Montgomeryville, Penn.; December 6, 2009
30 degrees to start “warming” to 40 under, a bright sky
Cold came to Connecticut. Winter rewarded us with a beautiful Polar Bear ride. Looks like we might keep Ralphie after all.
Long Island Sound, by its sheer volume of relatively warm waters, kept any snow from accumulating near my home in Stratford, Conn. Big, wet flakes fell. But they didn't last. Only a few managed to coat cold surfaces like parked cars.
It was not until we headed north that we saw snow on the ground. As we crossed over the Tappan Zee Bridge the far heights were painted in snow. It got more beautiful as we entered the mountains of New Jersey on Interstate 78 west. This was a wet snow and so it clung to every surface. Every tree's branch and twig was highlighted. Seeing it from the back of a motorcycle was a very fine experience, very fine.
We left the Dunkin' in Stratford with six bikes. A new rider, Dave, met us there. Fonz invited him. Dave was on a brand new Harley dresser, just 600-some miles on the odometer.
We picked up another Fonz friend at the Darien rest stop as we headed south. Ron was also on board a Harley.
We picked up two more, Token and Bart, at the Tappan Zee Bridge.
Grumpy was lead. Chris, your blogger, was sweep.
Is there something especially self indulgent about SUV owners? Somehow I suspect so. In addition to taking up more than their fair share of space and natural resources, they also seem the most egregious when it comes to not clearing snow off their roofs. They blithely fly down the highway with mini blizzards in their wake, or slabs of ice and snow flying off their machines, or they dump mini drifts at stoplights. All these are special hazards for us winter motorcycle riders.
There was some discussion in our group as to police discouragement of such boorish behavior, but I suspect the cops pursue snow top infractions with the same vigor as driving while cellphoning.
Just wait boys. When the big snows come the real danger is from tractor-trailer trucks. These morons throw off sheet-of-plywood sized slabs of ice from their roofs and drop rock-hard slushbergs from their mudflaps as they go their merry way. Last year someone in a car was killed in Connecticut by such malfeasance.
Nine bikes in total, we ran steady and true and continually to our destination. Only when encountering a few stoplights on 309 did we put our feet down. Despite a few ugly bouts with entropy, we reformed in the end, reaching Polar Bear sign-in with bone dry tanks and bulging bladders. In retrospect Grumpy and I both thought an interim stop may have been advisable.
For one thing, it was cold in the morning. I was almost comfortably cold on the ride over. Fooled by the forecast, I took a chance on my “geeze it's cold” level of protection.
By way of explanation, I am prepared for four levels of Polar Bear riding. Level one is “too warm.” Level two is “nice.” Level three is “geeze it's cold,” Level four is “damn it's really cold.” There is a level five, “holy crap cold.” Nobody can put on enough layers or run a big enough alternator for that level cold.
I have ridden in level 5 by the way. The only defense is to stop every so many miles and thaw out your frozen parts.
The various levels are difficult for me because of my bike setup. I do not have big fiberglass tubs bolted all over my bike like the guys on dressers. My leather saddlebags hold only so much. And clothing is bulky.
My strategy is to make my best guess and then tough it out because I invariably guess wrong. Plus any given Polar Bear ride can vary by one, sometimes even two, levels of cold during the ride itself.
“Geeze it's cold” meant I had not yet strapped hippo hands over the handlebar grips. I figured it might be iffy, but wanted to give my new Gerbing gloves a good testing. They just about kept up with the cold and wind. I had them cranked so high for so long they gave me a little burn blister on the back of my left hand.
Inside my hippo hands (level four), I can actually wear only the heated glove liners. That's Grumpy's tactic. He usually deploys his hippo hands early. Polar bear riding is all about the wind.
“Geeze it's cold” also meant I trusted my Gerbing jacket. It too, does not hold up to the full onslaught of a “damn it's cold” ride. That level of cold requires me to wear my heated jacket liner underneath my Gerbing jacket. As an interim measure, I tried wearing my rain jacket over my Gerbing jacket to block more wind. Even so I was on the edge of discomfort.
Fortunately for my legs I had, I thought, overcompensated with “damn” level protection. That means an extra pair of polypropylene long johns on top of the silks and Bergelenes. The poly johns are very effective at blocking wind penetration.
My toes did not do as well. My boots were one level too low on the cold scale Sunday. But, like the new gloves, I had to test the limits of the new boots. I was able to score a full kilo of Thinuslate in this pair. Still, it was not enough. My next level cold protection is a pair of snowmobile boots rated to something like 40 below. These, with a one, sometimes even two, chemical heat packs keep my toes toasty even at “holy crap cold” level riding.
There are rewards and liabilities riding in a group. One of the liabilities is not being able to stop whenever you want, instead depending upon the philosophy of the lead rider.
Still we survived. I do not think I was cold as some of the new guys who did not have electrics. We loaned them some chemical heat packs for their ride home.
Meanwhile, Montgomeryville Cycle warmed us well with free with chili and brownies, doughnuts and hot coffee. There was plenty, but then we arrived, and left early. Still, I think the weather probably kept the crowd at a manageable level.
We had a couple more riders earn their Polar Bear props this ride, including Bart receiving his first patch. Now, in addition to earning the Grand Tour patch, there is a unique Connecticut Polar Bear patch. Grumpy had them made and awarded his first to a new CT Polar Bear Sunday. To get one of our patches, you must first earn the Grand Tour patch, and of course ride with the CT Bears.
While we currently count Ron as a Harley rider, he was overheard trading information with a Gold Wing salesman at Montgomeryville Cycle Center. As Fonz tells it, if it were not for Pennsylvania's blue laws, Ron may have ridden a Gold Wing home. I guess he doesn't fool around when it comes to making up his mind. Or maybe he was thinking about the Wing's heated seat and grips and the nifty toe warmers that divert engine heat to your feetsies.
At Montgomeryville we found out that the new riders joining us Sunday were both coworkers of Fonz, which means they are part of Norwalk, Conn.'s finest. Dave perhaps will be Norwalk's first motorcycle patrol officer. That's a very good thing. First because we can never have enough motorcycle cops. Second because of the two new guys, Ron exhibited a penchant for oncoming traffic. (As I told Token last week, you see everything from the sweep position.)
At one point on the way home, a New Jersey state trooper came up in the penultimate passing lane (we were in the farthest passing lane) and paced us for a while. He then drove on. At Chez GSP there was a discussion as to whether we were persons of interest to the trooper.
We made a new CT Polar Bear group riding policy right then and there, passed by a popular vote. If a police officer ever activates his lights to pull our group over, one of the proliferation of Norwalk cops who now ride with us is to pull to the shoulder immediately while the rest of us ride on.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Snydersville, PA; November 29, 2009
November 29, 2009; Syndersville, PA.
36 degrees F to start but warmed up nicely to mid 50s by return, under a bright, cloudless sky
Can you believe this weather we are having? Last year, Grumpy and the Captain drove to this destination in a car through severely predicted snow in order to preserve their perfect attendance. This year we rode over with nine bikes in balmy sunshine.
Perhaps the only downside to these warm Sundays is that it brings out the Polar Cubs. Fair weather winter riders looking for a place to go on such a beautiful day turned out in huge numbers. The Grand Tour Website estimated 400 bikes, We arrived just a bit after 11:30 and ended up last in a line of bikes stretching all the way around to the other side of the gas station. Usually arriving at such an early hour earns us a space right in front of the dealership.
Rose Schoch and all her staff and all her family did all they could to manage the onslaught. But the chili and split pea soup could not come fast enough to feed the minions. No sooner did a new batch arrive than it was gone. It took me two queues to get a cup of her delicious soup. A big thanks to the staff of Schoch Harley-Davidson.
It's not that I do not enjoy a warm winter ride like every other motorcyclist. It is just that the record number of Polar Cubs is outstripping the resources of our destinations. If it remains this warm for the Hooter's run we may never see our curly fries and buffalo chicken sandwiches.
I am worried about losing Ralphie. After regaling him with stories of winter riding in the Polar Bear Club, all he's seen are these huge crowds and temperatures any rube could weather.
Was it two winters ago when we had that unusually warm winter? I remember writing in the blog, in February, that I wasn't afraid of February winter. My reasoning was that with only a maximum of six weeks left until spring, how much could Mother Nature throw at us? Turned out she showed just how much a mother she could be that February and March. We wuz clobbered with freezing cold, freezing rain, freezing winds, froze our butts off.
So I will not again tempt the fates, wishing for cold weather to thin out the Polar Bear herd. If we lose Ralphie, well we lose Ralphie. And we can always find another place to stop for lunch.
This ride we picked up a new bear because of the weather, but not like you think. Pogy Pogany came along Sunday not because it was warm but because Saturday was windy. In addition to his full time job wrangling helicopters around the world, he spends a lot of his “leisure” time tonging oysters. That's a pretty tough hobby. Saturday the winds whipped up the oyster beds and so Pogy needed another diversion for Sunday.
When he called to ask about departure details, he asked if the other riders, most all on Harley-Davidson motorcycles, would give him a hard time about riding a Gold Wing. I told him that of course they would.
But I also assured him we allowed other Honda riders in our midst, even designating one of our regulars “Token.”
Point of fact, we had three Hondas, out of nine bikes total, on Sunday. Token was there on his ST. Pogy was on his Wing. And then Bernie shows up on a yellow monster named after a mythical Norse goddess. (I just love the smell of napalm in the morning!) Turns out he wore the tread off his Harley's tires and had to settle for the next bike in his garage.
Bernie, by the way, was wearing his Harley high visibility suit. Dayglow orange mounted on a bright yellow bike bouncing around in my rear view mirror, Bernie looked like a bad acid trip going down the road.
Token was delighted. “We're taking over!” he exclaimed.
Hooold on thar Babablouie! The Japanese contingent still has a ways to go to achieve Connecticut Polar Bear domination. And Bernie will probably be back on his Harley soon. Although who knows what other brands may lurk in his garage?
For nostalgia's sake I took the lead. Schoch's Harley-Davidson was my first ever Polar Bear ride in 2002. Earlier in May of that year I passed Pogy's Basic Rider's Course, he actually was one of my instructors, and purchased the big Springer after the first range day. It was my first time ever on a motorcycle and I took Pogy's advice, “There is no substitute for miles.”
So when summer waned I looked around for a reason to keep riding and to my great good fortune found the Polar Bear Club in a article in my AMA magazine.
Here I am riding to Schoch's seven years later with my former motorcycle riding instructor, now an instructor myself. Ralphie, also an instructor, was with us as well. Russ called for a group photo of the three Connecticut Rider Education Program (ConnRep) Rider Coaches, although I will not repeat the words Russ used in describing our contingent.
This was also the destination of Clark Makinson's last ride. He died of liver cancer a few weeks later. I thought about Clark as we rode over Sunday. He was an interesting character. I think I would have liked to have gotten to know him even better. We rode Polar Bears together and a very wet Rolling Thunder and a memorable Roar to the Shore. Is there ever enough time?
we mounted our bikes at the Dunkin' in Stratford, I called Pogy in Norwalk to tell him we were, “feet up in five minutes.” Then I started on my layers. Since I was taking the lead, and it was at least a bit cold, I even tied on my white silk scarf. That always takes a bit of time. If you don't get it right it will come unknotted as you ride, quickly becoming 10 feet of wildly whipping worry. Finally, I went to plug in my electric gloves. But the last time I used them . . . it was without electricity.
The new Gerbing gloves have a great feature. If you wish to use them without electricity, there is a small, zippered pouch inside the glove in which one can store the electric cord. I had done so. Which meant, of course, that now I had to unzip the pouch to retrieve the wires. Meanwhile my fellow Bears are ready to go with engines running. “Off to a great start for ragging fodder,” I said to myself, inside my helmet where no one else could hear.
With Pogy joining us from the Darien rest stop and John H. and Bart at the Tappan Zee Bridge, I had to execute some running pickup maneuvers. If you want to join our ride from anyplace other than the Dunkin' in Stratford, we treat you like the mailbags on the Old West train lines. Remember how they put the bag on a hook at the station and the train snapped up the bag without even slowing?
Well, I slowed a bit, and held the right hand lane, until we snapped up the extra riders. As we came upon Pogy he was seated, engine running, and slipped into formation without missing a beat. At the Tappan Zee I had to hold the slow lane a little longer. As we approached I see Bart working on his helmet strap. I'm with you Bart, a brother procrastinator. (Oooh, I bet that hurt! Nobody wants to be compared to me when it comes to speed of preparation for riding.)
All in all we had an uneventful ride down. John Howard took up the sweep position. You can read his report at the end of mine. From my point of view he did a marvelous job. Lanes were cleared with alacrity. We exited and merged the expressways with precision. (Such was not entirely the case on the ride home, but such was not the sweep's fault.)
Arriving at Schoch's Harley-Davidson, the parking lot was packed already. Not wanting to put my guys on gravel, I rode all the way around the back and we ended up taking the last possible pavement spaces on the far side of the gas station.
Official Polar Bear Photographer Walter Kern caught a funny video of our group following the chili pot into the dealership. He also caught a video of us arriving, but, sigh, did not bring his camera up fast enough to immortalize yours truly, leader of the pack.
We signed in and scrambled like everyone else for a bit of food.
We heard from our first blog fan of the year. John K. was standing in line for the bathroom when a rider came up to him declaring, “You're the Captain!” John was a smidgeon surprised but chatted a bit. Then our reader found his way upstairs where I was sitting with our crew and introduced himself.
Thank you. In past years I mostly heard from my readers when the blog was late. With the new BlogSpot version, you can even post comments online if you wish. Meanwhile, feel free to say hello at the Polar Bear meets!
We gassed up and reassembled for the weekly group photo. I led the group back to New England and was doing pretty well until the Garden State Parkway presented herself.
It is funny how traditions start. Oftentimes there is no real good reason for them. But as habits become ingrained they harden into traditions.
Have you heard the story about the one-legged turkey? As mom prepares her Thanksgiving turkey, she cuts off the right leg before placing it in the roaster pan. Her daughter asks, “Mommy why do you cut off the leg?” Mom answers, “Because that's the way my mother taught me.” So at dinner, the daughter asks her grandmother, “Why do you cut off one leg of the turkey before you roast it?” Of course Grandmother answers, “Because that's the way my mother taught me.” Fortunately, her mother, the daughter's great grandmother is there for dinner. Again the same question by the young daughter. Great grandmother answers, “Because my roasting pan was too small.”
So we most always end our Polar Bear runs with a coffee stop at the last rest stop on the Garden State Parkway at Montvale; I call it “Chez GSP.” We make this stop even when we have to ride out of our way to make it.
Last Sunday we could have just booked across Interstate 287, the way we came, straight to the Tappan Zee. But the group consensus was to stay Interstate 80 all the way east to the Garden State Parkway and then proceed north to our coffee stop. That fateful decision spoiled my otherwise picture perfect motorcycle group leader performance.
This Garden State Parkway entrance off of Interstate 80 eastbound gets me every time. I never seem to do it often enough to remember the exit's eccentricities until it is way too late. Sunday was no exception.
As you follow 80 signs appear for the Garden State Parkway. As you get close, gently moving your line of nine motorcycles into the right hand lane in preparation, you see a small sign for the Parkway S-O-U-T-H. Okay. I want to go north.
Faking toward the south exit I readjusted quickly, hauling my snaking line of bikes through that never-never land between the road's shoulder and lanes. Just over the bridge, this MUST be it! I hold position only to see no exit at all. Still we are traveling the nonexistent lane. I can almost hear the guffaws behind me over the tractor trailers whirling around us.
Signaling to my wing man, Russ Curtis, best in the business, I throw both hands up in frustration and confusion. Russ hesitates not a minute and rockets his big Road King into the lead. I fall in behind because Russ exudes confidence in his direction.
As another mile or so clicks by, the only signs I see are for the George Washington Bridge, Oh my gawd! If I lead my guys into the GW Sunday after Thanksgiving, I will never hear the end of it.
Just as I reach the height of anxiety, a big sign appears for Garden State Parkway north.
Geeze New Jersey! Would it have killed you to put a sign waaay back there at the southbound exit. Something to the effect of “Northbound GSP 5 miles”?
Still behind Russ we merged through a sieve of toll gates. Russ was charging hard for coffee and I had to pull up to him and reassert the lead. In my rear view mirror I saw only three bikes. So I slowed our column down a bit and eventually the others wove their way through traffic and formed on me.
To assuage my embarrassment, I bought the round of coffees and hot chocolates at the traditional rest stop. (Order went fine, by the way, John H. Must be the accent. Maybe you should work on that?)
+ + + + + + + + +
A View From The Rear
As Chris remarked at the Chez Montvale Services, the traditional CTPB stop when returning north, “you get to see everything when riding sweep.” His erudite comment prompted me to share a few notes on the ride to Snydersville, PA, as seen from the rear.
It would be wrong to assume that after last weeks’ blog report I was relegated to the rear as punishment to eat Harley exhaust and enjoy the resonance from the ‘loud pipes save lives’ brigade (yes, the CTPB’s have their share); I volunteered. The group did a great job holding position throughout the day in holiday traffic; clean lane changes and a nice tunnel down the echelon when formed up, at least for the most part. But that would be a dull report wouldn’t it?
So let me tell you about Bernie; he hates, detests and otherwise loathes flat spots on his tires so once in a while when a lane on either side of the formation opens he will perform a ‘crazy Ivan’ (remember ‘The Hunt for Red October’?). Moving to the clear lane he starts a ballet of weaves that is a sight to behold, elegant, sweeping, always controlled within lane, perhaps for a few hundred yards sometimes for longer until satisfied that ridges have been scrubbed and it is time to return to the dull routine of normal group riding. Future sweeps take note.
Oh, and then there was the ‘never a GPS, just notes on my mirror’ leader of the ride who for the first 200+ miles had been faultless. Unfortunately, mirrors can only hold so much information, so what to do when the writing surface on the mirror runs out (acknowledging that getting bigger mirrors en route is not feasible)? Well, follow the signs of course! For 47 of the 48 contiguous states that can work but as the world knows directional signs in NJ are provided to deceive. Foxed not once but twice the non-GPS leader relinquished to the GPS enabled wingman to navigate to the Garden State North; the transition was plain ugly (no other description would be truthful).
The ugliness continued on the GSP north as the wingman, come leader, did not spare the horses out of the entrance toll to the GSP leaving a ragged group of tail enders blighted by cagers and gasping for speed to catch up. The new leader was returned to the wingman role at the behest of the original leader allowing the stragglers to reform but only after a mile or more had passed. I am still trying to catch my breath after running so hard.
The final moment of the day was delivered by a young lady multitasking on her cell phone in her silver Subaru WRX. Pressing on the rear she would not be held up by a bunch of bikers so reverted to racing up the inside line (while no doubt texting her BFF about her annoyance at the bikers) before drawing up behind another vehicle and then started to drift into the formation. Fortunately collecting her thoughts on DRIVING, heaven forbid, she actually recognized the need for lane discipline. Yikes! The young ones are the worst aren’t they……?
+ + + + + + +
One more note from Fonz:
Prior to introducing yourself to the Captain, make sure he is finished with his business in the men's room. The Captain gets a little nervous when a strange/unknown male approaches him, then puts their arm around his shoulder and looks down at him, while they are introducing themselves as a "FAN". So, next time, PLEASE wait unitl the Captain releases his grip.
Ralphie
Polar Cub, A.K.A-Fonz
36 degrees F to start but warmed up nicely to mid 50s by return, under a bright, cloudless sky
Can you believe this weather we are having? Last year, Grumpy and the Captain drove to this destination in a car through severely predicted snow in order to preserve their perfect attendance. This year we rode over with nine bikes in balmy sunshine.
Perhaps the only downside to these warm Sundays is that it brings out the Polar Cubs. Fair weather winter riders looking for a place to go on such a beautiful day turned out in huge numbers. The Grand Tour Website estimated 400 bikes, We arrived just a bit after 11:30 and ended up last in a line of bikes stretching all the way around to the other side of the gas station. Usually arriving at such an early hour earns us a space right in front of the dealership.
Rose Schoch and all her staff and all her family did all they could to manage the onslaught. But the chili and split pea soup could not come fast enough to feed the minions. No sooner did a new batch arrive than it was gone. It took me two queues to get a cup of her delicious soup. A big thanks to the staff of Schoch Harley-Davidson.
It's not that I do not enjoy a warm winter ride like every other motorcyclist. It is just that the record number of Polar Cubs is outstripping the resources of our destinations. If it remains this warm for the Hooter's run we may never see our curly fries and buffalo chicken sandwiches.
I am worried about losing Ralphie. After regaling him with stories of winter riding in the Polar Bear Club, all he's seen are these huge crowds and temperatures any rube could weather.
Was it two winters ago when we had that unusually warm winter? I remember writing in the blog, in February, that I wasn't afraid of February winter. My reasoning was that with only a maximum of six weeks left until spring, how much could Mother Nature throw at us? Turned out she showed just how much a mother she could be that February and March. We wuz clobbered with freezing cold, freezing rain, freezing winds, froze our butts off.
So I will not again tempt the fates, wishing for cold weather to thin out the Polar Bear herd. If we lose Ralphie, well we lose Ralphie. And we can always find another place to stop for lunch.
This ride we picked up a new bear because of the weather, but not like you think. Pogy Pogany came along Sunday not because it was warm but because Saturday was windy. In addition to his full time job wrangling helicopters around the world, he spends a lot of his “leisure” time tonging oysters. That's a pretty tough hobby. Saturday the winds whipped up the oyster beds and so Pogy needed another diversion for Sunday.
When he called to ask about departure details, he asked if the other riders, most all on Harley-Davidson motorcycles, would give him a hard time about riding a Gold Wing. I told him that of course they would.
But I also assured him we allowed other Honda riders in our midst, even designating one of our regulars “Token.”
Point of fact, we had three Hondas, out of nine bikes total, on Sunday. Token was there on his ST. Pogy was on his Wing. And then Bernie shows up on a yellow monster named after a mythical Norse goddess. (I just love the smell of napalm in the morning!) Turns out he wore the tread off his Harley's tires and had to settle for the next bike in his garage.
Bernie, by the way, was wearing his Harley high visibility suit. Dayglow orange mounted on a bright yellow bike bouncing around in my rear view mirror, Bernie looked like a bad acid trip going down the road.
Token was delighted. “We're taking over!” he exclaimed.
Hooold on thar Babablouie! The Japanese contingent still has a ways to go to achieve Connecticut Polar Bear domination. And Bernie will probably be back on his Harley soon. Although who knows what other brands may lurk in his garage?
For nostalgia's sake I took the lead. Schoch's Harley-Davidson was my first ever Polar Bear ride in 2002. Earlier in May of that year I passed Pogy's Basic Rider's Course, he actually was one of my instructors, and purchased the big Springer after the first range day. It was my first time ever on a motorcycle and I took Pogy's advice, “There is no substitute for miles.”
So when summer waned I looked around for a reason to keep riding and to my great good fortune found the Polar Bear Club in a article in my AMA magazine.
Here I am riding to Schoch's seven years later with my former motorcycle riding instructor, now an instructor myself. Ralphie, also an instructor, was with us as well. Russ called for a group photo of the three Connecticut Rider Education Program (ConnRep) Rider Coaches, although I will not repeat the words Russ used in describing our contingent.
This was also the destination of Clark Makinson's last ride. He died of liver cancer a few weeks later. I thought about Clark as we rode over Sunday. He was an interesting character. I think I would have liked to have gotten to know him even better. We rode Polar Bears together and a very wet Rolling Thunder and a memorable Roar to the Shore. Is there ever enough time?
we mounted our bikes at the Dunkin' in Stratford, I called Pogy in Norwalk to tell him we were, “feet up in five minutes.” Then I started on my layers. Since I was taking the lead, and it was at least a bit cold, I even tied on my white silk scarf. That always takes a bit of time. If you don't get it right it will come unknotted as you ride, quickly becoming 10 feet of wildly whipping worry. Finally, I went to plug in my electric gloves. But the last time I used them . . . it was without electricity.
The new Gerbing gloves have a great feature. If you wish to use them without electricity, there is a small, zippered pouch inside the glove in which one can store the electric cord. I had done so. Which meant, of course, that now I had to unzip the pouch to retrieve the wires. Meanwhile my fellow Bears are ready to go with engines running. “Off to a great start for ragging fodder,” I said to myself, inside my helmet where no one else could hear.
With Pogy joining us from the Darien rest stop and John H. and Bart at the Tappan Zee Bridge, I had to execute some running pickup maneuvers. If you want to join our ride from anyplace other than the Dunkin' in Stratford, we treat you like the mailbags on the Old West train lines. Remember how they put the bag on a hook at the station and the train snapped up the bag without even slowing?
Well, I slowed a bit, and held the right hand lane, until we snapped up the extra riders. As we came upon Pogy he was seated, engine running, and slipped into formation without missing a beat. At the Tappan Zee I had to hold the slow lane a little longer. As we approached I see Bart working on his helmet strap. I'm with you Bart, a brother procrastinator. (Oooh, I bet that hurt! Nobody wants to be compared to me when it comes to speed of preparation for riding.)
All in all we had an uneventful ride down. John Howard took up the sweep position. You can read his report at the end of mine. From my point of view he did a marvelous job. Lanes were cleared with alacrity. We exited and merged the expressways with precision. (Such was not entirely the case on the ride home, but such was not the sweep's fault.)
Arriving at Schoch's Harley-Davidson, the parking lot was packed already. Not wanting to put my guys on gravel, I rode all the way around the back and we ended up taking the last possible pavement spaces on the far side of the gas station.
Official Polar Bear Photographer Walter Kern caught a funny video of our group following the chili pot into the dealership. He also caught a video of us arriving, but, sigh, did not bring his camera up fast enough to immortalize yours truly, leader of the pack.
We signed in and scrambled like everyone else for a bit of food.
We heard from our first blog fan of the year. John K. was standing in line for the bathroom when a rider came up to him declaring, “You're the Captain!” John was a smidgeon surprised but chatted a bit. Then our reader found his way upstairs where I was sitting with our crew and introduced himself.
Thank you. In past years I mostly heard from my readers when the blog was late. With the new BlogSpot version, you can even post comments online if you wish. Meanwhile, feel free to say hello at the Polar Bear meets!
We gassed up and reassembled for the weekly group photo. I led the group back to New England and was doing pretty well until the Garden State Parkway presented herself.
It is funny how traditions start. Oftentimes there is no real good reason for them. But as habits become ingrained they harden into traditions.
Have you heard the story about the one-legged turkey? As mom prepares her Thanksgiving turkey, she cuts off the right leg before placing it in the roaster pan. Her daughter asks, “Mommy why do you cut off the leg?” Mom answers, “Because that's the way my mother taught me.” So at dinner, the daughter asks her grandmother, “Why do you cut off one leg of the turkey before you roast it?” Of course Grandmother answers, “Because that's the way my mother taught me.” Fortunately, her mother, the daughter's great grandmother is there for dinner. Again the same question by the young daughter. Great grandmother answers, “Because my roasting pan was too small.”
So we most always end our Polar Bear runs with a coffee stop at the last rest stop on the Garden State Parkway at Montvale; I call it “Chez GSP.” We make this stop even when we have to ride out of our way to make it.
Last Sunday we could have just booked across Interstate 287, the way we came, straight to the Tappan Zee. But the group consensus was to stay Interstate 80 all the way east to the Garden State Parkway and then proceed north to our coffee stop. That fateful decision spoiled my otherwise picture perfect motorcycle group leader performance.
This Garden State Parkway entrance off of Interstate 80 eastbound gets me every time. I never seem to do it often enough to remember the exit's eccentricities until it is way too late. Sunday was no exception.
As you follow 80 signs appear for the Garden State Parkway. As you get close, gently moving your line of nine motorcycles into the right hand lane in preparation, you see a small sign for the Parkway S-O-U-T-H. Okay. I want to go north.
Faking toward the south exit I readjusted quickly, hauling my snaking line of bikes through that never-never land between the road's shoulder and lanes. Just over the bridge, this MUST be it! I hold position only to see no exit at all. Still we are traveling the nonexistent lane. I can almost hear the guffaws behind me over the tractor trailers whirling around us.
Signaling to my wing man, Russ Curtis, best in the business, I throw both hands up in frustration and confusion. Russ hesitates not a minute and rockets his big Road King into the lead. I fall in behind because Russ exudes confidence in his direction.
As another mile or so clicks by, the only signs I see are for the George Washington Bridge, Oh my gawd! If I lead my guys into the GW Sunday after Thanksgiving, I will never hear the end of it.
Just as I reach the height of anxiety, a big sign appears for Garden State Parkway north.
Geeze New Jersey! Would it have killed you to put a sign waaay back there at the southbound exit. Something to the effect of “Northbound GSP 5 miles”?
Still behind Russ we merged through a sieve of toll gates. Russ was charging hard for coffee and I had to pull up to him and reassert the lead. In my rear view mirror I saw only three bikes. So I slowed our column down a bit and eventually the others wove their way through traffic and formed on me.
To assuage my embarrassment, I bought the round of coffees and hot chocolates at the traditional rest stop. (Order went fine, by the way, John H. Must be the accent. Maybe you should work on that?)
+ + + + + + + + +
A View From The Rear
As Chris remarked at the Chez Montvale Services, the traditional CTPB stop when returning north, “you get to see everything when riding sweep.” His erudite comment prompted me to share a few notes on the ride to Snydersville, PA, as seen from the rear.
It would be wrong to assume that after last weeks’ blog report I was relegated to the rear as punishment to eat Harley exhaust and enjoy the resonance from the ‘loud pipes save lives’ brigade (yes, the CTPB’s have their share); I volunteered. The group did a great job holding position throughout the day in holiday traffic; clean lane changes and a nice tunnel down the echelon when formed up, at least for the most part. But that would be a dull report wouldn’t it?
So let me tell you about Bernie; he hates, detests and otherwise loathes flat spots on his tires so once in a while when a lane on either side of the formation opens he will perform a ‘crazy Ivan’ (remember ‘The Hunt for Red October’?). Moving to the clear lane he starts a ballet of weaves that is a sight to behold, elegant, sweeping, always controlled within lane, perhaps for a few hundred yards sometimes for longer until satisfied that ridges have been scrubbed and it is time to return to the dull routine of normal group riding. Future sweeps take note.
Oh, and then there was the ‘never a GPS, just notes on my mirror’ leader of the ride who for the first 200+ miles had been faultless. Unfortunately, mirrors can only hold so much information, so what to do when the writing surface on the mirror runs out (acknowledging that getting bigger mirrors en route is not feasible)? Well, follow the signs of course! For 47 of the 48 contiguous states that can work but as the world knows directional signs in NJ are provided to deceive. Foxed not once but twice the non-GPS leader relinquished to the GPS enabled wingman to navigate to the Garden State North; the transition was plain ugly (no other description would be truthful).
The ugliness continued on the GSP north as the wingman, come leader, did not spare the horses out of the entrance toll to the GSP leaving a ragged group of tail enders blighted by cagers and gasping for speed to catch up. The new leader was returned to the wingman role at the behest of the original leader allowing the stragglers to reform but only after a mile or more had passed. I am still trying to catch my breath after running so hard.
The final moment of the day was delivered by a young lady multitasking on her cell phone in her silver Subaru WRX. Pressing on the rear she would not be held up by a bunch of bikers so reverted to racing up the inside line (while no doubt texting her BFF about her annoyance at the bikers) before drawing up behind another vehicle and then started to drift into the formation. Fortunately collecting her thoughts on DRIVING, heaven forbid, she actually recognized the need for lane discipline. Yikes! The young ones are the worst aren’t they……?
+ + + + + + +
One more note from Fonz:
Prior to introducing yourself to the Captain, make sure he is finished with his business in the men's room. The Captain gets a little nervous when a strange/unknown male approaches him, then puts their arm around his shoulder and looks down at him, while they are introducing themselves as a "FAN". So, next time, PLEASE wait unitl the Captain releases his grip.
Ralphie
Polar Cub, A.K.A-Fonz
Friday, November 27, 2009
Hopewell, NJ; November 22, 2009
Once again your blogger was NOT present for the Polar Bear ride. (May have trouble getting that gold rocker again this year!) This last Sunday my "excuse" was a wonderful weekend-plus getaway with the wife to Gettysburg.
It was the 146th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address, delivered November 19, 1863. The occasion is commemorated with Civil War reenactors and a luminary display in the cemetery. You can see more photos on my Facebook page, but I thought it was okay for me to share just a few here.
I visited the battlefield as a teenager. It was wonderful to see it once again, now from an adult perspective. I was reading Longstreet's memoirs then walking the very same ground. Here and there on the battlefield reenactors drilled, their drums and bands echoing among forlorn hills now traipsed by tourists.
The whole event was something like a bike rally. People were walking around everywhere in funny clothes, united by a common interest. Just like wearing chaps at a bike rally, where else can you wear hoop skirts and braided epaulets on the street all day?
I commented in shock to my wife at the cost of an authentic civil war uniform coat, some three hundred bucks for something you can wear only for special occasions! Cynthia just laughed, "I know someone who has spent far more on specialized clothing with limited uses."
50 degrees and sunny
Of course I know you are more interested in the adventures of Connecticut Polar Bears who actually go on the rides! Fortunately my fellow riders still provide correspondent reports, even when it takes me more than a week to post them. Here John Howard provides a fun account with plenty of inside jokes. We call John "Token," not because he is an American with a British accent, but because he rides a Honda ST amongst our Harley crowd. Such is even fodder for this week's entry.
Here is John Howard's report . . .
Report by John Howard, Headlines:
It was the 146th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address, delivered November 19, 1863. The occasion is commemorated with Civil War reenactors and a luminary display in the cemetery. You can see more photos on my Facebook page, but I thought it was okay for me to share just a few here.
I visited the battlefield as a teenager. It was wonderful to see it once again, now from an adult perspective. I was reading Longstreet's memoirs then walking the very same ground. Here and there on the battlefield reenactors drilled, their drums and bands echoing among forlorn hills now traipsed by tourists.
The whole event was something like a bike rally. People were walking around everywhere in funny clothes, united by a common interest. Just like wearing chaps at a bike rally, where else can you wear hoop skirts and braided epaulets on the street all day?
I commented in shock to my wife at the cost of an authentic civil war uniform coat, some three hundred bucks for something you can wear only for special occasions! Cynthia just laughed, "I know someone who has spent far more on specialized clothing with limited uses."
50 degrees and sunny
Of course I know you are more interested in the adventures of Connecticut Polar Bears who actually go on the rides! Fortunately my fellow riders still provide correspondent reports, even when it takes me more than a week to post them. Here John Howard provides a fun account with plenty of inside jokes. We call John "Token," not because he is an American with a British accent, but because he rides a Honda ST amongst our Harley crowd. Such is even fodder for this week's entry.
Here is John Howard's report . . .
Report by John Howard, Headlines:
- Kammerer kisses Curtis
- Howard and Cole Harley/Honda tiff settled in Hillybilly parking lot
- Nick spends 13th birthday with Grandpa and CTPBs; charges of cruel and unusual punishment are pending
- CT Blogger flagged over English language comments
The sun greeted the Connecticut Bears for the ride to Hopewell, though the temperature started on the cool side (about 40 degrees F), it quickly rose to above 50 degrees, peaking at 56.
Johns B., K., and J., Nick, Russ, Bernie, Ralph and Bart assembled at the Stratford Dunkin' Donuts as usual and made good speed to pick up John H. at the Tappan Zee Bridge bang on time at 9:45 a.m.
Johnny B. with Nick in pillion was the lead with John J. bringing up the rear as sweep after a bruising series of reports (mostly unjustified) on his lead ride on week four.
The ride south on the Interstate system was uneventful with numerous state troopers spotted along the way. The fun started after the turn on to Route 206 south when the CT bears found themselves being squeezed by a long train of NJ Bears as the road narrowed from two lanes down to one lane.
Mixed into the front of the NJ Bear phalanx things were a little sticky until the CT Bears assembled single file on the left track and the NJ Bears moved off to the right side to stop to reform. Sorted out, the CT Bears continued south and after a stop light found themselves behind another large group of NJ Bears and with the other NJ group behind at one point there must have been 60 bikes in formation heading south, quite a sight.
At an intersection the assemblage came to a rather sudden stop that caught the Captain out just a little which resulted in his bike kissing the back of a bag on Russ' new ride. (I never meant to imply their lips ever touched, that would be disgusting and way too horrible to contemplate.) The Captain wobbled some but thankfully stayed upright. The final 10 miles were a slow paced stop and go intersection riddle tour of the NJ countryside, but otherwise uneventful.
Hillybilly Hall was packed to the gills on our punctual arrival at 11:30 a.m. Seeing John B. lead the group to the way yonder boonies, John H. and John J. thought better of it and found a couple of spots up at the front lot, wandering down the stoned back to find the group. The choice of parking spot by Johnny B. drew some well chosen words from a certain ex-submariner, though the choice for the leader was rather limited.
Bart, who had been YELLING his opinion via e-mail on the attributes of the trusted STeed (get it?) of John H., greeted him with a Polar Bear hug in reconciliation. Riding sporty V-twins is a desire of the author which was again unrequited due to the dismal reliability of the Buell Uly. Oh well, perhaps next week that fine piece of engineering will be road worthy.
Editor's Note: For those who did not see the e-mail traffic, here is what Bart said about John H. comments about John's Buell Ulysses.
As an owner of many Japanese motorcycles and cars in my life, all I can say is . . . BORING!!! As one Harley owning friend of mine once said after riding my 1986 Honda Magna V65 or whatever the (heck) it was, "It's like kissing your grandmother." I couldn't have described it better myself.
My Harleys have given me no problemos at all. The torque and the attitude are second to none. I've yet to find one piece of plastic on mine as well.
Be fair to HD Mr. Howard, they own Buell but do not manufacture them!
Editor's Note: Bart was responding to THIS post from John H.
Another thing that will be absent for possibly 5 to 10 years is my Uly, it is not the intake seals, ECM, O2 sensor, temperature sensor or induction system that is causing my EFI running problem so it remains in the shop…Conn. Statute Chapter 743b, section 42-179 is an emerging possibility as lemons should be confined to use in gin and tonics. All future motorcycle purchases will be from the islands of Japan, sorry fellas no Harley will ever grace my garage though I do believe HD/Buell Danbury are doing their best.
Editor's Note: Back to John H. report of Hopewell ride.
Sign-in was relatively smooth given the crowds and John B. corralled a table for 10, adopted CT Bear Matt included, to participate in lunch.
Bernie left his ordered scribbled on a napkin and departed for the line for the loo (a.k.a. men's room, just trying to broaden the group's vocabulary). Meanwhile John K. just upped and left for the same destination while Russ made other arrangements to relieve himself.
On Russ' return, the order for food was placed except for you know who, no order available and still in line as the server lamented that she could not put the food order in until all the table had identified what they wanted.
Captain K. returned to the table and was roundly heckled for his lack of group awareness and to make matters worse he ordered a chicken Caesar salad. Jeez, there was a time when CT Bears were real men!!
By this time Ralph was wondering if riding with the CT Bears was the wisest choice he could be making for his future, but after being regaled with tales of the mishaps his fellow but absent MSF Instructor has had over the years, he is going to give it more time.
Johnny B. made the group aware that Nick was celebrating his 13th birthday which was cheered by the group however a rendition of "Happy Birthday to You" was not forthcoming. What a shame for the new teenager. It occurred to me that having such a fresh face in this group of gnarly old geezers was a brutal way to introduce Nick into his teenage years, when a growing awareness of one's influence on the world and sensitivity to the needs of others should flourish. CT Bears as lunch companions and role models would qualify as cruel and unusual punishment for a birthday boy. Always great to have you along Nick and enjoy your teenage years!
The conversation meandered to the subject of the CT Blog and the CT Blogger who offered a critique of the submissions from the Week 4 Bears. It is believed that three or more submissions were made and such a difficult task was it to untangle the muddled English that the final report remains a work in progress. CT Blogger was flagged for inappropriate use of certain punctuation marks in his e-mail of November 19th by the wife of a Week 5 Bear who apparently graduated with a degree majoring in the English language.
The matter remains open and is unlikely to be settled until CT Blogger can rejoin the group. It is hoped that a resolution can be found without punches being thrown, however, the number of ride reports for Week 5 presented for consideration is expected to decline from the peak observed in Week 4.
Hillybilly Hall was in the rear view mirror by about 1:15 p.m., the northbound trip commenced with a pleasant tour of the back roads of central New Jersey leading to Interstate 287, 78 and the Garden State Parkway with a customary stop at the Montvale Services.
Bart was the payer on this occasion but refused to serve the group as a consequence of the roasting John H. received a couple of weeks before. He need not have been worried as the beverages were delivered without fault and in perfect order; this led to the conclusion that it was the ordering technique of the newest, but as yet defective, American that had created prior problems. Let it be known that the defective American has sworn off making any future group beverage purchases.
The group did the usual thing at the Tappan Zee Bridge on the way east and so ended this chapter in the CT Bear season of 2009.
(If I don't get at least a B+ for this I am going to go see the Principal.)
Report from Grumpy:
Here are this week's photos. Group shot by J.B. most of the others by Nick B.
(Editor's note: A few portraits were also sent by Bart.)
Report for Sunday's ride: We showed up, we went there for lunch, on the way home we stopped for coffee. It was a nice day to ride.
Next Ride:
Chris here.
Our next ride is to Schoch's Harley-Davidson.
This is the site of my very first Polar Bear ride and you can read that story on my blog:http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_story.htm
It was also the last motorcycle ride of our friend Clark Makinson. You can read about Clark on my blog too:http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_clark_m.htm
Mapquest says the ride is 2 hours, 45 minutes, and 146 miles one way.
Therefore let's figure on a departure time of 9:00 a.m. from the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford, CT.
That Dunkin' is the one just off Interstate 95, Exit 30, at the corner of Lordship Boulevard and Honeyspot Road.
All are welcome to join us. However I believe the Polar Bear Grand Tour has reached its limit of 550 registered participants. You can still ride, but will have to wait until next year to earn the coveted Polar Bear patch.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Port Jervis, N.Y., November 15, 2009
60's early, 70's later; morning drizzle, sunny afternoon
Blogger's Note:
Unfortunately your blogger Chris Loynd was busy at The Maritime Aquarium this Sunday. I was working with a troop of Girl Scouts from Monroe to build a wigwam to promote our showing of "Where the Wild Things Are" appearing now in IMAX.
So I put out an invitation to my fellow Connecticut Bears for correspondent reports. Here, with a bit of minor editing, are their reports.
From Captain John Kammerer:
We had a good turnout for Port Jervis, N.Y. Roll call in order of appearance were: Russ, Johns K., J. and B., Bernie, Rollin (Rolly) Dawlin, Steve D., William (Billy) Gargone, John H., Bart, and Matt G. (Full names provided for our new riders.)
We formed up and departed Dunkin' Donuts at 9 a.m. sharp with John J. taking the lead and John K. as sweep. Heading south on Interstate 95, the route turned onto Route 25 north into Newtown, Conn.
(Editor's Note: Newtown retains a bit of its Yankee charm with a flagpole right in the middle of main street. Here the Conn. Bears turned right and a short distance down the road merged onto Interstate 84 west at speed.)
John J. took exit 2B to pick up our more northerly members, the group arriving at 9:45 on the dot with John H. and Bart scrambling to get going.
Once the two final bears finally caught up, John J. settled the group into a steady pace west for the Delaware River.
We encountered fog at mile marker 57 in New York. It lasted for two to three miles. Visibility was a hundred feet or so.
The group navigated the mist without mishap arriving at Cornucopia at 11:10 a.m. Adopted Conn. Bear Matt was there already and after the group photo by John B., we went inside to check-in and have lunch.
As sweep I was trying to keep track of everyone. (Editor's note: The Captain takes his Road Captain duties very seriously.) During lunch I was looking everywhere for Steve D. and finally realized he bailed without saying a word to anyone. (Editor's note: Considered poor Polar Bear manners when riding in a group.)
At 12:15 we left the restaurant and headed to the gas stop on the New Jersey side and yes, John H. was right about the crash site!
After fueling we headed east on Interstate 84 to our pit stop at the Starbucks in Danbury, Conn., exit 2, arriving at 1:30 p.m. This week John J. treated.
John H. split off at Interstate 684 to head for Ridgefield. Billy G. left after coffee.
We were on the road eastbound by 2:10 and Bart split off at Route 7 north. From Interstate 84 the group took the more scenic Route 34 south. I arrived home at about 2:50 p.m.
It was a great day with good company and I managed to piss off everyone by noon.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Next report from a first-season Connecticut Bear . . .
From Bart Cole:
Because of the early morning rain and wet roadways, I had decided to leave a little later and hook up with John H. at exit 2. After receiving my text with my change of plans, John H. called John K. to let him know that I would not be coming down to Stratford and not to wait. John K.'s response to the Token (John H.) was basically, "what the hell do I care!" It's just so nice to be loved and embraced by John K.!
Then when the boyz rolled down exit 2 to meet up with John and I, upon being waved into the pack I didn't give my Dyna Low Rider enough throttle and proceeded to stall the engine. John K. took note of this as he saw me rolling back to restart my bike. We rode through some dense fog in spots on I-84.
We had some major issues at the Newburgh Bridge toll. The EZ-Pass wasn't reading our tags and the toll booth attendant proceeded to give some of the guys a hard time for trying to drive through. John J., Russ, Grumpy and myself made it through and had to wait for a good five minutes plus for the others to rejoin the ranks.
Stopped at the Starbucks off exit 2 on the way back. John J. treated everyone to their favorite beverage. Grumpy didn't care for his hot chocolate. He claimed it tasted like a dark or semi-sweet cocoa.
I'm sure the others will fill you in on some of the other events. Some guy, I think named Steve, rode up with us and then disappeared without telling anyone!
The day was so short that I didn't know what to do with myself when I got home so early.
Even Russ busted on you in your absence for you propensity to take forever to get your gear on and be ready to roll after we stop. Russ was being Russ!
You were missed Chris!
From one of our founding Connecticut Bears, everyone's favorite people person, Grumpy . . .
From Johnny Bowlan:
Hi Chris! I hope your project went well. We missed you.
We had 10 bikes and riders today. Weather was great; we needed no heated gear at all.
The ride up was good. We had to stop only once for a red light. John J. did well for his second, maybe third, time leading the group.
Ten bikes may be too much. Next time we might want to break it up into two groups.
We got there after 11:00, stood around shooting the (stuff) and took the group photo.
Lunch was edible. The menu included: French toast, chili and rice, something the server said was mini-sausage meatloaf, a chicken dish and mac and cheese.
About 12:30 we headed out to New Jersey for gas, missing Steve D. He left after taking the group shot.
Then toward home we went. We had some problems at the toll on Interstate 84. It took a little while for everyone to get through. Guess this is another toll road we can't use.
(Editor's note: We have had troubles before on the last parkway toll before the GW Bridge. Captain had a famous gate-busting adventure there a few years back.)
We lost the Brit at exit 2 as we got off for coffee.
No Dunkin' Donuts, so it was Starbucks. It was a small place so we got our drinks and went outside to chat.
We then saddled up for home, losing people along the way.
It was a NICE day, there I go using four letter words again.
Next report from this week's ride leader.All paragraph and sentence breaks are best guess estimates by the blog editor . . .
From John Jackson:
Hello Blog-master,
Sunday morning arrived a little misty and 58 degrees. Side roads were covered with slippery, wet leaves, so the ride to Dunkin' Donuts was slow and steady. That will be an important standard for the day.
When I got to Dunkin' Russ and John K. were enjoying their hot beverage of choice already. John K. informed me that this Dunkin' Donuts was now offering Same Day Service. So I took them up on it, and damned if it wasn't true! I got a muffin and a cappuccino within five minutes!
By the time I got back, Bernie and Rollie had arrived. Later came Steve D., who was greeted appropriately by Russ, Johnny B. and finally Bill.
John K. asked, to no-one in particular, looking at Russ and I, "Who's leading today?" Russ answered in the negative, so, by default, I said I would. I had it in my GPS.
John K. and I briefly discussed the route to the meeting point on Interstate 84 where we were picking up John H. and Bart. Taking Interstate 95 to Route 25 to Newtown to Interstate 84 was the preferred route.
Promptly at 9 a.m. we lined up and off we went. As I was reading my GPS, I noticed the "arrive" time was 11 a.m. So I planned to keep the pace on the moderate side after we picked up our two northern polar bears, which we did at precisely 9:45.
Onto Interstate 84 west, the train of 10 bikes sauntered. Speed limit 65 mph, I set my cruise control at 64.
Weather was gray with some hint of sun breaking through off to the southwest. But up ahead it was just clouds. We rode through a cloud going up one one those mountains. Visibility was next to nil, so I kept the pace down a little.
I didn't want to slow down too much to prevent riders from bunching up unexpectedly. And I stayed in the lane we were in because I sure as heck could not see my sweep John K. in my mirrors. If he was clearing a lane for me, I couldn't tell.
After about a mile of clouds, we broke through. I do NOT like not being able to see ahead!
I cranked the speed back up to a blistering 63 mph and the GPS still says "arrive" at 11:01.
We got stuck behind a creepy crawling Toyota Camry on the Newburg bridge, doing about 45 to 50 mph. I saw this as an opportunity to knock our arrival time back a notch or two, so I stayed behind, later to be ragged-on mercilessly by our Captain when we arrived and unsaddled at 11:10.
John K. is the best sweep that I have ridden with. He just KNOWS when you want to change lanes. I look in my mirror for a lane change and he is already there, waiting for me to turn on my signal. Perhaps this is why he was so fast to comment on why I stayed behind that slow poke on the bridge.
Anyway, we arrived, all 10 of us, early.
Bob Hartpence (Polar Bear Chairman) was out in the parking lot and came over to say hello. We took the group shot, Johnny B. having figured out his new camera's timer mechanism. Then we went to sign-in and have a lunch a litle before 11:30.
The buffet this year was pretty good: chili, biscuits and gravy, mac and cheese, little meatloaf patties in gravy and some sort of chicken thing, all very edible.
During lunch I asked where Steve D. was. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him. When we finished lunch and went outside, I, being the leader, searched down the line of bikes where we parked and noticed that Steve's custom painted Fat Boy was no longer there. Some metric cruiser of a similar color was parked where Steve's bike used to be. John K. asked where Steve was. Nobody had heard from him. The evidence pointed to him no longer being anywhere near the Cornucopia anymore, so I felt secure in leaving as a group of nine, knowing the tenth had gone on by himself.
The ride back was at a more brisk pace, more like my speed, cruise control set higher and throttled up to pass the occasional slow moving truck.
Back at Port Jervis it had been decided that we would stop for coffee at Starbucks in Danbury, off Exit 2, which we did. John H., having to be home early, rode on. And Bill left before we went to get coffee.
I treated, with the caveat that if you wanted anything special, you would have to pay for it yourself. Of course Johnny B. took this to mean I would not buy him his hot chocolate. But I calmed him down with the explanation that "special" meant lattes, cappuccinos and espresso drinks. Bernie slipped a frappuchino by me anyway!
So after we were all properly juiced up with Starbucks caffeine enriched coffee we continued on our way.
Bart took off up Route 7 and various others slipping out of my slipstream as we wound our way back down Route 34, arriving home at 3:10 on a 70 degree afternoon.
The day was very enjoyable. John K. exaggerates his power to piss off. I think he does an admirable job. But we all look forward to it, the same way we look forward to Russ' crude innuendo.
That's MY story, and I'm sticking to it.
Finally, here is Russ' report . . .
From Russ:
John K. missed me. I don't think I was pissed off all day. I did miss Chris not showing 'till the last second.
Blogger's Note:
Unfortunately your blogger Chris Loynd was busy at The Maritime Aquarium this Sunday. I was working with a troop of Girl Scouts from Monroe to build a wigwam to promote our showing of "Where the Wild Things Are" appearing now in IMAX.
So I put out an invitation to my fellow Connecticut Bears for correspondent reports. Here, with a bit of minor editing, are their reports.
From Captain John Kammerer:
We had a good turnout for Port Jervis, N.Y. Roll call in order of appearance were: Russ, Johns K., J. and B., Bernie, Rollin (Rolly) Dawlin, Steve D., William (Billy) Gargone, John H., Bart, and Matt G. (Full names provided for our new riders.)
We formed up and departed Dunkin' Donuts at 9 a.m. sharp with John J. taking the lead and John K. as sweep. Heading south on Interstate 95, the route turned onto Route 25 north into Newtown, Conn.
(Editor's Note: Newtown retains a bit of its Yankee charm with a flagpole right in the middle of main street. Here the Conn. Bears turned right and a short distance down the road merged onto Interstate 84 west at speed.)
John J. took exit 2B to pick up our more northerly members, the group arriving at 9:45 on the dot with John H. and Bart scrambling to get going.
Once the two final bears finally caught up, John J. settled the group into a steady pace west for the Delaware River.
We encountered fog at mile marker 57 in New York. It lasted for two to three miles. Visibility was a hundred feet or so.
The group navigated the mist without mishap arriving at Cornucopia at 11:10 a.m. Adopted Conn. Bear Matt was there already and after the group photo by John B., we went inside to check-in and have lunch.
As sweep I was trying to keep track of everyone. (Editor's note: The Captain takes his Road Captain duties very seriously.) During lunch I was looking everywhere for Steve D. and finally realized he bailed without saying a word to anyone. (Editor's note: Considered poor Polar Bear manners when riding in a group.)
At 12:15 we left the restaurant and headed to the gas stop on the New Jersey side and yes, John H. was right about the crash site!
After fueling we headed east on Interstate 84 to our pit stop at the Starbucks in Danbury, Conn., exit 2, arriving at 1:30 p.m. This week John J. treated.
John H. split off at Interstate 684 to head for Ridgefield. Billy G. left after coffee.
We were on the road eastbound by 2:10 and Bart split off at Route 7 north. From Interstate 84 the group took the more scenic Route 34 south. I arrived home at about 2:50 p.m.
It was a great day with good company and I managed to piss off everyone by noon.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Next report from a first-season Connecticut Bear . . .
From Bart Cole:
Because of the early morning rain and wet roadways, I had decided to leave a little later and hook up with John H. at exit 2. After receiving my text with my change of plans, John H. called John K. to let him know that I would not be coming down to Stratford and not to wait. John K.'s response to the Token (John H.) was basically, "what the hell do I care!" It's just so nice to be loved and embraced by John K.!
Then when the boyz rolled down exit 2 to meet up with John and I, upon being waved into the pack I didn't give my Dyna Low Rider enough throttle and proceeded to stall the engine. John K. took note of this as he saw me rolling back to restart my bike. We rode through some dense fog in spots on I-84.
We had some major issues at the Newburgh Bridge toll. The EZ-Pass wasn't reading our tags and the toll booth attendant proceeded to give some of the guys a hard time for trying to drive through. John J., Russ, Grumpy and myself made it through and had to wait for a good five minutes plus for the others to rejoin the ranks.
Stopped at the Starbucks off exit 2 on the way back. John J. treated everyone to their favorite beverage. Grumpy didn't care for his hot chocolate. He claimed it tasted like a dark or semi-sweet cocoa.
I'm sure the others will fill you in on some of the other events. Some guy, I think named Steve, rode up with us and then disappeared without telling anyone!
The day was so short that I didn't know what to do with myself when I got home so early.
Even Russ busted on you in your absence for you propensity to take forever to get your gear on and be ready to roll after we stop. Russ was being Russ!
You were missed Chris!
From one of our founding Connecticut Bears, everyone's favorite people person, Grumpy . . .
From Johnny Bowlan:
Hi Chris! I hope your project went well. We missed you.
We had 10 bikes and riders today. Weather was great; we needed no heated gear at all.
The ride up was good. We had to stop only once for a red light. John J. did well for his second, maybe third, time leading the group.
Ten bikes may be too much. Next time we might want to break it up into two groups.
We got there after 11:00, stood around shooting the (stuff) and took the group photo.
Lunch was edible. The menu included: French toast, chili and rice, something the server said was mini-sausage meatloaf, a chicken dish and mac and cheese.
About 12:30 we headed out to New Jersey for gas, missing Steve D. He left after taking the group shot.
Then toward home we went. We had some problems at the toll on Interstate 84. It took a little while for everyone to get through. Guess this is another toll road we can't use.
(Editor's note: We have had troubles before on the last parkway toll before the GW Bridge. Captain had a famous gate-busting adventure there a few years back.)
We lost the Brit at exit 2 as we got off for coffee.
No Dunkin' Donuts, so it was Starbucks. It was a small place so we got our drinks and went outside to chat.
We then saddled up for home, losing people along the way.
It was a NICE day, there I go using four letter words again.
Next report from this week's ride leader.All paragraph and sentence breaks are best guess estimates by the blog editor . . .
From John Jackson:
Hello Blog-master,
Sunday morning arrived a little misty and 58 degrees. Side roads were covered with slippery, wet leaves, so the ride to Dunkin' Donuts was slow and steady. That will be an important standard for the day.
When I got to Dunkin' Russ and John K. were enjoying their hot beverage of choice already. John K. informed me that this Dunkin' Donuts was now offering Same Day Service. So I took them up on it, and damned if it wasn't true! I got a muffin and a cappuccino within five minutes!
By the time I got back, Bernie and Rollie had arrived. Later came Steve D., who was greeted appropriately by Russ, Johnny B. and finally Bill.
John K. asked, to no-one in particular, looking at Russ and I, "Who's leading today?" Russ answered in the negative, so, by default, I said I would. I had it in my GPS.
John K. and I briefly discussed the route to the meeting point on Interstate 84 where we were picking up John H. and Bart. Taking Interstate 95 to Route 25 to Newtown to Interstate 84 was the preferred route.
Promptly at 9 a.m. we lined up and off we went. As I was reading my GPS, I noticed the "arrive" time was 11 a.m. So I planned to keep the pace on the moderate side after we picked up our two northern polar bears, which we did at precisely 9:45.
Onto Interstate 84 west, the train of 10 bikes sauntered. Speed limit 65 mph, I set my cruise control at 64.
Weather was gray with some hint of sun breaking through off to the southwest. But up ahead it was just clouds. We rode through a cloud going up one one those mountains. Visibility was next to nil, so I kept the pace down a little.
I didn't want to slow down too much to prevent riders from bunching up unexpectedly. And I stayed in the lane we were in because I sure as heck could not see my sweep John K. in my mirrors. If he was clearing a lane for me, I couldn't tell.
After about a mile of clouds, we broke through. I do NOT like not being able to see ahead!
I cranked the speed back up to a blistering 63 mph and the GPS still says "arrive" at 11:01.
We got stuck behind a creepy crawling Toyota Camry on the Newburg bridge, doing about 45 to 50 mph. I saw this as an opportunity to knock our arrival time back a notch or two, so I stayed behind, later to be ragged-on mercilessly by our Captain when we arrived and unsaddled at 11:10.
John K. is the best sweep that I have ridden with. He just KNOWS when you want to change lanes. I look in my mirror for a lane change and he is already there, waiting for me to turn on my signal. Perhaps this is why he was so fast to comment on why I stayed behind that slow poke on the bridge.
Anyway, we arrived, all 10 of us, early.
Bob Hartpence (Polar Bear Chairman) was out in the parking lot and came over to say hello. We took the group shot, Johnny B. having figured out his new camera's timer mechanism. Then we went to sign-in and have a lunch a litle before 11:30.
The buffet this year was pretty good: chili, biscuits and gravy, mac and cheese, little meatloaf patties in gravy and some sort of chicken thing, all very edible.
During lunch I asked where Steve D. was. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him. When we finished lunch and went outside, I, being the leader, searched down the line of bikes where we parked and noticed that Steve's custom painted Fat Boy was no longer there. Some metric cruiser of a similar color was parked where Steve's bike used to be. John K. asked where Steve was. Nobody had heard from him. The evidence pointed to him no longer being anywhere near the Cornucopia anymore, so I felt secure in leaving as a group of nine, knowing the tenth had gone on by himself.
The ride back was at a more brisk pace, more like my speed, cruise control set higher and throttled up to pass the occasional slow moving truck.
Back at Port Jervis it had been decided that we would stop for coffee at Starbucks in Danbury, off Exit 2, which we did. John H., having to be home early, rode on. And Bill left before we went to get coffee.
I treated, with the caveat that if you wanted anything special, you would have to pay for it yourself. Of course Johnny B. took this to mean I would not buy him his hot chocolate. But I calmed him down with the explanation that "special" meant lattes, cappuccinos and espresso drinks. Bernie slipped a frappuchino by me anyway!
So after we were all properly juiced up with Starbucks caffeine enriched coffee we continued on our way.
Bart took off up Route 7 and various others slipping out of my slipstream as we wound our way back down Route 34, arriving home at 3:10 on a 70 degree afternoon.
The day was very enjoyable. John K. exaggerates his power to piss off. I think he does an admirable job. But we all look forward to it, the same way we look forward to Russ' crude innuendo.
That's MY story, and I'm sticking to it.
Finally, here is Russ' report . . .
From Russ:
John K. missed me. I don't think I was pissed off all day. I did miss Chris not showing 'till the last second.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Old Bridge, NJ, November 8
Old Bridge, NJ. November 8
Near 70 degrees. Bright, cloudless blue sky.
We did not have as big a turnout as I would have thought. Despite a beautiful day and temperatures predicted for the high sixties, we had nine bikes; 10 riders with Johnny B.'s grandson Nick. Maybe some of our bears were busy with raking leaves, or chose shorter rides.
Sunday we picked up a new bear. Ralphie Fonseca, a fellow Connecticut Rider Education Program instructor. He signed up for the full deal in Old Bridge. Ralphie is now a Polar Bear Flight B.
We had a great time. The shorter run and warm weather and beautiful day made for high spirits all around. Well not quite everyone was in full revelry. John K. seemed impatient and more snarky than usual.
He had reason to celebrate. Today Bob Hartpence, Polar Bear Grand Pooh-bah, had John's red rocker. Bob's getting hip to the Captain. In past years, Bob had not even thought of ordering the season's patches and rockers when John K. had already earned his first 30 points.
Bob told me a story Sunday about how he was really looking forward to handing John K. his rocker that day, our third ride of the season. Bob called the patch company Saturday morning to see why they had not delivered. I guess he put the order in extra early. Of course the company was closed Saturday. Bob left a message on the answering machine and went back out to his yard to, like many of us I bet, rake leaves. No sooner was he started again at his task than the mailman hailed him, “I have a box for you, Bob.” Bob went back inside and left another message on the patch company's answering machine, “never mind.” And with fanfare and a hearty handshake, he presented John K. the first Polar Bear rocker of the season.
Still John was snippy. He was anxious to get off to lunch. He accused us of lollygagging, of being “tourists” he taunted Grumpy when Johnny B. was having trouble with his new camera for the group shot. Hmmm. What's up?
We all kid each other, and generally John K. takes and gives as good as anyone.
Then it hit me! A vision of Nancy Pelosi flashed in my brain. And I smiled. I whispered to John, “It's the health care bill, isn't it?” John replied, “It ain't law yet.”
It's okay John. It's only money, money that none of us have, including the government.
I don't know if the Captain's attitude improved with a bit of lunch. Denny's did not have a table big enough for all of us. We sat at two.
We reassembled in the parking lot, with the Captain walking around the bikes whipping us into shape, exhorting us to button up faster.
We rode a very short distance to gas up for the ride home. Somehow I was the last one out. My fellow bears would likely say I am always the last one out, dressed, ready to ride, etc.
At the top of the Garden State we stopped for coffees. It was the usual torture to get our order assembled and paid. The servers at the Dunkin' Donuts in the rest stop at the top of the Garden State Parkway are so slow you can actually test Einstein's Theory of Relativity.
Here's an example. John H. treated us all. As such, he was stuck being the last to leave the counter, paying after we all carried our drinks away to a table. We were all sitting and enjoying our hot drinks, but John H. was back in time still trying to figure out the bill with the slow clerks.
He finally caught up to our time, but just as he was about to sit down, it turned out that two of the coffees did not have milk. John H. had to go back, back in time, back to the counter to retrieve creamers. Just as he was about to catch up to our time, there were no stirrers for the recently retrieved cream. Back in time John H. went again. As John H. kept going back in time, we were all progressing forward, drinking our hot drinks. When John H. finally got a chance to sit down, he was now way behind us in time.
Chris, your blogger, came to the rescue. By being slower than most normal coffee drinkers, Chris was able to retard present time enough for John H. to catch up and drink his coffee.
So except for the frustration of multiple forays back in time, oh and the “pleasure” of paying for coffees and hot chocolates for a bunch of whining, ungrateful, riding buddies, John H. finally caught up to drink his coffee in present time.
As we got ready to go in the parking lot, my special time talents were recognized by Russ. He said , I think derisive, about not even turning on his motorcycle until I had my helmet on and my bike off the sidestand.
Even-tu-ally . . . I did. And off we roared home to Connecticut.
See you next week. I will be the one rolling in just moments before the rest of us are ready to leave next Sunday morning.
View this blog with pictures at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm
Here's a shout-out from Russ . . .
Hi Chris, Len the" Gerbing Guy" replaced a five (5) year old harness that broke this past week for free. Maybe you can give him a shout of thanks in this weeks blog.
Thanks
ILBCNU
Russ
Near 70 degrees. Bright, cloudless blue sky.
We did not have as big a turnout as I would have thought. Despite a beautiful day and temperatures predicted for the high sixties, we had nine bikes; 10 riders with Johnny B.'s grandson Nick. Maybe some of our bears were busy with raking leaves, or chose shorter rides.
Sunday we picked up a new bear. Ralphie Fonseca, a fellow Connecticut Rider Education Program instructor. He signed up for the full deal in Old Bridge. Ralphie is now a Polar Bear Flight B.
We had a great time. The shorter run and warm weather and beautiful day made for high spirits all around. Well not quite everyone was in full revelry. John K. seemed impatient and more snarky than usual.
He had reason to celebrate. Today Bob Hartpence, Polar Bear Grand Pooh-bah, had John's red rocker. Bob's getting hip to the Captain. In past years, Bob had not even thought of ordering the season's patches and rockers when John K. had already earned his first 30 points.
Bob told me a story Sunday about how he was really looking forward to handing John K. his rocker that day, our third ride of the season. Bob called the patch company Saturday morning to see why they had not delivered. I guess he put the order in extra early. Of course the company was closed Saturday. Bob left a message on the answering machine and went back out to his yard to, like many of us I bet, rake leaves. No sooner was he started again at his task than the mailman hailed him, “I have a box for you, Bob.” Bob went back inside and left another message on the patch company's answering machine, “never mind.” And with fanfare and a hearty handshake, he presented John K. the first Polar Bear rocker of the season.
Still John was snippy. He was anxious to get off to lunch. He accused us of lollygagging, of being “tourists” he taunted Grumpy when Johnny B. was having trouble with his new camera for the group shot. Hmmm. What's up?
We all kid each other, and generally John K. takes and gives as good as anyone.
Then it hit me! A vision of Nancy Pelosi flashed in my brain. And I smiled. I whispered to John, “It's the health care bill, isn't it?” John replied, “It ain't law yet.”
It's okay John. It's only money, money that none of us have, including the government.
I don't know if the Captain's attitude improved with a bit of lunch. Denny's did not have a table big enough for all of us. We sat at two.
We reassembled in the parking lot, with the Captain walking around the bikes whipping us into shape, exhorting us to button up faster.
We rode a very short distance to gas up for the ride home. Somehow I was the last one out. My fellow bears would likely say I am always the last one out, dressed, ready to ride, etc.
At the top of the Garden State we stopped for coffees. It was the usual torture to get our order assembled and paid. The servers at the Dunkin' Donuts in the rest stop at the top of the Garden State Parkway are so slow you can actually test Einstein's Theory of Relativity.
Here's an example. John H. treated us all. As such, he was stuck being the last to leave the counter, paying after we all carried our drinks away to a table. We were all sitting and enjoying our hot drinks, but John H. was back in time still trying to figure out the bill with the slow clerks.
He finally caught up to our time, but just as he was about to sit down, it turned out that two of the coffees did not have milk. John H. had to go back, back in time, back to the counter to retrieve creamers. Just as he was about to catch up to our time, there were no stirrers for the recently retrieved cream. Back in time John H. went again. As John H. kept going back in time, we were all progressing forward, drinking our hot drinks. When John H. finally got a chance to sit down, he was now way behind us in time.
Chris, your blogger, came to the rescue. By being slower than most normal coffee drinkers, Chris was able to retard present time enough for John H. to catch up and drink his coffee.
So except for the frustration of multiple forays back in time, oh and the “pleasure” of paying for coffees and hot chocolates for a bunch of whining, ungrateful, riding buddies, John H. finally caught up to drink his coffee in present time.
As we got ready to go in the parking lot, my special time talents were recognized by Russ. He said , I think derisive, about not even turning on his motorcycle until I had my helmet on and my bike off the sidestand.
Even-tu-ally . . . I did. And off we roared home to Connecticut.
See you next week. I will be the one rolling in just moments before the rest of us are ready to leave next Sunday morning.
View this blog with pictures at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm
Here's a shout-out from Russ . . .
Hi Chris, Len the" Gerbing Guy" replaced a five (5) year old harness that broke this past week for free. Maybe you can give him a shout of thanks in this weeks blog.
Thanks
ILBCNU
Russ
Friday, November 6, 2009
Lewes, Del., Polar Bear Ride, Nov. 1
November 1, Lewes, Del.
As I often do for this run, I rode down to Wilmington, Del. Saturday to spend the night with my folks. It splits off a bit of distance for me on our longest ride of the Polar Bear season. Plus, taking it in two chunks, I don't have to get up so dang early for Sunday's ride down from Connecticut. Plus, plus, at this time of the year there can be quite a temperature difference between sunrise and a couple hours after.
Saturday I spent too much time puttering around at home, in part completing the blog from the previous Sunday's ride to Cape May. By the time I finally got going it was late afternoon. Saturday started partly sunny, progressed to mostly cloudy and all afternoon I was thinking the rain predicted for late day just might catch me if I waited too long to start. It did.
Freakishly warm, the temperature even after the sun went down was 70 degrees. Most of the ride was dry. Now and then I would hit a few areas where it had rained, recently enough for cars to be throwing spray. But drops from the sky did not actually fall on me until I was crossing the Commodore Barry Bridge from Jersey into Pennsylvania. It was like the Delaware River was a magic rain barrier.
Sometimes you get lucky. Twenty minutes' ride in mild rain and I was at my folks' house. I rode through the same showers that delayed the World Series game that night just a few miles north.
Arriving too late to join them, Mom saved a dinner plate for me even so. As always, she makes my favorites. Saturday night it was fried eggplant (except now it is heart-healthy baked) and stuffed mushrooms.
Friends of my folks were visiting. Mom and Dad have known their friend Judy since junior high school. Her friend Jim has been their friend for years now too.
Judy and Jim own a barbeque place in Gloucester, Mass. I haven't been there yet. But ever since reading “A Perfect Storm” I have wanted to see that famous fishing town.
Dad and the rest of us enjoyed the World Series. The Loynd family roots for the Phillies. Judy and Jim, Red Sox fans, are rooting for the Phillies too. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
It is a shame they lost, despite Utley's best efforts, I fear the New York machine, the best baseball that money can buy, is overwhelming. But as Stephen Colbert said, the Yankee victory is, "proof the free market system works!"
Next morning when the rest of the Connecticut Bears were saddling up in the cold dawn, I was enjoying scrapple for breakfast. (It's a Lancaster County thing.)
It was raining still Sunday morning. How did they fit a baseball game between bands of rain?
With the weather, cooler now that the front was moving through, I was in the mood to just motor down state. So I took the new Delaware Route 1 from Interstate 95 which nowadays basically makes a run to the beaches expressway all the way. Not like the old days I remember growing up in Wilmington when you had to stop-and-go your way through New Castle and Dover.
Arriving at our new “South Pole” venue, Irish Eyes Pub, I gingerly picked my way across the not-so-packed gravel parking lot to a place where I had enough strength to back the big Harley into a spot along a grey freight container.
No sooner was I off the bike and out of the helmet, here came my guys. I motioned them to where I was parked and offered a bit of reversing assistance, even had to help John H. with his lighter ST. He immediately made some joke about me “touching” a Honda. Hey, I even rode one once. John K. offered me his Gold Wing for a Polar Bear ride last year when my Harley was in the shop.
And if we are getting technical, I have spent hours and hours on Hondas, Suzukis and Kawis, if you include the training bikes in the Connecticut Rider Education Program. I am a Rider Coach.
Isn't that Honda Nighthawk a POS? Honda engineering? Drum brakes front and rear on a modern motorcycle? Really?
Maybe it isn't fair to judge the whole line by all its products. On the other hand, my Dad bought one of the first Civics sold in the U.S. That thing was as bad as the Nighthawk. It spent a lot of time in the shop. I hear the lawnmowers are pretty good.
Even so, the Honda ST seems like a nice bike. But I just don't see me riding with my heels tucked behind me all day.
On my Harley I can stretch out, feet on highway boards (not just pegs) mounted outboard on the engine guards. I can also sit up straight. Once in a while, I will even tuck my heels behind me, European style, toes on the back of the riding boards.
(This first segment I was able to write on my train commute to The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk Monday morning. This will be the one way I can find the time to get this blog written.
Last Friday I tried the same thing. But Metro North showed up a couple 'o cars short. I got started on my minibook all the same but in Fairfield this giant old lady with a cane suddenly slammed herself into the middle seat next to me. When she shifted her hips to fit, she bruised mine against the wall of the train.
Some people take up more than their fair share of the planet.
Instead of sitting there smashed against the window seat for two more stops, I got up and stood until South Norwalk station stop set me free of the overcrowded car. Even with the minibook, it's kinda hard to type standing up.
Needless to say, this morning's ride was much more civil. I will pick up my narrative on the ride home.)
Back again . . .
So we saunter into the Irish Eyes Pub in Lewes, Del., the Grand Tour's "South Pole" to sign-in for our Polar Bear Points. Captain K. was ready with 31, enough to qualify for his rocker on his second ride.
Polar Bear Grand Poo-bah Bob Hartpence even memorialized John Kammerer's accomplishment on the Polar Bear Grand Tour site; check out last week's photos at the bottom, on the Grand Tour site: http://www.polarbeargrandtour.com/lew09.htm
“Captain” John K. accomplishes this feat by giving blood all summer in the name of the Bears. So it is hard to find fault with such dedication. Coming all the way from Connecticut, we earn about half the points we need to qualify on the first two rides. Add John K.'s blood points on top – oh and he also attended the District II Summer Corn Boil – and well, there you have it.
Even so, John K. almost shorted himself. Not only do you get two points for donating blood, you also get round trip mileage points if you are crazy enough to ride your motorcycle to the blood bank and back. John forgot to take credit for these mileage points, but Flight Leader Rich came and found us at lunch and called John back to his page in the book to tally up the extra credits.
And then we have Russ. Russ earned his Polar Bear patch years ago and a few rockers hence. Some years, when he knows family obligations will diminish his riding opportunities, Russ did not even sign up for the points. He just rode along for the fun of it. Can you imagine?
Well this year I guess Russ is feeling optimistic. In Cape May he signed up to earn his points. But when we arrived in Lewes, Russ' page was not in the book.
Because they are so many in number, the Polar Bears are broken into two “flights” labeled “A” and “B.” Most all the Connecticut Bears are in “B.”
When Russ' page was not in the “B” book he started getting all worked up, as only Russ can. Well, actually, Grumpy can get pretty worked up too. But, trust me on this, it is safer to laugh at Russ.
I even survived laughing at Russ when he was as angry as I have ever seen him.
We just completed the Iron Butt, 1,000 miles in 24 hours or less, ride. We may be on record for the ugliest accomplishment of this task. A disasterous early morning start idea, a lollygagging first half and a pouring rain storm in the last 20 miles had frayed everyone's nerves to the rawest edge of sanity.
Twenty-three-and-a-half hours later as we are gassing up and getting our final receipts, it turns out the odometers on John K. and Russ' bikes are showing just shy of 1,000 miles. Mine was a hair over.
John K. being so much the cross your t's and dot your i's kinda guy, starts on about how he damn well better qualify for the Iron Butt. Russ takes the criticism personally because Russ set up the ride. John was oblivious to Russ' growing blood pressure. Pretty soon they are nose to nose. Russ was dropping one leg back, squaring his hips, getting ready for action. He was quite the boxer on the Navy aircraft carrier during his shipboard days.
It was at this point Russ threw out the nastiest epithet he knew. Sputtering he shouts, “John . . . you were in the Navy! And I hate the Navy!” I roared with laughter. For someone who can curse like a Sailor, this was Russ' worst. The juxtaposition from what I expected and what Russ delivered was the funniest thing I have heard my friend say to this day.
Back in Lewes, Del., I suggested maybe they put Russ in Flight A since he had dropped out for a year or two. Well it turns out the new Flight A leader had taken Russ' application last week, but had not handed it over to our Flight B Leaders. Fortunately Russ' sheet was right there handy on the Flight A desk ready for insertion in the Flight B logbook.
Russ started grousing all the same, but Bob Hartpence cooled him fast by threatening to put Russ in Flight “C.”
Irish Eyes seemed nice enough and the food was good, if a bit slow in arriving. I ordered “bangers and mash” because it sounded so delightfully British. Imagine my surprise when it turns out to be just sausage, mashed potatoes and peas. Geeze! Back home in Stratford, Connecticut we call that sausage with mashed potatoes and peas. Being a marketing guy myself, however, I smiled admiringly, knowing how the right name can boost sales.
Johnny B. ordered fish and chips and it turned out to be fish with french fries. John K. and Russ ordered Irish stew and it turned out to be stew, so I guess they weren't fooled.
Happy with full bellies and bulging Polar Bear points sheets we posed for our weekly group picture then suited up for the long ride home.
If you read last week's blog, one of the things I promised was a review of my new Gerbing T-5 electric gloves, purchased from Len in Cape May. Well it was still too warm to turn them on. I did not even wear them on the ride down.
But for the ride home I pulled them on and plugged them in. Still it remained warm as we rode north. When we stopped for gas, just before the Delaware Memorial Bridge, it was one of those deals where we gassed up but then reassembled in a parking area. John K. had missed the turn for the bridge. So I knew I was going to get off the bike right away. Which meant after I gassed up, I just pulled on my gloves, rode over to the parking area and got off to offer the Captain a bit of local Delaware navigation advice, once a former resident of these parts myself.
We conferred. We mounted up. And off we went.
John ignored my advice, doggedly stuck to I-95 North, despite numerous signs pointing to “New Jersey, New York, Delaware Memorial Bridge.”
Grumpy finally flew up from the sweep position, threw a lariat over Captain's handlebars and led him off the proper exit.
Over the bridge now, onto the NJ Turnpike, we steamed for home.
As we reached north to the Garden State Parkway, and the clouds cleared just enough to show a sundown, it started to, gasp, get cold. Not Polar Bear cold. But chilly.
Here's my chance! I turned up the gloves with my new dual “temptroller” thermostat. My hands were warm enough. But not hot. For miles I fiddled with the switch. Weak.
In the last 30 miles to the top of the Garden State where we always stop for coffee, I was getting aggravated. My hands were getting cold.
Figuring the gloves and controller were new, I started blaming my 120,000 + miles Springer. How long does an alternator last? Maybe this thing just wasn't putting out the current. I am aggravated but forgiving. Next I try flipping the switch to turn off the passing lamps, hoping more current will be available to warm my fingers. No effect. Now I am figuring how, and who, and when, I can get it fixed.
As we pulled into the rest area to gas up I pulled off my glove and it came free immediately.
In my plan for a temporary on-off to talk with John K. at the last gas stop, way down in Delaware, I had not gone through the formal procedure of linking the gloves to the sleeves of my electric jacket. Electric gloves don't work without electricity.
We all had a good chuckle at that one. Of course there is not a rider who at some point hasn't left without plugging something in or has never ridden off with a saddlebag lid flopping because it was left unlatched.
When I did connect the gloves to the power source of my motorcycle, they performed wonderfully. Hey, I guess I learned the gloves are pretty well insulated too. They kept me warm even without electricity.
Unlike my old gloves, these heat instantly. You can feel the warmth all around your fingers. It wasn't really cold enough to give them a really good test. But hey, it's only the second ride of the season.
See this blog entry with photos at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm
Feel free to comment here!
As I often do for this run, I rode down to Wilmington, Del. Saturday to spend the night with my folks. It splits off a bit of distance for me on our longest ride of the Polar Bear season. Plus, taking it in two chunks, I don't have to get up so dang early for Sunday's ride down from Connecticut. Plus, plus, at this time of the year there can be quite a temperature difference between sunrise and a couple hours after.
Saturday I spent too much time puttering around at home, in part completing the blog from the previous Sunday's ride to Cape May. By the time I finally got going it was late afternoon. Saturday started partly sunny, progressed to mostly cloudy and all afternoon I was thinking the rain predicted for late day just might catch me if I waited too long to start. It did.
Freakishly warm, the temperature even after the sun went down was 70 degrees. Most of the ride was dry. Now and then I would hit a few areas where it had rained, recently enough for cars to be throwing spray. But drops from the sky did not actually fall on me until I was crossing the Commodore Barry Bridge from Jersey into Pennsylvania. It was like the Delaware River was a magic rain barrier.
Sometimes you get lucky. Twenty minutes' ride in mild rain and I was at my folks' house. I rode through the same showers that delayed the World Series game that night just a few miles north.
Arriving too late to join them, Mom saved a dinner plate for me even so. As always, she makes my favorites. Saturday night it was fried eggplant (except now it is heart-healthy baked) and stuffed mushrooms.
Friends of my folks were visiting. Mom and Dad have known their friend Judy since junior high school. Her friend Jim has been their friend for years now too.
Judy and Jim own a barbeque place in Gloucester, Mass. I haven't been there yet. But ever since reading “A Perfect Storm” I have wanted to see that famous fishing town.
Dad and the rest of us enjoyed the World Series. The Loynd family roots for the Phillies. Judy and Jim, Red Sox fans, are rooting for the Phillies too. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
It is a shame they lost, despite Utley's best efforts, I fear the New York machine, the best baseball that money can buy, is overwhelming. But as Stephen Colbert said, the Yankee victory is, "proof the free market system works!"
Next morning when the rest of the Connecticut Bears were saddling up in the cold dawn, I was enjoying scrapple for breakfast. (It's a Lancaster County thing.)
It was raining still Sunday morning. How did they fit a baseball game between bands of rain?
With the weather, cooler now that the front was moving through, I was in the mood to just motor down state. So I took the new Delaware Route 1 from Interstate 95 which nowadays basically makes a run to the beaches expressway all the way. Not like the old days I remember growing up in Wilmington when you had to stop-and-go your way through New Castle and Dover.
Arriving at our new “South Pole” venue, Irish Eyes Pub, I gingerly picked my way across the not-so-packed gravel parking lot to a place where I had enough strength to back the big Harley into a spot along a grey freight container.
No sooner was I off the bike and out of the helmet, here came my guys. I motioned them to where I was parked and offered a bit of reversing assistance, even had to help John H. with his lighter ST. He immediately made some joke about me “touching” a Honda. Hey, I even rode one once. John K. offered me his Gold Wing for a Polar Bear ride last year when my Harley was in the shop.
And if we are getting technical, I have spent hours and hours on Hondas, Suzukis and Kawis, if you include the training bikes in the Connecticut Rider Education Program. I am a Rider Coach.
Isn't that Honda Nighthawk a POS? Honda engineering? Drum brakes front and rear on a modern motorcycle? Really?
Maybe it isn't fair to judge the whole line by all its products. On the other hand, my Dad bought one of the first Civics sold in the U.S. That thing was as bad as the Nighthawk. It spent a lot of time in the shop. I hear the lawnmowers are pretty good.
Even so, the Honda ST seems like a nice bike. But I just don't see me riding with my heels tucked behind me all day.
On my Harley I can stretch out, feet on highway boards (not just pegs) mounted outboard on the engine guards. I can also sit up straight. Once in a while, I will even tuck my heels behind me, European style, toes on the back of the riding boards.
(This first segment I was able to write on my train commute to The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk Monday morning. This will be the one way I can find the time to get this blog written.
Last Friday I tried the same thing. But Metro North showed up a couple 'o cars short. I got started on my minibook all the same but in Fairfield this giant old lady with a cane suddenly slammed herself into the middle seat next to me. When she shifted her hips to fit, she bruised mine against the wall of the train.
Some people take up more than their fair share of the planet.
Instead of sitting there smashed against the window seat for two more stops, I got up and stood until South Norwalk station stop set me free of the overcrowded car. Even with the minibook, it's kinda hard to type standing up.
Needless to say, this morning's ride was much more civil. I will pick up my narrative on the ride home.)
Back again . . .
So we saunter into the Irish Eyes Pub in Lewes, Del., the Grand Tour's "South Pole" to sign-in for our Polar Bear Points. Captain K. was ready with 31, enough to qualify for his rocker on his second ride.
Polar Bear Grand Poo-bah Bob Hartpence even memorialized John Kammerer's accomplishment on the Polar Bear Grand Tour site; check out last week's photos at the bottom, on the Grand Tour site: http://www.polarbeargrandtour.com/lew09.htm
“Captain” John K. accomplishes this feat by giving blood all summer in the name of the Bears. So it is hard to find fault with such dedication. Coming all the way from Connecticut, we earn about half the points we need to qualify on the first two rides. Add John K.'s blood points on top – oh and he also attended the District II Summer Corn Boil – and well, there you have it.
Even so, John K. almost shorted himself. Not only do you get two points for donating blood, you also get round trip mileage points if you are crazy enough to ride your motorcycle to the blood bank and back. John forgot to take credit for these mileage points, but Flight Leader Rich came and found us at lunch and called John back to his page in the book to tally up the extra credits.
And then we have Russ. Russ earned his Polar Bear patch years ago and a few rockers hence. Some years, when he knows family obligations will diminish his riding opportunities, Russ did not even sign up for the points. He just rode along for the fun of it. Can you imagine?
Well this year I guess Russ is feeling optimistic. In Cape May he signed up to earn his points. But when we arrived in Lewes, Russ' page was not in the book.
Because they are so many in number, the Polar Bears are broken into two “flights” labeled “A” and “B.” Most all the Connecticut Bears are in “B.”
When Russ' page was not in the “B” book he started getting all worked up, as only Russ can. Well, actually, Grumpy can get pretty worked up too. But, trust me on this, it is safer to laugh at Russ.
I even survived laughing at Russ when he was as angry as I have ever seen him.
We just completed the Iron Butt, 1,000 miles in 24 hours or less, ride. We may be on record for the ugliest accomplishment of this task. A disasterous early morning start idea, a lollygagging first half and a pouring rain storm in the last 20 miles had frayed everyone's nerves to the rawest edge of sanity.
Twenty-three-and-a-half hours later as we are gassing up and getting our final receipts, it turns out the odometers on John K. and Russ' bikes are showing just shy of 1,000 miles. Mine was a hair over.
John K. being so much the cross your t's and dot your i's kinda guy, starts on about how he damn well better qualify for the Iron Butt. Russ takes the criticism personally because Russ set up the ride. John was oblivious to Russ' growing blood pressure. Pretty soon they are nose to nose. Russ was dropping one leg back, squaring his hips, getting ready for action. He was quite the boxer on the Navy aircraft carrier during his shipboard days.
It was at this point Russ threw out the nastiest epithet he knew. Sputtering he shouts, “John . . . you were in the Navy! And I hate the Navy!” I roared with laughter. For someone who can curse like a Sailor, this was Russ' worst. The juxtaposition from what I expected and what Russ delivered was the funniest thing I have heard my friend say to this day.
Back in Lewes, Del., I suggested maybe they put Russ in Flight A since he had dropped out for a year or two. Well it turns out the new Flight A leader had taken Russ' application last week, but had not handed it over to our Flight B Leaders. Fortunately Russ' sheet was right there handy on the Flight A desk ready for insertion in the Flight B logbook.
Russ started grousing all the same, but Bob Hartpence cooled him fast by threatening to put Russ in Flight “C.”
Irish Eyes seemed nice enough and the food was good, if a bit slow in arriving. I ordered “bangers and mash” because it sounded so delightfully British. Imagine my surprise when it turns out to be just sausage, mashed potatoes and peas. Geeze! Back home in Stratford, Connecticut we call that sausage with mashed potatoes and peas. Being a marketing guy myself, however, I smiled admiringly, knowing how the right name can boost sales.
Johnny B. ordered fish and chips and it turned out to be fish with french fries. John K. and Russ ordered Irish stew and it turned out to be stew, so I guess they weren't fooled.
Happy with full bellies and bulging Polar Bear points sheets we posed for our weekly group picture then suited up for the long ride home.
If you read last week's blog, one of the things I promised was a review of my new Gerbing T-5 electric gloves, purchased from Len in Cape May. Well it was still too warm to turn them on. I did not even wear them on the ride down.
But for the ride home I pulled them on and plugged them in. Still it remained warm as we rode north. When we stopped for gas, just before the Delaware Memorial Bridge, it was one of those deals where we gassed up but then reassembled in a parking area. John K. had missed the turn for the bridge. So I knew I was going to get off the bike right away. Which meant after I gassed up, I just pulled on my gloves, rode over to the parking area and got off to offer the Captain a bit of local Delaware navigation advice, once a former resident of these parts myself.
We conferred. We mounted up. And off we went.
John ignored my advice, doggedly stuck to I-95 North, despite numerous signs pointing to “New Jersey, New York, Delaware Memorial Bridge.”
Grumpy finally flew up from the sweep position, threw a lariat over Captain's handlebars and led him off the proper exit.
Over the bridge now, onto the NJ Turnpike, we steamed for home.
As we reached north to the Garden State Parkway, and the clouds cleared just enough to show a sundown, it started to, gasp, get cold. Not Polar Bear cold. But chilly.
Here's my chance! I turned up the gloves with my new dual “temptroller” thermostat. My hands were warm enough. But not hot. For miles I fiddled with the switch. Weak.
In the last 30 miles to the top of the Garden State where we always stop for coffee, I was getting aggravated. My hands were getting cold.
Figuring the gloves and controller were new, I started blaming my 120,000 + miles Springer. How long does an alternator last? Maybe this thing just wasn't putting out the current. I am aggravated but forgiving. Next I try flipping the switch to turn off the passing lamps, hoping more current will be available to warm my fingers. No effect. Now I am figuring how, and who, and when, I can get it fixed.
As we pulled into the rest area to gas up I pulled off my glove and it came free immediately.
In my plan for a temporary on-off to talk with John K. at the last gas stop, way down in Delaware, I had not gone through the formal procedure of linking the gloves to the sleeves of my electric jacket. Electric gloves don't work without electricity.
We all had a good chuckle at that one. Of course there is not a rider who at some point hasn't left without plugging something in or has never ridden off with a saddlebag lid flopping because it was left unlatched.
When I did connect the gloves to the power source of my motorcycle, they performed wonderfully. Hey, I guess I learned the gloves are pretty well insulated too. They kept me warm even without electricity.
Unlike my old gloves, these heat instantly. You can feel the warmth all around your fingers. It wasn't really cold enough to give them a really good test. But hey, it's only the second ride of the season.
See this blog entry with photos at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm
Feel free to comment here!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Cape May October 25, 2009
We were eight. Most all the usual suspects were there, including our hardest core of John Bears. No, they do not fancy prostitutes, and I am not making any disparaging potty references. It's just that somehow three-quarters of the Connecticut Polar Bears have the same first name and that name happens to be John.
New to our group was Bart. Now there's a great riding name. Actually, it's a better cowboy name. But it does just as well for a rider, especially a Harley rider, which Bart is. I guess Bart had a favorable impression (or he is just a wild optimist) because he signed up to try and earn the coveted Polar Bear Patch.
Captain K. was definitely rusty on his pack leadership skills. Usually a very disciplined rider, you can set your cruise control to John K.'s pace. If you're like me, and do not have cruise control, well you can just spin that throttle lock tight, sit back, and enjoy the ride. (See the previous post disclaimer about reading this blog.)
We did a lot of rubber banding. Riding sweep, as I was, the effect was multiplied. We spent some much time going slow in the fast lane Winnebagos with handicapped stickers were flying by us on the right. "Go around them Mother! Dang motorcycles."
Not yielding the passing lane incensed one cager so much, this nutcase passed a slower car in the right lane by using the shoulder. That was after trying several times to break our line.
We arrived in Cape May at just about the right time. We parked close to the VFW, waited less than half-an-hour, and checked in for our PB points.
I took advantage of the extra time it took Bart to sign up to purchase some new gear from Len from MLDS.
I splurged on the new, microwire, top-o'-the-line, Gerbing T-5 heated gloves. You will have to wait for my review in a future blog. The weather on the ride home never got cold enough to even turn them on.
Seven-year-old Harley-version Gerbing leather electric gloves were my previous hand warmers. They worked only so-so. And when it got really cold, I resorted to a set of down-filled hiking mittens with a chemical heat pack under my fingers. That combo kept my fingers warm in any weather, especially when snuggled deep inside my hippo hands.
All registered and recorded we took the weekly group photo.
Actually, we did not take it. Johnny B.'s camera decided to conk out just at that moment and we had to rely upon the kindness of strangers because my little camera has no tripod mount. Still we got it done and the Connecticut Bears are recorded for whatever time the perhaps transient Internet storage offers.
We stopped in at our favorite sport bar in Cape May for lunch. As was the case last year, we were their first customers of the day. Being eight in number, they seemed happy to have us.
We started up the road to Connecticut riding as before . . . too much as before. So at the first gas stop I offered a word to the wise to our ride leader. You don't gotta ask twice with the Captain. He quickly smoothed out his ride technique.
The crazies still beat around us a bit. Eight motorcycles in staggered formation makes for a pretty long line. Most cars are gracious and stay out of our group.
Things were pretty uneventful on the ride back until Grumpy started fiddling with his EZ Pass. As we were crossing to the exit lane on 287 to catch the Merritt Parkway home, I saw the white cube take one bounce and then slide, spinning for the shoulder, ahead of my bike.
Wasn't quick enough to catch it on the fly. But I checked my mirrors, pulled hard on both brakes and dove for the shoulder. I jogged back south 50 yards and there was Grumpy's EX Pass was intact resting safely on the shoulder.
He will have to wait until this week to see if it survived the fall.
Our next ride is another long one, Lewes, Delaware. I will sneak down the day before to have dinner with the folks in Wilmington, Del. It saves me getting up early. My Mom delights in making my favorite foods. And there is sure to be scrapple for breakfast. (Last year the scrapple was not served in Lewes.)
Hopefully we will get a bit more quality time with our Flight Leaders Rich and Dave in Lewes. We always enjoy visiting with them, but they dismissively waved us off in Cape May. Something to do with a new sign-in system to manage the always crowded first ride process.
Or maybe they just did not want to hear about the Captain's blood points so early in the season.
If you want to see this post with photos, visit my mirror Polar Bear Blog: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm
New to our group was Bart. Now there's a great riding name. Actually, it's a better cowboy name. But it does just as well for a rider, especially a Harley rider, which Bart is. I guess Bart had a favorable impression (or he is just a wild optimist) because he signed up to try and earn the coveted Polar Bear Patch.
Captain K. was definitely rusty on his pack leadership skills. Usually a very disciplined rider, you can set your cruise control to John K.'s pace. If you're like me, and do not have cruise control, well you can just spin that throttle lock tight, sit back, and enjoy the ride. (See the previous post disclaimer about reading this blog.)
We did a lot of rubber banding. Riding sweep, as I was, the effect was multiplied. We spent some much time going slow in the fast lane Winnebagos with handicapped stickers were flying by us on the right. "Go around them Mother! Dang motorcycles."
Not yielding the passing lane incensed one cager so much, this nutcase passed a slower car in the right lane by using the shoulder. That was after trying several times to break our line.
We arrived in Cape May at just about the right time. We parked close to the VFW, waited less than half-an-hour, and checked in for our PB points.
I took advantage of the extra time it took Bart to sign up to purchase some new gear from Len from MLDS.
I splurged on the new, microwire, top-o'-the-line, Gerbing T-5 heated gloves. You will have to wait for my review in a future blog. The weather on the ride home never got cold enough to even turn them on.
Seven-year-old Harley-version Gerbing leather electric gloves were my previous hand warmers. They worked only so-so. And when it got really cold, I resorted to a set of down-filled hiking mittens with a chemical heat pack under my fingers. That combo kept my fingers warm in any weather, especially when snuggled deep inside my hippo hands.
All registered and recorded we took the weekly group photo.
Actually, we did not take it. Johnny B.'s camera decided to conk out just at that moment and we had to rely upon the kindness of strangers because my little camera has no tripod mount. Still we got it done and the Connecticut Bears are recorded for whatever time the perhaps transient Internet storage offers.
We stopped in at our favorite sport bar in Cape May for lunch. As was the case last year, we were their first customers of the day. Being eight in number, they seemed happy to have us.
We started up the road to Connecticut riding as before . . . too much as before. So at the first gas stop I offered a word to the wise to our ride leader. You don't gotta ask twice with the Captain. He quickly smoothed out his ride technique.
The crazies still beat around us a bit. Eight motorcycles in staggered formation makes for a pretty long line. Most cars are gracious and stay out of our group.
Things were pretty uneventful on the ride back until Grumpy started fiddling with his EZ Pass. As we were crossing to the exit lane on 287 to catch the Merritt Parkway home, I saw the white cube take one bounce and then slide, spinning for the shoulder, ahead of my bike.
Wasn't quick enough to catch it on the fly. But I checked my mirrors, pulled hard on both brakes and dove for the shoulder. I jogged back south 50 yards and there was Grumpy's EX Pass was intact resting safely on the shoulder.
He will have to wait until this week to see if it survived the fall.
Our next ride is another long one, Lewes, Delaware. I will sneak down the day before to have dinner with the folks in Wilmington, Del. It saves me getting up early. My Mom delights in making my favorite foods. And there is sure to be scrapple for breakfast. (Last year the scrapple was not served in Lewes.)
Hopefully we will get a bit more quality time with our Flight Leaders Rich and Dave in Lewes. We always enjoy visiting with them, but they dismissively waved us off in Cape May. Something to do with a new sign-in system to manage the always crowded first ride process.
Or maybe they just did not want to hear about the Captain's blood points so early in the season.
If you want to see this post with photos, visit my mirror Polar Bear Blog: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm
Polar Bear Blog in new form allows comments
In Medieval times winter was a fearful time. Families huddled in their huts, ventured outside very little, desperately tried to stay warm.
Now as the days get shorter and crisp mornings herald colder nights, I feel a bit of that winter depression and fear. Maybe it is instinct left over from caveman days. You know it's coming. You know it is only going to get colder and colder and darker and darker. This is freakin' New England. Winter can be rough. There is only one cure for me. Get on my motorcycle and ride!
Nowadays, I spend my winter Sunday mornings motoring through New Jersey, exposed to winter's fiercest chill. Yet I enjoy a unique comfort.
A warm cocoon of silk, teckwick, thinsulate, fleece, wool and codura retain most all my body heat. What leaks away at 70 miles per hour is easily replaced by electric threads sewn into my jacket and gloves and chemical heat packs under my toes.
I am blessed to enjoy these adventures with a group of like-minded riders. They are all as crazy as am I; some are more crazy; others are less so. Some ride without electric clothing, relying entirely upon insulation and their own rugged constitutions. Others ride with electric everything, fingers to toes.
The Polar Bear Grand Tour is not really meant for us. Most of the rides are in New Jersey, with a few in Pennsylvania, one in New York and one in Delaware. Even so, the Bears have graciously embraced us, riding in as we do from Connecticut.
I read about the Polar Bears in a magazine article in 2002. It sounded like great fun and I took my first ride that year. I have not missed a season since. As Connecticut riders learned of it, they decided to join in and today we have a half-dozen stalwarts, plus twenty-some others who ride when they can. You can read about my first Polar Bear ride on my Polar Bear Blog posted at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm.
If you would like to join us, we meet at The Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford, Conn., just off Interstate 95, Exit 30, corner of Lordship Blvd., and Honeyspot Rd.
Three years ago I started capturing our adventures in this blog. It turned out to be a lot of fun -- and a lot more work -- than I ever expected.
Last year job difficulties and an unfair share of wicked weather, meant I missed a lot of rides. My Polar Bear vest of honor now has a red rocker at the bottom of my short string of gold ones. And the blog just never got off the ground.
So my few but intrepid readers, the blog is back!
If you care to read it, you should know a few ground rules.
First and foremost, I write this because I enjoy writing. It is something I do for myself. It is a wonderful place to exercise the muse without commercial purpose tainting the outcome.
That said, I do not mind sharing. And I appreciate comments, good and bad. To that end, I will explore this year double-posting these musings here on Blogspot where you will have an opportunity to post your comments and participate in my Polar Bear musings.
Second, and this is important, I have no obligations to my readers. I make no warranty, expressed or implied, as to the value of this narrative. Furthermore, I feel no obligation to report accurately, or fairly, or even to tell the truth.
Third, it may take me most or all of each week to get this thing written and posted. I am trying to write this on the train to and from work, during True TV and South Park commercial breaks and in any other free snippet of time. I make no promise as to the timeliness or regularity of my postings.
If you want to sign on as a friend on my Facebook page, http://www.facebook.com/chris.loynd I will make a wall posting each time the blog is posted. Otherwise, just keep checking back, it boosts my Google rating!
I already know I will not make every ride this year.
One ride is already preempted by a weekend getaway with my patient and understanding (or at least silent suffering) wife. By the way, I will NOT be answering my cell phone that Sunday morning! I made that mistake several years ago, taking a call in bed in a Newport bed and breakfast, from Clark no less, and my wife Cynthia did not appreciate the interruption. As women do, she will never let me forget the infraction.
Certainly I do not have the drive of a Captain K. or Grumpy who will drive a car or truck through the most hellacious winter storms, risk life and limb, spend hours in miserable traffic, just to sign-in to earn their perfect attendance pins.
For rides I miss, I will reach out to my fellow Connecticut bears for correspondent reports.
Fourth and finally, please remember the opinions expressed in this blog do not reflect the thoughts of management, nor any authority, nor good taste even. Advice in this blog is taken at your own risk. Metaphor, simile, and flat out prevarication are often used in an attempt at humor.
Your blog may vary. Past blog performance does not guarantee future results. Blog results not typical. No warranties are expressed or implied. These claims have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This blog is void where prohibited. Your continued reading constitutes acceptance of these terms. I am Chris Loynd and I approve this message.
Now as the days get shorter and crisp mornings herald colder nights, I feel a bit of that winter depression and fear. Maybe it is instinct left over from caveman days. You know it's coming. You know it is only going to get colder and colder and darker and darker. This is freakin' New England. Winter can be rough. There is only one cure for me. Get on my motorcycle and ride!
Nowadays, I spend my winter Sunday mornings motoring through New Jersey, exposed to winter's fiercest chill. Yet I enjoy a unique comfort.
A warm cocoon of silk, teckwick, thinsulate, fleece, wool and codura retain most all my body heat. What leaks away at 70 miles per hour is easily replaced by electric threads sewn into my jacket and gloves and chemical heat packs under my toes.
I am blessed to enjoy these adventures with a group of like-minded riders. They are all as crazy as am I; some are more crazy; others are less so. Some ride without electric clothing, relying entirely upon insulation and their own rugged constitutions. Others ride with electric everything, fingers to toes.
The Polar Bear Grand Tour is not really meant for us. Most of the rides are in New Jersey, with a few in Pennsylvania, one in New York and one in Delaware. Even so, the Bears have graciously embraced us, riding in as we do from Connecticut.
I read about the Polar Bears in a magazine article in 2002. It sounded like great fun and I took my first ride that year. I have not missed a season since. As Connecticut riders learned of it, they decided to join in and today we have a half-dozen stalwarts, plus twenty-some others who ride when they can. You can read about my first Polar Bear ride on my Polar Bear Blog posted at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm.
If you would like to join us, we meet at The Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford, Conn., just off Interstate 95, Exit 30, corner of Lordship Blvd., and Honeyspot Rd.
Three years ago I started capturing our adventures in this blog. It turned out to be a lot of fun -- and a lot more work -- than I ever expected.
Last year job difficulties and an unfair share of wicked weather, meant I missed a lot of rides. My Polar Bear vest of honor now has a red rocker at the bottom of my short string of gold ones. And the blog just never got off the ground.
So my few but intrepid readers, the blog is back!
If you care to read it, you should know a few ground rules.
First and foremost, I write this because I enjoy writing. It is something I do for myself. It is a wonderful place to exercise the muse without commercial purpose tainting the outcome.
That said, I do not mind sharing. And I appreciate comments, good and bad. To that end, I will explore this year double-posting these musings here on Blogspot where you will have an opportunity to post your comments and participate in my Polar Bear musings.
Second, and this is important, I have no obligations to my readers. I make no warranty, expressed or implied, as to the value of this narrative. Furthermore, I feel no obligation to report accurately, or fairly, or even to tell the truth.
Third, it may take me most or all of each week to get this thing written and posted. I am trying to write this on the train to and from work, during True TV and South Park commercial breaks and in any other free snippet of time. I make no promise as to the timeliness or regularity of my postings.
If you want to sign on as a friend on my Facebook page, http://www.facebook.com/chris.loynd I will make a wall posting each time the blog is posted. Otherwise, just keep checking back, it boosts my Google rating!
I already know I will not make every ride this year.
One ride is already preempted by a weekend getaway with my patient and understanding (or at least silent suffering) wife. By the way, I will NOT be answering my cell phone that Sunday morning! I made that mistake several years ago, taking a call in bed in a Newport bed and breakfast, from Clark no less, and my wife Cynthia did not appreciate the interruption. As women do, she will never let me forget the infraction.
Certainly I do not have the drive of a Captain K. or Grumpy who will drive a car or truck through the most hellacious winter storms, risk life and limb, spend hours in miserable traffic, just to sign-in to earn their perfect attendance pins.
For rides I miss, I will reach out to my fellow Connecticut bears for correspondent reports.
Fourth and finally, please remember the opinions expressed in this blog do not reflect the thoughts of management, nor any authority, nor good taste even. Advice in this blog is taken at your own risk. Metaphor, simile, and flat out prevarication are often used in an attempt at humor.
Your blog may vary. Past blog performance does not guarantee future results. Blog results not typical. No warranties are expressed or implied. These claims have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This blog is void where prohibited. Your continued reading constitutes acceptance of these terms. I am Chris Loynd and I approve this message.
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