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.
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