Notable or Notorious Connecticut Bears?

Montgomeryville Bears, from left: CT Blogger (your's truly), Token2, Captain, Mac, Fonz, Princess and down front of his own volition the Pogster.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, ride to Montgomeryville Cycle Center, Hatfield, Penn., December 6, 2015.

By: Chris Loynd

There's a line in the movie "The Natural" where Robert Redford's lead character baseball great Roy Hobbs asks sportswriter Max Mercy (played by Robert Duvall), if he ever played the game. "No," Mercy answers, "Never did. But I make it more interesting to watch."

Perhaps this blog makes some small contribution to making the Polar Bear Grand Tour a bit more interesting. And for the record, I do ride with the Polar Bears, and from Connecticut.

We knew early on that more than our Connecticut contingent read this blog. It started with the Captain and his hat. Pretty soon random strangers came up to him at Polar Bear meets addressing him by his blog promulgated moniker. It happens still. It happened just today.

Last week we created a new character in the Connecticut Bear's Pantheon. I had christened her Long Distance Diva. But Captain crowned her a Princess last week. And that's the name that stuck.

So much so that when I signed in this Sunday, Flight B Leader Jim barely said hello before he blurted out something about his girlfriend, or was it my girlfriend, did we bring her? Is she here? I had no idea what he was asking and mumbled a confused, "Huh?" "The Princess," he said emphatically, "Did she come this week?" "Oh. Yes," I replied. "She's out in the parking lot yapping, I mean, holding court."

Joanna was surprised, and I think secretly delighted, to see her sign-in sheet decorated, presumably by our Flight B Leaders, in a fashion befitting her station.

So whether you see us as notable, or notorious, we are happy to have you share our adventures.

Token2, back from his European travails, was pressured into leading this week's ride. He made the mistake, I guess, of riding up to the Stratford Dunkin' Donuts where our rides begin. (Usually we pick him up en route because he lives farther west in Connecticut; in fact, about as far west as one can live in our tiny state.)

Like Fonz last week, Token did a stellar job of leading . . .. right up to the point where we actually had to find our destination. Like Fonz, he exited too early. Either that, or he wanted us to tour the lovely holiday decorations of Chalfonte.

It is amazing how Pennsylvanian everything looks as soon as you cross over the Delaware River. Maybe it's because we come ashore at New Hope. Houses and businesses are lovely field stone with big wooden doors and wooden window shutters. They line narrow streets. Everything turns colonial. At lunch Joanna commented on seeing a sign for the Cock and Bull restaurant. She's heard of cock fighting and bull riding, but was shocked at such a name for an eatery.

(By the way, Token2 ditched the scenery on the ride home. He insisted on sticking to the Interstates, striking out for I-78 east, which led us through miles of retail that looked like every endless American strip mall. One notable exception was the fake silos on the truck weigh station buildings on I-78. Nice touch PennDOT, nice touch.)

We always have a bit of trouble with Montgomeryville. For one thing, our leaders -- me included -- never seem to be sure if we are approaching it from north or south and therefore are looking for it on the left or right. One year I famously missed catching it on the right because I was expecting it on the left and rode right past. It's not like there's a giant building and a big sign and a parking lot filled with motorcycles. All but my wing man, ever-faithful Russ, jumped ship and exited for the dealership. Russ is the world's best motorcycle wing man. He'll follow you up a tree, if that's where you're headed. Then there's the infamous story of Captain leading a ride all the way here to Montgomeryville Cycle Center on a day the Grand Tour destination was elsewhere. He led on, and on, ignoring boisterous protestations by his followers. As Captain says, "The minute I crested the hill, I knew I was in trouble." Hey, anyone can push the wrong button on a GPS, right?

At at stop light, somewhat close to our destination, Token shouted to me asking on which side he should expect the dealership. I just shrugged my shoulders. For the record, it was on the left, well actually on the right if you were to continue down the highway, but you have to exit to the right on that little spur which means the dealership is now on your left. If you've been here you know what I mean!

The folks at Montgomeryville Cycle Center always treat us very well. It took them a few years to get the Polar Bear thing down pat. Their first year hosting they went all out with a pig roast. And it snowed. Now they offer a hearty chili with fixin's, including corn bread, and a brownie. It is tasty, piping hot and served fast, as was the coffee. We all had seconds. Thank you!

The dealership also offers good deals on their stuff for us Bears. They were selling Warm and Safe jacket liners for half price this year. I was tempted to buy a second one as a backup to the liner I bought just before the season started.

One year, Fonz brought one of his buddies and the guy ended up buying a motorcycle . . . well you can't actually buy a motorcycle on Sunday in Pennsylvania. He fell in love with a motorcycle and then went back the next week to buy it. He hasn't ridden with us since. I don't think that's any reflection on his motorcycle or the dealership. The cold weather thing just did not resonate for him.

Montgomeryville has often been a weather-challenged destination. But this season we've not yet earned our "Polar Bear" status. The weather has been unseasonably warm; not that I'm complaining. Joanna was grousing about seeing frost this morning. Wait until we're riding the whole day with sub-freezing temperatures.

Our plight was summed up by a guy in his shirtsleeves just coming back to his car in the rest stop parking lot at the top of the Garden State Parkway. We were just dismounting and pulling off helmets and gloves. He asked Pogy, "When was the last time you guys were riding on the first weekend of December?" "Last year," Pogy answered back. And that, my friends, is the essence of the Polar Bear Grand Tour.

Fonz checks in at Flight B. Where's the Princess?

Thank you Montgomeryville Cycle for a great feed!

Delicious and perfect for even warm Polar Bears.

The ride home was in temperatures near 50.

Even with the stop at the top we made it home with a bit of pink left in the sky.

One-tank Jaunt to Jersey

Bridgewater Bears from left: Joanna, Captain, Jim, Fonz, CT Blogger and Pogy down front.

Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog, ride to The Eagles, Bridgewater, NJ, Sunday, November 8, 2015.

By: Chris Loynd

New Jersey Matt was a surprise visitor when I arrived at our Stratford, Conn. Dunkin' Donuts departure point. Our destination this Sunday is right in his backyard. So he headed up to Connecticut to get a few miles in this Sunday. He's done it before, sort of a Polar Bear ride in reverse.

When we got to the Eagles, Matt quickly said his goodbyes, and so missed the weekly group photo. He said something about having a babysitter for the afternoon. And if you've ever had kids, well, here's hoping you enjoyed your afternoon Matt!

Fonz joined us this week. We hadn't seen him on the first two rides. He told me it had been too warm for Polar Bear riding. "But I woke up," he said, "heard the heater running, and figured it was time to ride."

Jim joined us for the first time this year. He and Joanna were waiting for us at the bus stop. We picked them up but stayed up on I-287, using the Tappan Zee going out instead of the GW Bridge.

We rode down to an Eagles Club in New Jersey, home to the famous AMA New Jersey Corn Boil. (A summer ride worth two Polar Bear bonus points.) Club members put on a great feed for a paltry $12, coffee included.

We sat at big round tables after working our way through a crowded sign-in. Somehow Jim and Joanna ended up at the table next to us instead of our table. That seemed to work just fine for them; Jim brought Joanna to our group in the first place. They chatted happily on their own.

Instead we were joined by a couple of Polar Bears from Maryland. Who knew? Outlanders like us. Most of the Bears are from New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York.

One of the girls worked for a Navy contractor building submarines. She commutes between Newport News and Groton. Table talk soon centered around submarine classes, building techniques and general specifications. I don't think any state secrets leaked. In fact, it sounded to this neophyte like our Captain knew more about the subject than the expert from Maryland.

He never once mentioned his own submarine project. I was sorely tempted to tip his hand. But one advantage of getting older is that I've learned respect other's business . . . and mind my own.

Our ride was a nice, easy distance, less than 250 miles round trip.

As such, I decided to skip the gas stop my comrades needed to make on the way home. My Honda ST1100 has one of the largest gas tanks fitted to a motorcycle, 7.4 gallons. My gauge at the gas stop was reading only a quarter down. The bike's range is advertised to be more than 300 miles.

It wasn't like there wouldn't be another gas station on the way home. So I figured to test the bike. Worst case scenario, I figured I could drop out of the group and fill up. Worst, worst, case scenario: I have a siphon and my buddies just filled their tanks!

Confidence can be a fragile thing. As we rode over the Tappan Zee Bridge mine faded. This bike is 18 years old. I bought it used. It's relatively new to me. I've never really run the tank down past a quarter. What if the gauge is off? There's no reserve. I'll just sputter and die.

My speedometer always reads exactly five miles fast. I've checked it with the GPS. Does that mean my trip odometer is showing more, or less miles? Doubts filtered in as I rode for home.

I made it to my home gas station with a quarter tank still showing on the ST's gauge. I brimmed the tank to the same point I'd filled it after last week's ride. The pump said it delivered 4.812 gallons. So 7.4 divided by four equals 1.85 gallons per quarter tank. With my quarter tank the gauge says is still available, 1.85, plus the 4.812 I just replaced, equals 6.662 gallons. So there must be slightly less than a gallon reserve when the fuel light comes on and the tank reads empty. Not to bad.

Next I checked the trip OD against the GPS. They matched exactly at 245 miles. So if I figure right, I divide the 245 miles by the 4.812 gallons, to get 50.91 mpg. Yes, there's some small variation for where exactly the fuel reaches the bottom of the filler neck. Even discounting that by, say, 10 percent, I still got 45 mpg.

Yeah, I gotta go touring on this bike next summer.

LD Diva and the boys at Eagles.

CT Polar Bears, New Jersey Matt, in yellow, is an honorary member.

Fonz's first sign-in.

Langhorne, PA, March 24, 2013, Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog

Polar Bear Blog, Langhorne, PA, March 24, 2013.

By: Chris Loynd

Yes, I know it has been about a year since I wrote about the Connecticut Polar Bear's motorcycle adventures on this blog format. My privately hosted blog has been available all year. Click here.

But this ride was special, and worth sharing more broadly. Polar Bear founder Bob Hartpence celebrated his 75th birthday, at the meet, arriving on two wheels. And it got me to thinking, since I celebrated my 57th birthday exactly one week earlier. Here's my entry:


One of the rides close enough to my ancestral home, I decided to spend the night with Mom and Dad and rode to Wilmington on Saturday.

It saves me a couple hours' of early morning rising on Sunday. From Wilmington to Langhorne is a less than an hour hop up I-95 through Philadelphia.

Sunday morning traffic was non-existent, so the ride took me even less time. I was half an hour early. I settled in with a cup of coffee and expected to soon see my Connecticut compatriots.

But I didn't.

Seems this week's ride leader, Grumpy, figured he knew better than his GPS.

I've often waxed and waned on the virtues of these satellite-enabled computers. And I have myself gotten into trouble by blindly following the dang thing.

Grumpy missed his exit. Token²rode up to rescue the lead -- as Token² has done for me before -- they arrived, albeit late, at Brian's Harley-Davidson.

No worries for me. I enjoyed swapping some stories with a guy and two girl Polar Bears from the Jersey Shore.

My guys eventually came strolling in, walked right past me actually, and I joined them for Brian's free lunch.
Several of our guys earned rockers and pins this run.

Fonz earned his gold rocker this ride -- and held it up for the camera every chance he got. (Take a closer look at the group photo above.)

Fortunately, I earned my gold rocker too, in time to have it sewn onto my vest. Brian's H-D for several years now has had seamstresses available.

 Unbeknownst to my buddies, I signed-in and got my rocker downstairs, then zipped back upstairs to get it sewn onto my vest.

That's the whole point of earning it on or before this run, right?

Meanwhile, the CT Bears downstairs in the parking lot were wondering what was holding up the group picture.

A highlight of this week's run was Bob Hartpence's birthday. Bob is one of the founders and the leader of the Polar Bear Grand Tour.

First, I thought it salient that Bob's family had to travel to the Polar Bear destination in order to celebrate their patriarch's birthday. No way Bob misses a Polar Bear ride, even for his own birthday.

Second, I was shocked to learn Bob was celebrating his 75th birthday. I thought he was much younger; most of our Connecticut bears concurred.

Bob is at every meet, on two wheels whenever weather allows. He's always fun and positive and quick with a joke.

Bob gives me hope.

Last Sunday was my birthday. At 57 I can just now see 60 on the horizon. It gets me thinking about how many more years of riding and fun and even life I have ahead of me.

If I can be on two wheels at 75 like Bob, well maybe the future looks longer than I thought. I can't imagine I'll be still riding like Leo at 90-plus. But who knows?

Meanwhile, I figure to hang around with enough old guys to feel young and enjoy my Polar Bear adventures as the years roll on. And with than in mind, I confidently paid my money and signed up for the 2013-14 season.

South Wayne, NJ, February 19, 2012, Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog

South Wayne, NJ, February 19, 2012, Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog

By: Chris Loynd

Hooters!

Hooters is our shortest ride in the Polar Bear schedule. Most of us only get one mileage point. However this year we managed to stretch it into one of the longest rides – in terms of time.

There was a Harley-Davidson ad a few years back that said, “No great story ever started with, 'I was sitting on the couch when . . .'.”

Captain has had his share of adventure on a motorcycle. Fortunately he overcomes most every adversity with a well stocked kit. He is a consummate Boy Scout, though I don't know if he ever was one. Captain is always prepared.

He reminds me of the pilot Orr in Joseph Heller's “Catch-22.” Orr keeps crashing. Each time his plane is shot down he makes a water landing and comes popping out of the plane fully prepared for any emergency with his little yellow life vest and paddling around in his tiny, inflatable life raft. (For all I know, Captain carries a tiny, inflatable life raft on his bike.)

So when his tire went down on our ride last Sunday, Captain snapped into action, pumping it up with the compact, portable, 12 volt, air pump he always carries in his bike's saddlebags.

Captain was sweeping and we were alerted to his plight only when his buddy rider Token2 eventually noticed Captain was no longer in his rear view mirrors and came riding up to alert the leader. (I'm not sure who was riding ahead of Token2, but that is the rider who should have alerted us when Token2 dropped back with Captain to see if assistance was required.)

Mac, leading his first Polar Bear ride, was oblivious. But in his defense, we do tend to get strung apart a bit when we merge from one highway to another. And there were a lot of bikes, well okay just eight, to keep track of.

While Token2 was up front shouting at Mac through a full face helmet, a car pulled up and matched speed with me. I was in the third position, which made me the second left-side rider after Mac. We were in the right-hand travel lane. This guy in the car was gesturing in great earnest. I had not a clue as to what he was trying to say. I soon found out.

Token2 now in the lead, pulled us off at the northernmost rest area at the top of the Garden State Parkway (GSP). He knew only that he had lost sight of Captain as we merged.

Before anyone launched a heroic rescue effort, I got Captain on his cell phone and he told me he had lost pressure in his rear tire on the on-ramp to the GSP from I-287. He was hoping to pump enough air into the tire to reach us. It takes some time. Those little pumps are slow. Waiting seems even slower.

Token2, perhaps feeling guilty about abandoning Captain, hesitated a bit then decided to ride back to see if he could help. This would require him to ride through quite a few miles of northern New Jersey and southern New York. Captain arrived at the rest stop long before Token2 reemerged from his fruitless reconnoiter.

When he arrived at the rest stop where we were waiting, I crawled on my hands and knees behind Captain's bike as he slowly pulled forward, trying to see if there was a nail or screw or other obvious problem with the tire. We went quite a ways through the parking lot, me on all fours like a dog sniffing Captain's rear tire. I could not find anything. Only when we arrived at Hooters did Captain reveal he had a center stand, you know, the kind that allows the back tire to spin freely while the bike remains conveniently stationary?

Captain next pulled out his tube of Slime flat repair and used the gas station's air to pump his tire back to life again.

It seemed longer. And nobody looked at their watch when we pulled over. But the whole delay was maybe 30 or 40 minutes. We headed to Hooters.

Unfortunately, the Slime did not perform as advertised. So in the parking lot of our destination, Jim-O, yet another apparent Boy Scout, brought out a tire plugging kit.

These are good guys with which to ride! It seems everybody but me had a can of slime and air pump. Jim-O had a complete tire plugging kit, one especially made for motorcycles nonetheless.

I remember when I bought my bike. I asked my friend and Dealership General Manager Domenic Maturo what tools I should carry on my Harley-Davidson. Dom looked at me, smiled, and said, “You?” and then held up his cell phone, “This is all you need.”

In fact I do have some tools tucked away in my saddlebags. But I don't much know how to use them. And there are a few emergency supplies too, mostly centered around my survival as I wait for help to come after I've called on my cell phone.

And in my own defense, I have tube tires. So if one goes flat, well, there's no way I'm carrying tire irons and a patch kit or spare tube. Besides, I would not have the first, faintest idea of how to get the wheels on and off this machine with its springer front end and the drive belt on the rear.

Captain tediously pumped his tire back to life in the Hooters parking lot. We patiently waited.

Then we were headed home.

Mac, also a Navy man, gave no quarter. Me, I maybe would have tried to limp the bike home. Mac blasted up the GSP at speed and Captain kept up . . . for a little while.

Fonz said you could see smoke out of both sides of Captain's rear tire when it blew.

Captain never heard the explosion. He just felt the wobble. But it must have been a big boom. Because when Captain went to guide his crippled bike from the far left passing lane to the far right shoulder, across four travel lanes, he found them all empty. All the cars had come to a dead stop behind him. Fonz and Jim-O had blocked the lanes too.

Captain never lost his balance. He expertly guided the bike to the shoulder. This time Fonz, Jim-O and Token2 stayed with him. (In fact I wonder if Token2 followed the tow truck all the way back to Milford.)

I did not see it happen. Three other bikes and I were trying to keep up with Mac at the head of the pack. So I cannot say for sure how Captain reacted to calamity.

I bet he was nonplussed.

My point of reference comes from when Captain blew up his Harley-Davidson motor on a Polar Bear ride last season. I stayed with him until the tow truck arrived and then followed them home. Captain took it all in stride and with good humor.

Then there is the story of Captain on a summer ride across the country a few years back, where his engine blew up and he had the bike shipped home, completing his trip by bus and then flying back from the West Coast after completing his vacation. He describes it all as a fun adventure.

Hooters was good to the eyes and stomachs, not so much the service. I was left waiting for my food, last one at our table. We tried to recall who it was that befell the fickle finger of fate two years ago. We voted that it was Russ whose order was forgotten. Well they don't hire the wait staff based upon an I.Q. test, and who can protest?

My chicken sandwich arrived just as my compatriots were finishing their meals. As my fellow Bears can tell you, I am a slow eater. So it turned out I contributed, in my own small way, to making our shortest mileage Polar Bear run of the season into the longest in time.

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!

Snyderville, Penn., December 18, 2011, Motorcycle Polar Bear Blog

Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog; Snydersville, Penn.; December 18

By: Chris Loynd

Winter finally found us. For the motorcycle polar bears it came a few days early. If it ever got above 30 degrees Sunday, such was but brief. My electrics were set on “nuclear” for most of the day. I broke out the snowmobile boots and doubled up on chemical heat packs under my feet.

Our ride over to Schoch's Harley-Davidson would likely have been warmer, at least for the start, if only we had left later. A mistake in the departure alert e-mail by CT Blogger Chris Loynd (yeah, it was all my fault) lit the fuse of confusion that set off a bomb of controversy. Fortunately when the dust settled we are all still pals, committed to good humor. No feelings were permanently damaged. Leave the Captain alone! I mean it now!

When I sent out the departure time alert this week I slavishly followed Captain's meticulous spreadsheet of rides and recommended departure times. Only it turns out he was not so meticulous. (I know! That's crazy talk! Can you believe it?)

Captain's sheet recommended leaving Stratford at 8:00 a.m. In the subject line of my e-mail I set 8 as launch time. But then, in a perhaps Freudian slip, in the text I stated 9.

Mac was the first to catch the confusion. He e-mailed all the regulars looking for clarity. That only kicked off a flurry of competing e-mails espousing the virtues of either 8 or 9. As the controversy reached a fever pitch one of our riders even broadcasted a call for calm. Can't we all just get along?

Unfortunately, I had long since walked away from the computer. And I am not one who has e-mail pushed to his cell phone. I know how. I just don't care.

I only became aware of the tempest in my teapot as I glanced at the e-mail trail before shutting down my computer just before bed.

As I read through various missives the most strident was a dire warning from Captain that if we left after 8 a.m., we were doomed to arrive past noon. Now I did not really care one way or the other. Unlike some of my com-padres, I like riding at night.

Figuring the Captain to be the most demandingly precise of us all, well aware of his flag etiquette and other sundown worries, I sent a correction e-mail confirming my original 8 a.m. departure time. I mean the Captain was once the navigator of a submarine. Certainly he was qualified to calculate the travel time of 150 motorcycle miles. I did not do the math myself.

We got to Schoch's Harley-Davidson almost exactly . . . an hour early.

We gassed the bikes and proudly took those hard-to-get, front-row parking spaces. We killed some time taking the group picture (the early morning light was dramatic) and discussing the virtues of MapQuest-suggested travel times.

John J. had a printed copy of Captain's Excel sheet and pointed out several other rather questionable entries, including one suggesting a 10 a.m. departure. (Mmmm, yes, that does not seem quite right. Guess I should double check.)

In a way it all worked out better than usual. There was no line for the bathroom. We got the very first pieces of cornbread. The soup and chili, courtesy of Mrs. Schoch, her family and her HOGs, was delicious and piping hot. And we had a relaxed time sitting around the table and catching up on the news of our various lives as we waited for sign-in to open.

The Connecticut Motorcycle Polar Bears are a diverse group. Some of us are wealthier than others. Some are working, some retired, some face uncertain futures. Some, like me for example, have gone through dramatic change in the time we've ridden together. I went from having my own business to working at The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk, put one-and-a-half kids through college, lost some hair and gained some pounds.

It makes for interesting conversation. And we're all close enough in age to share some of the same perspectives. Any TV producers out there? We are ripe for a reality show! I guarantee we'd be better than that Hairy Bikers tripe.

Grumpy promised a ride home more interesting than the interstate. (Silly reader, segues are for kids.)

So we mounted up 'pert near noon. As we were preparing to pull out of our preferred, honestly-earned parking spaces a bunch of dweebs on metric hardleys started filling in a row of bikes ahead of us. Could they not see us getting ready to pull out? Certainly they did not respect our early arrival. They thoughtlessly blocked in several of us.

However there were more of us than of them. So those of us blocked in were able to exit – after a bit of backpedaling – through the gap left as our fellow riders moved out.

Soon after the Delaware Water Gap, Grumpy led us up New Jersey Route 94, headed north and east.

He found us an old timey tunnel to ride through, some quaint towns and scenic farmlands. In the town of Fredon an honest-to-gosh bald eagle lit from a limb and flew right over our line of bikes, not 30 feet above our heads.

At Franklin we transferred to NJ Route 23 for a slightly southerly and more directly easterly ride to connect with Interstate 287.

As we sipped our coffees at Chez GSP, to a man we approved of the non-Interstate part of our ride.

(We didn't get Token2's vote. He ditched us on the last coffee stop for a family obligation.)

It can be a drag just blasting up and down the New Jersey Garden State Parkway and Turnpike. For many of our Polar Bear rides the distances involved require the most direct route. Also, once the “S” word happens – no it's SNOW, not that other “S” word you were thinking – secondary roads can be less reliable, especially on motorcycles.

As it turned out, Grumpy's scenic ride added maybe 10 miles and half an hour to our return – and that includes U-turns. It was worth every mile and minute.

Maybe we have identified a new trend, although we will have to wait a while to exploit it.

Our next ride is a long one, Vineland, New Jersey. So there won't be as much time for fooling around. Although some years back Grumpy and his Tom Tom took the boys on a Dunkin' Donuts tour on the way down. And we have before cut directly east across the countryside to the GSP for our ride home, come to think of it.

Wearhouse Grill the week after offers an opportunity. It's nestled right in the country we passed this week, west of 23, south of 94. Maybe there's a CT Bear with some GPS skills who wants to lead? If so, and if your route requires a recalculation of our departure time, be sure to let me know well in advance. You are welcome to consult with the Captain in advance if you wish. But be forewarned, he gets up early and hates to ride late.

Meanwhile we have two weeks without riding, thanks to the foibles of the 2011-12 calendar. Christmas and New Years days both fall on Sundays. Not many of us have the chones to ask kitchen permission for rides on those days.

So until we meet again I offer best holiday wishes – for whatever holiday(s) you choose to celebrate – and a happy and prosperous New Year full of good weather and great rides. No future is ever certain, but all futures are filled with possibilities.

Ride safe, and warm,

Chris

Polar Bear Blog Sugar Loaf, N.Y. Nov. 20

By: Chris Loynd

When I saw Polar Bear Grand Poohbah Bob Hartpence in very nearby Sugar Loaf' N.Y., he joked that maybe this ride wasn't even worth the Connecticut bears getting out of bed. I told him we were experiencing Polar Bearing as our New Jersey brethren do.

This Sunday's destination was so close we only earned a single mileage point. Heck, we usually achieve one point just getting out of state.

A few of our members flirted, albeit briefly, with a point stretch. We even racked up a few extra miles thanks to a closed road around which Token, our ride leader, had to detour.

Grumpy and Mac, start deeper in Connecticut than most of us. Those two did pick up the extra point. But we dissuaded the others with peer pressure. Most of us accurately recorded between 160 and 180 roundtrip miles.

Token lives close to this Sunday's destination and so promised us a scenic ride. He led us over parkways and through state parks. The afore mentioned closed road caused him a bit of consternation, most dramatically represented with not one but two circuits of a traffic roundabout.

Slavish following of his GPS also caused him to head back into town after a Dolly-mandated early gas stop. We dutifully followed Token through every U-turn.

The only time in the ride where we did break formation on Sunday was in the Barn Sider Tavern parking lot. Even though we arrived before 11:30 sign-in, the lot was already full. Token threaded his way back around to the street and found a good spot we could all share. Being his wingman, I was right there with him. But when we went to back our bikes into our spots we discovered only Token and I remained.

The rest of our guys decided to block in some other bikes in the parking lot. The bike-bound riders soon saw the Connecticut plates and coming into the restaurant went straight to the Captain. It's the hat, John. The offenders went back outside to move their bikes, releasing the other riders.

To his credit, Token did find plenty of twisties for us to ride. His was a welcome respite from our typical Interstate expressway dominated Polar Bear motorcycling.

Unfortunately the distances we typically travel, and the Captain's flag, generally mandate faster and more direct routes than the luxury we rode Sunday.

The Captain has a new American flag flying on a pole at his house and was very concerned about striking his colors before sunset. A light fixture is on order and hopefully arrives and is installed before Montgomeryville. There's no way we get back from there before sundown.

Our Connecticut Polar Bear ranks continue to swell. We picked up two new riders on this trip.

Dolly is Fonz's wife. Not exactly new to the Polar Bears, she rode with us as a passenger last year on the back of Fonz's Harley. Sunday she was at the helm of her Honda Shadow.

Fonz had bought Dolly one of this season's spiffy new red Polar Bear Grand Tour shirts. But he said she could not wear it until she actually rode with the Bears.

Fortunately Sunday's ride was not at all bearish. With our shortest distance of the season and temperatures nearing 60, it was a perfect ride for cubs.

I think Dolly found it to be quite enough. At our end of day coffee stop Dolly asked me, "What does it mean when you start seeing things?"

"Seeing what?" I asked.

"You know, like two roads," she replied.

"I think it means you drop out of the group," I said. Geeze, she rode behind me most of the day. I kept a keen eye on my rearview mirrors the rest of the ride.

Bill also joined us Sunday. He has a New Jersey Polar Bear friend but lives in Ridgefield. Perusing the Polar Bear Grand Tour site, www.PolarBearGrandTour.com, Bill found the Connecticut contingent's blog on the Grand Tour's "Members' Homepages" page and contacted me.

We liked Bill almost immediately, well right after lunch for sure. Bill picked up the whole lunch tab, for all of us! I sought him out later and assured him there are no initiation rites, nor secret conclave votes, to be a member of the Connecticut Bears. You pretty much need only to show up on a motorcycle. Buying lunch for everyone is certainly not a requirement.

Oh, if you desire the coveted Connecticut patch, you must firsf earn the Grand Tour patch. But so far we have rejected no one from just tagging along on our rides.

There is also the Connecticut Polar Bear pledge. And I forgot to administer it to Dolly or Bill. It's very simple, raise your right hand and repeat after me, "I am responsible for my own safety."

That's it!

Sort of like parachuting, the real challenge is not in getting someone to join us for the first ride; we won't really know if Dolly or Bill likes us until she or he show up for a second ride.

Meanwhile Dolly and Bill are immortalized in the Polar Bear Motorcycle Blog. And not everyone can say that.

Old Bridge, NJ, Nov. 13, 2011, Motorcycle Polar Bears Blog

By: Chris Loynd

Ahhh, the joys of group riding. Riding with a big group of fellow motorcycles has its appeal, and its foibles.

Last Sunday we did group riding by the Pirate Code.

The Connecticut Polar Bears have had discussions over the years about how many bikes we should have in a line before we divide the riders into two or more independent groups. Some say the threshold is six bikes, some say eight or even 10. I'm pretty sure 12 is too many.

Nevertheless, Sunday's unseasonably warm weather and reasonably close destination turned out the Polar Cubs who engorged our group.

We started out with a threshold nine bikes. Then as we were riding along the Fonz suddenly appeared, pushing us to an upper limit 10. Somewhere before we hit I-287 Jim materialized, as he is wont to do, and we were 11. Token was waiting for us at his usual pickup point and that made it a dozen.

Twelve can be tough to manage. It is a long line of bikes. Leading a group that big is sort of like managing a train. That many bikes stretches the length of maybe three or four tractor-trailer trucks.

Before we even got to Token our leader inadvertently broke the group by merging in front of a slower car. Our sweep rider came up to add to the confusion. Then one of our more expert riders decided to cut off the cops who were creating the traffic jam in the first place, riding up in the unoccupied lane next to our group to form up again in front of the slower car.

When I saw him come up, he was wearing a different jacket than usual. I did not recognize him. My first thought was, "Who is this jerk?" Boy was I surprised when our group reformed and I got close enough to read his license plate. (I won't mention any names but later Fonz told me he was surprised the cops didn't pull him over.)

And no sooner did we assimilate Token and head for the Hutch than a couple of cars once again cut into our line as we went to merge onto the parkway.

They created a pretty big gap. Once they cleared out of our path our ride leader and just two other bikes were a spec on the horizon and fading fast.

The cars cut me off so I was de facto lead for the moment. So I slowed a bit to get the rest of us to form up, and then tried to catch the leader.

He didn't make it easy.

Once I got the rest of us within striking distance, and I wanted to get us all together before the move onto the next expressway, I zoomed ahead and gestured to the leader to slow down -- even just a little -- so the rest of us could catch him.

Of course with full face helmets at highway speed communications options are limited. I got a puzzled look from our leader, but while he was puzzling he did back off his throttle just enough for the rest of the group to gather -- once again -- behind him.

I fell into line and we soon transitioned to the next mix master, the merge onto the GW Bridge.

Once we reached the order and regularity of the New Jersey Turnpike, things settled down. We grabbed our own lane and owned it.

Now I have assiduously avoided mentioning any names. And later in the day John Jackson asserted that this blog and the ribbing from fellow Bears may be the reason we have a hard time finding ride leaders.

Wait, we have a hard time finding ride leaders? Grumpy will lead any ride any time. Oh, he grouses about always having to lead. But he's just living up to his nickname.

The Captain will volunteer to lead any ride. But do you really want him to?

I've led my share. And reviewing past blog posts I see that I always lead a picture perfect ride.

When we finally got down to Old Bridge and got our helmets off, I understood the morning's problem even better. John J. revealed that his Harley mirrors only reach two bikes behind him. So he really could not see that he had no more that two followers  as he blasted down the Hutchinson River Parkway.

And the Pirate Code? Certainly you remember, "Them that falls behind is left behind."

So if you wish to join us on a ride next Sunday, and you have moderately good riding skills and a decent GPS in case we lose you, you are welcome to join the Connecticut Polar Bears. If you have a thick enough skin we may even let you lead.

Polar Bear Montgomeryville, Pa.; December 5, 2010

Montgomeryville, PA; December 5, 2010

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

By: Chris Loynd

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

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

I wasn't really ready to lead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Polar Bear Cape May, Oct. 31, 2010

Cape May, October 31

40's to start, 60's midday, back to 40's

Eight years ago I read a story in my American Motorcyclist Association magazine about a club that rode together only in winter. New to motorcycling, I deemed to give it a try. I liked it. I did that first ride alone, but then let a few friends in on it. They brought more friends. And I am amazed at how it evolved. (You can read the story of my first ride on my web site blog: http://www.influentialcom.com/polar_bear_story.htm.)

I brought the Polar Bear club to Connecticut. Introduced it here. Brought all these guys along. And last Sunday those same bastards left me behind at a rest stop on the Garden State Parkway because I couldn't get my gloves on fast enough. Ingrates all!

Still, I would not change these pals for the world. And every season we pick up a few new maniacs. You are welcome to join us.

This year 10 of us rode to Cape May from Connecticut on the season opener, 450 miles round trip from Stratford. We started and finished in the dark. We rode, laughed, waited in line, lunched and teased each other.

We have little in common except motorcycles. Some of us are liberals. Others are conservatives. Others (Captain) are chicken little. One even has dual citizenship and talks funny.

We see more of each other in winter than summer.

Winter riding inspires ridiculous behavior.

Grumpy is going to double up on night shift, 24 straight weeks, so he can make more Polar Bear rides. Captain showed up Sunday with four sets of blood donation points plus a corn boil. Pogy made tee shirts for everyone, on his own dime, doling out the largess at our first rest stop. Big Matt rode up to Connecticut from New Jersey, turning right around to then join us on the ride back south. (It's not the first time Matt has done this.) Jim missed our departure time e-mail and so rode down to Cape May on his own, meeting us there for the ride back home.

Russ is on a new bike this season, his third in as many years. His Harley Wide Glide was good for quite a few years. The dresser he didn't like so much but fortunately an inattentive driver took it off his hands. She almost took his hand too, but Russ kept it, with the help of a few metal rods. Now he's on a Heritage Softail, similar to my bike, but without the spiffy springer front end.

Russ saw my bike in the service bay at Brothers Harley-Davidson. Being a superbly nosy guy, he asked Service Manager Marcel what I was having done. Marcel answered “rocker berings” at which point Russ called (I presume) every HOG and Polar Bear club member that may have even remote knowledge of me and my bike and told them I was finally in for an engine rebuild. I have 130,000 miles on the original mill.

I arrived in Cape May to a barrage of questions and genuine (I think) concern for my bike. Rocker bearings? Engine job? What?

At first I figured Russ was just being Russ, starting rumors, telling stories, embellishing. Then it occurred to me. No guys, the bearings replaced on my bike last week were in the rocker arms of my springer front end.

By the way, the mechanics at Brothers tell me my former dealership should have caught them a lot sooner. One was just flopping around in its race. I have to admit the bike rides a lot tighter now. I took the ol' gal on a 7,500 mile ride in August. You can see my photos on Flicker here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/24638972@N03/sets/72157624752838373/.

Pogy joined us officially this year. He caught up with the group mid-season last year and liked it. I had talked to him for years about riding with us. Hey Pogy, try it, you'll like it! Now he is registered as a Flight B bear. A few more rides and he will earn the coveted Polar Bear patch.

By the way, Grumpy, remember Pogy can't get the CT patch until he first earns his rides and New Jersey patch. I forgot to mention that as he was asking about obtaining a Connecticut patch last Sunday. You can give out all the cool tee shirts you want, Pog, but you still gotta do the rides!

Jim showed up too, riding down on his own as described previously. He also signed up for the first time this year. So we've added two new Connecticut bears to the official roster.

Jim also received a typical Connecticut Polar Bear hazing. We ran him out of gas on the ride home. “Oh the first rest stop is just a few miles,” Grumpy said. Fortunately Jim was able to bounce the last ounce out of his tank to make the few hundred yards to the station, sputtering all the way.

We saw official Grand Tour photographer Walter Kern outside the VFW and I proudly showed him my new polar bear rider pinup girl on my rear fender. At which point my guys started yelling about the tattoo. Wearing all long sleeves, I had to strip off my shirts to show it. Walter took a picture for the club site.

We lost a couple riders on this trip due to health. Carl showed up at our Stratford start but dropped out a few exits later because he wasn't feeling up to the ride. Token rode with Bart down to their pickup point at the Hutch and 287, but turned around back to home before we arrived. It says something about both fellows' desire to ride that they tried. After next week's ride to Lewes, Del., the distances are shorter. Hopefully they both feel better in a week or two.

And so we embark with eager anticipation of a good season of winter riding. Hopefully we can avoid any snow or ice storms requiring a long ride in Captain's hairmobile.

Thank you to the New Jersey organizers for allowing us to join their club. It truly is more a New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware endeavor. Yet they welcome us with open arms.

Old Bridge, NJ, November 8

Old Bridge, NJ. November 8

Near 70 degrees. Bright, cloudless blue sky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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