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| Off-season Connecticut Bears in June, from left: CT Blogger, Pogy and Captain. |
By: Chris Loynd
My original motivation for joining The
Polar Bear Grand Tour was I couldn't imagine going four to six
months without a motorcycle ride. I never dreamed someday I would end
up doing more riding from October to April than from April to
October. But here of late, life's had other plans.
One was losing my local HOG. (Harley
Owners Group if you're not familiar.) The local dealership a mile
from home closed and my next closest chapter is now New Haven,
Branford actually. A few of my Bridgeport Chapter friends are now New
Haven HOGs. I joined New Haven the year our Bridgeport dealership
died, but was too busy to make many meetings or rides.
A new and very demanding job, starting
right about the same time as loss of my local HOG, sapped free time
and energy. It also cut into the quality time I had with my wife. So
I tended to try to spend more time with Cynthia, who does not like
motorcycle riding, than with HOGs. That cut into riding time, big time. The
Connecticut Wine Trail offered Cynthia and me lots of wonderful excuses for
Saturday and Sunday summer outings of quality time together.
About the same time as all this, I
bought my Mazda MX-5 convertible. Not a motorcycle, it comes darn
close on a sunny day with the top down. And Cynthia will ride in the
Mazda, albeit under scarves and sun screen, often with a blanket over
her legs. With its all-weather advantages and generous (by motorcycle
standards) cargo capacity, the Mazda is an easier choice for vacation
jaunts as well. Consequently, I never had my cycle out overnight at
all this summer.
I also started teaching more motorcycle
classes. I am a “rider-coach” in Connecticut's rider education
program. Teaching classes was good therapy for the stresses of my day
job. But classes ate up still more summer weekend days.
For motorcycle classes I always like to
ride my bike to classroom nights and range days. It sets a good
example for students. Both classroom and range are conveniently close
to my home, beyond convenient actually; I could walk to each.
So when Token2 offered an off-season
Polar Bear ride this past Sunday, I was still on the same tank of gas
as when I filled up from a June ride to Pennsylvania restaurant
Fireside
Bar & Grille owned by Pogy's brother-in-law. By the way, Pogy
has suggested for years this would be a good Polar Bear destination.
It certainly is big enough. The food and service were excellent.
George and Roy, it's worth a look!
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| "Fireside" offers truth in advertising with a wood-burning brick oven. |
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| Crab dip was AWESOME! |
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| Off-season Bears seek shady parking spots. |
Pogy offered his nice jaunt at the
“beginning” of the Polar Bear off-season. Captain and I joined
him. We did a very Polar Bear type excursion, at least typical for
Connecticut Polar Bears. We started early, rode interstates and
turnpikes just about the whole way, ate lunch, then beat back home
the way we came, deviating only to swap the GW Bridge southbound for
the Tappan Zee northbound.
For Connecticut Bears, most
destinations are farther distances than for our New Jersey brethren.
With winter's harsher conditions and shorter days we stick to the big
highways. There are a few exceptions. When the Grand Tour comes to
northern New York, Token2 comes into his own.
Polar Bear destinations Long Valley,
Augusta, Sloatsburg and Kingston are in his backyard. Token2 knows
every twisty trail from New Jersey Highpoint to the Bear Mountain
Bridge. When winter weather allows, he leads us on scenic rides with
curvy roads and mountaintop vistas.
Memories of these convinced me to ask
my wife if she would not mind too terribly if I switched my plans and
went for a daylong ride with my buddies this past Sunday. My original plan was to
accompany Cynthia on one of her triathlon events. (When I say
“accompany” what I mean is driving along with her to the
destination and then sitting in the shade reading a book while
Cynthia does the swimming, biking and running.) Summer's winding down
and I felt I wanted to spend more time with my wife (see the third
paragraph).
She didn't think twice. “It's the
first time I've seen you smile today,” she observed as I sheepishly
asked to change my plans. “We'll have a nice glass of wine together
on our veranda (back porch) at the end of the day.”
Token2 was offering a far-ranging
scenic ride, an exotic lunch destination and a collection of hundreds
of vintage motorcycles. He did not disappoint.
He invited just our Connecticut Polar
Bear core. On Sunday it was just Pogy, Token2 and me. The rest of you
guys missed a corker!
I started alone from Stratford – and
late. If you are a faithful reader of this blog you know the CT Bears
wait for no man. They leave on time. Exactly. Sometimes a tick or two
early. And if you're late, you either catch up on the road or at the
final destination. Guess I am out of practice. Generally, I like to
show up right before the departure time. I just don't value taking
off all those layers to hang out at my local Dunkin' Donuts. Even
when I'm early, I usually just stand outside in the cold.
Likely my late departure was because I
purposely did not build in the usual half-hour “suiting up” time
required for winter riding. I often say the only difference between
Polar Bear and summer riding is you don't just jump on the bike and
go in winter. This Sunday I required only a sweatshirt and bluejeans
under my protective riding jacket and pants. Another possibility,
well excuse actually, is that my daughter's dog Montigue is visiting
from Brooklyn. With Cynthia's 5 a.m. departure for her triathlon, it
fell to me to walk Monti before I left on my motorcycle ride. He
diligently sniffed every tree, pole and bush for two blocks.
Captain never confirmed if he was
riding with us or not; we were to meet at our regular departure
Dunkin' Donuts at 7:30 a.m. So it was that from 7:35, when I arrived
late until I picked up Pogy at the Darien rest stop, I was never sure
Captain – and therefore the whole ride – had not left without me.
Fortunately, Pogy was still there, waiting patiently, for my arrival.
Captain couldn't make it.
I doubt Pogy caught on, but I rode off
the interstate and into the gas pumps to “meet” him. Usually we
do a flying pick up, beeping our horns as we go by on the interstate,
Pogy's Goldwing lumbering down the on-ramp to catch us. I figured to
top off my tank in Stratford, but ran out of time. So I nonchalantly
pulled up to the pumps like I planned to do so all along, and gained
back five minutes' time.
All was moot, wouldn't you know? Pogy
and I arrived at the Hutchinson Parkway bus stop meeting place for
Token2 a good 15 minutes ahead of time. So even if I'd missed the
group ride from Stratford to Darien I would have caught them in
Westchester.
Wanting to be ready to leave promptly
when Token2 arrived, and the morning weather pleasantly cool, Pogy
and I did not take off our riding gear at the bus stop. We just sat
on the bus shelter bench in our full complement, helmets and all,
waiting for our lead rider. A jogger came by, paused, looked at us a
moment and asked, “You guys waiting for the bus?”
Token2 arrived on time. He asked
whether Pogy or I would sweep. My first response was magnanimous,
“I'll sweep.” But then I got to thinking and suggested Pogy would
be better in back. “You'll never keep up with Token2 in the
twisties,” I surmised. Pogy commented, “Oh yes! That's what I
miss without the Polar Bears, taking a lot of guff from my friends.”
(He actually said something other than “guff” but this is a
family-friendly blog.)
So off we went, riding three Honda
motorcycles of very different character: Token2 in the lead on his
nimble CB500X Rally Raid conversion, me right behind him on my
“sport-touring” ST1100 and Pogy bringing up the rear on his
Barcalounger, I mean, Goldwing.
After only a short stint on controlled
access highway west over the Tappan Zee and north up the Palisades
Parkway, the fun began. Token2 led us through Harriman State Park then along back roads all
the way west to Port Jervis before stopping for a coffee, doughnut
and bathroom break. Next he headed us back southeast treating us to more amazing Mohonk and Minnewaska scenery and the Shawangunk
mountain range overlook in Ellenville where I took my only photos of
the ride.
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| Three very different Hondas. |
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| Incredible mountaintop overlook. |
At the overlook the air temperature
reached well above Polar Bear levels. Fortunately I planned for this
eventuality. Underneath my sweatshirt, which I now removed, I had a
special bit of summer riding kit called a tee-shirt. Unfamiliar to
Polar Bear riders, it is a light cotton garment with short sleeves,
perfect for riding on these days when you do not need an electric
jacket liner. Often these tee-shirts are covered with graphics and
for today's ride I'd chosen one emblazoned with a large
Harley-Davidson logo. For safety, I still wore my riding jacket on
top, but a specialized summer version made of Cordura mesh and TF2
armor.
Token's route took us through Pine
Island, New York. Coming down from the mountains, I
noticed broad, flat fields of blacker-than-black soils. The farmland
was obviously highly managed with perfectly level plots built up and
surrounded by ditches. At highway speed I could not discern the crop. A highway marker
referenced “Drowned Lands.”
When I got home, a Google search
revealed we were riding across the bottom of an ancient glacial lake
that receded 12,000 years ago. The glacier left behind a low, boggy
area lush with plant life. Then the Wallkill River deposited nutrient
rich sediments there for a few thousand years more as part of the
river's flood plain. Pine Island is so named because it truly was an
inland island whenever the river flooded.
Settlers avoided the wet, boggy area
until the early 1800s when Volga German and Polish immigrants
recognized the soil's value and built a deep drainage canal. They
even fought and won the “Muskrat and Beaver Wars” with downstream
millers to keep their farms above water, eventually putting the
water-wheel-powered folks out of business. The farmers also created
malaria outbreaks by taking so much water out of one part of the
Wallkill, the river was reduced to a series of stagnant pools.
Receding waters revealed some of the
richest earth in the nation. More than 20,000 acres of deep muck
soils make up the largest such deposit in America save the Florida
Everglades. While most soils are made up of less than 10 percent
organic matter, black dirt is 50 to 90 percent. While most top soils
are measured in feet, even inches, black dirt soils run 30 feet deep
in some places.
And what do farmers do with some of the
richest soil in the country just 100 miles from New York City? They
grow onions. Not as famous as Vadialas, and certainly not as sweet,
these are the baseball-sized, hard, yellow onions you buy in net bags
at the grocery store. Black dirt onions pack a punch. Their growing
soil is rich in sulfur boosting the onions' pyruvic acid content, the
ingredient that gives onions their sharp bite and makes your eyes
water when you cut them. Still, these yellow onions are loaded with
as much sugar as Vadiala and other “sweet” onions making them
caramelize exceptionally well, offering a complex sharp and sweet
flavor favored by many chefs.
We did not spend too much time on
valley floors. Token2 had us running up and down mountains until our
cheeks were sore from smiling in our full-face helmets. Motorcycles
love corners.
Steep mountain scenery covered in pines
and accented with huge bald granite facings, reminded me of that
amazing scenery at the end of the movie “Last of the Mohicans.”
While New York's mountains are the proper setting for James Fenimore
Cooper's story, the film was made in North Carolina's Appalachians
because there's too much modern jet traffic streaking the skies around New York's Hudson
River mountains. To be accurate, historical events
leading to Cooper's story all happened well north of where we were
riding. While Fort Edward is now just a town above Albany, a
reconstructed Fort William Henry is on the shores of Lake George.
Nevertheless, looking up at mountain
faces as we rode by I imagined running along perilous trails, in
buckskins and moccasins, touting a flintlock. Instead we were
cruising along in Cordura and motorcycle boots, leaning in and out of
corners, on macadam roads protected by guard rails.
As we rode through tiny towns I
delighted in names of two businesses I saw along the way. Rather than
a family or national chain name I noted “A Low Price Car” used
car dealership and “Try R Deli” which requires no generic
description. Truly strong branding. Short, direct, descriptive, with
a call to action, I think “Try R Deli” could go nationwide. It
certainly makes more sense than say, “Cumberland Farms” or
“Piggly Wiggly.”
Most towns appeared to be suffering. We
rode past empty small factories surrounded by parking lots obscured
by tall weeds, enclosed in chain link fences, giant “available”
signs posted out front. The few Main Streets we traversed were
fronted by empty buildings needing a coat of paint. All of us
commented at lunch on the number of “Trump” signs we saw, most of
them homemade. I postulated the rural versus urban divide must be
deep in New York, Clinton's adopted home state.
We ended the scenic part of our ride at
the epitome of small-town economic decline, Newburgh.
Token2 led us, via a last minute change
of direction, missed turn and short sidewalk ride, into the parking
lot of a dingy little diner where I assumed he was going to ask for
directions. Instead he announced lunch. He only told us after we ate
he originally had a different eatery in mind, but discovering it was
closed Sundays, Googled us into this place.
The diner's entry vestibule was stacked
with cases of canned tomatoes and sacks of beans. A sign on the
window facing the door announced, “We are praying for you.” We
took the one empty booth and I sank below the table height on an
ancient cushion. (I ended up eating lunch atop my padded motorcycle
jacket doubling as a booster seat.) Token2 announced it was a Mexican
food diner, declaring it authentic and good based upon his
observations that: A) the place was packed at lunchtime on a Sunday
afternoon and B) we three were the only non-Hispanic folks eating there.
It was an ancient diner, well past its
prime. Pogy noted the once-beautiful woodwork and inlaid mirrors of
what had been the ice box, not refrigerator, ice box. Burl-wood maple
veneer decorated the fascia above an art deco, stainless steel, grill
backing. We were guessing early 1800s (probably around the time they
drained the drowned lands). Token2 wondered aloud if the counter stools
were original.
Having delivered on two of his three
promises, a far-ranging, scenic ride and exotic lunch, Token2 next
led us a short way down the road to fulfill his third: hundreds of
vintage motorcycles.
We went to Motorcyclepedia
Museum. Even though it opened in 2011, I first heard about it
last October then the museum hosted one of The
Chocolate Expo shows. My former place of employment, The
Maritime Aquarium, hosted Chocolate Expos for several years,
which I was in charge of promoting. (Last year the expo delivered the
Aquarium's largest ever single day attendance, nearly two weekend's
worth in one long, very long, day.) This was my first chance to visit
Motorcyclepedia.
Pogy also heard about it from a friend
and asked Token2 to put it on our itinerary.
More than 500 antique, vintage, rare
and custom motorcycles are displayed on two floors in the 85,000
square foot museum.
One of the cool ideas they have is
motorcycles you can sit upon for a photo opportunity. While most of
the exhibits are understandably no-touch, the photo opp bikes are
dispersed generously throughout, starting with a couple of old
Harleys with sidecars in the entry foyer.
I love museums of all sorts and could
easily have spent hours more. My compatriots were done sooner than I. And yes, I've learned to accept not everyone is an information
geek and history junkie like me. Admission is just $11, so there's no
excuse not to visit again.
The most impressive exhibit is a
timeline of Indian motorcycles comprised of at least one model (often
more) for every year the bikes were manufactured except for the first
year. The company built only three bikes in 1901. Interspersed is a
delightful collection of the many variations dreamed up by the
company including a pedicab-like trike where the second rider sits in front of the
operator facing forward in a big wicker chair fastened between the handlebars, a snow ski
equipped model, all sorts of business versions with transport boxes
instead of sidecars for carrying everything from ice cream to fresh
meat and . . . well you'll just have to visit.
It would be great if Polaris,
current owner of the Indian brand and builder of current models, also Victory motorcycles,
could donate their latest bikes to keep the timeline going. There is
a post Springfield Indian motorcycle on the floor, but no sign delineating its manufacturer. (Lack of signs and interpretation was my only
complaint about Motorcyclepedia.) There are other gaps in the post-Springfield timeline, as described below. Certainly a collection effort covering more than a hundred years of motorcycles should be continued.
There's an interesting exhibit describing
how various scammers tried to abscond with and profit from the Indian
brand after the original company closed in 1953. One example is a carved-wood
mock-up of a soon-to-be-built motorcycle to impress prospective
investors. A true wooden Indian!
Again, there is a great opportunity
missed here to better explain the brand's movement and eventual
acquisition by Polaris. There were India Indians (re-branded Royal Enfields), Taiwanese Indians including Indian scooters, and Gilroy,
Calif. Indians with S&S motors. Then Stellican Ltd., an
investment company that specializes in reviving brands like Chris
Craft, bought the Indian name and built a few, rather expensive,
Chiefs in North Carolina. If you're interested, the new Indian
Motorcycle company offers a wonderfully frank timeline
on its website.
Curation is weak throughout the museum.
It is best in the Indian timeline room, still I wished for many more
signs and descriptions. They need more cool touches like their blowup
of an early 1900's article discussing whether gasoline will be
available in significant quantities in the future. At the time George
Hendee and Carl Hedstrom were starting their motorcycle manufacturing
business in Springfield, gasoline was a rarity sold in glass jars at
the local pharmacy or tin cans at the general store. (Rockefeller made his oil refining fortune in kerosene for lighting, not gasoline for propulsion.)
Beyond Indians, a great many more
facets of motorcycling are offered at the museum, including
Harley-Davidson bikes of all sorts for those enthusiasts. A display
pays homage to Rat Fink creator Big Daddy Roth and includes one of
his trikes. A case donated by Connecticut
Cruise News Publisher Don Clady offers memorabilia from Marcus
Dairy and Super Sunday but without a lot of explanation of these
events and why they were important. Another room offers Asian and
European manufacturers including a rare Wankel rotary powered bike.
There are a few choppers and customs, a display of hill climbers and
board track racers, police bikes, motorized bicycles, and much, much
more. A three-wheeler claims to be the oldest, running, motorcycle on
the planet. It sits next to a re-creation of Daimler’s first ever
motorcycle. In one basement room is a full-sized Wall of Death
motorcycle daredevil track.
With such a broad collection of
novelties and rarities, I wished there were far more signs and
descriptions. I probably saw some really cool and one-of-a-kind
motorcycles, but don't know enough to understand or appreciate all I
saw. Some motorcycle historian or museum curator needs to sort it
out. Maybe when a prominent magazine editor retires? Buzz
Kanter, this would be perfect for you!
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