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.

Lewes, Delaware, November 6, 2011, Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog

By: Chris Loynd

Lewes, Delaware, is a long way from Stratford, Connecticut, especially on a motorcycle, even in summer, I don't care who you are. What a wacky ride. It's basically a 12-hour day for us, 10 of those in the saddle. It's like 270 miles one-way. It's a good touring day. And in the quest for the coveted Polar Bear patch, this ride takes our Connecticut bears a long way. There are not many 7 pointers in the schedule.

If you ride the first two rides of the season from Connecticut, you are 'pert near halfway to the 30 points needed to qualify.

Or if you are like the Captain, you will have donated blood  in New Jersey, traveling there and back on your motorcycle, four times before the season even begins, for extra points,. Plus you will have attended every extra point ride Bob Hartpence offers. So John K. likely crossed the 30-point threshold on this ride.

While I am not as crazy about points as some of my compadres, I cannot deny the prize was nestled in the back of my mind as I contemplated going or not.

Several of us came off a tough week to ride this Sunday.

I was on antibiotics, but feeling much better. A simple cold morphed into a nasty sinus infection the week before our Lewes ride. On Thursday the sinus pain was so bad it made my teeth hurt. But the miracle of fighting fungi had me feeling chipper and barley sniffling and no longer contagious by the weekend.

Our northernmost CT bears, Bart and Token2 were snowed under from the freak Nor'easter mentioned in last week's Cape May blog.

As it turned out, Bart needed only to dig out his driveway. His was a lucky oasis of electricity in an otherwise dark grid. He even rode up to the Dunkin' to start out with us Sunday.

Token2 was not so lucky. He was without power the whole week, sending furtive e-mails to fellow riders when he could from random cafe wifi hot spots. But the juice came back on Saturday night in his house. And I guess John felt he had spent more than enough quality time with his wife Lynn sitting in the dark together and so he took off to ride with us Sunday.

Mac was undeterred even by the lack of a motorcycle. He followed us down and back in his car. His bike's in the shop. All the same, he said he wanted to sign in and get the season started. Unlike us, Mac earned just one point for bringing his car.

Except for a gravel parking lot, and a lot of that gravel fresh and deep, Irish Eyes Pub is a fine destination.

The food was great. All the dining room tables were filled by the time we arrived. So we pushed together the bar tables and high stools and perched together like a flock of birds.

Token2 was sitting next to me on one side of the table. Being more toward the center, he heard more of the conversations at both end of the table than I could. At one point he turned to me and said, "You know you're riding with old guys when they are comparing PSA scores."

Still, there are a few perquisites to being an old guy. They don't always balance out the detriments. But young guys can miss a lot due to lack of seasoning. More on that later.

Pogy entertained us with his long awaited comeback to Token. Apparently they made a bet or something LAST season and Pogy owed Token a dollar. Well Pogy carried that dollar around the world and waited all summer to make a special presentation of it to Token last Sunday. Oh the places that dollar has been! And the things that dollar has seen!

These two guys are our worldly ones, both having jobs that take them far and wide. Token is a British expat and world traveler. Pogy is a first generation AmerHungarian working for a worldwide helicopter company. Me, I've been to Canada . . . several times.

Back in Delaware, I decided that while it certainly is wonderful that Gerbing Co. has a lifetime warranty on their electric motorcycle clothing, it is not much help when you have to send your stuff out for repair during winter riding season. I mean, when else are you going to discover that your jacket liner is no longer getting power to your gloves?

So I bit the bullet and bought yet another liner. This way I can ride warm while my old liner makes its way to Tumwater, Washington, state for chrissakes, for repairs. (At least my liner won't have traveled as far as Token's dollar.)

The replacement liner was an almost $200 investment. But I like to ride in winter and I hate to be cold.

Grumpy started busting my chops about being a "rich" guy. I don't think he's seen my house. And I gave him as much back. I'll bet he makes as much or more than I. And I told him so.

For one thing, Johnny B. has a gigantic diesel, scratch that, TURBO DIESEL truck with dual gas tanks, dual tires, dual other stuff, you get the idea. I'll bet his truck costs more than a gaggle of Hyundais like I drive, the Accent, bottom of the line, 2005. (Hey I got a kid in college and a Harley. We gotta cut corners somewhere.)

Plus, Grumpy is supporting a colony of folks at his house. The way he tells it he has relatives coming from far and wide to reside under his roof.

The coup d'etat came when, as we're getting dressed out in the parking lot, Grumpy reveals that he, too, just bought a new liner. "It was only like two hundred bucks," he grinned.

As I started my bike, it didn't. Boy, oh boy, that is a sinking feeling. Hoping against hope, I turned the switch off and back on again. This time it started.

But I soon discovered I had no reading on the speedometer. And as I rode back toward Connecticut, it soon became clear I had no brake lights or turn signals.

A dark cloud of despair filled my helmet.

But I am an old guy, well at least an older guy. And as I mentioned earlier, we have a few advantages.

One of these is experience.

As I rode along, worried for my bike's failure at any moment and so far from home, my brain polled its database. A faint memory clicked into place. And as I rolled it around and examined it, the memory grew stronger and more appropriate.

Yes, it was years ago. Same thing. No speedometer. Riding by myself up in Massachusettss I think. I recall the bike ran okay, all the way home in fact. Then they replaced my ignition switch.

I felt a little better. Despair faded into mere dread.

When we made our last gas stop on the Garden State Parkway, it was getting pretty dark. I enlisted the help of my fellow riders. Fonz, who was behind me, was warned to watch out for my lack of brake lights. "If you feel a little bump, it's just me," he assured me. Captain said he would follow me all the way home acting as surrogate brake lights and turn signals.

Fortunately the bike started right up. And then I tried turning the ignition switch just a little toward the "off" position. Instantly the speedometer lit up. I checked the turn signals. Yup, they're back, brake lights too.

Dread was shredded by the bright light of knowledge. And I rode comfortably home.

Remembering the previous ignition switch symptoms reminded me of a conversation I had just had that week with my son Trever. He was agonizing over a problem with his Camaro. Just could not get it to run right after he installed a new distributor. It was backfiring through the carb.

Trever works as a mechanic. And apparently he mentioned the trouble to his fellow mechanics. One of the more experienced guys suggested a very simple solution. Trever came home that night, tried it, and the Camaro purred. "How the heck would that old guy know to try that?" Trever asked me. "I just smiled and said there are a few, just a few, advantages to being an old guy."

Polar Bear Montgomeryville, Pa.; December 5, 2010

Montgomeryville, PA; December 5, 2010

Polar Bear weather: 26 degrees to start, 29 to finish, don't think it ever broke 40.

By: Chris Loynd

Longtime Polar Bear Blog readers will know that over the years I have made good fun of GPS enabled ride leaders. Now I am one.

Pulling into the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford just as my fellow riders were dressing and getting organized, Captain and I discussed the ride and route. He asked “Who's leading?” like he didn't want to be the one. So I figured, “What the heck?” and rode out to the front of the group.

I wasn't really ready to lead.

Yes, I had looked at the MapQuest map when I formulated a departure time. I have a vague concept of where Pennsylvania lies. Fortunately, I had at least entered the destination address into my GPS as a precaution. (Thank you Bob V.)

I embraced one of these satellite receiver contraptions for my trip west. In the 7,500 miles and four weeks of our trip together, GPS and me, we fell in love. I am a convert. GPS is wonderful for a motorcycle.

Being lost in Cambridge, Mass. on the bike a few years back haunts me still. I had to stop the bike, fish the paper map out of my saddlebags, figure out where I was, memorize two or three turns to where I wanted to go. It took me six or eight of these confusing, mind-wrenching, memory-taxing stops to finally get back on the interstate, headed for home with a headache.

GPS puts the map in front of you. Nearly as helpful, it tells you how far to the next turn. Still, it has limitations.

Like most things computer, GPS comes with a learning curve. Sunday's ride clearly evidenced I have not climbed far enough up the curve.

GPS also has it's benefits. For one thing, if you are willing to surrender your destiny to a computer algorithm, GPS will take you through all kinds of interesting country. This facility has been the fodder of blogs past. Led by other CT Polar Bear GPS following leaders, we have explored the very depths of New Jersey farm country, toured some of its nastiest cities and seen paved roads suddenly turn to dirt, all at the behest of someone's GPS.

My turn at GPS roulette came Sunday. I led us all the way out Route 202 from Interstate 287. In the past we have taken the faster Interstate 78 west, then dropped down to Montgomeryville.

The 202 is a pretty ride, actually. Once you clear the stoplights, there for a while the scenery looks nice as you transition from Jersey pharmacy land to horse country to suburban ticky-tacky boxes country.

Across the bridge in New Hope, Pa., we rode past beautiful old Pennsylvania stone houses. Downtown Doylestown was actually quite charming. Apparently my GPS felt it was faster to go right through the center of town than to bypass it on the expressway.

Russ accused me of having my GPS set to “shortest route” (or maybe “most scenic”) instead of “fastest route.” I confirmed my affirmation when I got home. In fact it was set to “fastest,” although you could not have proven it by my ride navigation last Sunday. After our summer adventure together, my GPS and me, perhaps it suffers from a lack of scenery on our urban expressway-dominated Polar Bear rides.

We did, in fact, reach Montgomeryville Cycle Center. And some of our riders commented, “Well we have never gone that way before.”

Thanks to my GPS, we came at the dealership destination from a completely different direction. I'm not sure of the compass heading. I'll have to look at a paper map to figure out how we got there.

The change in approach meant I missed the turnoff. On all our previous rides, the dealership came up on the left, which is where I was looking when it quite suddenly appeared on the right. I felt it would have been unsafe to get on the brakes too hard, being at the head of a line of bikes. So I dove for the shoulder. Everyone else made the turn to the dealership.

Russ, my wing man, could have made the turn too. But Russ is one of the best wing men in motorcycling. And just like Maverick in “Top Gun,” Russ knows: you never leave your wing man. So he rode twenty miles further with me (Russ said it was more like 50 or a hundred) until we could find an exit ramp and turnaround. Russ will follow you up a tree if he is your wing man.

When I finally arrived at the Polar Bear destination, Token quipped, “We've already taken the group photo without you.” But he was only kidding.

Motgomeryville Cycle Center offered warming beef chili with all the fixin's, including corn bread. Yummy! They also served hot dogs, coffee and water. Seating was at a premium, but eventually we found a spot for all of us together at the end of a table.

Bob Hartpence, Polar Bear Grand Pooh-bah, stopped by with some interesting comments about his challenges trying to keep in touch with members via e-mail blasts. All I can say, is that this blog is 100% opt-in. If you don't like it, don't read it. Geeze! Even bikers are going politically correct?

By the way, this blog is open to commentary. The BlogSpot version allows you to post a comment right then and there. The version with photos requires you to send me an e-mail.

It was fun to see Token2 regale in this plastic-dominated store filled with metric motorcycles. He truly was happy in his element. He said to me, “Look at this half of the shop: no chrome!” A token no more, these were HIS people!

Unfortunately, he had to nestle amongst Harleys for the ride home.

Before we departed, Token2 had to purchase a new controller for his heated garments. When we got to our stop at top of the GSP (yes, I did finally lead us home), turns out John J. has had trouble with his as well. John J. sent his controller back to Gerbing and the sent it back with a patched wire. John J. is still not happy.

Considering I am a Polar Bear rider that hates the cold, I think I will purchase a second controller as back-up.

My GPS and I agreed upon a homeward route. I wanted to take the more express Interstate 78 back. Simply by hitting the “home” button, my GPS showed me a reasonable route north to I-78 then east to I-287. We had an accord and off I went, bikes trailing behind me.

Unfortunately, most of our bikes were running on fumes, a gas stop sorely needed. I passed up a WAWA, thinking a few of my guys might not appreciate an off-brand fill-up.

(We did not have Grumpy with us. That's significant because he insists not only on brandname gasoline, but also one made from oil pumped under the proper geopolitical circumstances. Hugo Chavez, you listening?)

But the road past the WAWA started looking pretty rural and I was afraid we might not find another gas station. So I circled the procession with a "U" turn, always a move open to derision, and reversed my line of march back to WAWA.

Apparently my GPS took my indecision to indicate a change in plans. And without my knowing it, the GPS took it upon itself to change my route. Captain later said he believes the GPS calculates your route depending upon which way the bike is pointed at the time.

Between the u-turn and then riding around through the filling station, I guess I performed the equivalent of spinning around the blindfolded player in blind man's bluff. My GPS got confused.
The computer still took us home, but sent me back exactly the way I came, stoplights and all.

Sometimes it's hard to tell what or who is in charge, the computer or the user. Speaking of which, I can't wait to see the new Tron movie. Maybe there is a future version where a driver gets sucked into his GPS.

Now that most all our riders are GPS equipped (I was one of the last holdouts) they at least know what I am up to, floundering around at the head of the line as I was. They can follow my every foible, turn-by-turn.

A full line of bikes behind you definitely limits your experimental navigation options. On my own, I would not have sweated the turnaround. I would have simply taken the next State Route indicating “north,” confident in eventually running into I-78.

One advantage of GPS is that you lose your fear of getting lost. My Garmin motorcycle version even has an “off road” function. I can't wait to try that out with Russ at my side. He loves dirt and gravel roads.

Hopewell, NJ (2); January 17, 2010

Below freezing, 30, to start; 40 and rain/sleet to end.

Forecasted sleet above the Merritt Parkway kept a bunch of bears away Sunday.

Token2 was in England; Bart, the most northern CTPB, was worried about ice, John J. prefers football and Grumpy had to pick his truck up from the garage; it was in for repairs.

We started out dry under low clouds. But thanks to the miracle of Internet weather and Doppler radar, we knew we were in for it. Our plan was to "turn and burn." We would ride down, sign in, and turn right around hoping to beat the rain.

Pogy intended to join us. But he jumped the gun.

I think he is one of those engineering type guys. So he was more obsessed with my descriptions in the weekly departure time e-mail of how many miles it was and how I was not going to get my extra point and MapQuest travel time. He missed the departure time (it is always the "subject line" of the e-mail) and went ahead and calculated his own departure time based upon data provided.

So we traded these mismatched voice mails Sunday morning. He called at 8:23 a.m. and left a voice mail to ask if we were going. By then I was running back and forth from house to garage getting the bike ready and missed his call.

I called him back at 8:48 and got his voice mail. My message to him was that we would be leaving the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford in about 10 minutes; he should figure on us being at Darien rest stop in 20.

Meanwhile, John K. had stopped by my house and, figuring we might be the only ones going, except now with Pogy, we rode over to the Dunkin' together, just in case someone else showed. The Captain even mentioned riding over ahead of me to see if anyone was waiting there. He decided to wait for me.

So we arrived together at Dunkin' in "Chris time" which means a minute or two to 9:00 a.m. Meanwhile Russ had called me at 8:55 to see if anyone else was going. Of course he got my voice mail because by that time I was riding. Russ is used to the Captain arriving two hours early for breakfast and was confused by the empty parking lot.

Russ had just called his wife Christine to move the car back out of the garage so he could pull his bike in. As we showed he had to take his helmet back off and call Christine back to tell her he was going with us.

We took off a minute or two after nine and pulled into the Darien rest stop. No Pogy.

I checked my voice mail and had one from him at 9:11 a.m., saying he had been there since 8:30 a.m. and went back home.

And off we went, Pogyless.

We didn't beat the rain despite all our scheming.

We rode into it just as we hit the local roads into Hillybilly Hall in Hopewell, N.J. If the dang destination had been closer to the Interstates our plan might have worked. But it took so long to slog over the local roads from I-287 down to Hopewell, that the storm overran us.

Crossing through New Jersey backcountry was slow going. State Route 609 must be named for the number of tar snakes per square foot. So we had to tiptoe over the slickness.

We picked up our adopted New Jersey Bear big Matt on the way across. Discouraged by the rain and roads, he was turning around and heading for home when the CT Bears changed his mind simply by our blatant demonstration of insanity.

Matt actually turned around in a business parking lot and fell into our line.

It's a shame about the rain because Hillybilly Hall is one of the few destinations with a nice, big, warm fireplace in their dining room.

The parking lot sucks. It's too small and mostly all gravel.

But I have fond memories of nice lunches on cold days seated next to that big fireplace.

Unfortunately for Hillybilly management, most bears did the same as us, sign in and get the heck home before the sleet started. There were plenty of open tables in the dining room.

Russ and John K. did not even bother to take their helmets off. They just clomped into the place, dripping, and waited in lines. There were two long lines: sign in and bathroom.

We still insisted on taking our group photo. My camera stood in for Johnny B's.

It was raining harder for the ride home.

Seemed like forever picking our way over the narrow country roads. I kept thinking that if we could just get headed north we could get out from under this thing.

We did not get a break.

Our chosen route had a lot more east-west in it than north-south. In an attempt to avoid frozen precipitation we hugged Long Island Sound like a warm mother.

For us in coastal Connecticut it very often happens that a snow event north of the Merritt Parkway is merely rain along the coast. Long Island Sound often holds just enough heat to save us from the nasty stuff.

That meant the George Washington Bridge coming and going.

So we headed across Route 80 instead of up I-287. Unfortunately that meant we were running parallel to the storm as it swept up from the south.

Finally on the Cross County Parkway we got good news and bad news. The good news was that we started to break into bands of dry and wet. The bad news was at the very front edge of the storm it was sleet, not rain, that was falling.

A brief stop in the rest area on the Hutch gave me time to examine the precipitation at less than speed. It was frozen, white pellets.

I took advantage of the very brief stop to put my Harley rain jacket OVER my Gerbing Union Ridge heated jacket.

It was soaked by now.

Soon after leaving Hopewell I felt wet coming through at the crook of my arm. More on the right. Soon on both sides.

We hit some heavier rain at freeway speed. And the wetness spread. I cranked up the thermostat to compensate.

Nevertheless I was very disappointed. Gerbing touts this jacket as all you need to ride in severe conditions. I intend to send them a strongly worded complaint. And next time I see our Polar Bear Gerbing dealer, Len, from MLDS, I want to see if there is anything to be done about the jacket.

Generally riding in rain on a motorcycle is no big deal with the right gear. But when that gear fails, it can get miserable, fast, really miserable.

Russ' Harley version Gerbing leather gloves were soaked through. My new T2 gloves were dry on the inside. The leather cuffs were wet, but dry and comfy on the inside.

However it was not a fair test. My hands were tucked inside nylon hippo hands which blocked all direct rain.

As we headed up Interstate 95 on our final dash for home, it alternated between rain, sleet and dry, every few miles.

John K. was leading and he must have smelled the barn on Interstate 95. He cranked it and we flipped through the changing bands of weather. Fortunately the road surface was never more slippery than on a rainy summer day.

As I pulled into home in Stratford it was dry. Not a half hour later it was raining. Another half hour later and it was raining hard.

When I took off my Gerbing jacket it must have weighed ten pounds, eight of them water.

All in all we never rode through a heavy rain. It was steady, heavier at times, but nothing I would characterize as a downpour.

Any riding gear worth its salt should have kept us dry.

My new FirstGear pants, which if you read last week's blog I wanted to test, came through with flying colors.

The jacket was a huge let down. Here, pasted directly from Gerbing's web site, is their promise:

Q: Is my heated clothing waterproof?

A: Gerbing's outerwear products and gloves are constructed to conform to the industry standards of waterproofing and will keep you dry. Gerbing's outerwear is constructed with a waterproof outer layer, or face fabric. The main function of the face fabric is to provide a durable outer shell. To make the face fabric waterproof, the inside of the fabric is laminated with a urethane coating that provides a protective moisture membrane. In addition, all seams are tape sealed and our outerwear fabrics have a durable water-repellent coating (DWR) which is a chemical treatment that forces water to bead up and roll off the surface of the fabric. Gerbing's gloves (excluding glove liners) are all constructed with a waterproof/breathable membrane to keep your hands dry however the leather is not waterproof and should be treated.

http://www.gerbing.com/Info/FAQ.php

We had no time for banter this trip with nary a lunch or coffee stop. So my blog posting is short a few stories.

And I apologize for the Gerbing jacket failure rant. Any fellow rider can empathize.

If it was some sort of hellacious downpour I would be more forgiving. As we found out two years ago riding back from Cape May in a nor'easter, all weatherproof equipment fails at some point. But I expected better on a mild rain day. As Russ quipped, "What did you expect for $400?"

I should note for our blog fans and posterity that Russ earned his gold rocker this ride.

Next Ride:

Thanks to the freakin' terrorist with exploding underpants, our Fort Dix ride has been moved to a repeat of The Cabin.

Club Dix is the officers club and has treated bears for years. I remember varying levels of security over the years, ranging from being waived through to having to show photo ID and be on a preapproved list submitted in advance by Bob Hartpence.

This year's security requirements were more than Bob could prepare in time for our ride. And I certainly understand and support the Army's concerns. Hopefully things will settle down for next year.

Meanwhile departure time for next week's ride is: 9:00 a.m.

Weather looks iffy with possible snow in the afternoon. But I never believe the long term forecast, unless it is good.

I will be celebrating my 29th wedding anniversary that day, with a ride to Freehold if the weather permits. I already have permission from my wife to go.

Did I pick a gem or what?!

Comments?

Feel free to post your comments on Gerbing gear or anything else.

For a version of this blog with photos see my web site posting:
http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog_0910_3.htm#Hopewell,_NJ_(2)

Old Bridge, NJ, November 8

Old Bridge, NJ. November 8

Near 70 degrees. Bright, cloudless blue sky.

We did not have as big a turnout as I would have thought. Despite a beautiful day and temperatures predicted for the high sixties, we had nine bikes; 10 riders with Johnny B.'s grandson Nick. Maybe some of our bears were busy with raking leaves, or chose shorter rides.

Sunday we picked up a new bear. Ralphie Fonseca, a fellow Connecticut Rider Education Program instructor. He signed up for the full deal in Old Bridge. Ralphie is now a Polar Bear Flight B.

We had a great time. The shorter run and warm weather and beautiful day made for high spirits all around. Well not quite everyone was in full revelry. John K. seemed impatient and more snarky than usual.

He had reason to celebrate. Today Bob Hartpence, Polar Bear Grand Pooh-bah, had John's red rocker. Bob's getting hip to the Captain. In past years, Bob had not even thought of ordering the season's patches and rockers when John K. had already earned his first 30 points.

Bob told me a story Sunday about how he was really looking forward to handing John K. his rocker that day, our third ride of the season. Bob called the patch company Saturday morning to see why they had not delivered. I guess he put the order in extra early. Of course the company was closed Saturday. Bob left a message on the answering machine and went back out to his yard to, like many of us I bet, rake leaves. No sooner was he started again at his task than the mailman hailed him, “I have a box for you, Bob.” Bob went back inside and left another message on the patch company's answering machine, “never mind.” And with fanfare and a hearty handshake, he presented John K. the first Polar Bear rocker of the season.

Still John was snippy. He was anxious to get off to lunch. He accused us of lollygagging, of being “tourists” he taunted Grumpy when Johnny B. was having trouble with his new camera for the group shot. Hmmm. What's up?

We all kid each other, and generally John K. takes and gives as good as anyone.

Then it hit me! A vision of Nancy Pelosi flashed in my brain. And I smiled. I whispered to John, “It's the health care bill, isn't it?” John replied, “It ain't law yet.”

It's okay John. It's only money, money that none of us have, including the government.

I don't know if the Captain's attitude improved with a bit of lunch. Denny's did not have a table big enough for all of us. We sat at two.

We reassembled in the parking lot, with the Captain walking around the bikes whipping us into shape, exhorting us to button up faster.

We rode a very short distance to gas up for the ride home. Somehow I was the last one out. My fellow bears would likely say I am always the last one out, dressed, ready to ride, etc.

At the top of the Garden State we stopped for coffees. It was the usual torture to get our order assembled and paid. The servers at the Dunkin' Donuts in the rest stop at the top of the Garden State Parkway are so slow you can actually test Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

Here's an example. John H. treated us all. As such, he was stuck being the last to leave the counter, paying after we all carried our drinks away to a table. We were all sitting and enjoying our hot drinks, but John H. was back in time still trying to figure out the bill with the slow clerks.

He finally caught up to our time, but just as he was about to sit down, it turned out that two of the coffees did not have milk. John H. had to go back, back in time, back to the counter to retrieve creamers. Just as he was about to catch up to our time, there were no stirrers for the recently retrieved cream. Back in time John H. went again. As John H. kept going back in time, we were all progressing forward, drinking our hot drinks. When John H. finally got a chance to sit down, he was now way behind us in time.

Chris, your blogger, came to the rescue. By being slower than most normal coffee drinkers, Chris was able to retard present time enough for John H. to catch up and drink his coffee.

So except for the frustration of multiple forays back in time, oh and the “pleasure” of paying for coffees and hot chocolates for a bunch of whining, ungrateful, riding buddies, John H. finally caught up to drink his coffee in present time.

As we got ready to go in the parking lot, my special time talents were recognized by Russ. He said , I think derisive, about not even turning on his motorcycle until I had my helmet on and my bike off the sidestand.

Even-tu-ally . . . I did. And off we roared home to Connecticut.

See you next week. I will be the one rolling in just moments before the rest of us are ready to leave next Sunday morning.

View this blog with pictures at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm

Here's a shout-out from Russ . . .

Hi Chris, Len the" Gerbing Guy" replaced a five (5) year old harness that broke this past week for free. Maybe you can give him a shout of thanks in this weeks blog.
Thanks
ILBCNU
Russ