Polar Bear Season Killed by Covid-19 Virus

Delightfully naive Connecticut Polar Bears on what they only suspected was the last ride of the season, our local substitute for the Grand Tour to Otis, Mass., around the table from left: CT Blogger, Captain, John J., Anonymous Ed, Pogy, Fonz, Scott and Marco.

Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, unofficial ride to Otis Chicken Farm and Farmington River Diner, March 16, 2020.

By: Chris Loynd
Photos by: Chris Loynd, Fonz, Marco and our waitress

Editor's Note: although this ride was March 16, I am writing the present blog post on March 29. How very different the world looks today from just two weeks ago.

Our beloved Polar Bear rides were quashed by the Covid-19 virus pandemic. Back in mid-March, our destination ride to Brian's Harley-Davidson was cancelled by the destination. Things were still very uncertain then. Brian's H-D decided hosting hundreds of riders from New Jersey, New York, Delaware, Pennsylvania and even Connecticut was probably not advisable. The phrase we were all using then was, "Out of an abundance of caution."

Brian's is one of those destinations close enough to my boyhood home to sneak in a visit with my Mom and Dad. Friday night, I was contemplating going. But with both of them 85-years old, and with the increasing amount of information becoming available, I called saying, "Out of an abundance of caution, I just don't think it makes sense for me to visit. You know. Just in case." They were disappointed, but agreed.

However the warnings were not so dire on March 16th. The gloom not yet settled. The economy still open.

So I sent an email to my Connecticut Polar Bear riders inviting anyone who wished to join me on a jaunt up Connecticut Route 8 to Otis, Massachusetts, home to the best chicken pot pies in the country and a delightful country diner. As you can see by the photo, a bunch of them joined me.

Route 8 is one of my favorite local rides. Even on the expressway part, if you slow to the speed limit and relax, it's really quite scenic. Well, first you have to clear Bridgeport. But once you're past Shelton, it's a pretty ride. (Yes there is a slight blip of urban ugly in Waterbury. It lasts but a few minutes as you work your way under I-84.)

Route 8 always reminds me of a train set. Rocks, trees, hills, a river winding next to you, some nice vistas and deep forests, I think it's beautiful in all seasons. In winter you see even more deeply into the scenery.

The expressway dies in Winsted, Connecticut. A few moments past the franchise restaurants and college, then through this scenic town along its New England green, and you're back in the woods. It's dotted here and there with small settlements. It skirts Colebrook River Lake, a reservoir flanked by granite cliffs just north of Winsted. Crossing into Massachusetts is barely noticeable, a sign and slight change in the color of the macadam.

There's a sharp dogleg over the river in Sandisfield, Mass., but then it opens up to smooth turns and a reasonable speed limit generating motorcycle fun as 8 clings to the Farmington River. It's a nice bit of highway for motorcycles and sports cars. In fact as we were leaving the diner we saw a string of modified imports and tuners running nose-to-tail with fart-can mufflers having fun.

Route 8 goes up into the Berkshires, through Massachusetts and into Vermont. But Sunday we ventured only so far north as Otis.

March 16 was still chilly enough, especially in the morning. For the ride home I didn't turn on my electrics at all. I did notice there was still snow on the runs of the Otis Ski Resort; I could see the mountain through leafless trees over to the right on our way home. As ride leader I pointed to direct my fellow riders' attentions. But such communication is ambiguous at best on motorcycles.

Farmington River Diner is a delightful place. On any other Sunday I've visited it's jammed packed. Sadly, today we had no trouble putting together a table for eight with immediate seating. They put us right in the middle of the restaurant. There were a few other folks in booths around the outside walls. By comparison, it was sadly quiet.

We sat together shoulder-to-shoulder, the six-foot rule of today unknown to us then. I promised not to kiss any of my fellow bikers and we joked about social distancing. I'm guessing everyone was extra careful to wash his hands. Fonz handed me his phone to take a group photo and as I handed it back I pretended to wipe my nose on my hand. It was funny . . . then. By-and-large we were unconcerned — two weeks ago.

The food there is great, good country fare. I ordered a chicken-fried steak with biscuits. Yum! Marco was on the fence when he ordered and regretful after seeing my dish, even though he professed his club sandwich was tasty too.

Half our group headed home after brunch. I led Captain, Marco and Scott just a few minutes further north to Otis Poultry Farm. All of us but Captain came prepared with freezer packs to transport home the coveted frozen chicken pot pies.

From the looks of the store, I'm not sure how much longer it will be open. Corona virus may kill it at last. Last year when I visited it was looking dire. This year was worse. The chicken pot pies were piled in a chest freezer in front of the now empty, glass-fronted, freezer display cases.

Inventory of other items was pretty thin. Many of the shelves were empty. The gruff proprietor was still there, still in his uniform of white poultry hard hat, plaid shirt and suspenders. He took our money and bagged our pot pies in plastic grocery bags, still legal and free in Massachusetts.

I walked out with eight pies, all I could fit in the Springer's saddlebags, along with freezer packs and insulated bags to keep them frozen for the ride home. As it turned out over these weeks ensuing, I should have put the barrel bag on the back of the bike and worn a backpack. I haven't nearly enough pies to last the apocalypse.

For those of us who stuck around, we ended the ride at Captain's workshop where he's building his submarine. As you can see by the photos, he's serious. You can see more on Captain's website: SubsCT.com.

One of my fellow ConREP motorcycle instructors, Fred, is a retired engineer. He's on my Polar Bear email invite list and while he couldn't ride, he and some friends met us at Captain's place to tour the boat.

The Polar Bear goal is to someday carry us to Bahr's Landing, surface, pop the hatch, tie up at the dock and sign-in. Grand Tour Chairman Bob Hartpence says we still only get one point for not arriving on motorcycles. But it will be a hoot!

Epilogue:

Our Polar Bear Grand Tour ride calendar shows the rides remaining as "RIDE SUSPENDED — COVID-19 VIRUS" in big red letters. There was some hope we may be able to squeeze in Cape May  and a makeup ride to Kingston in April. But yesterday President Trump first threatened an "enforceable quarantine" on New York, New Jersey and Connecticut. I envisioned tanks and barbed wire on the GW Bridge. He later softened to a CDC Strong Travel Advisory for 14 days. Still, that pretty much kills the rest of the Polar Bear season. Here's hoping there's no fall weather resurgence of virus and we can open up the 2020-21 season in October. And here's hoping that we'll all still be alive and have enough money to enjoy our polar bear motorcycle pleasures.

Meanwhile, stay at home and stay safe,
Chris

Down to just five pies in the freezer already and the zombies haven't even appeared yet.

Marco's Redemption

Connecticut Bears in Hamilton Township, from left: Grumpy, Captain, CT Blogger, John J., Marco and Pogy down front.

Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to Hamilton Tap & Grill, Hamilton Township, NJ, December 22, 2019.

By: Chris Loynd
Photos By: Grumpy

Our new Connecticut Polar Bear popped his cherry Sunday, riding up front for the first time with us. Everyone eventually takes a turn leading the group. It's only fair. Captain, our unofficial Master at Arms, convinced Marco to give it a try. Faithful blog readers will note that setting a good example for Marco was the theme of last week's posting. I thought I'd done a good job. Marco said he was watching. But it didn't take . . . not at first anyway.

Arriving at the Dunkin' as our riders were assembling, I rode up between Marco and Grumpy. I asked Marco if he'd chosen a wingman. He had not. The second rider can make, or break, a leader. I humbly offered my services. I volunteered Grumpy as sweep.

I offered Marco a bit of last minute advice: steady speed, think in big spaces and wait for your sweep.  I specifically said I could help him from the second position. "I've got your back, dog!" I offered brightly. Marco said, "Now I'm a dog?" (I guess ghetto colloquialisms just don't work for pasty white guys like me. I truly meant it as an affirmation of camaraderie and support.)

Marco assured me he knew what he was doing. He'd been a road captain for Eagle Riders.

We lined up behind Marco and departed at the agreed upon hour. Marco took off like a shot. The early morning roads had that nasty film where moisture from the air is attracted by salt still left on the roads from our last snow storm. I was a little uncomfortable with too much lean and too rapid an acceleration on that surface. Marco appeared unconcerned.

On Lordship Boulevard Marco was riding to the right hand side of his lane. I figured he was just doing that for some odd reason to start out. We always go single file up the on ramp in any case. But once on I-95 and settled into our riding positions, Marco was still on the far right side of his lane. For a while I stayed directly behind him, waiting for him to notice and assume the left side of the lane leader's position.

For those who do not ride motorcycles, or perhaps if you ride in England, our style is for the leader on the left, second bike on the right and staggered positions to the end of the line. Maybe Token2 can weigh in. Do they lead from the right in England? But of course if they do, they're also all riding on the right side of the road, so it sort of still comes out the same as it would on this side of the pond.

Riding directly behind Marco had no effect on HIS lane position. After a few miles I figured there were more important concerns. "I guess this will work just as well from the opposite side," I told myself. So I made a dramatic shift to the left side of my lane, signaling the riders behind me that we were adapting to Marco's new lead position.

It worked. I could see my fellow riders switching sides behind me: Captain, John J. and Grumpy as sweep. It drove the obsessive-compulsive part of my brain crazy to be on the "wrong" side. But it wasn't my biggest worry.

My larger concern was speed. We had a lot of it. I was glad I was on the ST. I don't like to run my 100,000 miles-plus Harley motor at these revs for sustained distances. Also, its gas mileage drops off like a rock past 70 mph. The ST has just 50,000 miles on it, despite being 22 years old, and a much higher redline. It can handle the speed. But why?

At first I tried dropping back to see if Marco would slow a bit. It had no effect. In fact, any effort to offer suggestions as his wingman seemed futile. There was no response.

I sped up to keep up, thinking maybe he would settle down. I also needed to catch back up to help keep our group together and follow Marco on lane changes. He was signaling for them and then moving. More than a few times, we split the group because he put a car between himself and the sweep.

It was pretty clear we were going at a fast pace when we met Pogy — on his way to the Darien rest stop from his home in Norwalk. Marco slowed dramatically when he saw Pogy. That's also problematic when leading a line of bikes. As leader you have to remember that each of your speed changes, acceleration and braking, is multiplied by the reaction time delay of each rider behind you. Too many, too quick, speed changes leaves your sweep rider rubber-banding like crazy.

Looking over at Pogy as we first passed him, I could see Pog's first reaction was to look down at his instrument cluster. I'm betting it was his clock he was looking at. We were early. We left on time. We made good time, very good time.

As soon as Pogy fell into line we were off to the races again. Except when he approached the Darien rest stop. There, Marco slowed dramatically to pick up, I assume, Pogy's phantom. Captain said he made it clear to Marco who we were picking up en route. At lunch Marco defended himself saying he slowed to pick up any other riders who may be waiting there. Captain was flustered.

After the Darien slowing we were soon up to speed again — and then some.

It was a bit nervy on the parkways with the turns and disappearing lanes and still wet roadways. We broke the group again riding onto the GW Bridge. It's not the place to regroup. So when we exited the bridge and got onto the express lanes headed for the turnpike, I pulled up next to Marco to get him into the slow lane and slowed dramatically. When I saw our strays coming up behind, I gave him the go ahead signal. And he went.

There were more problematic lane changes. The extra speed takes away decision and reaction time, making everything more difficult.

When we arrived at our destination and conversation was once again possible, Marco got an earful. From everybody.

He was defensive.

So was I. "I cannot help you as wingman if you don't use your mirrors," I said. Actually, the first thing I said getting off my bike was, "Where's the f***ing fire?" By his reaction it appeared my speed analogy was no more successful than my friendly "dog" comment.

Marco assured us he did not exceed our usual speed. The rest of us assured him he did.

To his credit, Marco hung in there. He joined us for lunch.

After the initial sting of criticism, he listened. He told me his father always said, "You'll learn something new to the day you die." He thought perhaps his speedometer was off calibration due to new tires. Apparently the other groups he'd ridden with always led from the right side of the lane. He thought some of his lane changes would work if he got over and then the rest of us could flow in behind him.

John J. piped in with some convoluted description of when leading from the right side of the lane was advantageous on curves. He cited a YouTube video as proof. But I couldn't find it.

(Aside: My wife Cynthia and I caught John J. playing bass to support a group "Better Half" at Fairfield Craft Ales in Stratford. We had an absolutely wonderful time. For Cynthia Fairfield Craft Ales served wine. I tasted several wonderfully crafted ales. And we had a nice buffalo bacon pizza. John J. and "Better Half" were awesome. Lots of great rock from the 60s and 70s. John saved the group from a heckler arguing that the Facebook Meetup said it was for Christmas and the band had no carols in its repertoire. John J. on the spot led the whole room in an A cappella rendition of "Deck the Halls" with the audience heartily singing its fall-la-las. John J., keep sending out those invites to your performances!)

Fonz stopped by at lunch to say hello. He'd left earlier to get home earlier. Something about contractors at the house. We could not, of course, miss the opportunity to regale him with tales of our wild ride. But then Fonz has a special reputation of his own when it comes to leading the CT Polar Bears.

So after lunch we worked out a few changes, still with Marco in the lead.

At Marco's suggestion, once we got up onto the Turnpike and the traffic allowed, I pulled into the lane next to him and signaled when my speed was steady at 70. That allowed Marco to recalibrate his own speedometer. He acquiesced to lead from the left. He also worked with his sweep.

As we flowed up the NJ Turnpike and Garden State Parkway it was like night and day. Only Grumpy and I stopped at the top of the GSP for hot cocoa, the rest riding on ahead. So until this blog, the only affirmation I could offer Marco was a hearty thumbs-up gesture. His second leading was smooth, controlled and comfortable.

Marco, I'd follow you again and gladly . . . so long as you lead like your ride home last Sunday.

Leading Tutorial

Grumpy's inadvertent video offers a little taste of how the group photo gets done each week.

CT Bears in Eastampton, NJ, from left: Grumpy, Captain, John J., Anonymous Ed, CT Blogger, Mac, Marco and Pogy down front.

Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog, Polar Bear Grand Tour, ride to O'Connor's American Bar and Grille, Eastampton, NJ, December 15, 2019.

By: Chris Loynd
Photos By: Grumpy

Anonymous Ed and I swapped places this week. I led. He was sweep. I figured it was a good opportunity for him to compare my style of leading to his last week. You see absolutely everything from the back of the pack. Although I must say (actually I did say in last week's blog) Ed did a great job leading last week.

John J. was my wingman this week and kept close. There was only one time when we got ahead of the group. As we entered the Hutchinson Parkway, a tight, decreasing-radius, right hand turn, me on my Honda ST and John on his Beemer really leaned into the corner and had some fun. As we entered the parkway I looked in my rearview mirror. The lumbering Harleys and Goldwings were far behind.

Captain tried to talk Marco into taking his first lead on this ride. Marco pleaded he was still "fuzzy" from his bout with the flu last week, the same flu he claimed made him miss last week's jaunt. We supposed he can use that excuse just one time. At lunch when I heard of this, I told Marco he was in luck! He'd just witnessed a perfect job of leading, chock-full of lessons he could apply next week when he took the lead.

We were eight bikes this week, which can be a bit to manage. Ed was attentive and prompt in clearing lanes, blocking merging lanes and anticipating my needs. With eight bikes you have to think in long times and big distances. Hopefully Ed and Marco noticed how I waited, waited, waited to signal a lane change until I thought Ed had clear space to move over. Sometimes, though, you just have to signal, wait for your sweep to "make a hole," then wave the cagers ahead to clear room to move the rest of the group over.

With this size group, I tried to limit lane changes. Generally that worked fine. We kept a respectable speed. Anyone driving in their car behind us who felt we were holding them up was speeding, excessively. Actually, I had just one irate a**hole guy — of course at I-95 Exit 15 in Norwalk — who got jammed up in the left lane by his own miscalculation. We were in the middle and moving with traffic. This guy came zooming up on my left, purposefully too close to me, then cut sharply in front of me, crossing four lanes to catch his exit in the nick of time. (By the way, jerk, do you really think your bad behavior will make me change my riding style in the future? We were steady and safe. You could have gone one exit more and looped back without endangering anyone.)

Oh, there was one other cager on the Merritt Parkway on the ride home. We were in the left lane, yes, but passing cars. Some guy tried to race ahead of us on the right. He didn't have room and so cut in behind me and ahead of Mac. We prefer if you not cut into our line of bikes, although I do have to admit Mac can leave a lot of space ahead of him sometimes. I slowed to close up our line, then slowed even more. The car driver quickly got the point and moved his Audi back over into the right lane to wait his turn.

Other than that, the ride was pretty smooth. Morning traffic was uncharacteristically light. Afternoon coming back wasn't too bad, just some stop-and-go approaching the Tappan Zee Bridge. But by that point, my group was down to three bikes, Grumpy, Mac and me. We'd taken time out for a leisurely hot chocolate at the top of the Garden State Parkway. The other CT Bears had rushed home.

Weather was fine for Polar Bear Riding, except for a gusting and annoyingly strong wind the entire day. It was especially intense crossing the flat open lands of southern Jersey. I've written before how my Honda ST sits up high. It feels all too tippy in these conditions. Its flat plastic panels catch every sideways puff. I prefer the Harley in such weather. It's heavier, sits lower, feels planted. However since we've already had our first snow and DOTs everywhere are laying down their stripes of corrosion, my Harley stays in the garage until spring rains wash all the crap away.

EDP had us arriving at 10:45 a.m. We were not the first to arrive, but were one of the first big groups to be seated. Originally Captain and Grumpy grabbed a big table on the lower level. But an attractive, polite and insistent hostess convinced them to move us to the upper tier. She said she did not yet have servers for the lower level and that we'd get our food faster. That's a pretty good incentive for our long distance crew.

Unfortunately, our table on the upper tier was smack in the middle of everything. We were jammed into a cramped space that got progressively tighter as the morning progressed, Bears pouring in. Just behind us was the sign-in table. All along our one side was the gift table. This week was the amazing toy run. We appreciate, of course, how generous our fellow Bears are in toy donations. Still, there was a steady stream of Polar Bears going up one side of our table to drop off their toys, and then up the other side to sign in, and then back down the toy side to exit, running into each other and trying to pass belly-to-belly behind our chairs. It made our lunchtime conversation more than a bit challenged. Note to self: next year we stay down on the bottom level.

Service was prompt, as promised. Food was great. John Jackson and I had the crab cake BLT. Delicious! Plus a pleasant surprise, Pogy picked up the check, wishing a Merry Christmas to all. Thank you Pogster! (Hope that wasn't a secret. Kathy probably doesn't read this blog anyway.) Oh and Mac won the "Member of the Week" lottery. We were lucky all around!

Faithful readers of this blog know that Grumpy, Johnny Bowlan, is our staff photographer. Others contribute on occasion. But Grumpy is our go-to guy. Each week for years now, he comes prepared with camera and tripod to take the group photo adorning the top of every blog post. Over these many seasons he's gone through a progression of cameras and set-ups (still misses his Sony digital).

Captain's delight is to harass Grumpy each week as he sets up the photo, teasing incessantly about Grumpy's speed of execution. "Are we going to do this today?" is Captain's favorite line. And if you saw last week's blog, Grumpy somehow missed the shot. The camera was set. The timer went off. But when he got home the memory card had no trace of the photo. It can be difficult working under pressure.

This week Grumpy threw technology at his challenge. He came equipped with a cell phone on a combination selfie-stick/tripod with — get this — bluetooth remote control! He was showing off the whole system at lunch, taking dramatic aerial photos, surreptitious shots of Bears from other states, selfies and more.

Lunch done, we gathered in the parking lot for the perfunctory group photo. Grumpy was all set. Then his tripod blew over. He reset it, got in place with the rest of us, pushed the remote control button, but I could see the camera light stayed on instead of flashing. "Are you taking video?" I asked. He wasn't sure. He reconfigured the settings and got back in place. Meanwhile Pogy's knee was freezing to the pavement. As you can see above, and below, he got the group shot and then some. Well, there's always next week.

Oh, wait, Grumpy's not in the photo.

There he is, there we are, from left: Grumpy, Captain, John J., Anonymous Ed (behind John J.), CT Blogger, Mac, Marco (next week's ride leader) and down front on one very cold knee, Pogy.