” word you were thinking – secondary roads can be less reliable, especially on motorcycles.

As it turned out, Grumpy's scenic ride added maybe 10 miles and half an hour to our return – and that includes U-turns. It was worth every mile and minute.

Maybe we have identified a new trend, although we will have to wait a while to exploit it.

Our next ride is a long one, Vineland, New Jersey. So there won't be as much time for fooling around. Although some years back Grumpy and his Tom Tom took the boys on a Dunkin' Donuts tour on the way down. And we have before cut directly east across the countryside to the GSP for our ride home, come to think of it.

Wearhouse Grill the week after offers an opportunity. It's nestled right in the country we passed this week, west of 23, south of 94. Maybe there's a CT Bear with some GPS skills who wants to lead? If so, and if your route requires a recalculation of our departure time, be sure to let me know well in advance. You are welcome to consult with the Captain in advance if you wish. But be forewarned, he gets up early and hates to ride late.

Meanwhile we have two weeks without riding, thanks to the foibles of the 2011-12 calendar. Christmas and New Years days both fall on Sundays. Not many of us have the chones to ask kitchen permission for rides on those days.

So until we meet again I offer best holiday wishes – for whatever holiday(s) you choose to celebrate – and a happy and prosperous New Year full of good weather and great rides. No future is ever certain, but all futures are filled with possibilities.

Ride safe, and warm,

Chris

Polar Bear Blog, Dec. 11, Howell, NJ

Polar Bear Blog, December 11, Howell NJ

By: Chris Loynd

Slightly bearish weather kept some of the cubs in their dens Sunday. It truly wasn't that cold.

When I woke up it was 20 degrees outside. Since we had a fairly close destination a 9:00 a.m. allowed temperatures to rise five degrees before I mounted the Harley. By the ride home it was a balmy 40-plus under a pale blue and cloudless sky.

We still had a sizable group of nine. Over the years, our Connecticut Polar Bears hardcore core has grown from three to 10 regulars. Bart missed Sunday. He was chaperoning a group at my workplace: The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk.

Leaving Dunkin' Donuts we had six. For the second week in a row, Fonz missed us by minutes but chased us down on the Interstate. Turns out he had to pause for a discussion of marker light protocol with one of his law enforcement brethren in Bridgeport.

Pogy was waiting for us at his usual pick up point nearer his Norwalk home than our Stratford departure point. And finally we grabbed Token2 at the entrance to the Hutch.

Captain was leading this ride, which turned out to be fortuitous.

As we approached the entrance to the George Washington Bridge, New York's finest were just then striking flares and closing the on ramp.

Using his strong knowledge of the City that Never Sleeps, Captain took us on a tour of Harlem for a detour. We rode down 125^th Street and past the Apollo Theater. The holiday decorations were very nostalgic looking. I am thinking they were probably purchased back in the 1920s when Harlem was a cool place to be.

Folks on the street gawked at our impromptu parade.

Negotiating the city our group was a fluid string of magnetic buckyballs. (I threw in that reference for my sister Gretchen, who doesn't even read my blog.) We came apart and reformed multiple times as we worked our way through the traffic lights and dodged pedestrians and potholes. Captain paused just before taking to the West Side Highway to allow our formation to rebuild.

Then as we formed up in a lane to turn onto 42^nd Street, a BMW tried to cut us in half. I held him back to let the other bikes in ahead of me. We were slippery and binding.

After his tour of Harlem, I was a little disappointed Captain did not also take us through Times Square. We were, after all, on 42^nd Street, if only for a few blocks.

We came apart again just a few blocks later making the turn for the Lincoln Tunnel.

New Yorkers do not yield. Those Grinches respected our line of bikes not at all, not one little bit, cutting in and cutting off, because their hearts are two sizes too small. Sing along with me . . . I looooove New York . . . .

Suddenly I found myself lead of three bikes riding through the Lincoln Tunnel. My GPS went dark about two-thirds of the way through. I guess it didn't like losing its grasp upon the satellites. As we exited the tunnel, I was trying to negotiate the cagers, reboot the Garmin, read the traffic signs and guess which choice led to the turnpike.

As we crested a small hill I looked far to the horizon and what to my wandering eyes should appear but the twinkling running lights of six tiny, scratch that, six big, motorcycles, well except for Token2 who was on his little BMW with the ice cream cases bolted to the tail.

We stragglers caught the main body just as we approached the New Jersey Turnpike. After that the ride was easier.

With all the detours we still arrived pert near 11:30. Even so the lot was full and the restaurant bulging. A few of us tried to cobble together a few tables and booths around the bar. Little did we know our guys found the back-back room. That's right. Behind the back room the cabin has a back room. And there we found a table for the nine of us.

Lunch was good. Grumpy could not get pickles on his cheeseburger. But once we got through that crisis, things settled down nicely.

Speaking of pickles, Pogy continued his largesse, this time producing a jar of giant pickles for the Grumpster. Wild speculation surrounded the possible origin of the vinegar-bathed cukes. There was some mention of kimchee. We'll have to get a report from Grumpy on how they tasted.

Our ride home was uneventful. There were a couple times when our formation had to flow through toll booths and reform. Here and there a cager threatened. But that is part of Polar Bearing. See you next week.

Polar Bear Blog Hatfield, Penn., Dec. 4

Polar Bear Blog Hatfield, Penn., Dec. 4

By: Chris Loynd

Fortunately, I thought to put this week's destination address into my GPS just minutes before I headed over to meet the guys at the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford.

My morning had a monkey thrown into its wrench. If you are a faithful blog reader, you may recall I purchased a new Gerbing heated jacket liner a few weeks back. The old one was not heating the gloves. Well I have not yet gotten around to sending out the old liner to be repaired. Meanwhile my long-suffering wife got tired of seeing it thrown over a chair and hung it up for me . . . along with the rest of my motorcycle gear. Sunday morning I could not tell which was the new, or the old, jacket liner.

Figuring it out had me pressed for time, and with no time to spare, I thought of skipping the GPS. At the last minute, I figured I might as well put in the address, just in case I got lost or something.

Turned out I was leading this ride.

I guess they took a vote at the Dunkin' before I arrived, just two minutes before departure time, and I was elected in absentia . Since I knew the address was plugged into my GPS, I said, “Sure! No problem!” I had only glanced at a map days earlier, and that vaguely.

Grumpy was going to sweep. He pulled up and shouted something about 287, 87 and, dang, what was that last number?

Well I figured I would just follow the GPS.

I knew better to ignore Mr. Garmen when he tried to send me across the George Washington Bridge. Once we were firmly on our way to the Tappan Zee the miniature, satellite-enabled computer settled down . . . for a little while.

It started acting up again as we cruised on out I-78. Darn if I could remember that last route number Grumpy had given me. I kept ignoring the GPS' exhortations and stuck to the Interstate, hoping that at some point the computer would pop up a familiar number.

Fortunately for me, Grumpy had an unfortunate equipment problem. He zoomed up from the back of the pack to lead all of us into a highway rest stop. There he zip tied his shifter linkage back together. It had lost a joint or something. I'm no mechanic.

As we were getting ready to go I nonchalantly fished for that missing route number. “Uh, yeah, we're going up here to, uh . . .,” I said. “Route 309,” Grumpy finished my sentence. “Yeah, that's right,” I offered. “Exit uh . . .” “I don't know,” Grumpy said.

No problem! I'm back in control and nobody knows. I'll just keep my eyes peeled for the exit.

After a little while my GPS gave up on all other options and served up “Route 309, Exit 60A.”

We left the rest stop, shifter repaired, riders relieved (no facilities but an accommodating tree), in a different order of bikes than we had been riding. Grumpy was now my wing man, replacing Jim O, a new Polar Cub who joined us for the first time Sunday.

By the way, Jim O was a good wing man. He rode so tight to me I could usually feel him more than see him. But he's an experienced rider and a MSF instructor. So I was comfortable with him at my shoulder.

I guess Fonz, arriving just a few moments AFTER the last possible moment, had pulled a u-turn and taken the sweep away from Grumpy. Freed of his sweep duties, Grumpy moved up with me for the rest of the ride.

So as we approached Montgomeryville Cycle Center, my GPS was now simpatico with the route I'd forced upon it. Only I remember the last time I led this ride, the destination appeared on the opposite side of the road from what I expected. I shot past the dealership, Russ sticking faithfully by my side (another of the great wing men), as the rest of our guys hit the binders hard and made the dealership. Russ and I eventually found a u-turn after what seemed like 15 miles.

Embarrassment being a powerful teacher, I distrusted my GPS as we approached the Cycle Center, still hidden behind a ridge, and put on my right blinker. Grumpy immediately put on his LEFT blinker and threw in a hand signal in case I didn't catch his drift. I quickly changed signals and cut left into the merge lane for Montgomeryville Cycle Center.

At lunch I 'fessed up to the miscue. Not that a confession was required, though they say it is good for the soul. Everybody behind me saw the blinker mistake.

After gassing up for the ride home, my GPS was again acting up, wanting to send me down some country road. I again consulted Grumpy. He started offering alternate ways to get to Route 309 to go home the way we came.

I expressed my worries to Grumpy. I was concerned about taking some long-about detour with a line of bikes behind me. I was afraid to plunge into unknown territory with these guys strung along the highway behind me. It's one thing to make a u-turn at a dead end road by yourself. It's quite another with a eight to a dozen bikes on behind.

And what if it took a lot longer to get home? Some of our guys don't like to ride in the dark. I jokingly asked the Captain if he was flying the colors. He said now, he held them in case we were late and that morning ran a Navy ensign up the pole instead.

Seeing, but not sharing, my consternation, Grumpy came up with one of his typical responses, “F**k 'em. Follow your GPS. See what happens.”

I took courage in Grumpy's show of confidence and off we went, turn-by-turn, with nary a sense of the map in my head.

My Garmin took us on a beautiful ride down winding country roads. Fields stretched beyond our site. Horses and cattle dotted the landscape. We rode through quaint small towns with small brick buildings build right to the road and with 1950s style Christmas garlands strung between light poles, across the road over our heads. We even scored a covered bridge.

Cars came toward us with freshly cut evergreens bound to their roofs. Some of our way tightened down to mere country lanes with no lines painted on the road. We crossed the Delaware River from Pennsylvania to New Jersey on a very narrow two-lane, steel grid decked bridge, speed limit 15 mph.

Like Token a few weeks before, I even ran into a closed road detour. Recalculating!

And it turned out my Garmin did not lie. We left the gas station after a sizable group of Jersey Bears. On I-78 we saw them again. They passed us. We were ahead of them. We had in fact taken the faster route going cross country.

Sometimes you just have to say, “F**k 'em. Which is what I did when I stuck in the left lane up the Merritt Parkway with our long line of bikes.

It was a great ride, well led, with a little help from my friends.

Polar Bear Blog Sugar Loaf, N.Y. Nov. 20

By: Chris Loynd

When I saw Polar Bear Grand Poohbah Bob Hartpence in very nearby Sugar Loaf' N.Y., he joked that maybe this ride wasn't even worth the Connecticut bears getting out of bed. I told him we were experiencing Polar Bearing as our New Jersey brethren do.

This Sunday's destination was so close we only earned a single mileage point. Heck, we usually achieve one point just getting out of state.

A few of our members flirted, albeit briefly, with a point stretch. We even racked up a few extra miles thanks to a closed road around which Token, our ride leader, had to detour.

Grumpy and Mac, start deeper in Connecticut than most of us. Those two did pick up the extra point. But we dissuaded the others with peer pressure. Most of us accurately recorded between 160 and 180 roundtrip miles.

Token lives close to this Sunday's destination and so promised us a scenic ride. He led us over parkways and through state parks. The afore mentioned closed road caused him a bit of consternation, most dramatically represented with not one but two circuits of a traffic roundabout.

Slavish following of his GPS also caused him to head back into town after a Dolly-mandated early gas stop. We dutifully followed Token through every U-turn.

The only time in the ride where we did break formation on Sunday was in the Barn Sider Tavern parking lot. Even though we arrived before 11:30 sign-in, the lot was already full. Token threaded his way back around to the street and found a good spot we could all share. Being his wingman, I was right there with him. But when we went to back our bikes into our spots we discovered only Token and I remained.

The rest of our guys decided to block in some other bikes in the parking lot. The bike-bound riders soon saw the Connecticut plates and coming into the restaurant went straight to the Captain. It's the hat, John. The offenders went back outside to move their bikes, releasing the other riders.

To his credit, Token did find plenty of twisties for us to ride. His was a welcome respite from our typical Interstate expressway dominated Polar Bear motorcycling.

Unfortunately the distances we typically travel, and the Captain's flag, generally mandate faster and more direct routes than the luxury we rode Sunday.

The Captain has a new American flag flying on a pole at his house and was very concerned about striking his colors before sunset. A light fixture is on order and hopefully arrives and is installed before Montgomeryville. There's no way we get back from there before sundown.

Our Connecticut Polar Bear ranks continue to swell. We picked up two new riders on this trip.

Dolly is Fonz's wife. Not exactly new to the Polar Bears, she rode with us as a passenger last year on the back of Fonz's Harley. Sunday she was at the helm of her Honda Shadow.

Fonz had bought Dolly one of this season's spiffy new red Polar Bear Grand Tour shirts. But he said she could not wear it until she actually rode with the Bears.

Fortunately Sunday's ride was not at all bearish. With our shortest distance of the season and temperatures nearing 60, it was a perfect ride for cubs.

I think Dolly found it to be quite enough. At our end of day coffee stop Dolly asked me, "What does it mean when you start seeing things?"

"Seeing what?" I asked.

"You know, like two roads," she replied.

"I think it means you drop out of the group," I said. Geeze, she rode behind me most of the day. I kept a keen eye on my rearview mirrors the rest of the ride.

Bill also joined us Sunday. He has a New Jersey Polar Bear friend but lives in Ridgefield. Perusing the Polar Bear Grand Tour site, www.PolarBearGrandTour.com, Bill found the Connecticut contingent's blog on the Grand Tour's "Members' Homepages" page and contacted me.

We liked Bill almost immediately, well right after lunch for sure. Bill picked up the whole lunch tab, for all of us! I sought him out later and assured him there are no initiation rites, nor secret conclave votes, to be a member of the Connecticut Bears. You pretty much need only to show up on a motorcycle. Buying lunch for everyone is certainly not a requirement.

Oh, if you desire the coveted Connecticut patch, you must firsf earn the Grand Tour patch. But so far we have rejected no one from just tagging along on our rides.

There is also the Connecticut Polar Bear pledge. And I forgot to administer it to Dolly or Bill. It's very simple, raise your right hand and repeat after me, "I am responsible for my own safety."

That's it!

Sort of like parachuting, the real challenge is not in getting someone to join us for the first ride; we won't really know if Dolly or Bill likes us until she or he show up for a second ride.

Meanwhile Dolly and Bill are immortalized in the Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog. And not everyone can say that.

Old Bridge, NJ, Nov. 13, 2011, Motorcycle Polar Bears Blog

By: Chris Loynd

Ahhh, the joys of group riding. Riding with a big group of fellow motorcycles has its appeal, and its foibles.

Last Sunday we did group riding by the Pirate Code.

The Connecticut Polar Bears have had discussions over the years about how many bikes we should have in a line before we divide the riders into two or more independent groups. Some say the threshold is six bikes, some say eight or even 10. I'm pretty sure 12 is too many.

Nevertheless, Sunday's unseasonably warm weather and reasonably close destination turned out the Polar Cubs who engorged our group.

We started out with a threshold nine bikes. Then as we were riding along the Fonz suddenly appeared, pushing us to an upper limit 10. Somewhere before we hit I-287 Jim materialized, as he is wont to do, and we were 11. Token was waiting for us at his usual pickup point and that made it a dozen.

Twelve can be tough to manage. It is a long line of bikes. Leading a group that big is sort of like managing a train. That many bikes stretches the length of maybe three or four tractor-trailer trucks.

Before we even got to Token our leader inadvertently broke the group by merging in front of a slower car. Our sweep rider came up to add to the confusion. Then one of our more expert riders decided to cut off the cops who were creating the traffic jam in the first place, riding up in the unoccupied lane next to our group to form up again in front of the slower car.

When I saw him come up, he was wearing a different jacket than usual. I did not recognize him. My first thought was, "Who is this jerk?" Boy was I surprised when our group reformed and I got close enough to read his license plate. (I won't mention any names but later Fonz told me he was surprised the cops didn't pull him over.)

And no sooner did we assimilate Token and head for the Hutch than a couple of cars once again cut into our line as we went to merge onto the parkway.

They created a pretty big gap. Once they cleared out of our path our ride leader and just two other bikes were a spec on the horizon and fading fast.

The cars cut me off so I was de facto lead for the moment. So I slowed a bit to get the rest of us to form up, and then tried to catch the leader.

He didn't make it easy.

Once I got the rest of us within striking distance, and I wanted to get us all together before the move onto the next expressway, I zoomed ahead and gestured to the leader to slow down -- even just a little -- so the rest of us could catch him.

Of course with full face helmets at highway speed communications options are limited. I got a puzzled look from our leader, but while he was puzzling he did back off his throttle just enough for the rest of the group to gather -- once again -- behind him.

I fell into line and we soon transitioned to the next mix master, the merge onto the GW Bridge.

Once we reached the order and regularity of the New Jersey Turnpike, things settled down. We grabbed our own lane and owned it.

Now I have assiduously avoided mentioning any names. And later in the day John Jackson asserted that this blog and the ribbing from fellow Bears may be the reason we have a hard time finding ride leaders.

Wait, we have a hard time finding ride leaders? Grumpy will lead any ride any time. Oh, he grouses about always having to lead. But he's just living up to his nickname.

The Captain will volunteer to lead any ride. But do you really want him to?

I've led my share. And reviewing past blog posts I see that I always lead a picture perfect ride.

When we finally got down to Old Bridge and got our helmets off, I understood the morning's problem even better. John J. revealed that his Harley mirrors only reach two bikes behind him. So he really could not see that he had no more that two followers  as he blasted down the Hutchinson River Parkway.

And the Pirate Code? Certainly you remember, "Them that falls behind is left behind."

So if you wish to join us on a ride next Sunday, and you have moderately good riding skills and a decent GPS in case we lose you, you are welcome to join the Connecticut Polar Bears. If you have a thick enough skin we may even let you lead.