February 7, 2010; Pattenburg, N.J.

February 7, 2010; Pattenburg, New Jersey

15 to start, ‘pert near 30 to finish

We departed the day after a monster snow storm dubbed “snowmageddon” by President Obama blanketed southern New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland and Washington D.C. They got New England style weather. Connecticut received nary a flake.

Not content to read weather maps and radar sweeps I reached down to our destination with a phone call Saturday night. The girl who answered at Landslide Saloon might be a good date, if there are any single Polar Bears reading this blog. According to her they, “got about a foot of snow.” But she assured me they were still expecting the Bears, the parking lot was plowed out, local roads cleared and we should have no trouble riding motorcycles to them from Interstate 78.

I sent out an e-mail to our Connecticut crew sharing my report from Pattenburg and declaring my intention to ride on the morrow.

Turns out the biggest challenge we had was salt. The Interstates were clear and dry. The state road from the Interstate to the Landslide was clear as well with only a few wet spots, those rendered liquid by copious sodium chloride deposits. Sitting here in my study, I can still hear my chrome screaming out in the garage.

I am thinking the girl reporting from the Landslide might be a good date because when we arrived there it looked like they had, at most, four inches of snow on the ground. Anyone with such an optimistic and forgiving sense of proportion gives hope to many potential suitors.

Since there are only three turns on the route from Stratford, Conn., to Pattenburg, N.J., I offered to take the lead. I had trouble with my navigation system still.

First of all it was so dang cold, the grease pencil kept chipping. It was hard to bear down enough to get a reasonable impression as I wrote my three turns on the Springer’s rear view mirror. When the pencil did chip, I had to deal with that paper wrapping, trying to get it started with a fingernail, shaking in the cold, peeling off too much paper only to break a chunk off the tip and then fumble with it all again.

Eventually I got the proper coordinates entered. But in my fighting with the grease pencil, I neglected to write the exit number off of I-78 and onto N.J. State 173 west. Such a small detail allowed my riding compatriots a bit of amusement at my expense.

I led our group of bikes off of the final interstate highway at the first exit for Route 173 west. I had remembered, even without the mirror, that it was a mere 1.6 miles from the exit to the Landslide Saloon. As the odometer clicked closer to that mark I had a sense of foreboding. We were running exactly parallel to the interstate. And as we rode beyond the distance expected, I saw up on my left, up high on the interstate, a sign declaring yet another exit for Route 173 west.

Okay, so there was a later exit. Can’t wait to hear the teasing I’ll get on this one. I can practically hear my compatriots cackling inside their helmets trailing on behind me.

We ride more than another 1.6 miles, still shadowing the interstate. And there is even another big green sign. There is yet another exit for 173 west. Who knew? Well if I had written the dang exit number on my mirror.

There’s no time for pity. My attentions are needed to negotiate a traffic circle which catches the interstate off ramp and routes it our way. The circle is strongly familiar, whereas the earlier parts of 173 west already traveled were not.

Sure enough, just up the road apiece, the interstate has fallen away now, I’m not even clocking the odometer anymore, Landslide Saloon appears on the left. I see Polar Bear Grand Tour Photographer Walter Kern standing near the first entrance. We are coming in too hot to make that one and I lead us in the second entrance to park at the end of a line of cars and trucks.

As we come clomping into the Landslide, brother Bears from deeper in New Jersey are full of excitement, stories of big snow. Flight B Leader Rich shows pictures on his camera. Indefatigable Bob Hartpence, forced onto four wheels, was holding court nonetheless.

Sign in isn’t ready yet. We take a table and settle in to order lunch. Our attentive waitress asks if we want separate checks and I assure her we mean to make no trouble and she can put us all on just one tab. She needs a name for the tab and I whimsically offer, “John.” How is she to know we are three-fifths John?

Polar Bear Grand Pooh Bah Bob is joking that Jersey has all the snow this winter. “We’ll have to truck some of it up to Canada so they can hold the winter Olympics,” he quips.

At that point Pogy, who works at Sikorsky Aircraft, says that in fact one of his company’s helicopters is transporting snow to the Vancouver slopes. Canadian TV confirms Pogy’s report. The Sikorsky S64 Skycrane, the world’s second largest helicopter, has been carrying snow to the Olympic venue. Not from New Jersey, but from further up on Cypress Mountain in British Columbia. They are also using trucks to transport snow, but Pogy’s bird delivers the freshest snow, topping off the slopes and half pipes to delight competitors.

Oh, and in case you are getting any ideas for your own ski festival, CTV reports the big helicopter rents for $10,000 per hour. Actually, that’s probably Canadian dollars, so you could get it for less here.

As New Jersey is getting pounded, Vancouver has enjoyed the warmest January in history.

Meanwhile, our food arrives. Our attentive waitress gets our orders onto the table with a smile and, unbeknownst to us, an acute ear. As she is placing the plates of food our always cheery eater grumbles something, he thought to himself only, about expecting at least a pickle to accompany his sandwich.

Well it wasn’t a moment later that our waitress brought over condiments, extra napkins and such. Then, without a word, as if by slight-of-hand, a single dill spear appeared on a small plate in front of Grumpy. And my Momma always told me you had to ask nicely!

As we finished our meals, it turns out I was right, John got the check, well at least he tried to. Feeling magnanimous, John Kammerer offered to buy us all lunch. None of the other Johns, nor Pogy or I, objected.

Captain dropped his Discover card on the check and excused himself to, as he always says, “tap a bladder.”

Meanwhile the waitress comes up, picks up the card and the check, but returns soon after. The Landslide Saloon does not accept Discover, only Master Card and Visa. Well before the rest of us can start reaching for cash, Pogy pulls his more acceptable (to the Landslide anyway) credit card and offers to buy lunch for us all.

Captain returns to his bare Discover Card on the table, the restaurant check gone, and I tell him the truth, “Your card was refused.” His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, but he knows better than to take the bait. “That card is good,” he says, “very good.” “Well, they would not take it,” I retort. “Pogy had to pick up the tab.” John K’s blood is coming up, but John H lets slip that they don’t take Discover here. “I have other cards,” K says indignantly. “Yeah but we didn’t want to hafta wait for you,” I needle.

(That’s especially effective teasing because I, CT Blogger, Chris Loynd, am the very last Connecticut Polar Bear for anything: last to finish eating, last out of the bathroom, last to get dressed, last to square away on the motorcycle, last to show up at Dunkin’ Donuts in the morning, etc.)

Captain regains his dignity by insisting on buying coffee at Chez GSP on the way home.

Out in the Landslide parking lot we take our group photo and start bundling up for the ride home. Pogy had a handful of Connecticut Rider Education reflective safety stickers for John H, requested by Token to adorn his new BMW. Token2 is a graduate of the program. A former Connecticut Polar Bear Jim Ivanko was his instructor. Jim was one of the first to join us from Connecticut in winter riding.

As we are getting ready to go, the Captain needs gas. That’s unusually poor gas mileage for his Harley. I think it might have had something to do with the way he was snapping his throttle on and off on the ride over. I was in the lead and Captain was second bike. I noticed he kept running up on me and then drifting back. A couple of times he got so close I was tempted to kick his bike.

Since as leader I was holding a rock-steady speed, one you could set your cruise control by, I can only figure Captain’s mind was elsewhere.

We had only five bikes. It should not have been hard to maintain group riding discipline. I think our turnout was low for fear of snow. Oh, and apparently there was some football game later that day. But we made it home in plenty of time to watch the commercials.

Token2 was sweep and an admirable one. Anytime I was even thinking of changing lanes he was already there, holding back traffic creating a clear lane of opportunity for me.

I was able to complete this week’s blog during a snow day Wednesday. “Blizzard” conditions are promised. So far it’s been tolerable. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up to a driveway full.

Next week’s ride, through a trick of the calendar, falls on Valentine’s Day. Better than that, by freak luck of our riding calendar, our destination is Hooters. My wife Cynthia does not seem to appreciate the irony. Not only am I going on a Polar Bear motorcycle ride on Valentine’s Day. I have the gall to ride to Hooters. Hey babe, I love you the same each and every day of the year! (Note to self, better get candy AND flowers!)

Hooters is one of our shortest rides of the year. The Hooters in South Wayne, N.J. traditionally also has the slowest service of any Polar Bear destination. So last week we got the brilliant idea that we would arrive early, say 11:00. That way we can eat lunch and then sign in for our Polar Bear Points when the Club Officials arrive, and still be back in Connecticut before Monday.

MapQuest says travel time is 1 hour and 39 minutes. So if we leave Stratford, Conn. at 9:30 a.m., we should be to Hooters by 11:00. Oh, and the distance is 83 miles, leaving us with an unsatisfying one, yes one, mileage point. Maybe Grumpy can squeak out the extra twenty miles. Token2 will be lucky to make 100 roundtrip miles. See you Sunday!