Long Valley, NJ; March 11, 2012, Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog

(Sorry, in my late postings I have this one out of sequence.)

Polar Bear Blog, March 11, 2012, Long Valley, NJ.

By: Chris Loynd

Spring has come early to the motorcycle polar bears. Not that I mind. I've always said I would rather ride on a warm day than a cold one. I ride with the polar bears because I did not want to park my motorcycle all winter. And now polar bearing has evolved into a series of enjoyable Sundays with great friends.

This Sunday the weather was gorgeous, too warm for winter. I rode over in layers, but never dialed in the electric heat until we were up high on Route 80 west. And that was only for a little while. For the ride home I was peeling layers and trying to find room to stuff them into my saddlebags.

Token2 was ride leader. Long Valley has sort of become his, ever since he found some creative and fun back roads several years ago. He did not disappoint this Sunday. Some of the roads he found challenged our riders. Captain stopped in the midst of a very steep series of very tight curves to downshift. John J. and I had to make some important and immediate corrections in our respective bikes' handling. As Token2 quipped later when we groused about it, “I thought I was traveling with experienced riders.”

He also noted that while his Internet maps may have shown the tight curves, it was tough to see the sharp rise in elevation on that particular spot. Captain said he was halfway up the hill when his heavy Honda had not enough umph to climb any further.

Token2 hosted a good ride and found us some fun and scenic roads to ride. He doubled our fun by taking secondary roads a good part of the way home. Eventually we had to get back onto the Interstate highways to grind up enough miles to our far away Connecticut homes.

Pogy agreed to sweep this ride and found himself a bit frustrated at time, trying to keep the flock together from the back end.

Group riding is not the same as riding by yourself. It demands a fair amount of concentration and vigilance. It is important to hold your place in the line of bikes as accurately and consistently as possible.

Ride too close – or even, God forbid – next to a rider in line and you've compromised the safety of both riders. But drop back too far and the group falls apart. Once a car gets into your line, you can all be separated by some very big gaps. Then the riders caught in the back have to ride doubly fast to catch up. Or the leader, if he's paying attention, has to slow the group down significantly to let the others form up again.

Cars can be bad enough, even without big gaps in the line. John J. suddenly found an SUV trying to occupy the exact same space as his motorcycle on the last leg home. He corrected quickly and appropriately. But his demeanor expressed his displeasure.

Each inconsistency in speed, especially toward the front of the line, is multiplied by each bike behind. So the sweep suddenly finds himself hard on the throttle, then hard on the brakes, to try to keep his place. When I lead, I try to keep my speed cruise control smooth, even though no such device resides on my handlebars.

We enjoyed Long Valley Pub's fabulous brunch buffet. It is the best on the Grand Tour.

They shoehorned us into a very small corner space and I sat next the fireplace, fire going. Still it was all good and we had fun catching up with each other's news.

Token2 took us out the long way as well. And we rode through the New Jersey countryside, avoiding I-287 for as long as we could.

Flemington, NJ; April 1, 2012, Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog

Polar Bear Blog, April 1, 2012, Flemington, NJ.

By: Chris Loynd

After Captain's storied ride leadership debacle last week, he adamantly refused to lead this Sunday.

Mac wasn't going to touch it and Fonz had already claimed the sweep position when I rode up to join them at the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford.

Since it appeared I had no choice, I volunteered.

I had anticipated and prepared. The night before I loaded the destination in my GPS. Then I took a look at the location, Cheeburger, Cheeburger, on Google Maps. Ah, yes, I remember this from last year. This place is tucked deep in a shopping center located at the center of a complex of shopping centers all served by a maniacal New Jersey traffic roundabout.

Did you hear the story about the old farmer who came to town and drove his beat up old pickup truck into one of these New Jersey circular traffic controls?

Upon entering the roundabout, he made the mistake of moving to the inside lane. As his exit came up he tried to move across but a line of cars monopolized outside lane and the farmer meekly held to the center. He figured to exit the next time around, but just then a wankin' big SUV with a phone chatting driver nearly hit him.

The poor old guy figured to make it on the next go-round. As he came up the exit the car tailgating him suddenly swooped out and flipped him the bird as it powered off the farmer's exit. Leaving the poor farmer still on the inside.

Exasperated, the old guy saw his chance and pulled into a gas station that was located on the roundabout. It wasn't his exit, but he needed to gather his wits.

No sooner did he come to a stop then five guys came running out of the station. They pumped his gas, cleaned his windshield, changed his two outside tires, then one of the guys stuck his head into the truck's open window, handed the farmer a cold drink and shouted, "Get back in there old man, you're running in second place!"

I led a quiet and steady ride right up to our destination. Then I hit those roundabouts.

My GPS showed a diagram of the madness and counseled me to take the sixth roundabout exit.

Watch the traffic, the bikes behind me, the cars cutting into our line, and here we go. One, two, three, four, five, six, signal and exit. Dang!

I chose wrong.

Mr. Garmin must have meant six AFTER entering. Or was it six INCLUDING the one on which you entered? And I can't judge 200 feet if you held a gun to my head. Is it this one or the next? They both looked to be within a few hundred feet. And who puts seven or eight exits on one roundabout in the first place? Only in New Jersey where they have an absolute fear of left hand turns and thereby invented roundabouts and jug handles.

All the bikes tumbled in behind me. We were on the wrong road. Well I know we gotta be close. I was tempted to climb up on the Harley's saddle to see if I couldn't spot the dang destination. A visual bearing might have been helpful about now. Instead I was stuck with the little picture on my Garmin which was madly recalculating a fall-back route. I found myself and my five companions sitting at a stop light. Then the Garmin showed me that just to my left and slightly behind me was the road I truly wanted.

At first I figured to go right when the light turned green and recalculate again. Then I decided to make a u-turn and hard right. Yes I did! Despite my own ride leading debacle back at the Whitestone Bridge a few weeks back, I signaled and moved. This time nobody collided or fell.

Another couple jigs and jags and we found ourselves pulling into the parking lot of Cheeburger, Cheeburger.

Whew! As we dismounted I let out a sigh of relief and braced for the onslaught. My fellow riders did not disappoint and chided and teased me.

Captain thanked me for getting him off the hook for his last week's disaster. But it didn't last. He no sooner entered the restaurant 'till our Polar Bear Grand Tour leaders greeted him with pokes in the ribs, kicks to the shins and assaults on his ego.

You gotta have some thick skin to get out in front of this group and take them for a ride.

Highlands, NJ, February 26, 2012, Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog

Polar Bear Blog, February 26, 2012, Highlands, NJ.

By: Chris Loynd

Often I tease my fellow riders, boasting that my position as blog author makes me final arbiter of truth for our Sunday rides as reported here. But this one I have to own. This one I have to admit to. It was too egregious. There were too many witnesses. Physical evidence remains.

The worst led ride in Polar Bear history found me at the front, in charge, at least until the mutiny occurred.

Sunday's debacle was not my intention. It all seemed so easy on Google Maps.

Our Polar Bear rides are, by necessity, heavily dependent upon the New Jersey Turnpike and Garden State Parkway. When I consulted Google Maps for our route to Highlands, N.J., it offered three alternatives. One was way too familiar: down I-95, over the GW Bridge, down the Turnpike. The other was just as well worn: Tappan Zee to GSP. Then there was a third option.

So I thought to myself, “Hey! This is just 10 minutes longer. And it is the road less traveled – by us at least. It might be fun to take I-278 west down through Queens and Brooklyn, over the very cool Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and across Staten Island and then down Route 9. We would never even touch the Turnpike or Parkway! And how bad can the traffic be on a Sunday morning?”

I successfully navigated my Garmin software to map out the route, complete with way points. I then transferred it to my sophisticated, on-board, computer, global positioning, satellite receiver.

As it turned out, I should have used the wax pencil on my mirrors.

Any confidence I have built for my GPS over the past two years was shattered in a single Sunday. There is no longer any trust between us.

At first we had a grand time. Garmin and I were simpatico. I was really enjoying the urban twisties as the Hutchinson River Parkway became even more serpentine south of the GW Bridge. All too soon we were at the Whitestone Bridge. And there is started.

They have those damn toll gates. And it turned out that Pogy carries his EZ Pass mounted to the inside lid of his saddlebag. So when it did not read, there was a substantial time loss as he dismounted, opened the bag, handed the transponder to a disapproving toll clerk, remounted . . . well you get the idea. Our group came apart.

Exiting the bridge I saw a left-side turnout of sorts. It being New York City there was no shoulder on the right side. I pulled in there and waited for us to regroup.

We launched back onto the expressway, a feat of itself in traffic.

Then I missed a turn.

Leading a group of bikes, six were behind me, severely limits your options for navigation error recovery. If I had been by myself, I would have managed it all okay. And I would not have to report my stupidity in this public forum. Heck, I might have even paid three tolls for the Whitestone Bridge. I might have, if it was just me.

Instead, I blindly followed my GPS into bedlam. At lunch only then did a fellow rider reveal the causal element. “Sometimes when you miss a way point, your GPS will route you backwards to that point, instead of pointing you forward to the next one,” Token2 explained. “A better way is to plug in each point-to-point as a separate trip.”

Ignorant of that Garmin foible, and mildly panicked about missing the expressway after the bridge, and with a gaggle of conflicting opinions about the right way out of the mess, I found myself on the on-ramp headed back north to the #$%^& Whitestone Bridge, when I wanted to be going south away from the bridge.

A solution presented itself. One or two of my fellow riders even concurred. But not all of us executed the solution flawlessly.

Fortunately, no one was injured. Mac's rack should be able to be bent back to its original position. (Flag rack. On his bike. Geeze! What were you thinking?) Captain's front end may need replacing. But it's a Honda and therefore plastic and presumably only a money matter, perhaps even covered by insurance.

All that on my mind and a second wrong turn soon after recovering from the bridge roundabout and Token2 rode up with an offer to lead me to an easily discernible path, at which point he offered that I could attempt to regain any shred of dignity I might by retaking the lead. I was defeated. I agreed.

As we headed Token's way, me in the second position, I saw straight ahead of me the freeway ramp for which I'd so frustratingly searched. It was right there. It was straight ahead. It was the way point my GPS had been seeking. I should charge ahead and take it! The light turned green. I meekly followed Token instead, turning left to go a different way than my brilliant, desktop computer plan.

Eventually I recovered and saw the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge ahead. Holy crap! Thirteen dollars? The toll is $13? Oooooh, ouch! I should have Googled that the night before. It might have changed the whole route right there, and saved me the embarrassment of this ride.

I have always wanted to ride this great bridge on my motorcycle. When it opened in 1964 it had the distinction of having the longest suspended span in the world. Greater than even the Golden Gate Bridge. The mighty towers at either end holding up the span actually are built to lean away from each other to allow for the earth's curvature. Each is held together by 3 million rivets and a million bolts. John Travolta danced around the mighty suspension cables in “Saturday Night Fever.” I had never been on the bridge on my motorcycle.

Myself, I gladly paid the toll. It was a thrill, even if it cost something like a dollar a second. But I would not have foisted that fee on my fellow riders without their prior consent. Lunch cost just $20 apiece, for heaven's sake, and was really good, and lasted an hour.

It will be a month before I get my EZ Pass statement. However, according to MTA's web site, the motorcycle EZ Pass is heavily discounted and cost us only $4.18. The $13 sign was for cars paying cash. By comparison, New York should have whacked us $2.09 for the Whitestone Bridge and actually charged us more, $4.75, for the far less dramatic Tappan Zee Bridge.

But you know how it is. These guys will forever remember the $13.

Over the Verrazano and rocketing across stately Staten Island, a perverse thought crept into my head.

Things were settled down now. We were back in our groove. And I wondered, if only for a moment, I wondered, I was still in the lead mind you, I wondered if these guys would all follow me if I just now dove off on some random exit. My voice of reason told me I had instigated enough confusion for the day and any shenanigans would be poorly received.

At lunch I did offer my return route up for a vote. The resounding majority was for the good old, boring Garden State Parkway. And off we trudged yet again.

South Wayne, NJ, February 19, 2012, Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog

South Wayne, NJ, February 19, 2012, Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog

By: Chris Loynd

Hooters!

Hooters is our shortest ride in the Polar Bear schedule. Most of us only get one mileage point. However this year we managed to stretch it into one of the longest rides – in terms of time.

There was a Harley-Davidson ad a few years back that said, “No great story ever started with, 'I was sitting on the couch when . . .'.”

Captain has had his share of adventure on a motorcycle. Fortunately he overcomes most every adversity with a well stocked kit. He is a consummate Boy Scout, though I don't know if he ever was one. Captain is always prepared.

He reminds me of the pilot Orr in Joseph Heller's “Catch-22.” Orr keeps crashing. Each time his plane is shot down he makes a water landing and comes popping out of the plane fully prepared for any emergency with his little yellow life vest and paddling around in his tiny, inflatable life raft. (For all I know, Captain carries a tiny, inflatable life raft on his bike.)

So when his tire went down on our ride last Sunday, Captain snapped into action, pumping it up with the compact, portable, 12 volt, air pump he always carries in his bike's saddlebags.

Captain was sweeping and we were alerted to his plight only when his buddy rider Token2 eventually noticed Captain was no longer in his rear view mirrors and came riding up to alert the leader. (I'm not sure who was riding ahead of Token2, but that is the rider who should have alerted us when Token2 dropped back with Captain to see if assistance was required.)

Mac, leading his first Polar Bear ride, was oblivious. But in his defense, we do tend to get strung apart a bit when we merge from one highway to another. And there were a lot of bikes, well okay just eight, to keep track of.

While Token2 was up front shouting at Mac through a full face helmet, a car pulled up and matched speed with me. I was in the third position, which made me the second left-side rider after Mac. We were in the right-hand travel lane. This guy in the car was gesturing in great earnest. I had not a clue as to what he was trying to say. I soon found out.

Token2 now in the lead, pulled us off at the northernmost rest area at the top of the Garden State Parkway (GSP). He knew only that he had lost sight of Captain as we merged.

Before anyone launched a heroic rescue effort, I got Captain on his cell phone and he told me he had lost pressure in his rear tire on the on-ramp to the GSP from I-287. He was hoping to pump enough air into the tire to reach us. It takes some time. Those little pumps are slow. Waiting seems even slower.

Token2, perhaps feeling guilty about abandoning Captain, hesitated a bit then decided to ride back to see if he could help. This would require him to ride through quite a few miles of northern New Jersey and southern New York. Captain arrived at the rest stop long before Token2 reemerged from his fruitless reconnoiter.

When he arrived at the rest stop where we were waiting, I crawled on my hands and knees behind Captain's bike as he slowly pulled forward, trying to see if there was a nail or screw or other obvious problem with the tire. We went quite a ways through the parking lot, me on all fours like a dog sniffing Captain's rear tire. I could not find anything. Only when we arrived at Hooters did Captain reveal he had a center stand, you know, the kind that allows the back tire to spin freely while the bike remains conveniently stationary?

Captain next pulled out his tube of Slime flat repair and used the gas station's air to pump his tire back to life again.

It seemed longer. And nobody looked at their watch when we pulled over. But the whole delay was maybe 30 or 40 minutes. We headed to Hooters.

Unfortunately, the Slime did not perform as advertised. So in the parking lot of our destination, Jim-O, yet another apparent Boy Scout, brought out a tire plugging kit.

These are good guys with which to ride! It seems everybody but me had a can of slime and air pump. Jim-O had a complete tire plugging kit, one especially made for motorcycles nonetheless.

I remember when I bought my bike. I asked my friend and Dealership General Manager Domenic Maturo what tools I should carry on my Harley-Davidson. Dom looked at me, smiled, and said, “You?” and then held up his cell phone, “This is all you need.”

In fact I do have some tools tucked away in my saddlebags. But I don't much know how to use them. And there are a few emergency supplies too, mostly centered around my survival as I wait for help to come after I've called on my cell phone.

And in my own defense, I have tube tires. So if one goes flat, well, there's no way I'm carrying tire irons and a patch kit or spare tube. Besides, I would not have the first, faintest idea of how to get the wheels on and off this machine with its springer front end and the drive belt on the rear.

Captain tediously pumped his tire back to life in the Hooters parking lot. We patiently waited.

Then we were headed home.

Mac, also a Navy man, gave no quarter. Me, I maybe would have tried to limp the bike home. Mac blasted up the GSP at speed and Captain kept up . . . for a little while.

Fonz said you could see smoke out of both sides of Captain's rear tire when it blew.

Captain never heard the explosion. He just felt the wobble. But it must have been a big boom. Because when Captain went to guide his crippled bike from the far left passing lane to the far right shoulder, across four travel lanes, he found them all empty. All the cars had come to a dead stop behind him. Fonz and Jim-O had blocked the lanes too.

Captain never lost his balance. He expertly guided the bike to the shoulder. This time Fonz, Jim-O and Token2 stayed with him. (In fact I wonder if Token2 followed the tow truck all the way back to Milford.)

I did not see it happen. Three other bikes and I were trying to keep up with Mac at the head of the pack. So I cannot say for sure how Captain reacted to calamity.

I bet he was nonplussed.

My point of reference comes from when Captain blew up his Harley-Davidson motor on a Polar Bear ride last season. I stayed with him until the tow truck arrived and then followed them home. Captain took it all in stride and with good humor.

Then there is the story of Captain on a summer ride across the country a few years back, where his engine blew up and he had the bike shipped home, completing his trip by bus and then flying back from the West Coast after completing his vacation. He describes it all as a fun adventure.

Hooters was good to the eyes and stomachs, not so much the service. I was left waiting for my food, last one at our table. We tried to recall who it was that befell the fickle finger of fate two years ago. We voted that it was Russ whose order was forgotten. Well they don't hire the wait staff based upon an I.Q. test, and who can protest?

My chicken sandwich arrived just as my compatriots were finishing their meals. As my fellow Bears can tell you, I am a slow eater. So it turned out I contributed, in my own small way, to making our shortest mileage Polar Bear run of the season into the longest in time.

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

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

By: Chris Loynd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vineland, NJ, January 8, 2012

Polar Bear Motorcycles Blog

By: Chris Loynd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year!