A Tiny Taste of Polar

Connecticut Bears in Vineland, from left, Ed (slightly less shy than usual), CT Blogger, Grumpy and Captain.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to Vineland, NJ, November 20, 2016

By: Chris Loynd, a.k.a. CT Blogger

Saturday night my bike was parked outside. It usually resides in a garage, albeit an unheated one. Our Sunday ride was down to southern Jersey. It's three-and-a-half hours from Connecticut one way, but less than an hour from my folks home in Delaware. Mom and Dad always enjoy a visit, even a brief one. Mom treats me to my favorite foods. This time, fried chicken and chicken hearts, sweet rice and homemade coleslaw with apple pie a la mode dessert for dinner; scrapple and eggs with toast and homemade strawberry jelly for breakfast, if you're interested. (Thanks Mom! Hi Dad!)

Mom and Dad's Prius takes their garage. I parked my Honda ST1100 out front. When I arrived Saturday afternoon temperatures were in the balmy 70s. I wasn't wearing my electrics, but packed them all the same based upon the forecast. It was windy however, very windy in Wilmington, harbinger of dramatic change as it turned out.

While we were watching TV later that night it started raining. Remembering my Airhawk seat was strapped to the bike, I went out to retrieve it so I wouldn't have to start my ride Sunday on a wet seat. Imagine my surprise to find my cushion covered in snowy, slushy, stuff.

It truly was a dark and stormy night with heavy rains and snow squalls.

Morning dawned sunny, but cold, just above freezing. Winds were still gusting, which was fortunate in one way. Streets were blown dry after the overnight rain. And the wind didn't push my Honda and me around too, too much.

This Sunday was the first time I wasn't too hot. Previous rides of this year's Polar Bear season have been in the 60s and 70s. It's tough to decide which layers to wear. Once you commit to long johns under your riding pants, it is almost impossible to change your mind. The last ride of last season I was so dang hot I stripped the insulated lining from my riding pants, hopping around in a bathroom stall on the Garden State Parkway trying my darndest not to touch anything.

My ride over to Vineland from Wilmington was comfortable. I had my electric layers on, but dialed in the gloves only, about one-quarter power.

My timing was perfect. As I was waiting to make the next to last turn to our destination restaurant, I saw my Connecticut compatriots ride by. Ed was unmistakable in his safety yellogreen jacket. Despite the fact they were headed in a direction my GPS did not recommend, I made a right turn on red and fell in behind.

No sooner did I catch them, than Grumpy led the group into a parking lot. I assumed he just wanted to say hello. But his GPS was also telling him to go straight at the light I'd just jumped. He just missed the turn.

Ed opened up a space for me and together we turned up the road to DeThomasi's East Five Points Inn. Grumpy was lead, Ed as sweep, Captain and me in the middle. We arrived just before 11:30 sign-in.

Despite having just had a sumptuous breakfast, Five Points tempted me with a well-stocked buffet offering breakfast and lunch. I opted for lunch, mostly all Italian standards. The asparagus bisque was superior! Everything was tasty, in fact I was tasting the meatball for the rest of the day. Maybe Italian was not the best choice on top of Pennsylvania Dutch. There was a culture clash in my tummy.

Our ride back was pleasant. Grumpy took us back north on the more scenic route, through the Pine Barrens, then blueberry country, past Pic-A-Lilli and finally onto the prosaic New Jersey Turnpike at Fort Dix, Exit 7. We had only one wait for a one-lane bridge on Route 206. Even the Tappan Zee traffic was not so bad.

At the top of the Garden State Parkway we broke in two. Captain was late for an appointment and Ed joined him on a quick stop and run. Grumpy and I took time for a cup of coffee and caught up on each other's doings. I'm still looking for work. Grumpy is planning retirement in a few years from a place he's worked for more than 30.

We opted for the Merritt Parkway route home in Connecticut. Just that far from the warm embrace of Long Island Sound we had a little spritz, a bit of sprinkle, then snow flurries. No droplets of rain really, just mist. We didn't even think of rain gear. The threatened precipitation held off all day. Hey, sometimes you get lucky.

As the day slid into night, I turned up the thermostat on my electric clothes. Not to full blast, but I was enjoying warmth on both the suit and the gloves. The little bit of snow never laid on the pavement. It just provided a tiny taste of coming winter in the most pleasant sort of way.

Not everyone would agree.

Token2 did not ride with us this Sunday. He lives near Ridgefield, Connecticut, far from the warm embrace of Long Island Sound. He claims he was snowed in Sunday morning. Really? I mean he's in Ridgefield, not Vermont. He provides the account below. I did some fact checking on your behalf dear reader. You can see my screen grab from the weather almanac. Still, I cannot verify the photos Token2 provides are not Photoshopped. However he did miss a big points ride, and that may be verification enough for any Polar Bear.

Token2's Report:

Dear Chris:

Measurable snow fell overnight in Ridgefield, sufficient to prompt the town to plow (but not treat) the roads. With temperatures at 32F and snow still falling the 7.30am inspection of my long driveway and the local roads revealed snow and slush on top of leaves with larger debris in the roadway. Conditions did not meet my criteria for safe two wheel travel and with the early start time were unlikely to materially improve . With a heavy heart I called Captain to report my intention to bag the ride today. 

Captain is always supportive of riding decisions based on safety and risk assessment. However, as a coastal dweller it was impossible for the Captain to entirely cover his disbelief and while supportive suggested that my bona fides as a card carrying CT Bear might be under threat in this week’s blog. No-one who knows you could ever reasonably suggest that the CT Polar Bear Blog be retitled the LoyndBart news. Unfortunately, I remain mindful that we live in an era of abundant fake stories and an environment where if something is tweeted enough it must be truth. As a consequence I feel compelled to offer you photograph evidence of conditions, knowing your slogan to be “We report, you decide” that you will post this email and pictures.

It hurts to concede the point that my British upper lip may lack the stiffness of youth. In times past I would probably have ridden through the 4 miles of local roads to hit Route 35, which undoubtedly would have been safe, but I like to think I am wiser (others may differ on this point).

Hoping for better things next Sunday. In the meantime a Happy Thanksgiving to all.

I remain yours respectfully,

Token 2.

More photos from Vineland:

Arrival. Brisk with gusty winds.

Bob photo of the week!

Holiday dressing at Five Points.

Departure. Is it feeling colder?

Peer Pressure and the Unappreciated Sweep

Bridgewater Bears, back row from left: John J., Captain, Fonz, Scott, Thumper and Mac.
Down front, CT Blogger and Token2.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to Bridgewater, NJ, Sunday, November 13, 2016.

By: Chris Loynd a.k.a. CT Blogger

We say, "Ride your own ride." It's an important reminder to ride safely within your abilities, assiduously avoiding peer pressure, using your own best judgment. It's also an acknowledgment that each of us is responsible for his own safety.

Still, if we are to ride together, there are a few conventions that serve us all. We take advantage of having a leader who sets a good pace, chooses good lines in traffic and knows where he's going. We take advantage of a sweep who keeps us together, helps any who fall behind and clears lanes of traffic making it safer for us to merge and change lanes. In the pack we keep to a certain code and lane positioning so other riders can predict our actions, keeping the group together and tight in neat, staggered, safe formation.

Or not.

In his book Social: Why Our Brains are Wired to Connect, renowned UCLA psychologist Dr. Matthew D. Lieberman proposes we are social creatures, more than we know, hard-wired by evolution to run in packs. Based upon his brain scan research he writes, "We intuitively believe social and physical pain are radically different kinds of experiences, yet the way brains treat them suggests they are more similar than we imagine."

Supposedly bikers are tough and independent. But we love to ride in groups and join clubs.

You must have courage and a thick social skin to lead a group of bikes. Peer pressure is behind you, sometimes 10 or more deep.

For the Connecticut Polar Bears you run the extra risk of being excoriated in this blog. Sooner or later every CT Bear gets raked over these coals, including the author. Ripping on each other is part of the fun. And believe me, not all of what gets said around the lunch table or over coffee at the top of the Garden State Parkway makes it onto these digital pages.

We encourage everyone to lead a ride at least once. Not all are willing to face the potential pain.

Sunday morning my wife Cynthia asked me if I was going to lead this Sunday. This is the first ride this season where I've started from the start. The first two rides I started Sunday morning from my folks' house in Delaware. I said I might. "You don't decide ahead of time?" she asked. "No," I said, "We generally just call for volunteers."

When I offered to lead as we were gathered at our Dunkin' Donuts starting point, it turned out Captain had already goaded Token2 into taking the lead this week. "You can sweep," he offered. Ah well. Why not?

Off we went, four of us from Stratford: Captain, John J., Mac and me in last position. Captain took the lead which he planned to relinquish in New York when we picked up Token2 en route.

Fonz joined us unexpectedly as we rode past the Fairfield rest stop. I dropped back to let him into our formation ahead of me. At Darien we picked up Scott and Thumper; again I dropped back and waved them into line. Token2 was waiting for us on the shoulder of I-287 and as we passed he shot to the front, offering a perhaps imperious wave as he passed each of us. With near military precision our riders changed sides in their staggered formation as Token2 took his position in front of Captain.

We rode tight and clean right up to the Route 22 exit. I moved over to the lane for north, thinking to control it so no cars cut us off as we exited for south. That was a bad choice on my part. Token2, perhaps swayed by peer pressure, and flummoxed by sun glare on his minuscule GPS screen, followed my lead and led us off onto 22 northbound. In his defense, there was not a lot of time to make that decision.

No biggie! We rode a few hundred yards north, exited into an office park and made a u-turn,, actually two lefts, the last aided by a traffic light.

The short remainder of our ride to the Eagles was smooth and tight. As often happens, the ride home wasn't.

Maybe it's fatigue. Or there is an overwhelming sense of heading home. They say a horse always runs faster on the return trip, a warm stall and grain bag on its mind.

We were a bit disorganized going through the first set of tolls just after we entered the Garden State Parkway. Thumper and I cracked our throttles a bit and caught up to the main body.

After a coffee or coco at the top of the GSP, I rode around to the back of the parking lot to take control of the merging lane so our guys could enter at the top of the lot and would not have any cars in the way opening a clear shot onto the expressway. But Token2 jumped ahead instead of patiently waiting for the cars ahead of me to clear the lane.

As the rest of the group powered onto the Parkway, I was stuck behind two cars that stopped to turn into the parking lot and a third that merged onto a 65 mph speed limit highway at 30 mph. It's a left lane merge no less. So this car was pulling into the passing lane at less than half the speed limit. Scary! Meanwhile our group was now out of my sight.

Fortunately traffic was light here. I was able to find plenty of room and took advantage of the "sport" in my Honda's Sport-Touring designation. I don't know if Token2 ever even knew I was left behind. I caught up to the back of the pack just as they all slowed down awaiting our turn to merge onto I-287.

Now that merge is always a challenge. I'm not sure we've done it right yet in the 14 Polar Bear seasons I've been riding. Pogy and others with training in safe motorcycling have complained. Token2 prides himself on being an accomplished and disciplined rider. So I thought this week we might finally pull off a smooth and controlled merge.

In theory it's a simple process. The last bike in line, the sweep rider, me this week, moves over first. He then holds traffic behind him. As the cars in front of the sweep move on ahead, our riders can file into the now open lane. Then the sweep waits for a break in traffic and moves over to the center lane.

Because this part of 287 approaching the Palisades Mall tends to be heavy, stop-and-go, traffic. we like to take the far left lane.

Rolling down the on ramp, I found a gap and moved one lane left right away. As the cars moved forward, our group began filling in front of me. It was working! Then Captain passed the lead bike, Token2, advancing farther up the on ramp. Meanwhile, with all the rest of our riders in the first lane, I'd already moved over to clear the middle.

But now Captain was impatiently leading a mad scramble mishegas across the remaining two lanes. Following peer pressure the rest of the riders cut in front of cars and worked their way across the lanes. By the time I'd cleared the far lane, they were bunched up in the center and left lane several cars ahead of me. I ended up with six cars between me and the pack. In dense traffic there was no way I could easily catch up to the group. I wasn't about to split lanes or use the shoulder. I took a deep, cleansing, breath and rode my own ride, by myself. Still peer pressure gnawed at me.

We may get this right someday. But not this Sunday.

Traffic finally loosened enough on the Tappan Zee bridge itself for me to make a safe, three-lane, maneuver to rejoin my pals.

After the bridge, Token2 peeled off for I-684 to head from home, handing the lead back to Captain. Unlike our morning ride, it took miles for the bikes to preposition themselves. I think it was only when Mac peeled off for the Merritt Parkway that the mishmash sorted itself, sorta by default.

Meanwhile, Captain, smelling the barn, twisted the wick a few notches. Scott was making peripatetic use of his prerogative in staggered formation. He was also rubber banding, brusquely punctuated by his Harley straight pipes.

As we approached the merge onto I-95, Thumper pulled out of line into the center lane. I rode up even with him to see if all was okay and we traded thumbs-up. I'll have to ask him next week, but my guess is that between Captain's pace and Scott's mercurial lane position, Thumper decided to "ride his own ride."

Thumper actually rejoined us in Stamford. Traffic jamming reunited us this time, instead of separating us as before. By then we were also down to just four bikes: Captain, John J., Thumper and me. Small group riding is certainly less challenging.

Speaking of peer pressure, as we sat around the table at the top of the Garden State Parkway taking our coffee/coco break, Scott was feeling, perhaps, a bit left out. Scott rides with us only occasionally for Polar Bears. He never signs up for the patches and pins. That's all good with us. Anyone is welcome to ride along on one or all the rides, with or without signing up.

So Scott notices all the rest of us have a black stamp on the back of our hands. My guess is he'd noticed for some time that everyone but him had the stamp. He finally worked up to asking, "The stamp, is it a Polar Bear thing or something? Did you all get it when you signed in?"

Uh oh mateys, the black spot!

"You mean you don't have one?" I asked, "Dude! They stamped us when we paid for lunch!"

"Where did you pay for lunch?" he asked. "Right there at the end of the buffet line, the guy with the cash box," I said. "The one we were all giving 15 dollars to," Token offered. If you're reading this from the Fraternal Order of Eagles, Scott has promised to send a check. Oh, and you might want to invest in some stanchions or bigger signs.

The lunch was wonderful, by the way. A non-Connecticut Polar Bear in line with me complained about the $15, it used to be $10. One of the Eagle Brothers overheard and offered that when they first started hosting the Polar Bears they offered us only hot dogs and hamburgers for 10 bucks. This Sunday they offered salad, bread, pork loin with apples, roasted potatoes, pasta, chocolate pudding dessert and the worst coffee I've ever had. There was a small urn with hot, burnt, bitter coffee and a larger urn with cold coffee so weak it looked like tea. It didn't occur to me until just now that I probably should have tried mixing them into one cup.

Oh and as we all sat down to lunch Captain waited almost 15 seconds to mention the election. He was magnanimous though, hardly gloating at all. He and Thumper actually had a measured conversation at the top of the GSP.

See you next week. I'll be starting from Wilmington again and will gladly take one of those comfy spots in the middle of the pack.

Token, John J. and Mac in the back.

Scott and his shiny, never-been-rained-upon, Harley.

Thumper.

Organized bikes ready at the top of the Garden State Parkway.

One of Token2's bikes.

Mac and Captain at the top.

Longest Day of Our Season

Connecticut Polar Bears in Lewes, from left, CT Blogger, Thumper, Token2, Captain (Ed behind him) and Grumpy.
Fonz was out filling his gas tank while we took the group photo.
Normally we'd have a Pogy down front and center. Missed you buddy!

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to Lewes, Del., Sunday, November 6, 2016.

By: Chris Loynd

A 12-hour day and 560-plus mile ride is a darn good touring day during summer season. Okay, Princess, can we at least say it's respectable? (If you don't know, Joanna's a long distance rider.)

Our guys started at 7 a.m. and, with a much needed stop at the top I pulled into the garage at 7 p.m.

I say "our guys" because I cheated. Investing a few extra miles in toto, I rode to my Mom and Dad's house on Saturday. That saved me about a quarter the time and distance on Sunday. It also bought me a two hour later start time and thereby scrapple and blueberry pancakes, with wild Alaskan blueberries hand picked by my sister. Thanks Gretchen!

My Alaskan sister Gretchen says "Adventure is always out there."

So I missed the ride down from Connecticut. If you read last week's blog, I kept my promise and arrived in Lewes about 20 minutes early. I sat on the curb with my camera awaiting my compatriots in order to grab an action photo.

Arrival in Lewes from a 7 a.m. start with Grumpy in the lead.

Back of the pack with Token and Captain. Other bikes behind aren't our group.

Fonz also rode, but like me not with our group on the way down. He just missed them at the start and never caught up. He arrived just after the main group but still in plenty of time for lunch.

We enjoyed a tasty, if a tad expensive, lunch at Irish Eyes Pub along the water. I continued my morning's culinary extravagance with a soft shell crab sandwich and homemade potato chips.

Thumper was along for this ride. He started riding with us last season. We call him Thumper because he's riding a single cylinder motorcycle. Now a sophomore he should know better, but he made two newbie mistakes Sunday.

At lunch he mentioned the election just two days before it was to happen, and with Captain sitting directly across the table no less. If you've ever wondered what it would be like to see MSNBC and FOX News playing simultaneously just feet apart, well we got a bitter taste at lunch Sunday.

I once carried the liberal mantle with my mostly conservative Connecticut Polar Bear buddies. Thumper makes me look like a birther, truther, prepper, tea-party, faithful follower of brother John Birch.

Still, we ride together because we enjoy riding together. Joys of the Polar Bear Grand Tour trump, um, supersede, our personal and political viewpoints. That doesn't mean we aren't free to express them. You are who you are and all are welcome to ride with us.

However, we are less tolerant of riding mistakes.

So when Thumper, wing man (wing person?) to Grumpy, tapped his helmet and led all the rest of the bikes off the exit, leaving leader Grumpy to ride on alone, well, that called for a talking to. Thumper thought Grumpy saw his signal. And in Thumper's defense, Grumpy had just changed lanes to the right. But it turned out that was for traffic, and not because he saw Thumper's signal.

Thumper was running out of gas, so he had to fill up sooner than we'd all agreed when we started out for home back in Lewes. His experience with his bike's fuel range was based upon 60 mph. The speed limits are mostly at 65, and Grumpy took a bit of liberty too. Thumper's little one cylinder was stroking pretty hard; his gas mileage suffered mightily.

Grumpy was doubly aggrieved. Last Sunday he was sweep. When the rain came, Captain led us under a bridge to gear-up. Grumpy thought it looked too crowded there and so rode to the next overpass. We just assumed he'd decided to ride straight home without us, as his nickname would sometimes profess. So we blew right by him in the rain, leaving him no choice but to ride home alone anyway.

This Sunday I tried sending him a text to meet us at the first rest stop after the Delaware Memorial Bridge. But he didn't see it. Surreptitiously, we finally caught up with him at the stop at the top of the Garden State Parkway. He was walking out as we were walking in.

Amazingly, Grumpy was gracious. We all had a good chuckle and Thumper apologized sincerely. New to group riding, he misunderstood communications protocol. Admittedly, it is hard to understand each other in full face helmets at 60 mph.

Thumper learned his lesson. Communications while riding takes time, so you build in lots of lead time. And you must get confirmation.

So when Token2, who had taken over the lead with me as wing man, promised to make one more gas stop along the Garden State Parkway, and then blew by all of them, I looked for his signal when we saw the two-miles-ahead sign for the last rest stop. He offered none. Nor did he tap his helmet at the one-mile sign. So I rode up alongside him and confirmed with a tap of my helmet, receiving a nod back of his.

We topped off our tanks at the pumps and gathered in the parking lot. Since Token2 would be exiting just after the Tappan Zee and I would be taking the lead, I asked Thumper if he had enough gas to get home to Norwalk. He answered yes, perhaps a bit insulted at first, then got the joke.

See you next week! That ride should be doable on any two tanks of gas. Hope you can join us Thumper. Otherwise I'll have to hold up the banner of reason in a country gone mad. Stratford departure 9:30 a.m.

Thumper on his single cylinder BMW. (Photo by Bernie Walsh.)

Thumper isn't the only one riding Polar Bears on one cylinder. (Photo by Bernie Walsh.)

Liberal wing of the CT Polar Bears, Chris and Paul.

Captain and Token holding down our table while the rest sign-in.

Ed, Fonz and Captain waiting for food.

Flight B leaders, Joan and Jim.

Flight A leaders Pat and John.

Grumpy's ride log.

"Outdoor" dining, closed in for winter.

Suiting up for the ride home.

Lovely Lewes and the light ship museum. Maybe a summer trip?

Season Opener

Connecticut Polar Bears, back row from left: Grumpy, Mac, CT Blogger, Ed hidden behind CT Blogger (look close), John J., New Jersey Matt, Captain, New Guy Pete
Down front: Token2, Pogy, New Guy Jim. (Hope I got the new guys in the right order.)

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog first ride of 2016-17 Polar Bear Grand Tour to Cape May, NJ., October 30, 2016.

By: Chris Loynd, a.k.a. CT Blogger

When I tell my motorcycle students I ride to Cape May for lunch they think I'm kidding. Then to do it at the end of October, they think I'm crazy.

Followers of this blog know I am a Motorcycle Safety Foundation Rider Coach teaching people how to ride motorcycles (or ride them better). I teach for the Connecticut Rider Education Program: www.Ride4Ever.org. Fellow CT Bears Pogy and John J. are also instructors.

I took advantage of the destination to work in a brief visit with my folks in Wilmington, Del. (They're sort of on the way, although a bit west for Cape May.) Mom pampered me with beef pot pie for dinner with shoo fly pie dessert and scrapple breakfast. Those favorite foods are baked into my pallet by my Pennsylvania Dutch roots.

Besides busting my diet, a Wilmington visit also let me get up just a bit later than my Connecticut compatriots. I planned for an 11:30 a.m. arrival at the VFW in Cape May. Polar Bear sign in opens at 11:30. I figured the riders coming all the way from Connecticut would arrive at 11:45 or later.

As I pulled in at 11:33, they were all there -- 11 of them -- busting my chops for being late! They had already signed in and were anxious to head off to lunch.

Hoooold on thar Baba Looey! Because I set the departure times, last year I made a conscious effort to keep track of our actual travel times. For the season's ending ride to Cape May last spring we left Stratford, Conn. at 8:00 a.m. and arrived in Cape May at 12:15. This Sunday they left at 7:30 and arrived at 11:14. I'm thinking they somehow folded space somewhere on the Garden State Parkway and hyper-jumped a few miles.

John J. brought a couple of his New Haven HOG brothers to try the Polar Bears. Pete and Jim seemed like good guys. But there were so many of us at lunch, I really didn't get a chance to talk with them.

New Jersey Matt, who disappeared last season, reappeared riding from his north Jersey home up to Connecticut to start with us from Stratford. Turns out Matt IS still alive. He disappeared last season without so much as a "by your leave." Turns out his daughter made the swim team last winter. Matt graduated from his fluorescent yellow/green Darien riding jacket to a full suit, which on big Matt is a lot of suit.

With so large a group, our Connecticut bears for safety sensibly broke into two groups. Captain led the larger group and Grumpy the second group. They way they told it, Captain's pace was not enough to satisfy Grumpy who took his group on ahead at a faster clip.

I did get off a bit later than I planned Sunday morning. My Honda ST 1100 was acting up. The front neck felt loose on the ride down Saturday; it seemed to be getting worse the more I rode. My folks live in one of those suburban developments with speed humps on all the roads. Going over those the front end really clunked.

As I rode out Sunday morning the loose front end seemed even more pronounced. I found a parking lot and practiced a quick stop. Everything held together okay. But the front forks definitely moved back toward me as weight shifted.

Now I considered three options. One, I could go back to Mom and Dad's and try to find a local Honda motorcycle dealer. Two, I could limp back home to Connecticut, saving the extra hundred miles of wear if I went on to Cape May. Three, I could nurse the bike to Cape May where I knew I could rely on the superior mechanical knowledge of my motorcycle buddies. I started for Cape May.

As I rode, the bike tracked true, cornered fine, but clunked like a son-of-a-gun over every ridge in the pavement. I kept my speed at bay and tried not to stop; when I had to stop I mostly used back brake.

In Cape May I took heart as my expert pals diagnosed my motorcycle. In the crowd were two or three experienced bike mechanics and a bona fide adventure touring rider. Two of them ride Honda STs.

With my Honda on its center stand, and me on the back seat, the front forks were carefully examined. Consensus was the lower bearing race had disintegrated. I had new bearings installed over the summer and speculation ran wild. Maybe it was a bad Chinese bearing. Maybe the race was improperly installed. (It turned out to be the latter.) Did I have ball bearings or needle bearings?

Pogy assured me everything was clamped tight and the front end would not come apart on the ride home, even though that's exactly how it felt. "Wait 'till you get to those bumps on the NJ Turnpike," Ed teased.

Concurrently the bike was having temperature problems. So after we ordered our lunch, and before it arrived, I went out to the parking lot to check the reservoir bottle. Accompanied by my pals, I was presented three bags of tools and plenty of assistance taking off the plastic panel. They offered a variety of diagnostic theories, and just as importantly a measure of assurance the bike would be fine for the ride home.

I also had two Bears offer me their alternate bikes to ride to Lewes next Sunday if my bike couldn't be repaired in time.

So I gritted my teeth, held the handlebars a bit more firmly than usual and kept a weather eye on the temperature gauge. Both the handlebars and temperature waggled back and forth the whole way home.

Headed for the barn, Captain spared no horses on the ride home. Even Grumpy was happy to stay back a bit with his group. We broke up a bit when we stopped for gas, some opting to ride ahead on their own. We splintered even more when Captain pulled over to let us don rain gear. The sky poured on us just past the Oranges on the Garden State Parkway.

Rain came down in varying volume as we headed home, but never altogether stopped.

At the top of the Parkway Captain led us into the rest stop and under the gas pump awning. There he changed his riding glasses for the fogging. Poor Mac pulled off one of his rain gloves and the lining reversed. If you've ever experienced this you know how impossible it is to push a wet glove lining back inside the fingers. He eventually just gave up and headed back into the weather with bare hands.

Lamenting riding in the rain in my suit and gloves, I look over and big Mac is toughing it out in jeans and bare handed. Props Mac!

Mac's glove troubles reminded me of one of my favorite Russ stories. Russ and I were crossing into Canada on a ride to Sturgis. (We decided to go north of Lake Erie instead of south.) I was waiting in the customs lane as the officer called Russ forward. It was raining, had been for miles. As Russ pulled his glove off to fish his drivers license out of his wallet for the customs officer, the dang lining reversed.

Now Russ has put his license away and is struggling to get his hand back into the glove. Meanwhile the customs officer is asking standard questions, "Are you bringing anything into Canada? Liquor? Tobacco? Firearms?" Russ is answering distractedly, "No, no, no." Then the officer asks, "Will you be leaving anything in Canada?" Russ blurts out, "Yes, this @#$%^ glove!"

I miss you buddy. If you don't know, Russ was killed on his bike this summer when a pickup truck ran a stop sign.

Another of our Connecticut Bears, Ken, was taken out by a heart attack just this fall.

R.I.P, Ride in Peace, Russ and Ken. I was proud to ride with you both.

Captain arrives; led group one, got passed by group two.

NJ Matt sporting new Aerostitch, Ed, Captain, Token2.

Ed does exist!

Mac checks in Flight B.

Admiring NJ Matt's new riding suit.

Polar Bear Grand Tour photog Bernie Walsh caught Grumpy riding in. More photos on the Grand Tour site.