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

Vineland, NJ, January 8, 2012

Polar Bear Motorcycles Blog

By: Chris Loynd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year!

Polar Bear Blog, Dec. 11, Howell, NJ

Polar Bear Blog, December 11, Howell NJ

By: Chris Loynd

Slightly bearish weather kept some of the cubs in their dens Sunday. It truly wasn't that cold.

When I woke up it was 20 degrees outside. Since we had a fairly close destination a 9:00 a.m. allowed temperatures to rise five degrees before I mounted the Harley. By the ride home it was a balmy 40-plus under a pale blue and cloudless sky.

We still had a sizable group of nine. Over the years, our Connecticut Polar Bears hardcore core has grown from three to 10 regulars. Bart missed Sunday. He was chaperoning a group at my workplace: The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk.

Leaving Dunkin' Donuts we had six. For the second week in a row, Fonz missed us by minutes but chased us down on the Interstate. Turns out he had to pause for a discussion of marker light protocol with one of his law enforcement brethren in Bridgeport.

Pogy was waiting for us at his usual pick up point nearer his Norwalk home than our Stratford departure point. And finally we grabbed Token2 at the entrance to the Hutch.

Captain was leading this ride, which turned out to be fortuitous.

As we approached the entrance to the George Washington Bridge, New York's finest were just then striking flares and closing the on ramp.

Using his strong knowledge of the City that Never Sleeps, Captain took us on a tour of Harlem for a detour. We rode down 125^th Street and past the Apollo Theater. The holiday decorations were very nostalgic looking. I am thinking they were probably purchased back in the 1920s when Harlem was a cool place to be.

Folks on the street gawked at our impromptu parade.

Negotiating the city our group was a fluid string of magnetic buckyballs. (I threw in that reference for my sister Gretchen, who doesn't even read my blog.) We came apart and reformed multiple times as we worked our way through the traffic lights and dodged pedestrians and potholes. Captain paused just before taking to the West Side Highway to allow our formation to rebuild.

Then as we formed up in a lane to turn onto 42^nd Street, a BMW tried to cut us in half. I held him back to let the other bikes in ahead of me. We were slippery and binding.

After his tour of Harlem, I was a little disappointed Captain did not also take us through Times Square. We were, after all, on 42^nd Street, if only for a few blocks.

We came apart again just a few blocks later making the turn for the Lincoln Tunnel.

New Yorkers do not yield. Those Grinches respected our line of bikes not at all, not one little bit, cutting in and cutting off, because their hearts are two sizes too small. Sing along with me . . . I looooove New York . . . .

Suddenly I found myself lead of three bikes riding through the Lincoln Tunnel. My GPS went dark about two-thirds of the way through. I guess it didn't like losing its grasp upon the satellites. As we exited the tunnel, I was trying to negotiate the cagers, reboot the Garmin, read the traffic signs and guess which choice led to the turnpike.

As we crested a small hill I looked far to the horizon and what to my wandering eyes should appear but the twinkling running lights of six tiny, scratch that, six big, motorcycles, well except for Token2 who was on his little BMW with the ice cream cases bolted to the tail.

We stragglers caught the main body just as we approached the New Jersey Turnpike. After that the ride was easier.

With all the detours we still arrived pert near 11:30. Even so the lot was full and the restaurant bulging. A few of us tried to cobble together a few tables and booths around the bar. Little did we know our guys found the back-back room. That's right. Behind the back room the cabin has a back room. And there we found a table for the nine of us.

Lunch was good. Grumpy could not get pickles on his cheeseburger. But once we got through that crisis, things settled down nicely.

Speaking of pickles, Pogy continued his largesse, this time producing a jar of giant pickles for the Grumpster. Wild speculation surrounded the possible origin of the vinegar-bathed cukes. There was some mention of kimchee. We'll have to get a report from Grumpy on how they tasted.

Our ride home was uneventful. There were a couple times when our formation had to flow through toll booths and reform. Here and there a cager threatened. But that is part of Polar Bearing. See you next week.

Polar Bear Blog Hatfield, Penn., Dec. 4

Polar Bear Blog Hatfield, Penn., Dec. 4

By: Chris Loynd

Fortunately, I thought to put this week's destination address into my GPS just minutes before I headed over to meet the guys at the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford.

My morning had a monkey thrown into its wrench. If you are a faithful blog reader, you may recall I purchased a new Gerbing heated jacket liner a few weeks back. The old one was not heating the gloves. Well I have not yet gotten around to sending out the old liner to be repaired. Meanwhile my long-suffering wife got tired of seeing it thrown over a chair and hung it up for me . . . along with the rest of my motorcycle gear. Sunday morning I could not tell which was the new, or the old, jacket liner.

Figuring it out had me pressed for time, and with no time to spare, I thought of skipping the GPS. At the last minute, I figured I might as well put in the address, just in case I got lost or something.

Turned out I was leading this ride.

I guess they took a vote at the Dunkin' before I arrived, just two minutes before departure time, and I was elected in absentia . Since I knew the address was plugged into my GPS, I said, “Sure! No problem!” I had only glanced at a map days earlier, and that vaguely.

Grumpy was going to sweep. He pulled up and shouted something about 287, 87 and, dang, what was that last number?

Well I figured I would just follow the GPS.

I knew better to ignore Mr. Garmen when he tried to send me across the George Washington Bridge. Once we were firmly on our way to the Tappan Zee the miniature, satellite-enabled computer settled down . . . for a little while.

It started acting up again as we cruised on out I-78. Darn if I could remember that last route number Grumpy had given me. I kept ignoring the GPS' exhortations and stuck to the Interstate, hoping that at some point the computer would pop up a familiar number.

Fortunately for me, Grumpy had an unfortunate equipment problem. He zoomed up from the back of the pack to lead all of us into a highway rest stop. There he zip tied his shifter linkage back together. It had lost a joint or something. I'm no mechanic.

As we were getting ready to go I nonchalantly fished for that missing route number. “Uh, yeah, we're going up here to, uh . . .,” I said. “Route 309,” Grumpy finished my sentence. “Yeah, that's right,” I offered. “Exit uh . . .” “I don't know,” Grumpy said.

No problem! I'm back in control and nobody knows. I'll just keep my eyes peeled for the exit.

After a little while my GPS gave up on all other options and served up “Route 309, Exit 60A.”

We left the rest stop, shifter repaired, riders relieved (no facilities but an accommodating tree), in a different order of bikes than we had been riding. Grumpy was now my wing man, replacing Jim O, a new Polar Cub who joined us for the first time Sunday.

By the way, Jim O was a good wing man. He rode so tight to me I could usually feel him more than see him. But he's an experienced rider and a MSF instructor. So I was comfortable with him at my shoulder.

I guess Fonz, arriving just a few moments AFTER the last possible moment, had pulled a u-turn and taken the sweep away from Grumpy. Freed of his sweep duties, Grumpy moved up with me for the rest of the ride.

So as we approached Montgomeryville Cycle Center, my GPS was now simpatico with the route I'd forced upon it. Only I remember the last time I led this ride, the destination appeared on the opposite side of the road from what I expected. I shot past the dealership, Russ sticking faithfully by my side (another of the great wing men), as the rest of our guys hit the binders hard and made the dealership. Russ and I eventually found a u-turn after what seemed like 15 miles.

Embarrassment being a powerful teacher, I distrusted my GPS as we approached the Cycle Center, still hidden behind a ridge, and put on my right blinker. Grumpy immediately put on his LEFT blinker and threw in a hand signal in case I didn't catch his drift. I quickly changed signals and cut left into the merge lane for Montgomeryville Cycle Center.

At lunch I 'fessed up to the miscue. Not that a confession was required, though they say it is good for the soul. Everybody behind me saw the blinker mistake.

After gassing up for the ride home, my GPS was again acting up, wanting to send me down some country road. I again consulted Grumpy. He started offering alternate ways to get to Route 309 to go home the way we came.

I expressed my worries to Grumpy. I was concerned about taking some long-about detour with a line of bikes behind me. I was afraid to plunge into unknown territory with these guys strung along the highway behind me. It's one thing to make a u-turn at a dead end road by yourself. It's quite another with a eight to a dozen bikes on behind.

And what if it took a lot longer to get home? Some of our guys don't like to ride in the dark. I jokingly asked the Captain if he was flying the colors. He said now, he held them in case we were late and that morning ran a Navy ensign up the pole instead.

Seeing, but not sharing, my consternation, Grumpy came up with one of his typical responses, “F**k 'em. Follow your GPS. See what happens.”

I took courage in Grumpy's show of confidence and off we went, turn-by-turn, with nary a sense of the map in my head.

My Garmin took us on a beautiful ride down winding country roads. Fields stretched beyond our site. Horses and cattle dotted the landscape. We rode through quaint small towns with small brick buildings build right to the road and with 1950s style Christmas garlands strung between light poles, across the road over our heads. We even scored a covered bridge.

Cars came toward us with freshly cut evergreens bound to their roofs. Some of our way tightened down to mere country lanes with no lines painted on the road. We crossed the Delaware River from Pennsylvania to New Jersey on a very narrow two-lane, steel grid decked bridge, speed limit 15 mph.

Like Token a few weeks before, I even ran into a closed road detour. Recalculating!

And it turned out my Garmin did not lie. We left the gas station after a sizable group of Jersey Bears. On I-78 we saw them again. They passed us. We were ahead of them. We had in fact taken the faster route going cross country.

Sometimes you just have to say, “F**k 'em. Which is what I did when I stuck in the left lane up the Merritt Parkway with our long line of bikes.

It was a great ride, well led, with a little help from my friends.

Polar Bear Hopewell, NJ; November 28, 2010

November 28, 2010; Hopewell, NJ

By: Chris Loynd

It was a glorious day for polar bearing. Temperatures starting in the thirties had me installing my hippo hands that morning. However the sun was bright and the day warmed to near fifty degrees. I hardly used my electrics at all on the ride home.

Our destination kept us on Interstate 287, a commuter relief highway that runs well west of the New Jersey Turnpike and Garden State Parkway madness. I-287 has its scenic spots. But then we exited onto Route 202 south for a bit of that “strip mall” scenery that pervades the Garden State. Eventually we got off 202 after passing through pharmacy land (also a New Jersey staple) and finally had a scenic ride through farm and horse country. It was a nice finish to the ride down. Coming from the north, we avoided any detour issues in Hopewell proper, farther south of Hillbilly Hall.

We were light, just four bikes: Pogy, Captain, Jim and I. Fearing traffic, some of our guys tried a scenic northern ride. Mac was going to join us but got a better offer at the last minute.

At Dunkin' in Stratford, Captain and I decided it was a good opportunity to have someone else lead and sweep to get a feel for it with our group. So we figured to ask whoever we met at the rest stop in Darien to take over. Pulling off we found Pogy and Jim.

Then to my dismay, but not surprise, I was no sooner stopped than Captain was leading the other two down the on-ramp. I had wanted to stop a moment because I had plugged my electrics into the wrong outlet. I was wearing my Gerbing outer jacket, which isn't much good below 50 degrees and underneath my electric jacket liner. My gloves were plugged into the sleeves of the electric liner. Back at Dunkin' I had plugged into the outer jacket which was providing minimal relief for my body and none for my hands.

Not wanting to lose the group, I chased them out of the rest stop. Then I jetted ahead to catch up to the free-running Captain, and tapping the top of my helmet pulled him, and the others onto the shoulder. I shouted my explanation, but with helmets who knows how much is heard?

As I fiddled with my electrical connections, Captain apparently recalled our Dunkin' conversation. He then pulled up next to Pogy and as we left the shoulder, Pogy was now leading and Jim was sweep. I was Pogy's wing man and Captain fell in behind me.

Pogy did a fine job. He kept a nice and steady pace. He avoided excessive lane changes. Except for missing one of those #%^@* New Jersey jug handles, he was fairly flawless.

I kept as steady in my position as I could to help him out. If you are lead bike, but your wing man is not attentive, you lose the ability to make subtle changes in speed to allow for merging cars, passing, etc. Instead, the wing man becomes the de facto lead rider.

Captain vacillated up and back a bit. But the Captain does that. Usually he is fiddling with something on his bike: GPS, Citizens Band Radio, Weather Receiver, Radar, Sonar, whatever. He has his Road King and Gold Wing loaded with gadgets.

(What a s**t show this MetroNorth railroad offers! I generally like to write my blog on my Monday, sometimes Tuesday, commute from Stratford to Norwalk. This morning I am sitting in an unheated car. It's the second such cold trip this month. The best thing you can say about the train is it is slightly better than the disaster known as I-95.)

Hillbilly Hall was warm and inviting. We had a nice lunch next to a beautiful fire. Cream of broccoli soup was especially delightful. The Ruben was tasty and nicely broiled with the cheese crisp around the edges. Pogy asked the waitress if the sandwich was good here before he ordered. She assured him it was. After she left Captain wondered aloud if she would have said differently. Jim said his experience is that now and then he has encountered honest waitresses who suggested he make another choice. Fortunately, our waitress was telling the truth, fully backed by the kitchen, and she delivered three Ruben sandwiches with crisp fries. Captain had chicken, as always.

Lunchtime conversation drifted dangerously into politics. It started with airport screening. Captain stated he did not feel anyone had a right to avoid the pat downs and low dose x-rays. I suggested such rights were in something called The Constitution and Bill of Rights.

Then we got into 9-11 and whether or not Muslim countries should have apologized. Pogy has considerable dealings throughout the world, including Muslim countries, and his take is that most Muslims are mortified at the portrayal of their religion as terrorist.

My thought is that all religions are terrorist, or at least can be bent to those purposes. No other human invention has the ability to pacify the masses while simultaneously spurring them to worldwide domination. In our lunch conversation, I pointed out it was the Christians that started the Crusades, not the Muslims.

(We all agreed how conveniently history is forgotten or ignored.)

Has the Catholic Church ever apologized for the Spanish Inquisition or witch trials? They excommunicated Galileo for having the temerity to suggest Earth was not the center of the Universe held him in house arrest for the rest of his life, then banished him to purgatory, if you believe in such a thing. He was then stuck there 400 years until Pope John Paul II admitted the church made a mistake.

So maybe the Saudis have a bit of time still to formulate their response.

America has yet to apologize to its Indians or the Vietnamese. Yet we allow casinos as recompense to the former and buy shrimp and sneakers from the latter.

One of the fun things about writing this blog is getting in the last word. But you are welcome to offer you insights. You can e-mail them to me for the photo blog, or post them yourself on the Blog Spot version. I ask only that you avoid profanity and any direct slander of your fellow motorcycle riders.

It's amazing, isn't it, how something as simple as riding motorcycles can bring together such disparate views in a common purpose. We come from all different strata of life, with wide ranging opinions on politics and religion, yet we can agree on riding procedures and lunch, and sometimes, on avoiding traffic.

So we figured to move with alacrity from Hillbilly Hall to avoid traffic, deciding to skip the traditional coffee stop on the return trip as well. Turns out the only thing we had to fear was fear itself.

We cruised nicely up 287 north. Pogy went to follow his GPS' instruction to take 78 to the George Washington Bridge. But as the off-ramp approached, he saw me going wide to stay on 287 and he cut back over.

Approaching the intersection of the Garden State Parkway and I-287 we hit some slow traffic. Maybe we did eight miles of slow traffic. Of that, only the smallest part was stop-and-go. For the most part we putted along feet-up. Once past the exit for the Palisades Parkway, things picked up nicely.

Really the worst traffic we hit was in Connecticut. But that is always the case. I have traveled around this country and Canada, by motorcycle and car, and invariably the worst traffic jams are in this over packed state of ours. You can sail past New York City and still get slammed on I-95 approaching Stamford, the Merrit Parkway approaching Greenwich or I-84 approaching Danbury, in the middle of the night, on a weekday. There's no easy way in or out of this frickin' state.

So it was Trumbull Mall traffic that slammed us hardest. We were on the Merritt Parkway. Fortunately, I had Captain who knows every back road in and around Bridgeport. We tolerated the parkway traffic only long enough to catch the Route 59 exit in Fairfield. Captain, who I am sure enjoyed the opportunity to show off his local navigation skills, led us over one road and down the next 'till we popped out in Stratford with but a trifle of stop signs and stop lights impeding our progress.

It was doubly enjoyable for me because I followed Captain all the way to a convenient to both of us gas station and then accepted his invitation to visit his home, currently under extensive renovations.

Captain is taking his abode off the grid. A new roof, turned and reoriented to catch the southern exposure, is covered in solar panels for heat, hot water and electricity. He confidently said that when completed he will be selling electricity back to the power company. He has a battery array that will support his home, refrigerator, microwave, TV, et. al., for three days bereft of sunshine. Sort of like a submarine on land, if you will.

Me, I am perhaps a fatalist instead of a survivalist. When the apocalypse comes, I am more in mind to watch it unfurl with a glass of good port and a fine cigar. But if you want to run and hide for a chance to emerge in the smoldering aftermath, here's Captain's home address: 1313 Mockingbird Lane, what?, you thought I would really do that to one of my riding buddies? Besides, Captain would probably shoot you anyway. He wouldn't want to. But in dire circumstances . . .well, did you read last week's blog?

Meanwhile, if the end of the world holds off until this summer, Captain and I fantasized about a CT Polar Bear party on his newly-built deck, overlooking his newly-built dock on the Housatonic River. Maybe Pogy can bring his boat up and offer some party cruises as well?

If the world still exists this Sunday, and the weather's amenable, I plan on riding to Montgomeryville Cycle Center. It's one of our longer rides, famous for good food and bad weather. Here's hoping we get lucky on both.

Polar Bear Old Bridge, NJ; November 14, 2010

Old Bridge, NJ; November 14, 2010

By: Chris Loynd

Indian Summer! Are there any two descriptive words more delicious to the psyche?

Well, thinking upon it, perhaps there are a few others: winning ticket, tax refund, motel sex.

It was a gorgeous Indian Summer weekend. Every convertible owner dropped his top. I saw a beautiful Morgan tooling along with a spry older couple. Joggers reverted to shorts. Folks in their shirtsleeves were out in their yards raking leaves. Motorcycles appeared like mushrooms after a summer rain.

It was a wonderful day to ride, almost too warm for Polar Bear motorcycles. Likely I could have done with one less layer. I plugged in my electric jacket and gloves, but barely employed them. And when we got stuck in stop-and-go traffic on Route 18 north headed home, I cooked. It felt great.

I do not choose to ride my motorcycle in winter because I like being cold. I much prefer riding across Arizona mesas in streaming sun wearing my mesh jacket. I ride in winter because I cannot imagine putting my motorcycle away for three months. I would love it if polar bear season was like this every weekend. Ah, but fate landed me in Stratford, not Savannah.

Warm weather means big turnouts. We drew a crowd that eventually swelled to 12 bikes.

At the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford, at a very reasonable morning hour of 9:30, owing to the short distance, Captain and your blogger had a discussion about breaking into two groups.

Riding in one large group can have some special challenges. Ten or more motorcycles, riding in staggered formation, gets to be a very long line. Leading such is like managing a train running through multi-lane interstates. Lane changing must be kept to an absolute minimum.

Still the Captain convinced me to keep together in one group with this statement, “These guys are all good riders. They know what to do.”

John J. was offered the lead, cajoled may be more like it. He whiffed. So I stepped up to the challenge. John J. instead fell in as the last bike, the “sweep” position.

Isn't it amazing how small, seemingly innocuous, decisions can have major consequences, unforeseen?

“We don't need enough lifeboats for every passenger; Titanic is unsinkable.” “We can get the Donner wagons over the mountains before the really heavy snows come.” “Read my lips, no new taxes.”

We left Stratford with a manageable eight bikes. Even with that many, it is nearly impossible for the lead bike to see the sweep, the sweep being just too far back. So we rely upon some procedures to manage the ride so it is fun and safe and successful for all.

Each rider knows his place in a safe, staggered, formation. It is important that the group remain tight to prevent the incursion of cars. Each rider holds his lane position.

There are special duties for the lead and sweep riders.

The lead has to find very big holes in traffic before signaling for a lane change. He has to allow for merging on ramps; tolls can be a real challenge.

The sweep watches for what the lead can't see. He picks up stragglers and clears for lane changes.

Changing lanes with a big group of bikes can be done safely and smoothly, if the riders are disciplined. The lead signals a lane change but does not move. All the other bikes pass the signal back to the sweep, but do NOT move. When traffic is clear the sweep moves over. Now the line of bikes controls two lanes, the current and future lanes.

Any cars stuck next to the bikes in the target lane will move up and out of the way. The sweep holds the lane, preventing any other cars from entering. When the lane is clear the lead moves over, all the other bikes following.

When done properly it is a marvel to see.

Unfortunately, some guy in the middle typically just can't wait. He sees the signal to move and jumps over to the next lane, effectively trapping a car in the space the sweep had hoped to clear. Now the sweep, and any bikes ahead of him but behind the trapped car, must make a dash around to get in front of the trapped car and back in line.

I digress, dear blog reader, but only slightly.

Sunday we had a new rider, Bob V., self-admitted Polar Cub, still Bob is an experienced rider and road captain and knows the drill.

Bob does not have EZ Pass and clearly announced that ahead of time.

So the way that works is as we approach a toll, the rider without EZ Pass zooms ahead a bit, headed for the cash lane. Meanwhile the leader slows the rest of the group approaching the EZ Pass lanes. If the leader figures the differential correctly, the rider paying cash is ready to rejoin the line just as the Pass riders exit the tolls.

Sounds good, right?

We reviewed the procedure with Bob\ and headed south.

We exited at the Darien rest stop to pick up three more riders: Jim, Fonz and Scott.

I planned to exit – instead of picking them up as we rode by like we usually do – because Fonz needed some adaptive connectors I had for an electric vest he was going to borrow from Pogy. So far Fonz has been trying to get by with a battery powered vest for warmth, as in running off of a 9-volt in his pocket, instead of wired to his motorcycle's electrical system.

No really. Batteries. It works fine when Fonz is standing still. But at speed it is probably good so long as the ambient temperature is above 70 degrees.

Only Fonz did not borrow the vest, forgot about the connectors, and expected us to just blow by on the Interstate side. He had his other riders hyped to run down the on ramp to join our line of bikes. That explains the quizzical look Fonz gave me when I pulled to a stop next to him.

“Connectors?” I shouted. “I'm good,” Fonz shouted back.

Scott is something of a new Bear. He tried a Polar Bear run a year ago, or was it two? He got as far as the Greenwich rest stop on the Merritt Parkway, declared us all crazy, and rode home.

This year Scott is on a new Harley Softail, equipped with electrics, and ready to ride. Although he still eschews rain riding.

We motored on, now a longish line of eleven.

At the Hutch Parkway we picked up Token, making us dozen bikes long.

That gets to be a lot of motorcycles to keep in line.

After picking up Token, we merged onto the Hutchinson Parkway in bits and pieces, but managed to re-form our line.

We held our own just fine until we hit the toll booths at the top of the West Side Highway in New York City.

That booth has the distinction of having gates, even in the EZ Pass lane. Captain mowed one of them down a few years back.

About half our EZ Passes would not activate the gates. Mine worked just fine.

With no shoulder to regroup, I rode down the right lane of the highway at about 10 miles per hour.

When I guesstimated I had most of our guys, I headed for the GW Bridge exit. There is a stop sign at the end of the exit, and I figured I could stop there and count heads. Which I did. And thank you so much to the New York driver who shouted encouragement and suggested I just keep going. Excuse me, but I have a right to stop at a STOP sign, even in New York City.

Back in a tight group we managed the bridge okay and headed toward the NJ Turnpike.

Now I am hoping Bob V remembered his role.

Sure enough, approaching the NJ Turnpike toll plaza, Bob pulls out next to us, zooms ahead, and runs right through the EZ Pass only speed lanes. Wha?

As I caught up to him, Bob just gave a shrug and dropped back into line.

Well, I figured he could sort it all out at Exit 9.

Meanwhile as we motored down the Jersey Turnpike in relatively light traffic, apparently Token became annoyed with my perfectly precise group leadership. I try to lead a group ride like I have a cruise control throttle, which I don't. I set a smooth and reasonable pace.

I find big gaps and make smooth lane changes and minimize the number of changes. I carefully pick the route sure to give us the least troubles. I judiciously apply my skills, always vigilant to the rear view mirrors, my only thought the comfort and safety of my fellow riders.

Apparently this was all too bucolic for Token. He got bored and came jetting up the passing lane. Abreast of my position he slowed for a moment and began gesturing. Only he used none of the pre-approved road captain hand gestures. It's not that he was giving nasty gestures. I just had absolutely no idea what he wanted to convey. As Russ said, “Even Token's hand gestures have an accent.”

After Token defected, we rode smoothly down to Exit 9 and left the Turnpike.

Past the toll plaza there really is no good spot to pull over what was now 11 bikes. And after the exit we must run a gauntlet of stop lights. This is where the lead bike really has to rely upon his sweep. With a long line it is impossible to see if every bike gets through on green. Little did I know John J. had abdicated.

John J. just sped off with the rest of us, leaving poor Bobby V. at the toll plaza. For all we know Bob could have been in handcuffs for his earlier EZ Pass Only violation. We never saw him again.
John J. should have held back and led the straggler to our destination. He would make a lousy cowboy.

John J. did leave a voice mail for Bob V. But it went unanswered and we never saw Bob again.

Fortunately, Captain heard from Bob V. later that night. After getting lost, Bob decided to turn around and head back home, alone, missing lunch.

Despite his shabby treatment, Bob said he may try to ride with us again. I'll bet he puts the destination into his GPS this time!

And despite his malfeasance, John J. will be welcome to join us again, because, after all, who among us has never made a mistake?

Likely John J. and I will both choose the middle of the pack on this Sunday's ride. We'll let someone else take the heat and see what happens. “How is it you can see the mote in my eye and not the log in your own?”

Hopewell, NJ; November 22, 2009

Once again your blogger was NOT present for the Polar Bear ride. (May have trouble getting that gold rocker again this year!) This last Sunday my "excuse" was a wonderful weekend-plus getaway with the wife to Gettysburg.

It was the 146th anniversary of the Gettysburg Address, delivered November 19, 1863. The occasion is commemorated with Civil War reenactors and a luminary display in the cemetery. You can see more photos on my Facebook page, but I thought it was okay for me to share just a few here.

I visited the battlefield as a teenager. It was wonderful to see it once again, now from an adult perspective. I was reading Longstreet's memoirs then walking the very same ground. Here and there on the battlefield reenactors drilled, their drums and bands echoing among forlorn hills now traipsed by tourists.

The whole event was something like a bike rally. People were walking around everywhere in funny clothes, united by a common interest. Just like wearing chaps at a bike rally, where else can you wear hoop skirts and braided epaulets on the street all day?

I commented in shock to my wife at the cost of an authentic civil war uniform coat, some three hundred bucks for something you can wear only for special occasions! Cynthia just laughed, "I know someone who has spent far more on specialized clothing with limited uses."

50 degrees and sunny

Of course I know you are more interested in the adventures of Connecticut Polar Bears who actually go on the rides! Fortunately my fellow riders still provide correspondent reports, even when it takes me more than a week to post them. Here John Howard provides a fun account with plenty of inside jokes. We call John "Token," not because he is an American with a British accent, but because he rides a Honda ST amongst our Harley crowd. Such is even fodder for this week's entry.

Here is John Howard's report . . .

Report by John Howard, Headlines:

• Kammerer kisses Curtis
  
• Howard and Cole Harley/Honda tiff settled in Hillybilly parking lot
  
• Nick spends 13th birthday with Grandpa and CTPBs; charges of cruel and unusual punishment are pending
  
• CT Blogger flagged over English language comments

The sun greeted the Connecticut Bears for the ride to Hopewell, though the temperature started on the cool side (about 40 degrees F), it quickly rose to above 50 degrees, peaking at 56.
Johns B., K., and J., Nick, Russ, Bernie, Ralph and Bart assembled at the Stratford Dunkin' Donuts as usual and made good speed to pick up John H. at the Tappan Zee Bridge bang on time at 9:45 a.m.

Johnny B. with Nick in pillion was the lead with John J. bringing up the rear as sweep after a bruising series of reports (mostly unjustified) on his lead ride on week four.

The ride south on the Interstate system was uneventful with numerous state troopers spotted along the way. The fun started after the turn on to Route 206 south when the CT bears found themselves being squeezed by a long train of NJ Bears as the road narrowed from two lanes down to one lane.

Mixed into the front of the NJ Bear phalanx things were a little sticky until the CT Bears assembled single file on the left track and the NJ Bears moved off to the right side to stop to reform. Sorted out, the CT Bears continued south and after a stop light found themselves behind another large group of NJ Bears and with the other NJ group behind at one point there must have been 60 bikes in formation heading south, quite a sight.

At an intersection the assemblage came to a rather sudden stop that caught the Captain out just a little which resulted in his bike kissing the back of a bag on Russ' new ride. (I never meant to imply their lips ever touched, that would be disgusting and way too horrible to contemplate.) The Captain wobbled some but thankfully stayed upright. The final 10 miles were a slow paced stop and go intersection riddle tour of the NJ countryside, but otherwise uneventful.

Hillybilly Hall was packed to the gills on our punctual arrival at 11:30 a.m. Seeing John B. lead the group to the way yonder boonies, John H. and John J. thought better of it and found a couple of spots up at the front lot, wandering down the stoned back to find the group. The choice of parking spot by Johnny B. drew some well chosen words from a certain ex-submariner, though the choice for the leader was rather limited.

Bart, who had been YELLING his opinion via e-mail on the attributes of the trusted STeed (get it?) of John H., greeted him with a Polar Bear hug in reconciliation. Riding sporty V-twins is a desire of the author which was again unrequited due to the dismal reliability of the Buell Uly. Oh well, perhaps next week that fine piece of engineering will be road worthy.

Editor's Note: For those who did not see the e-mail traffic, here is what Bart said about John H. comments about John's Buell Ulysses.

As an owner of many Japanese motorcycles and cars in my life, all I can say is . . . BORING!!! As one Harley owning friend of mine once said after riding my 1986 Honda Magna V65 or whatever the (heck) it was, "It's like kissing your grandmother." I couldn't have described it better myself.
My Harleys have given me no problemos at all. The torque and the attitude are second to none. I've yet to find one piece of plastic on mine as well.

Be fair to HD Mr. Howard, they own Buell but do not manufacture them!

Editor's Note: Bart was responding to THIS post from John H.
Another thing that will be absent for possibly 5 to 10 years is my Uly, it is not the intake seals, ECM, O2 sensor, temperature sensor or induction system that is causing my EFI running problem so it remains in the shop…Conn. Statute Chapter 743b, section 42-179 is an emerging possibility as lemons should be confined to use in gin and tonics. All future motorcycle purchases will be from the islands of Japan, sorry fellas no Harley will ever grace my garage though I do believe HD/Buell Danbury are doing their best.

Editor's Note: Back to John H. report of Hopewell ride.
Sign-in was relatively smooth given the crowds and John B. corralled a table for 10, adopted CT Bear Matt included, to participate in lunch.

Bernie left his ordered scribbled on a napkin and departed for the line for the loo (a.k.a. men's room, just trying to broaden the group's vocabulary). Meanwhile John K. just upped and left for the same destination while Russ made other arrangements to relieve himself.

On Russ' return, the order for food was placed except for you know who, no order available and still in line as the server lamented that she could not put the food order in until all the table had identified what they wanted.

Captain K. returned to the table and was roundly heckled for his lack of group awareness and to make matters worse he ordered a chicken Caesar salad. Jeez, there was a time when CT Bears were real men!!

By this time Ralph was wondering if riding with the CT Bears was the wisest choice he could be making for his future, but after being regaled with tales of the mishaps his fellow but absent MSF Instructor has had over the years, he is going to give it more time.

Johnny B. made the group aware that Nick was celebrating his 13th birthday which was cheered by the group however a rendition of "Happy Birthday to You" was not forthcoming. What a shame for the new teenager. It occurred to me that having such a fresh face in this group of gnarly old geezers was a brutal way to introduce Nick into his teenage years, when a growing awareness of one's influence on the world and sensitivity to the needs of others should flourish. CT Bears as lunch companions and role models would qualify as cruel and unusual punishment for a birthday boy. Always great to have you along Nick and enjoy your teenage years!

The conversation meandered to the subject of the CT Blog and the CT Blogger who offered a critique of the submissions from the Week 4 Bears. It is believed that three or more submissions were made and such a difficult task was it to untangle the muddled English that the final report remains a work in progress. CT Blogger was flagged for inappropriate use of certain punctuation marks in his e-mail of November 19th by the wife of a Week 5 Bear who apparently graduated with a degree majoring in the English language.

The matter remains open and is unlikely to be settled until CT Blogger can rejoin the group. It is hoped that a resolution can be found without punches being thrown, however, the number of ride reports for Week 5 presented for consideration is expected to decline from the peak observed in Week 4.

Hillybilly Hall was in the rear view mirror by about 1:15 p.m., the northbound trip commenced with a pleasant tour of the back roads of central New Jersey leading to Interstate 287, 78 and the Garden State Parkway with a customary stop at the Montvale Services.

Bart was the payer on this occasion but refused to serve the group as a consequence of the roasting John H. received a couple of weeks before. He need not have been worried as the beverages were delivered without fault and in perfect order; this led to the conclusion that it was the ordering technique of the newest, but as yet defective, American that had created prior problems. Let it be known that the defective American has sworn off making any future group beverage purchases.

The group did the usual thing at the Tappan Zee Bridge on the way east and so ended this chapter in the CT Bear season of 2009.

(If I don't get at least a B+ for this I am going to go see the Principal.)

Report from Grumpy:
Here are this week's photos. Group shot by J.B. most of the others by Nick B.
(Editor's note: A few portraits were also sent by Bart.)
Report for Sunday's ride: We showed up, we went there for lunch, on the way home we stopped for coffee. It was a nice day to ride.

Next Ride:
Chris here.
Our next ride is to Schoch's Harley-Davidson.

This is the site of my very first Polar Bear ride and you can read that story on my blog:http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_story.htm

It was also the last motorcycle ride of our friend Clark Makinson. You can read about Clark on my blog too:http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_clark_m.htm

Mapquest says the ride is 2 hours, 45 minutes, and 146 miles one way.

Therefore let's figure on a departure time of 9:00 a.m. from the Dunkin' Donuts in Stratford, CT.
That Dunkin' is the one just off Interstate 95, Exit 30, at the corner of Lordship Boulevard and Honeyspot Road.

All are welcome to join us. However I believe the Polar Bear Grand Tour has reached its limit of 550 registered participants. You can still ride, but will have to wait until next year to earn the coveted Polar Bear patch.

Lewes, Del., Polar Bear Ride, Nov. 1

November 1, Lewes, Del.

As I often do for this run, I rode down to Wilmington, Del. Saturday to spend the night with my folks. It splits off a bit of distance for me on our longest ride of the Polar Bear season. Plus, taking it in two chunks, I don't have to get up so dang early for Sunday's ride down from Connecticut. Plus, plus, at this time of the year there can be quite a temperature difference between sunrise and a couple hours after.

Saturday I spent too much time puttering around at home, in part completing the blog from the previous Sunday's ride to Cape May. By the time I finally got going it was late afternoon. Saturday started partly sunny, progressed to mostly cloudy and all afternoon I was thinking the rain predicted for late day just might catch me if I waited too long to start. It did.

Freakishly warm, the temperature even after the sun went down was 70 degrees. Most of the ride was dry. Now and then I would hit a few areas where it had rained, recently enough for cars to be throwing spray. But drops from the sky did not actually fall on me until I was crossing the Commodore Barry Bridge from Jersey into Pennsylvania. It was like the Delaware River was a magic rain barrier.

Sometimes you get lucky. Twenty minutes' ride in mild rain and I was at my folks' house. I rode through the same showers that delayed the World Series game that night just a few miles north.
Arriving too late to join them, Mom saved a dinner plate for me even so. As always, she makes my favorites. Saturday night it was fried eggplant (except now it is heart-healthy baked) and stuffed mushrooms.

Friends of my folks were visiting. Mom and Dad have known their friend Judy since junior high school. Her friend Jim has been their friend for years now too.

Judy and Jim own a barbeque place in Gloucester, Mass. I haven't been there yet. But ever since reading “A Perfect Storm” I have wanted to see that famous fishing town.

Dad and the rest of us enjoyed the World Series. The Loynd family roots for the Phillies. Judy and Jim, Red Sox fans, are rooting for the Phillies too. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
It is a shame they lost, despite Utley's best efforts, I fear the New York machine, the best baseball that money can buy, is overwhelming. But as Stephen Colbert said, the Yankee victory is, "proof the free market system works!"

Next morning when the rest of the Connecticut Bears were saddling up in the cold dawn, I was enjoying scrapple for breakfast. (It's a Lancaster County thing.)

It was raining still Sunday morning. How did they fit a baseball game between bands of rain?

With the weather, cooler now that the front was moving through, I was in the mood to just motor down state. So I took the new Delaware Route 1 from Interstate 95 which nowadays basically makes a run to the beaches expressway all the way. Not like the old days I remember growing up in Wilmington when you had to stop-and-go your way through New Castle and Dover.

Arriving at our new “South Pole” venue, Irish Eyes Pub, I gingerly picked my way across the not-so-packed gravel parking lot to a place where I had enough strength to back the big Harley into a spot along a grey freight container.

No sooner was I off the bike and out of the helmet, here came my guys. I motioned them to where I was parked and offered a bit of reversing assistance, even had to help John H. with his lighter ST. He immediately made some joke about me “touching” a Honda. Hey, I even rode one once. John K. offered me his Gold Wing for a Polar Bear ride last year when my Harley was in the shop.

And if we are getting technical, I have spent hours and hours on Hondas, Suzukis and Kawis, if you include the training bikes in the Connecticut Rider Education Program. I am a Rider Coach.
Isn't that Honda Nighthawk a POS? Honda engineering? Drum brakes front and rear on a modern motorcycle? Really?

Maybe it isn't fair to judge the whole line by all its products. On the other hand, my Dad bought one of the first Civics sold in the U.S. That thing was as bad as the Nighthawk. It spent a lot of time in the shop. I hear the lawnmowers are pretty good.

Even so, the Honda ST seems like a nice bike. But I just don't see me riding with my heels tucked behind me all day.

On my Harley I can stretch out, feet on highway boards (not just pegs) mounted outboard on the engine guards. I can also sit up straight. Once in a while, I will even tuck my heels behind me, European style, toes on the back of the riding boards.

(This first segment I was able to write on my train commute to The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk Monday morning. This will be the one way I can find the time to get this blog written.

Last Friday I tried the same thing. But Metro North showed up a couple 'o cars short. I got started on my minibook all the same but in Fairfield this giant old lady with a cane suddenly slammed herself into the middle seat next to me. When she shifted her hips to fit, she bruised mine against the wall of the train.

Some people take up more than their fair share of the planet.

Instead of sitting there smashed against the window seat for two more stops, I got up and stood until South Norwalk station stop set me free of the overcrowded car. Even with the minibook, it's kinda hard to type standing up.

Needless to say, this morning's ride was much more civil. I will pick up my narrative on the ride home.)

Back again . . .

So we saunter into the Irish Eyes Pub in Lewes, Del., the Grand Tour's "South Pole" to sign-in for our Polar Bear Points. Captain K. was ready with 31, enough to qualify for his rocker on his second ride.

Polar Bear Grand Poo-bah Bob Hartpence even memorialized John Kammerer's accomplishment on the Polar Bear Grand Tour site; check out last week's photos at the bottom, on the Grand Tour site: http://www.polarbeargrandtour.com/lew09.htm

“Captain” John K. accomplishes this feat by giving blood all summer in the name of the Bears. So it is hard to find fault with such dedication. Coming all the way from Connecticut, we earn about half the points we need to qualify on the first two rides. Add John K.'s blood points on top – oh and he also attended the District II Summer Corn Boil – and well, there you have it.

Even so, John K. almost shorted himself. Not only do you get two points for donating blood, you also get round trip mileage points if you are crazy enough to ride your motorcycle to the blood bank and back. John forgot to take credit for these mileage points, but Flight Leader Rich came and found us at lunch and called John back to his page in the book to tally up the extra credits.

And then we have Russ. Russ earned his Polar Bear patch years ago and a few rockers hence. Some years, when he knows family obligations will diminish his riding opportunities, Russ did not even sign up for the points. He just rode along for the fun of it. Can you imagine?

Well this year I guess Russ is feeling optimistic. In Cape May he signed up to earn his points. But when we arrived in Lewes, Russ' page was not in the book.

Because they are so many in number, the Polar Bears are broken into two “flights” labeled “A” and “B.” Most all the Connecticut Bears are in “B.”

When Russ' page was not in the “B” book he started getting all worked up, as only Russ can. Well, actually, Grumpy can get pretty worked up too. But, trust me on this, it is safer to laugh at Russ.

I even survived laughing at Russ when he was as angry as I have ever seen him.

We just completed the Iron Butt, 1,000 miles in 24 hours or less, ride. We may be on record for the ugliest accomplishment of this task. A disasterous early morning start idea, a lollygagging first half and a pouring rain storm in the last 20 miles had frayed everyone's nerves to the rawest edge of sanity.

Twenty-three-and-a-half hours later as we are gassing up and getting our final receipts, it turns out the odometers on John K. and Russ' bikes are showing just shy of 1,000 miles. Mine was a hair over.

John K. being so much the cross your t's and dot your i's kinda guy, starts on about how he damn well better qualify for the Iron Butt. Russ takes the criticism personally because Russ set up the ride. John was oblivious to Russ' growing blood pressure. Pretty soon they are nose to nose. Russ was dropping one leg back, squaring his hips, getting ready for action. He was quite the boxer on the Navy aircraft carrier during his shipboard days.

It was at this point Russ threw out the nastiest epithet he knew. Sputtering he shouts, “John . . . you were in the Navy! And I hate the Navy!” I roared with laughter. For someone who can curse like a Sailor, this was Russ' worst. The juxtaposition from what I expected and what Russ delivered was the funniest thing I have heard my friend say to this day.

Back in Lewes, Del., I suggested maybe they put Russ in Flight A since he had dropped out for a year or two. Well it turns out the new Flight A leader had taken Russ' application last week, but had not handed it over to our Flight B Leaders. Fortunately Russ' sheet was right there handy on the Flight A desk ready for insertion in the Flight B logbook.

Russ started grousing all the same, but Bob Hartpence cooled him fast by threatening to put Russ in Flight “C.”

Irish Eyes seemed nice enough and the food was good, if a bit slow in arriving. I ordered “bangers and mash” because it sounded so delightfully British. Imagine my surprise when it turns out to be just sausage, mashed potatoes and peas. Geeze! Back home in Stratford, Connecticut we call that sausage with mashed potatoes and peas. Being a marketing guy myself, however, I smiled admiringly, knowing how the right name can boost sales.

Johnny B. ordered fish and chips and it turned out to be fish with french fries. John K. and Russ ordered Irish stew and it turned out to be stew, so I guess they weren't fooled.

Happy with full bellies and bulging Polar Bear points sheets we posed for our weekly group picture then suited up for the long ride home.

If you read last week's blog, one of the things I promised was a review of my new Gerbing T-5 electric gloves, purchased from Len in Cape May. Well it was still too warm to turn them on. I did not even wear them on the ride down.

But for the ride home I pulled them on and plugged them in. Still it remained warm as we rode north. When we stopped for gas, just before the Delaware Memorial Bridge, it was one of those deals where we gassed up but then reassembled in a parking area. John K. had missed the turn for the bridge. So I knew I was going to get off the bike right away. Which meant after I gassed up, I just pulled on my gloves, rode over to the parking area and got off to offer the Captain a bit of local Delaware navigation advice, once a former resident of these parts myself.

We conferred. We mounted up. And off we went.

John ignored my advice, doggedly stuck to I-95 North, despite numerous signs pointing to “New Jersey, New York, Delaware Memorial Bridge.”

Grumpy finally flew up from the sweep position, threw a lariat over Captain's handlebars and led him off the proper exit.

Over the bridge now, onto the NJ Turnpike, we steamed for home.

As we reached north to the Garden State Parkway, and the clouds cleared just enough to show a sundown, it started to, gasp, get cold. Not Polar Bear cold. But chilly.

Here's my chance! I turned up the gloves with my new dual “temptroller” thermostat. My hands were warm enough. But not hot. For miles I fiddled with the switch. Weak.

In the last 30 miles to the top of the Garden State where we always stop for coffee, I was getting aggravated. My hands were getting cold.

Figuring the gloves and controller were new, I started blaming my 120,000 + miles Springer. How long does an alternator last? Maybe this thing just wasn't putting out the current. I am aggravated but forgiving. Next I try flipping the switch to turn off the passing lamps, hoping more current will be available to warm my fingers. No effect. Now I am figuring how, and who, and when, I can get it fixed.

As we pulled into the rest area to gas up I pulled off my glove and it came free immediately.

In my plan for a temporary on-off to talk with John K. at the last gas stop, way down in Delaware, I had not gone through the formal procedure of linking the gloves to the sleeves of my electric jacket. Electric gloves don't work without electricity.

We all had a good chuckle at that one. Of course there is not a rider who at some point hasn't left without plugging something in or has never ridden off with a saddlebag lid flopping because it was left unlatched.

When I did connect the gloves to the power source of my motorcycle, they performed wonderfully. Hey, I guess I learned the gloves are pretty well insulated too. They kept me warm even without electricity.

Unlike my old gloves, these heat instantly. You can feel the warmth all around your fingers. It wasn't really cold enough to give them a really good test. But hey, it's only the second ride of the season.

See this blog entry with photos at: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_blog.htm

Feel free to comment here!