Polar Bear Motorcycles: 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.