Riding Among Liberals

CT Polar Bears in Shamong, from left: Token2, Mac, Anonymous Ed (hands only) Grumpy, CT Blogger, Captain.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to Shamong, NJ, January 22, 2017

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

Riding home Sunday northerly, up the New Jersey Turnpike then the Garden State Parkway, we found ourselves surrounded by liberals. New Hampshire and Vermont licensed Priuses swarmed around us in numbers never before seen. Coexist and Hug a Tree and No Nukes bumper stickers adorned them. And in many ways it was a good thing.

For the most part these drivers were kind and considerate. Traffic flowed more smoothly than usual. People signaled their lane changes, did not tailgate and moved over or slowed to let us merge.

There must have been some milk of human kindness, camaraderie and belief in the better angels of our nature, as the liberals headed home from their Saturday Washington D.C. protests.

Oh there was that one d**k in a Mercedes who cut into our line of bikes, then back out again, then cut off the leader, all to get a few cars ahead. But there is always some jerk in a BMW or Mercedes or Audi on the New Jersey freeways, often sporting Connecticut plates. Not to pick entirely on the Germans, we also encountered a less than polite Maserati. (By the way I love how a pedantic detail like a car having four doors turns into the car's exotic name when spelled in Italian: Maserati Quattroporte, 0-60 in 4.8 seconds, $103 - 145,000, depending upon options.)

Not all the liberals were kind. One of my favorite bumper stickers looked to be made by hand from electrical tape. It said, "Eat the Rich." I'm not even sure what that means, but it certainly seems a less than friendly sentiment.

Connecticut Polar Bears lean both left and right. Talking politics for us is as unavoidable as it is for everyone else in the nation. Fortunately our shared motorcycle experience trumps, um, uh, overrides, any political differences we may have. Your lane discipline, following distance and speed control are much more likely to be criticized than your proclivity for republicans, democrats or tea.

Nevertheless Sunday's pastoral and happy ride dissolved at our home state border. Slogging up the Merritt Parkway we once again were confronted with cars too fast and too slow and too aggressive and half asleep and there were more of them in our short home state run than in all of New Jersey.

Our ride down to the Pic-a-lilli in Shamong (I am NOT making up those names) was pleasantly uneventful. Grumpy led, Mac swept, Anonymous Ed, Captain and I were in the middle, joined by Token2 at the bus stop. I invoked EDP (Early Departure Protocol) for this ride because rain was forecast for later in the day. It worked really well, so well in fact, we were quite nearly the first to arrive at our destination.

Unfortunately rain caught us early all the same. After lunch as we mounted up for the ride home morning fog turned into actual rain drops. Since my riding gear is old, I need to put a rainsuit on top to stay dry. I got the jacket on as my fellow bears not so patiently waited. Token2 assured me the rain was forecast to stop soon and it was only raining in this local town. Feeling the glare of a dozen eyeballs I took a chance and skipped the ordeal of threading rain pants over my already bulky outfit.

Token2 was bang-on. Two miles out of town the rain stopped and never returned until my Honda ST1100 was safe in the garage and I'd peeled all those polar bear layers.

Very nearly first to arrive. There were two New Jersey bikes ahead of us.

If you look to the left of Anonymous Ed you'll see I did not make up, nor misspell, the name of our host restaurant.

Bob photo of the week.

Gold rocker earned.

Gold Rocker earned.

So Token2 sends Pogy a text message Sunday with a picture of Captain holding his gold rocker and this sentiment: "XOXO Nah, hah, boo, boo."

Pogy responds with the photo above and the text: "My Grandson has a 1200GS. Something I can handle."

Token2 replies: "ATGATT dude, ATGATT."

Sorry you're missing the fun Pogy. Hope to get you back soon!

BONUS:

Movie of our still reasonable ride. Token2, on whose helmet the camera was affixed, dropped out in New York.

Captain's Kryptonite

Hatfield Connecticut Polar Bears, from left, Anonymous Ed (actually his sleeve only, see arrow), CT Blogger, Token2, Fonz, New Guy Jim.
Down front: Captain and Thumper.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to Hatfield, Penn., December 4, 2016.

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

Captain's ride to Montgomeryville Cycle Center in Hatfield, Penn., some years ago made him a legend in Connecticut Polar Bear lore. Poor fellow has yet to live it down. Grand Tour Polar Bear Pooh Bah Bob Hartpence will never let Captain forget it. And this past Sunday we discovered there may exist cosmic reverberations from that event haunting Captain still.

If you do not know the story, I will torture our much maligned Captain once more in the retelling. Full disclosure, I got this hearsay from my fellow Connecticut Bears. Unfortunately, I missed the infamous ride.

The Grand Tour scheduled ride on that fateful day long ago was to Brian's Harley-Davidson in Langhorne, Penn. Captain was leading. Unfortunately, he programmed the wrong motorcycle dealership into his GPS. He then led his compatriots to Montgomeryville Cycle, despite miles of protestations. When he approached the dealership's empty parking lot, Captain's heart sank. To their credit, the other Connecticut riders followed him all the way to the wrong destination. Communications are limited at speed in full face helmets.

I can attest that as lead rider you feel the pressure of those behind you. You know everyone of them has his own GPS confirming or refuting your route choices at every turn.

I've had my share of u-turns and miscues. If you lead enough rides, you will too. I own a disastrous circle at the foot of the Whitestone Bridge in New York City. That one even led to bike damage.

Even wise and wonderful Polar Bear Grand Tour Chairman Bob Hartpence is known to his closest friends as "The Shortcut King."

For our Connecticut Captain, maybe there is some magnetic field around Montgomeryville known only to him. Maybe it emanates unseen in cosmic waves. Leading a ride there I famously overshot the mark because I was looking for this dealership on the other side of the highway. Russ stuck with me as I sought a far away U-turn opportunity on the divided highway. The rest of my fellow riders ditched me, hard on the brakes, dove into the dealership and were having coffee and chili by the time Russ and I arrived from our U-turn.

I am a scientist by training and philosophy. So I do not put much credence in the "supernatural." At the most I admit there are many things in this world we do not yet fully understand. One of these is the powerful effect Montgomeryville Cycle Center continues to have on our beloved Captain, once again evidenced in this year's fateful ride to the Hatfield dealership.

For one, Captain insisted on leading the ride there this Sunday. I was ready to lead, even wrote the key direction on my mirror in grease pencil: "I-287 x-15." I offered this to Captain. His response was, "I'll go where my GPS says." Unfortunately, his GPS chose prosaic over poetic.

We slogged west across Route 202. It was that much more annoying because it was the exact same route we took last Sunday. You start out in pharmaceutical land. Ortho-McNeil-Janssen, Roche, Johnson-Johnson, Thermo Fisher Scientific, the road is lined with corporate campuses fed by fields of solar energy arrays. Then the scenery settles into strip malls and housing developments, miles of them. Next you enter car land. As you reach Flemington the road is lined with auto dealerships: BMW, Audi, Jeep, Dodge, Ram, Buick, GMC, Cadillac, Infiniti, Hyundai, Toyota, Kia and the NJ DMV inspection lanes. Finally, as you near Pennsylvania, you enter some scenic farm land, much of it rich people's horse farm land, presumably for the highly paid workers of pharmaceutical land. Meanwhile my health insurance is killing me.

Over the Delaware River, Pennsylvania's version of Route 202 dumps into narrow New Hope, then continues in two lanes, small towns, stop-and-go congestion. It does look like Pennsylvania here and there. Fieldstone colonial houses and antique shops in town, along with convenience stores. It does open to some farm vistas now and then.

It gets more congested and suburban as you near Montgomeryville Cycle Center. Captain -- or perhaps more correctly his GPS -- magnified this effect by moving us over to Business Route 202 for the last bit. Personally, I was perfectly happy on the expressway 202.

Nevertheless, we arrived on time, 11:30 a.m. on the dime.

And that included an emergency pit stop. Hey, when you gotta go . . . .

Captain did not suffer the stop gladly. His outburst was out of character for him. Hmmm, maybe the Montgomeryville effect runs deeper than we divine. New guy Jim got a talking to the minute our helmets came off in the Montgomeryville Cycle Center parking lot. Apparently there was an earlier conversation. I'm not taking sides. But as I age, I do understand the need for more frequent potty breaks. That's why I restrict my coffee intake on Polar Bear Sunday mornings.

Captain soon settled. Jim seemed okay. Good humor was restored. We broke bread together and laughed once again.

The dealership treated us to free lunch, chili con carne, corn muffins, coffee, even doughnuts. It also offered 20 percent discounts. Thank you Montgomeryville Cycle Center for hosting us once again.

As we were walking into the dealership, Token2 remarked how tight our group rode on the way over. He was second-to-last rider; I was sweep. I wholeheartedly agreed. There was a bobble here and there, boxing in a Jeep and a last-possible-minute route decision. But all-in-all it was one of our better group rides.

We cannot claim the same for the ride home.

After a double U-turn, down-and-back, gas stop, Captain did take us on the scenic route home. He chickened-out on one turn thereby missing the covered bridge. He was probably influenced by peer pressure of the Unified Harley Riders of Central Jersey who were riding directly ahead of us.

It's a nice, scenic, country route on the way down to the Delaware River. The roads narrow, then narrow some more, then drop down to one-lane over creek bridges. (Thumper remarked at the obvious economy of a one-lane bridge.)

The fun ended as we entered I-78 heading back east for Connecticut. We missed the exit for I-287 plunging onto the Garden State Parkway in the Oranges. After voting to skip the stop at the top of the Garden State Parkway, we overturned that decision, deciding we might as well stop now that we were passing directly by it anyway.

Thumper shared a story of his first Polar Bear ride. He'd missed the group and went on his own. He avoided interstate highways, stuck to local roads, and made the destination at 1:30. He had a chicken sandwich, then rode home, the last part in the dark. "After that I realized the Polar Bear rides were mostly interstate riding," he concluded. To his credit, Thumper is a brand new rider -- was one of my motorcycle students just this past summer -- and holds his own with the rest of us on his single-cylinder BMW.

We're trying to talk him into leading a ride. Hey, maybe Montgomeryville Cycle Center next year?

Captain.

A Tiny Taste of Polar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not everyone would agree.

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

Token2's Report:

Dear Chris:

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

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

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

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

I remain yours respectfully,

Token 2.

More photos from Vineland:

Arrival. Brisk with gusty winds.

Bob photo of the week!

Holiday dressing at Five Points.

Departure. Is it feeling colder?

Longest Day of Our Season

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

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

By: Chris Loynd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, we are less tolerant of riding mistakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ed, Fonz and Captain waiting for food.

Flight B leaders, Joan and Jim.

Flight A leaders Pat and John.

Grumpy's ride log.

"Outdoor" dining, closed in for winter.

Suiting up for the ride home.

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

Season Opener

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ed does exist!

Mac checks in Flight B.

Admiring NJ Matt's new riding suit.

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

Off Season Fun

Off-season Connecticut Bears in June, from left: CT Blogger, Pogy and Captain.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog off-season rides to Ambler, Pa., June 19 and Newburgh, NY, August 28.

By: Chris Loynd

My original motivation for joining The Polar Bear Grand Tour was I couldn't imagine going four to six months without a motorcycle ride. I never dreamed someday I would end up doing more riding from October to April than from April to October. But here of late, life's had other plans.

One was losing my local HOG. (Harley Owners Group if you're not familiar.) The local dealership a mile from home closed and my next closest chapter is now New Haven, Branford actually. A few of my Bridgeport Chapter friends are now New Haven HOGs. I joined New Haven the year our Bridgeport dealership died, but was too busy to make many meetings or rides.

A new and very demanding job, starting right about the same time as loss of my local HOG, sapped free time and energy. It also cut into the quality time I had with my wife. So I tended to try to spend more time with Cynthia, who does not like motorcycle riding, than with HOGs. That cut into riding time, big time. The Connecticut Wine Trail offered Cynthia and me lots of wonderful excuses for Saturday and Sunday summer outings of quality time together.

About the same time as all this, I bought my Mazda MX-5 convertible. Not a motorcycle, it comes darn close on a sunny day with the top down. And Cynthia will ride in the Mazda, albeit under scarves and sun screen, often with a blanket over her legs. With its all-weather advantages and generous (by motorcycle standards) cargo capacity, the Mazda is an easier choice for vacation jaunts as well. Consequently, I never had my cycle out overnight at all this summer.

I also started teaching more motorcycle classes. I am a “rider-coach” in Connecticut's rider education program. Teaching classes was good therapy for the stresses of my day job. But classes ate up still more summer weekend days.

For motorcycle classes I always like to ride my bike to classroom nights and range days. It sets a good example for students. Both classroom and range are conveniently close to my home, beyond convenient actually; I could walk to each.

So when Token2 offered an off-season Polar Bear ride this past Sunday, I was still on the same tank of gas as when I filled up from a June ride to Pennsylvania restaurant Fireside Bar & Grille owned by Pogy's brother-in-law. By the way, Pogy has suggested for years this would be a good Polar Bear destination. It certainly is big enough. The food and service were excellent. George and Roy, it's worth a look!

"Fireside" offers truth in advertising with a wood-burning brick oven.

Crab dip was AWESOME!

Off-season Bears seek shady parking spots.

Pogy offered his nice jaunt at the “beginning” of the Polar Bear off-season. Captain and I joined him. We did a very Polar Bear type excursion, at least typical for Connecticut Polar Bears. We started early, rode interstates and turnpikes just about the whole way, ate lunch, then beat back home the way we came, deviating only to swap the GW Bridge southbound for the Tappan Zee northbound.

For Connecticut Bears, most destinations are farther distances than for our New Jersey brethren. With winter's harsher conditions and shorter days we stick to the big highways. There are a few exceptions. When the Grand Tour comes to northern New York, Token2 comes into his own.

Polar Bear destinations Long Valley, Augusta, Sloatsburg and Kingston are in his backyard. Token2 knows every twisty trail from New Jersey Highpoint to the Bear Mountain Bridge. When winter weather allows, he leads us on scenic rides with curvy roads and mountaintop vistas.

Memories of these convinced me to ask my wife if she would not mind too terribly if I switched my plans and went for a daylong ride with my buddies this past Sunday. My original plan was to accompany Cynthia on one of her triathlon events. (When I say “accompany” what I mean is driving along with her to the destination and then sitting in the shade reading a book while Cynthia does the swimming, biking and running.) Summer's winding down and I felt I wanted to spend more time with my wife (see the third paragraph).

She didn't think twice. “It's the first time I've seen you smile today,” she observed as I sheepishly asked to change my plans. “We'll have a nice glass of wine together on our veranda (back porch) at the end of the day.”

Token2 was offering a far-ranging scenic ride, an exotic lunch destination and a collection of hundreds of vintage motorcycles. He did not disappoint.

He invited just our Connecticut Polar Bear core. On Sunday it was just Pogy, Token2 and me. The rest of you guys missed a corker!

I started alone from Stratford – and late. If you are a faithful reader of this blog you know the CT Bears wait for no man. They leave on time. Exactly. Sometimes a tick or two early. And if you're late, you either catch up on the road or at the final destination. Guess I am out of practice. Generally, I like to show up right before the departure time. I just don't value taking off all those layers to hang out at my local Dunkin' Donuts. Even when I'm early, I usually just stand outside in the cold.

Likely my late departure was because I purposely did not build in the usual half-hour “suiting up” time required for winter riding. I often say the only difference between Polar Bear and summer riding is you don't just jump on the bike and go in winter. This Sunday I required only a sweatshirt and bluejeans under my protective riding jacket and pants. Another possibility, well excuse actually, is that my daughter's dog Montigue is visiting from Brooklyn. With Cynthia's 5 a.m. departure for her triathlon, it fell to me to walk Monti before I left on my motorcycle ride. He diligently sniffed every tree, pole and bush for two blocks.

Captain never confirmed if he was riding with us or not; we were to meet at our regular departure Dunkin' Donuts at 7:30 a.m. So it was that from 7:35, when I arrived late until I picked up Pogy at the Darien rest stop, I was never sure Captain – and therefore the whole ride – had not left without me. Fortunately, Pogy was still there, waiting patiently, for my arrival. Captain couldn't make it.

I doubt Pogy caught on, but I rode off the interstate and into the gas pumps to “meet” him. Usually we do a flying pick up, beeping our horns as we go by on the interstate, Pogy's Goldwing lumbering down the on-ramp to catch us. I figured to top off my tank in Stratford, but ran out of time. So I nonchalantly pulled up to the pumps like I planned to do so all along, and gained back five minutes' time.

All was moot, wouldn't you know? Pogy and I arrived at the Hutchinson Parkway bus stop meeting place for Token2 a good 15 minutes ahead of time. So even if I'd missed the group ride from Stratford to Darien I would have caught them in Westchester.

Wanting to be ready to leave promptly when Token2 arrived, and the morning weather pleasantly cool, Pogy and I did not take off our riding gear at the bus stop. We just sat on the bus shelter bench in our full complement, helmets and all, waiting for our lead rider. A jogger came by, paused, looked at us a moment and asked, “You guys waiting for the bus?”

Token2 arrived on time. He asked whether Pogy or I would sweep. My first response was magnanimous, “I'll sweep.” But then I got to thinking and suggested Pogy would be better in back. “You'll never keep up with Token2 in the twisties,” I surmised. Pogy commented, “Oh yes! That's what I miss without the Polar Bears, taking a lot of guff from my friends.” (He actually said something other than “guff” but this is a family-friendly blog.)

So off we went, riding three Honda motorcycles of very different character: Token2 in the lead on his nimble CB500X Rally Raid conversion, me right behind him on my “sport-touring” ST1100 and Pogy bringing up the rear on his Barcalounger, I mean, Goldwing.

After only a short stint on controlled access highway west over the Tappan Zee and north up the Palisades Parkway, the fun began. Token2 led us through Harriman State Park then along back roads all the way west to Port Jervis before stopping for a coffee, doughnut and bathroom break. Next he headed us back southeast treating us to more amazing Mohonk and Minnewaska scenery and the Shawangunk mountain range overlook in Ellenville where I took my only photos of the ride.

Three very different Hondas.

Incredible mountaintop overlook.

At the overlook the air temperature reached well above Polar Bear levels. Fortunately I planned for this eventuality. Underneath my sweatshirt, which I now removed, I had a special bit of summer riding kit called a tee-shirt. Unfamiliar to Polar Bear riders, it is a light cotton garment with short sleeves, perfect for riding on these days when you do not need an electric jacket liner. Often these tee-shirts are covered with graphics and for today's ride I'd chosen one emblazoned with a large Harley-Davidson logo. For safety, I still wore my riding jacket on top, but a specialized summer version made of Cordura mesh and TF2 armor.

Token's route took us through Pine Island, New York. Coming down from the mountains, I noticed broad, flat fields of blacker-than-black soils. The farmland was obviously highly managed with perfectly level plots built up and surrounded by ditches. At highway speed I could not discern the crop. A highway marker referenced “Drowned Lands.”

When I got home, a Google search revealed we were riding across the bottom of an ancient glacial lake that receded 12,000 years ago. The glacier left behind a low, boggy area lush with plant life. Then the Wallkill River deposited nutrient rich sediments there for a few thousand years more as part of the river's flood plain. Pine Island is so named because it truly was an inland island whenever the river flooded.

Settlers avoided the wet, boggy area until the early 1800s when Volga German and Polish immigrants recognized the soil's value and built a deep drainage canal. They even fought and won the “Muskrat and Beaver Wars” with downstream millers to keep their farms above water, eventually putting the water-wheel-powered folks out of business. The farmers also created malaria outbreaks by taking so much water out of one part of the Wallkill, the river was reduced to a series of stagnant pools.

Receding waters revealed some of the richest earth in the nation. More than 20,000 acres of deep muck soils make up the largest such deposit in America save the Florida Everglades. While most soils are made up of less than 10 percent organic matter, black dirt is 50 to 90 percent. While most top soils are measured in feet, even inches, black dirt soils run 30 feet deep in some places.

And what do farmers do with some of the richest soil in the country just 100 miles from New York City? They grow onions. Not as famous as Vadialas, and certainly not as sweet, these are the baseball-sized, hard, yellow onions you buy in net bags at the grocery store. Black dirt onions pack a punch. Their growing soil is rich in sulfur boosting the onions' pyruvic acid content, the ingredient that gives onions their sharp bite and makes your eyes water when you cut them. Still, these yellow onions are loaded with as much sugar as Vadiala and other “sweet” onions making them caramelize exceptionally well, offering a complex sharp and sweet flavor favored by many chefs.

We did not spend too much time on valley floors. Token2 had us running up and down mountains until our cheeks were sore from smiling in our full-face helmets. Motorcycles love corners.

Steep mountain scenery covered in pines and accented with huge bald granite facings, reminded me of that amazing scenery at the end of the movie “Last of the Mohicans.” While New York's mountains are the proper setting for James Fenimore Cooper's story, the film was made in North Carolina's Appalachians because there's too much modern jet traffic streaking the skies around New York's Hudson River mountains. To be accurate, historical events leading to Cooper's story all happened well north of where we were riding. While Fort Edward is now just a town above Albany, a reconstructed Fort William Henry is on the shores of Lake George.

Nevertheless, looking up at mountain faces as we rode by I imagined running along perilous trails, in buckskins and moccasins, touting a flintlock. Instead we were cruising along in Cordura and motorcycle boots, leaning in and out of corners, on macadam roads protected by guard rails.

As we rode through tiny towns I delighted in names of two businesses I saw along the way. Rather than a family or national chain name I noted “A Low Price Car” used car dealership and “Try R Deli” which requires no generic description. Truly strong branding. Short, direct, descriptive, with a call to action, I think “Try R Deli” could go nationwide. It certainly makes more sense than say, “Cumberland Farms” or “Piggly Wiggly.”

Most towns appeared to be suffering. We rode past empty small factories surrounded by parking lots obscured by tall weeds, enclosed in chain link fences, giant “available” signs posted out front. The few Main Streets we traversed were fronted by empty buildings needing a coat of paint. All of us commented at lunch on the number of “Trump” signs we saw, most of them homemade. I postulated the rural versus urban divide must be deep in New York, Clinton's adopted home state.

We ended the scenic part of our ride at the epitome of small-town economic decline, Newburgh.

Token2 led us, via a last minute change of direction, missed turn and short sidewalk ride, into the parking lot of a dingy little diner where I assumed he was going to ask for directions. Instead he announced lunch. He only told us after we ate he originally had a different eatery in mind, but discovering it was closed Sundays, Googled us into this place.

The diner's entry vestibule was stacked with cases of canned tomatoes and sacks of beans. A sign on the window facing the door announced, “We are praying for you.” We took the one empty booth and I sank below the table height on an ancient cushion. (I ended up eating lunch atop my padded motorcycle jacket doubling as a booster seat.) Token2 announced it was a Mexican food diner, declaring it authentic and good based upon his observations that: A) the place was packed at lunchtime on a Sunday afternoon and B) we three were the only non-Hispanic folks eating there.

It was an ancient diner, well past its prime. Pogy noted the once-beautiful woodwork and inlaid mirrors of what had been the ice box, not refrigerator, ice box. Burl-wood maple veneer decorated the fascia above an art deco, stainless steel, grill backing. We were guessing early 1800s (probably around the time they drained the drowned lands). Token2 wondered aloud if the counter stools were original.

Having delivered on two of his three promises, a far-ranging, scenic ride and exotic lunch, Token2 next led us a short way down the road to fulfill his third: hundreds of vintage motorcycles.

We went to Motorcyclepedia Museum. Even though it opened in 2011, I first heard about it last October then the museum hosted one of The Chocolate Expo shows. My former place of employment, The Maritime Aquarium, hosted Chocolate Expos for several years, which I was in charge of promoting. (Last year the expo delivered the Aquarium's largest ever single day attendance, nearly two weekend's worth in one long, very long, day.) This was my first chance to visit Motorcyclepedia.

Pogy also heard about it from a friend and asked Token2 to put it on our itinerary.

More than 500 antique, vintage, rare and custom motorcycles are displayed on two floors in the 85,000 square foot museum.

One of the cool ideas they have is motorcycles you can sit upon for a photo opportunity. While most of the exhibits are understandably no-touch, the photo opp bikes are dispersed generously throughout, starting with a couple of old Harleys with sidecars in the entry foyer.

I love museums of all sorts and could easily have spent hours more. My compatriots were done sooner than I. And yes, I've learned to accept not everyone is an information geek and history junkie like me. Admission is just $11, so there's no excuse not to visit again.

The most impressive exhibit is a timeline of Indian motorcycles comprised of at least one model (often more) for every year the bikes were manufactured except for the first year. The company built only three bikes in 1901. Interspersed is a delightful collection of the many variations dreamed up by the company including a pedicab-like trike where the second rider sits in front of the operator facing forward in a big wicker chair fastened between the handlebars, a snow ski equipped model, all sorts of business versions with transport boxes instead of sidecars for carrying everything from ice cream to fresh meat and . . . well you'll just have to visit.

It would be great if Polaris, current owner of the Indian brand and builder of current models, also Victory motorcycles, could donate their latest bikes to keep the timeline going. There is a post Springfield Indian motorcycle on the floor, but no sign delineating its manufacturer. (Lack of signs and interpretation was my only complaint about Motorcyclepedia.) There are other gaps in the post-Springfield timeline, as described below. Certainly a collection effort covering more than a hundred years of motorcycles should be continued.

There's an interesting exhibit describing how various scammers tried to abscond with and profit from the Indian brand after the original company closed in 1953. One example is a carved-wood mock-up of a soon-to-be-built motorcycle to impress prospective investors. A true wooden Indian!

Again, there is a great opportunity missed here to better explain the brand's movement and eventual acquisition by Polaris. There were India Indians (re-branded Royal Enfields), Taiwanese Indians including Indian scooters, and Gilroy, Calif. Indians with S&S motors. Then Stellican Ltd., an investment company that specializes in reviving brands like Chris Craft, bought the Indian name and built a few, rather expensive, Chiefs in North Carolina. If you're interested, the new Indian Motorcycle company offers a wonderfully frank timeline on its website.

Curation is weak throughout the museum. It is best in the Indian timeline room, still I wished for many more signs and descriptions. They need more cool touches like their blowup of an early 1900's article discussing whether gasoline will be available in significant quantities in the future. At the time George Hendee and Carl Hedstrom were starting their motorcycle manufacturing business in Springfield, gasoline was a rarity sold in glass jars at the local pharmacy or tin cans at the general store. (Rockefeller made his oil refining fortune in kerosene for lighting, not gasoline for propulsion.)

Beyond Indians, a great many more facets of motorcycling are offered at the museum, including Harley-Davidson bikes of all sorts for those enthusiasts. A display pays homage to Rat Fink creator Big Daddy Roth and includes one of his trikes. A case donated by Connecticut Cruise News Publisher Don Clady offers memorabilia from Marcus Dairy and Super Sunday but without a lot of explanation of these events and why they were important. Another room offers Asian and European manufacturers including a rare Wankel rotary powered bike. There are a few choppers and customs, a display of hill climbers and board track racers, police bikes, motorized bicycles, and much, much more. A three-wheeler claims to be the oldest, running, motorcycle on the planet. It sits next to a re-creation of Daimler’s first ever motorcycle. In one basement room is a full-sized Wall of Death motorcycle daredevil track.

With such a broad collection of novelties and rarities, I wished there were far more signs and descriptions. I probably saw some really cool and one-of-a-kind motorcycles, but don't know enough to understand or appreciate all I saw. Some motorcycle historian or museum curator needs to sort it out. Maybe when a prominent magazine editor retires? Buzz Kanter, this would be perfect for you!