Lake Hoptacong, NJ; January 3, 2010
Well I was all suited up and ready to ride. A quick check of the radar, and a generally optimistic disposition, had me thinking the snow would all stay north of us. The road outside was clear. A path was cleared down the center of my driveway where I had worked my way down to bare pavement through previous snow storms.
John Howard sent a photo of the motorcycle track he had cleared in his driveway. Looks like he has a much longer driveway than I. And when the snow is too nasty or icy, you worry about only shoveling, gouging, scraping or salting the width of a motorcycle tire.
Seeing the photo reminded me of a funny story a couple of Polar Bear seasons ago. During the week we had one of those nasty New England ice storms. It was followed by a cold snap and the ice was everywhere hard and steadfast. I worked on my driveway for hours Saturday. My wife Cynthia was out most of the day.
When she pulled into our driveway that afternoon, her car immediately listed to one side. As she drove down the driveway, car leaned over, she started to laugh. Right away she knew what I was up to.
Too much work to chisel out the whole driveway, I had cleared only one track.
Sunday the driveway was ready, the roads were clear. The weather was in the teens, well below freezing. So unfortunately, any snow at all could make the road instantly slick and icy.
As I was getting ready to put my helmet on the home phone rang. It was the Captain, John Kammerer. He had tried my cell, but I had missed it, shuffling in and out from the house to the garage getting the bike ready.
His take was that everyone else was already snowed in. His more detailed look at the radar suggested we were about to be snowed in too. “What did I think?,” he wanted to know.
What I thought was that I could not afford to get stranded in New Jersey. I had lots of work that needed doing Monday. Plus I have always had an aversion to dropping my bike.
We decided to not go. Actually, I decided to not go. Captain had another idea.
I hung up the phone with John and went back outside to stand down the Harley and reattach its battery umbilical cord. All the sudden it was snowing pretty hard. By the time I had all my riding crap off, it was slicking up the roads.
It snowed, steady, all day. By noon I was very glad I was not riding that day.
General Napoleon said, “You cannot buy a man's life at any price. But he will gladly risk it for a small bit of ribbon.”
Sorry, I am just not that into it, to drive my car to a Polar Bear motorcycle meet. Some people are more driven by points, pins and patches. Or maybe they just enjoy the heroic accomplishment.
John Kammerer, protecting his perfect attendance, changed from motorcycle clothes back into civies and drove his car to New Jersey. Here is his report.
Captain's Snowy Adventure
After numerous phone conversations, I converted back to standard clothing and headed south at about 9:20 a.m. As I passed the exit for Route 8 the snow stopped and the skies cleared. Sound familiar? (For non-Connecticut readers that's less than five miles south of our Stratford starting point.) I followed the proposed route and found it to be clear all the way except for an occasional flurries.
Upon arrival at the Wearhouse Grill, who was out in the parking lot to greet me but Bob Hartpence? There were about three-dozen bikes in the lot and it was early yet. Bob's eyes followed me as I parked the car. When I approached him he greeted me with, “It was already 18 degrees at my house when I left.”
I quickly went inside and saw Rich at the sign-in desk. He asked, “Where's the hat? Is it too cold for you?” So with the sun shining brightly, I commenced to explain the problem that those of us from the north had with snow.
Signing in at 11:20 a.m., I promptly departed. It was clear all the way back until exit 41 on route 15. I arrived at Sue's house at 1:00 p.m. (For non-Connecticut readers, that's about 10 miles south of our home departure point.)
I have no doubt that I might have made it on the bike, maybe! I am also convinced that, in fact, we all made the right call to stand down on this one, because it only takes one fall to ruin your whole day.
We did good today and get another shot next week. What could be better?
Editor's Note:
Thanks John. We will take that “nother shot” Sunday, January 10, leaving at 9:30 a.m. The distance is about the same. The cold is predicted to be about the same. But the skies will be clear.
Showing posts with label john kammerer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label john kammerer. Show all posts
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Vineland, N.J.; December 27, 2009
Vineland, N.J.; December 27, 2009
unseasonably warm and sunny
We slipped through a hole in the weather. Saturday it rained. It rained a lot. The rain moved north and east of us just an hour or so before our 8 a.m. departure. Monday morning it rained, and threatened snow. Sunday was luckily dry.
Even so, we started out in a fog.
Stratford, Conn., our starting point was shrouded in an advection ground fog from the snow on the ground and the warm air above it. I know the term because many years ago I was stranded in a podunk airport by one.
I think it was Peoria actually, not Podunk, Peoria, Illinois. I was sitting in the airport bar, which faced a huge picture window behind the bartender offering a second story view out over the runway.
With me at the bar were two very metropolitan ladies from the New York City PR agency where I worked at the time and a Purdue University Meteorologist named Jim Newman. We had just finished a soybean seminar, that is, a seminar for farmers who grow soybeans. If you don't know soybeans, think cooking oil, margarine, tofu or lecithin which is like in everything. Check your food labels.
It had been a long week in farm country and my city compatriots were very much looking forward to the flight home. It was late afternoon, Friday, February.
As we sat down at the airport bar one of our New Yorkers, Gail, asked for a Stolichnaya. This was like 1984. The bartender therefore answered, “Huh?” I said, “Gail, ask for the best vodka he has and expect Gibleys.” I ordered a Budweiser. I was fairly certain the bartender knew that brand.
It was unseasonably warm. Snow was on the ground. The air cooled as the sun weakened, and the dew point lowered along with the sun, and a fog began to appear out of nowhere.
As the minutes ticked toward our departure time, the sun kept falling and the fog kept rising and the runway kept disappearing. As our drinks arrived our meteorologist made a prediction, “Our flight will cancel.” Gail, disbelieving, nearly panicking, her voice trembling with that righteous indignation unique to New Yorkers, mistakenly asked, "Why? How?" And Jim launched into an explanation, as though lecturing a hall full of freshmen back at Purdue.
“What you have here is an advection ground fog. All day the snow has been evaporating into the warm air above it, loading it with moisture. Now as the sun sets, the snow will rapidly cool the air above it and the moisture will start condensing into a fog. If you went up just 10 feet you could see for miles. But the fog will be thick down on the ground,” Jim said. As he spoke, the fog in fact thickened over the runway below us. True to his prognostication, you could see 10 miles or more hence across the top of the flat fog cloud forming before our eyes.
Next a pilot, in uniform, joined us at the bar. This was decades before the controversies of such. Still, it was a bit of a shock. When we looked at him the pilot said, “Not to worry folks. This fog is closing the airport. I won't be flying anywhere tonight.” Sure enough, just then, over the loudspeaker we heard our flight cancel. Heck, maybe he was even our pilot.
“But above the runway you can see for miles,” we protested.
Sensing our frustration, and ignorance, the pilot explained pilots may not take off from an airport if the runway is obscured in case an immediate return landing at the same airport is required for any mechanical failure of the plane.
We ordered up another round.
Interestingly, as we sat watching the gathering fog with the sun setting above it in a clear and darkening sky, a FedEx jet deftly touched down. Again we turned, in unison, to the pilot. He just smiled. “The FAA has a whole different set of rules if you are carrying passengers. Carrying packages, the pilot is allowed to risk his own safety.”
I thought it was all fun. But my New York metropolitan co-workers saw a Friday night in boonville as a dismal disappointing sentence. Marianne made the best of it and we had a few drinks at the Holiday Inn. Gail sulked in her room. Me, I grew up on Holiday Inns in the middle of nowhere. I was happily in my element.
Sunday the Connecticut Polar Bears headed southwest in an advection ground fog. But on our day the sun was rising, not setting. By the time we reached Norwalk, Conn., clouds were breaking apart. Sunlight streaming through warmed the air, increasing its ability to absorb moisture. The fog dissolved. We crossed the Connecticut and New York border in brilliant sunshine that grew ever stronger.
Descending into New Jersey, the air warmed to unseasonable finery. As we progressed toward Vineland, I dialed down the electrics. Polar Bear riding is of course about riding in the cold. Nevertheless, is there anyone who would not rather ride in 50 degrees Fahrenheit than 30?
Traffic was light on the ride down. We were aware that we were riding on the tail of Christmas vacation. And we joked about having to pay for it on the ride home. (As it turned out, we found it not at all a laughing matter.) Meanwhile, I took note of the many Florida and North Carolina license plates traveling south with us. We call them snowbirds.
There are two causes of this which are somewhat unique to Connecticut. First, we have a lot of rich people who live in our state. (Yes, I know Jersey does to.) Second, we have personal property tax. Here you pay a hefty, biannual tax on your car. So if you are rich enough to have a house in another state, you register your car there to avoid the Connecticut tax.
When I first moved to Connecticut, I was amazed at the number of Florida license plates. Such were not so visible in nearby Delaware where I grew up, or even closer New Jersey where I lived before moving to Connecticut. (I lived in Hightstown, near Princeton, you know, Exit 8.)
So with the holidays over, those who did not have to stay and work, the rich retired and the grandparents and the rich grandparents, were headed south to wait out the remainder of New England's harsh winter.
Being early in the day, the George Washington Bridge was more expedient. It is a shorter distance to go that way. But rarely faster. We almost never risk it in the afternoon because ridiculous traffic volume makes for an extra hour or two of stop-and-go misery. Afternoons we detour farther north for the Tappan Zee Bridge over the Hudson River. It is farther to go and far faster.
I had hoped that by averaging the two bridges, I might gain enough distance to squeak out another point from the Grand Tour. As I entered the parking lot at the Five Points Inn my odometer indicated 190 miles. That meant a George Washington Bridge round trip from my home in Stratford to Vineland equaled only 380 miles. Certainly, I thought, the roundabout ride over the Tappan Zee Bridge must add another 20 measly miles?
My unsympathetic, GPS-enabled, compatriots informed me the extra miles up and over the Tappan Zee numbered only five. The Grand Tour operates on the honor system. And my honor is not for sale, most certainly not for 15 miles, nor a gold rocker.
Last year I earned only the red rocker, the first time since I started riding the Grand Tour that I did not make gold. New Jersey riders may be unsympathetic. Our extra distance riding from Connecticut racks up the points. If our guys make a majority of the rides, gold is obtainable. Last year, new job responsibilities and some really lousy weather so limited my ride opportunities, I missed the gold. I hope not to repeat. I wanted that extra point. Unfortunately, Vineland is no Cape May. Fifteen miles short, I earned only five points Sunday.
Even short a point your blogger Chris Loynd gladly earned my red rocker Sunday. Captain John Kammerer picked up his gold pin for 60 points. Grumpy Johnny Bowlan earned his gold rocker. John Jackson picked up a red rocker as well. Although we may say we ride for the fun of it, we do display our patches proudly.
We stretched our Harley gas tanks for nearly all those 190 miles it took to ride down to Vineland, N.J. from Stratford, Conn. What is this fascination with running out of gas? Some of our Polar Bear riders seem to delight in showing off their nerve by playing chicken with their gasoline mileage. So far they have run Joe Velez and John Jackson bone dry.
Me, I have never run out of gas and never intend to. I hate worrying about gas. As soon as my little light comes on, I fill up. Unless, of course, I am riding with our guys. I put 4.7 gallons in my 5 gallon tank when we finally stopped. I may have to buy a Honda ST. Token has not only more capacity in his larger tank, his Honda also sips gasoline at a frugal rate. Plus the rice burner requires only cheaper regular rice. Our American Harleys demand premium gas.
The Five Points treated us well. It offered breakfast and lunch buffets. We all chose lunch. Food was plentiful and tasty with one of my favorite menu choices for winter riding, split pea soup. Maybe they heard of Rose Schoch's success with the bears. Her's is thicker.
Token was kind enough to treat us all for lunch. He had a good year. His company, Combe, is apparently somewhat recession protected. So on behalf of the Connecticut Polar Bears, we encourage you to use more Lectric Shave, Aqua-Velva, Brylcream, Just for Men, Odor-Eaters and Vagisil as your individual predilections allow.
For the record, John H. was as generous last year as well. Others have treated too. I ponied up one year when I hit the Grand Tour 50/50.
Bellies full, tanks topped, points accrued, we suited up for the ride home. It soon turned to a crawl.
New Jersey's turnpike was solid with returning vacationers. Soon after we entered at exit 3, we hit a wall of stop and go traffic. It did not relent until we hit the split between exits 8 and 9. It took us 3 hours to go 101 miles on that part of the return trip. Our clutch hands throbbing, we finally were able to make headway. Fortunately the Garden State Parkway was not at bad. By the time we got in line to cross the Tappan Zee bridge, we were largely inured to traffic jams. Thankfully, the T-Zee approach was no worse than most clogged Sundays.
Grumpy's Tom Tom reports he was moving for 8:35 hours to go 419 miles. (Johnny B. lives farther north still than Stratford. He earned his sixth point Sunday.) It was a day uncharacteristically long even by CT Polar Bear standards, 11 ½ hours.
Here are a couple of BONUS submissions by John Howard, Token.
Mystery of the Missing Miles
The Blogger e-mail call to ride to Vineland, NJ anticipated a 400 miles plus trip travelling via the GWB southbound and the Tappan Zee Bridge on the return home (you have to be crazy to use the GWB north on a Sunday afternoon!) setting an expectation of a 6 pointer ride for those departing the DD at Stratford. A bumper day for points that, as it would turn out, was punctuated by gasps of disbelief on arrival at the aptly named 5 Points Inn.
Grumpy, the first to proclaim, triumphantly noted his ride to be a few miles over 200 one way from his home north of Stratford; 6 points bagged, grumpy no more! Viewing his odometer Blogger announced a disappointing 190 miles one way, even under repeated tapping the odo refused to yield to pressure to display a bigger number; the air was audibly escaping from the points balloon.
Token, who lives closer to the Hudson River than most, piped up “well I have 185 one way, and the journey home via the TZB adds about 5 miles – that is a 5 pointer for me”.
“Nah, 190 that can’t be right can it?” questioned Blogger, “It has to be more”. Parking lot fuzzy math ensued for several minutes, none of it helpful to the visibly troubled Blogger.
Honesty in recording and signing the mileage log is a commitment made by all Bears when enrolling. Let no Bear cast doubt as to the integrity of Blogger Bear who as the photo record illustrates declared his disappointing 380 mile, 5 point day. It was noted that the mileage travails were relieved by a cup of split pea soup, the assured path to sooth the soul of Blogger Bear.
New 150 Points Badge in the Offing?
Confidential sources close to the Polar Bear Grand Tour organizers have hinted that a new 150 points milestone recognition badge is being consider to provide continuing motivation to early season, high point accruing, Polar Bears. Photographed while in secret discussions, Chairman Bob is captured illustrating the general size of the new badge to an attentive high point scoring Bear, known as Capt. K.
Rumors that Capt K. will in future travel to the West Coast to give blood for the benefit of the 50+ mileage points this would result in have yet to be corroborated.
unseasonably warm and sunny
We slipped through a hole in the weather. Saturday it rained. It rained a lot. The rain moved north and east of us just an hour or so before our 8 a.m. departure. Monday morning it rained, and threatened snow. Sunday was luckily dry.
Even so, we started out in a fog.
Stratford, Conn., our starting point was shrouded in an advection ground fog from the snow on the ground and the warm air above it. I know the term because many years ago I was stranded in a podunk airport by one.
I think it was Peoria actually, not Podunk, Peoria, Illinois. I was sitting in the airport bar, which faced a huge picture window behind the bartender offering a second story view out over the runway.
With me at the bar were two very metropolitan ladies from the New York City PR agency where I worked at the time and a Purdue University Meteorologist named Jim Newman. We had just finished a soybean seminar, that is, a seminar for farmers who grow soybeans. If you don't know soybeans, think cooking oil, margarine, tofu or lecithin which is like in everything. Check your food labels.
It had been a long week in farm country and my city compatriots were very much looking forward to the flight home. It was late afternoon, Friday, February.
As we sat down at the airport bar one of our New Yorkers, Gail, asked for a Stolichnaya. This was like 1984. The bartender therefore answered, “Huh?” I said, “Gail, ask for the best vodka he has and expect Gibleys.” I ordered a Budweiser. I was fairly certain the bartender knew that brand.
It was unseasonably warm. Snow was on the ground. The air cooled as the sun weakened, and the dew point lowered along with the sun, and a fog began to appear out of nowhere.
As the minutes ticked toward our departure time, the sun kept falling and the fog kept rising and the runway kept disappearing. As our drinks arrived our meteorologist made a prediction, “Our flight will cancel.” Gail, disbelieving, nearly panicking, her voice trembling with that righteous indignation unique to New Yorkers, mistakenly asked, "Why? How?" And Jim launched into an explanation, as though lecturing a hall full of freshmen back at Purdue.
“What you have here is an advection ground fog. All day the snow has been evaporating into the warm air above it, loading it with moisture. Now as the sun sets, the snow will rapidly cool the air above it and the moisture will start condensing into a fog. If you went up just 10 feet you could see for miles. But the fog will be thick down on the ground,” Jim said. As he spoke, the fog in fact thickened over the runway below us. True to his prognostication, you could see 10 miles or more hence across the top of the flat fog cloud forming before our eyes.
Next a pilot, in uniform, joined us at the bar. This was decades before the controversies of such. Still, it was a bit of a shock. When we looked at him the pilot said, “Not to worry folks. This fog is closing the airport. I won't be flying anywhere tonight.” Sure enough, just then, over the loudspeaker we heard our flight cancel. Heck, maybe he was even our pilot.
“But above the runway you can see for miles,” we protested.
Sensing our frustration, and ignorance, the pilot explained pilots may not take off from an airport if the runway is obscured in case an immediate return landing at the same airport is required for any mechanical failure of the plane.
We ordered up another round.
Interestingly, as we sat watching the gathering fog with the sun setting above it in a clear and darkening sky, a FedEx jet deftly touched down. Again we turned, in unison, to the pilot. He just smiled. “The FAA has a whole different set of rules if you are carrying passengers. Carrying packages, the pilot is allowed to risk his own safety.”
I thought it was all fun. But my New York metropolitan co-workers saw a Friday night in boonville as a dismal disappointing sentence. Marianne made the best of it and we had a few drinks at the Holiday Inn. Gail sulked in her room. Me, I grew up on Holiday Inns in the middle of nowhere. I was happily in my element.
Sunday the Connecticut Polar Bears headed southwest in an advection ground fog. But on our day the sun was rising, not setting. By the time we reached Norwalk, Conn., clouds were breaking apart. Sunlight streaming through warmed the air, increasing its ability to absorb moisture. The fog dissolved. We crossed the Connecticut and New York border in brilliant sunshine that grew ever stronger.
Descending into New Jersey, the air warmed to unseasonable finery. As we progressed toward Vineland, I dialed down the electrics. Polar Bear riding is of course about riding in the cold. Nevertheless, is there anyone who would not rather ride in 50 degrees Fahrenheit than 30?
Traffic was light on the ride down. We were aware that we were riding on the tail of Christmas vacation. And we joked about having to pay for it on the ride home. (As it turned out, we found it not at all a laughing matter.) Meanwhile, I took note of the many Florida and North Carolina license plates traveling south with us. We call them snowbirds.
There are two causes of this which are somewhat unique to Connecticut. First, we have a lot of rich people who live in our state. (Yes, I know Jersey does to.) Second, we have personal property tax. Here you pay a hefty, biannual tax on your car. So if you are rich enough to have a house in another state, you register your car there to avoid the Connecticut tax.
When I first moved to Connecticut, I was amazed at the number of Florida license plates. Such were not so visible in nearby Delaware where I grew up, or even closer New Jersey where I lived before moving to Connecticut. (I lived in Hightstown, near Princeton, you know, Exit 8.)
So with the holidays over, those who did not have to stay and work, the rich retired and the grandparents and the rich grandparents, were headed south to wait out the remainder of New England's harsh winter.
Being early in the day, the George Washington Bridge was more expedient. It is a shorter distance to go that way. But rarely faster. We almost never risk it in the afternoon because ridiculous traffic volume makes for an extra hour or two of stop-and-go misery. Afternoons we detour farther north for the Tappan Zee Bridge over the Hudson River. It is farther to go and far faster.
I had hoped that by averaging the two bridges, I might gain enough distance to squeak out another point from the Grand Tour. As I entered the parking lot at the Five Points Inn my odometer indicated 190 miles. That meant a George Washington Bridge round trip from my home in Stratford to Vineland equaled only 380 miles. Certainly, I thought, the roundabout ride over the Tappan Zee Bridge must add another 20 measly miles?
My unsympathetic, GPS-enabled, compatriots informed me the extra miles up and over the Tappan Zee numbered only five. The Grand Tour operates on the honor system. And my honor is not for sale, most certainly not for 15 miles, nor a gold rocker.
Last year I earned only the red rocker, the first time since I started riding the Grand Tour that I did not make gold. New Jersey riders may be unsympathetic. Our extra distance riding from Connecticut racks up the points. If our guys make a majority of the rides, gold is obtainable. Last year, new job responsibilities and some really lousy weather so limited my ride opportunities, I missed the gold. I hope not to repeat. I wanted that extra point. Unfortunately, Vineland is no Cape May. Fifteen miles short, I earned only five points Sunday.
Even short a point your blogger Chris Loynd gladly earned my red rocker Sunday. Captain John Kammerer picked up his gold pin for 60 points. Grumpy Johnny Bowlan earned his gold rocker. John Jackson picked up a red rocker as well. Although we may say we ride for the fun of it, we do display our patches proudly.
We stretched our Harley gas tanks for nearly all those 190 miles it took to ride down to Vineland, N.J. from Stratford, Conn. What is this fascination with running out of gas? Some of our Polar Bear riders seem to delight in showing off their nerve by playing chicken with their gasoline mileage. So far they have run Joe Velez and John Jackson bone dry.
Me, I have never run out of gas and never intend to. I hate worrying about gas. As soon as my little light comes on, I fill up. Unless, of course, I am riding with our guys. I put 4.7 gallons in my 5 gallon tank when we finally stopped. I may have to buy a Honda ST. Token has not only more capacity in his larger tank, his Honda also sips gasoline at a frugal rate. Plus the rice burner requires only cheaper regular rice. Our American Harleys demand premium gas.
The Five Points treated us well. It offered breakfast and lunch buffets. We all chose lunch. Food was plentiful and tasty with one of my favorite menu choices for winter riding, split pea soup. Maybe they heard of Rose Schoch's success with the bears. Her's is thicker.
Token was kind enough to treat us all for lunch. He had a good year. His company, Combe, is apparently somewhat recession protected. So on behalf of the Connecticut Polar Bears, we encourage you to use more Lectric Shave, Aqua-Velva, Brylcream, Just for Men, Odor-Eaters and Vagisil as your individual predilections allow.
For the record, John H. was as generous last year as well. Others have treated too. I ponied up one year when I hit the Grand Tour 50/50.
Bellies full, tanks topped, points accrued, we suited up for the ride home. It soon turned to a crawl.
New Jersey's turnpike was solid with returning vacationers. Soon after we entered at exit 3, we hit a wall of stop and go traffic. It did not relent until we hit the split between exits 8 and 9. It took us 3 hours to go 101 miles on that part of the return trip. Our clutch hands throbbing, we finally were able to make headway. Fortunately the Garden State Parkway was not at bad. By the time we got in line to cross the Tappan Zee bridge, we were largely inured to traffic jams. Thankfully, the T-Zee approach was no worse than most clogged Sundays.
Grumpy's Tom Tom reports he was moving for 8:35 hours to go 419 miles. (Johnny B. lives farther north still than Stratford. He earned his sixth point Sunday.) It was a day uncharacteristically long even by CT Polar Bear standards, 11 ½ hours.
Here are a couple of BONUS submissions by John Howard, Token.
Mystery of the Missing Miles
The Blogger e-mail call to ride to Vineland, NJ anticipated a 400 miles plus trip travelling via the GWB southbound and the Tappan Zee Bridge on the return home (you have to be crazy to use the GWB north on a Sunday afternoon!) setting an expectation of a 6 pointer ride for those departing the DD at Stratford. A bumper day for points that, as it would turn out, was punctuated by gasps of disbelief on arrival at the aptly named 5 Points Inn.
Grumpy, the first to proclaim, triumphantly noted his ride to be a few miles over 200 one way from his home north of Stratford; 6 points bagged, grumpy no more! Viewing his odometer Blogger announced a disappointing 190 miles one way, even under repeated tapping the odo refused to yield to pressure to display a bigger number; the air was audibly escaping from the points balloon.
Token, who lives closer to the Hudson River than most, piped up “well I have 185 one way, and the journey home via the TZB adds about 5 miles – that is a 5 pointer for me”.
“Nah, 190 that can’t be right can it?” questioned Blogger, “It has to be more”. Parking lot fuzzy math ensued for several minutes, none of it helpful to the visibly troubled Blogger.
Honesty in recording and signing the mileage log is a commitment made by all Bears when enrolling. Let no Bear cast doubt as to the integrity of Blogger Bear who as the photo record illustrates declared his disappointing 380 mile, 5 point day. It was noted that the mileage travails were relieved by a cup of split pea soup, the assured path to sooth the soul of Blogger Bear.
New 150 Points Badge in the Offing?
Confidential sources close to the Polar Bear Grand Tour organizers have hinted that a new 150 points milestone recognition badge is being consider to provide continuing motivation to early season, high point accruing, Polar Bears. Photographed while in secret discussions, Chairman Bob is captured illustrating the general size of the new badge to an attentive high point scoring Bear, known as Capt. K.
Rumors that Capt K. will in future travel to the West Coast to give blood for the benefit of the 50+ mileage points this would result in have yet to be corroborated.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Port Jervis, N.Y., November 15, 2009
60's early, 70's later; morning drizzle, sunny afternoon
Blogger's Note:
Unfortunately your blogger Chris Loynd was busy at The Maritime Aquarium this Sunday. I was working with a troop of Girl Scouts from Monroe to build a wigwam to promote our showing of "Where the Wild Things Are" appearing now in IMAX.
So I put out an invitation to my fellow Connecticut Bears for correspondent reports. Here, with a bit of minor editing, are their reports.
From Captain John Kammerer:
We had a good turnout for Port Jervis, N.Y. Roll call in order of appearance were: Russ, Johns K., J. and B., Bernie, Rollin (Rolly) Dawlin, Steve D., William (Billy) Gargone, John H., Bart, and Matt G. (Full names provided for our new riders.)
We formed up and departed Dunkin' Donuts at 9 a.m. sharp with John J. taking the lead and John K. as sweep. Heading south on Interstate 95, the route turned onto Route 25 north into Newtown, Conn.
(Editor's Note: Newtown retains a bit of its Yankee charm with a flagpole right in the middle of main street. Here the Conn. Bears turned right and a short distance down the road merged onto Interstate 84 west at speed.)
John J. took exit 2B to pick up our more northerly members, the group arriving at 9:45 on the dot with John H. and Bart scrambling to get going.
Once the two final bears finally caught up, John J. settled the group into a steady pace west for the Delaware River.
We encountered fog at mile marker 57 in New York. It lasted for two to three miles. Visibility was a hundred feet or so.
The group navigated the mist without mishap arriving at Cornucopia at 11:10 a.m. Adopted Conn. Bear Matt was there already and after the group photo by John B., we went inside to check-in and have lunch.
As sweep I was trying to keep track of everyone. (Editor's note: The Captain takes his Road Captain duties very seriously.) During lunch I was looking everywhere for Steve D. and finally realized he bailed without saying a word to anyone. (Editor's note: Considered poor Polar Bear manners when riding in a group.)
At 12:15 we left the restaurant and headed to the gas stop on the New Jersey side and yes, John H. was right about the crash site!
After fueling we headed east on Interstate 84 to our pit stop at the Starbucks in Danbury, Conn., exit 2, arriving at 1:30 p.m. This week John J. treated.
John H. split off at Interstate 684 to head for Ridgefield. Billy G. left after coffee.
We were on the road eastbound by 2:10 and Bart split off at Route 7 north. From Interstate 84 the group took the more scenic Route 34 south. I arrived home at about 2:50 p.m.
It was a great day with good company and I managed to piss off everyone by noon.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Next report from a first-season Connecticut Bear . . .
From Bart Cole:
Because of the early morning rain and wet roadways, I had decided to leave a little later and hook up with John H. at exit 2. After receiving my text with my change of plans, John H. called John K. to let him know that I would not be coming down to Stratford and not to wait. John K.'s response to the Token (John H.) was basically, "what the hell do I care!" It's just so nice to be loved and embraced by John K.!
Then when the boyz rolled down exit 2 to meet up with John and I, upon being waved into the pack I didn't give my Dyna Low Rider enough throttle and proceeded to stall the engine. John K. took note of this as he saw me rolling back to restart my bike. We rode through some dense fog in spots on I-84.
We had some major issues at the Newburgh Bridge toll. The EZ-Pass wasn't reading our tags and the toll booth attendant proceeded to give some of the guys a hard time for trying to drive through. John J., Russ, Grumpy and myself made it through and had to wait for a good five minutes plus for the others to rejoin the ranks.
Stopped at the Starbucks off exit 2 on the way back. John J. treated everyone to their favorite beverage. Grumpy didn't care for his hot chocolate. He claimed it tasted like a dark or semi-sweet cocoa.
I'm sure the others will fill you in on some of the other events. Some guy, I think named Steve, rode up with us and then disappeared without telling anyone!
The day was so short that I didn't know what to do with myself when I got home so early.
Even Russ busted on you in your absence for you propensity to take forever to get your gear on and be ready to roll after we stop. Russ was being Russ!
You were missed Chris!
From one of our founding Connecticut Bears, everyone's favorite people person, Grumpy . . .
From Johnny Bowlan:
Hi Chris! I hope your project went well. We missed you.
We had 10 bikes and riders today. Weather was great; we needed no heated gear at all.
The ride up was good. We had to stop only once for a red light. John J. did well for his second, maybe third, time leading the group.
Ten bikes may be too much. Next time we might want to break it up into two groups.
We got there after 11:00, stood around shooting the (stuff) and took the group photo.
Lunch was edible. The menu included: French toast, chili and rice, something the server said was mini-sausage meatloaf, a chicken dish and mac and cheese.
About 12:30 we headed out to New Jersey for gas, missing Steve D. He left after taking the group shot.
Then toward home we went. We had some problems at the toll on Interstate 84. It took a little while for everyone to get through. Guess this is another toll road we can't use.
(Editor's note: We have had troubles before on the last parkway toll before the GW Bridge. Captain had a famous gate-busting adventure there a few years back.)
We lost the Brit at exit 2 as we got off for coffee.
No Dunkin' Donuts, so it was Starbucks. It was a small place so we got our drinks and went outside to chat.
We then saddled up for home, losing people along the way.
It was a NICE day, there I go using four letter words again.
Next report from this week's ride leader.All paragraph and sentence breaks are best guess estimates by the blog editor . . .
From John Jackson:
Hello Blog-master,
Sunday morning arrived a little misty and 58 degrees. Side roads were covered with slippery, wet leaves, so the ride to Dunkin' Donuts was slow and steady. That will be an important standard for the day.
When I got to Dunkin' Russ and John K. were enjoying their hot beverage of choice already. John K. informed me that this Dunkin' Donuts was now offering Same Day Service. So I took them up on it, and damned if it wasn't true! I got a muffin and a cappuccino within five minutes!
By the time I got back, Bernie and Rollie had arrived. Later came Steve D., who was greeted appropriately by Russ, Johnny B. and finally Bill.
John K. asked, to no-one in particular, looking at Russ and I, "Who's leading today?" Russ answered in the negative, so, by default, I said I would. I had it in my GPS.
John K. and I briefly discussed the route to the meeting point on Interstate 84 where we were picking up John H. and Bart. Taking Interstate 95 to Route 25 to Newtown to Interstate 84 was the preferred route.
Promptly at 9 a.m. we lined up and off we went. As I was reading my GPS, I noticed the "arrive" time was 11 a.m. So I planned to keep the pace on the moderate side after we picked up our two northern polar bears, which we did at precisely 9:45.
Onto Interstate 84 west, the train of 10 bikes sauntered. Speed limit 65 mph, I set my cruise control at 64.
Weather was gray with some hint of sun breaking through off to the southwest. But up ahead it was just clouds. We rode through a cloud going up one one those mountains. Visibility was next to nil, so I kept the pace down a little.
I didn't want to slow down too much to prevent riders from bunching up unexpectedly. And I stayed in the lane we were in because I sure as heck could not see my sweep John K. in my mirrors. If he was clearing a lane for me, I couldn't tell.
After about a mile of clouds, we broke through. I do NOT like not being able to see ahead!
I cranked the speed back up to a blistering 63 mph and the GPS still says "arrive" at 11:01.
We got stuck behind a creepy crawling Toyota Camry on the Newburg bridge, doing about 45 to 50 mph. I saw this as an opportunity to knock our arrival time back a notch or two, so I stayed behind, later to be ragged-on mercilessly by our Captain when we arrived and unsaddled at 11:10.
John K. is the best sweep that I have ridden with. He just KNOWS when you want to change lanes. I look in my mirror for a lane change and he is already there, waiting for me to turn on my signal. Perhaps this is why he was so fast to comment on why I stayed behind that slow poke on the bridge.
Anyway, we arrived, all 10 of us, early.
Bob Hartpence (Polar Bear Chairman) was out in the parking lot and came over to say hello. We took the group shot, Johnny B. having figured out his new camera's timer mechanism. Then we went to sign-in and have a lunch a litle before 11:30.
The buffet this year was pretty good: chili, biscuits and gravy, mac and cheese, little meatloaf patties in gravy and some sort of chicken thing, all very edible.
During lunch I asked where Steve D. was. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him. When we finished lunch and went outside, I, being the leader, searched down the line of bikes where we parked and noticed that Steve's custom painted Fat Boy was no longer there. Some metric cruiser of a similar color was parked where Steve's bike used to be. John K. asked where Steve was. Nobody had heard from him. The evidence pointed to him no longer being anywhere near the Cornucopia anymore, so I felt secure in leaving as a group of nine, knowing the tenth had gone on by himself.
The ride back was at a more brisk pace, more like my speed, cruise control set higher and throttled up to pass the occasional slow moving truck.
Back at Port Jervis it had been decided that we would stop for coffee at Starbucks in Danbury, off Exit 2, which we did. John H., having to be home early, rode on. And Bill left before we went to get coffee.
I treated, with the caveat that if you wanted anything special, you would have to pay for it yourself. Of course Johnny B. took this to mean I would not buy him his hot chocolate. But I calmed him down with the explanation that "special" meant lattes, cappuccinos and espresso drinks. Bernie slipped a frappuchino by me anyway!
So after we were all properly juiced up with Starbucks caffeine enriched coffee we continued on our way.
Bart took off up Route 7 and various others slipping out of my slipstream as we wound our way back down Route 34, arriving home at 3:10 on a 70 degree afternoon.
The day was very enjoyable. John K. exaggerates his power to piss off. I think he does an admirable job. But we all look forward to it, the same way we look forward to Russ' crude innuendo.
That's MY story, and I'm sticking to it.
Finally, here is Russ' report . . .
From Russ:
John K. missed me. I don't think I was pissed off all day. I did miss Chris not showing 'till the last second.
Blogger's Note:
Unfortunately your blogger Chris Loynd was busy at The Maritime Aquarium this Sunday. I was working with a troop of Girl Scouts from Monroe to build a wigwam to promote our showing of "Where the Wild Things Are" appearing now in IMAX.
So I put out an invitation to my fellow Connecticut Bears for correspondent reports. Here, with a bit of minor editing, are their reports.
From Captain John Kammerer:
We had a good turnout for Port Jervis, N.Y. Roll call in order of appearance were: Russ, Johns K., J. and B., Bernie, Rollin (Rolly) Dawlin, Steve D., William (Billy) Gargone, John H., Bart, and Matt G. (Full names provided for our new riders.)
We formed up and departed Dunkin' Donuts at 9 a.m. sharp with John J. taking the lead and John K. as sweep. Heading south on Interstate 95, the route turned onto Route 25 north into Newtown, Conn.
(Editor's Note: Newtown retains a bit of its Yankee charm with a flagpole right in the middle of main street. Here the Conn. Bears turned right and a short distance down the road merged onto Interstate 84 west at speed.)
John J. took exit 2B to pick up our more northerly members, the group arriving at 9:45 on the dot with John H. and Bart scrambling to get going.
Once the two final bears finally caught up, John J. settled the group into a steady pace west for the Delaware River.
We encountered fog at mile marker 57 in New York. It lasted for two to three miles. Visibility was a hundred feet or so.
The group navigated the mist without mishap arriving at Cornucopia at 11:10 a.m. Adopted Conn. Bear Matt was there already and after the group photo by John B., we went inside to check-in and have lunch.
As sweep I was trying to keep track of everyone. (Editor's note: The Captain takes his Road Captain duties very seriously.) During lunch I was looking everywhere for Steve D. and finally realized he bailed without saying a word to anyone. (Editor's note: Considered poor Polar Bear manners when riding in a group.)
At 12:15 we left the restaurant and headed to the gas stop on the New Jersey side and yes, John H. was right about the crash site!
After fueling we headed east on Interstate 84 to our pit stop at the Starbucks in Danbury, Conn., exit 2, arriving at 1:30 p.m. This week John J. treated.
John H. split off at Interstate 684 to head for Ridgefield. Billy G. left after coffee.
We were on the road eastbound by 2:10 and Bart split off at Route 7 north. From Interstate 84 the group took the more scenic Route 34 south. I arrived home at about 2:50 p.m.
It was a great day with good company and I managed to piss off everyone by noon.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Next report from a first-season Connecticut Bear . . .
From Bart Cole:
Because of the early morning rain and wet roadways, I had decided to leave a little later and hook up with John H. at exit 2. After receiving my text with my change of plans, John H. called John K. to let him know that I would not be coming down to Stratford and not to wait. John K.'s response to the Token (John H.) was basically, "what the hell do I care!" It's just so nice to be loved and embraced by John K.!
Then when the boyz rolled down exit 2 to meet up with John and I, upon being waved into the pack I didn't give my Dyna Low Rider enough throttle and proceeded to stall the engine. John K. took note of this as he saw me rolling back to restart my bike. We rode through some dense fog in spots on I-84.
We had some major issues at the Newburgh Bridge toll. The EZ-Pass wasn't reading our tags and the toll booth attendant proceeded to give some of the guys a hard time for trying to drive through. John J., Russ, Grumpy and myself made it through and had to wait for a good five minutes plus for the others to rejoin the ranks.
Stopped at the Starbucks off exit 2 on the way back. John J. treated everyone to their favorite beverage. Grumpy didn't care for his hot chocolate. He claimed it tasted like a dark or semi-sweet cocoa.
I'm sure the others will fill you in on some of the other events. Some guy, I think named Steve, rode up with us and then disappeared without telling anyone!
The day was so short that I didn't know what to do with myself when I got home so early.
Even Russ busted on you in your absence for you propensity to take forever to get your gear on and be ready to roll after we stop. Russ was being Russ!
You were missed Chris!
From one of our founding Connecticut Bears, everyone's favorite people person, Grumpy . . .
From Johnny Bowlan:
Hi Chris! I hope your project went well. We missed you.
We had 10 bikes and riders today. Weather was great; we needed no heated gear at all.
The ride up was good. We had to stop only once for a red light. John J. did well for his second, maybe third, time leading the group.
Ten bikes may be too much. Next time we might want to break it up into two groups.
We got there after 11:00, stood around shooting the (stuff) and took the group photo.
Lunch was edible. The menu included: French toast, chili and rice, something the server said was mini-sausage meatloaf, a chicken dish and mac and cheese.
About 12:30 we headed out to New Jersey for gas, missing Steve D. He left after taking the group shot.
Then toward home we went. We had some problems at the toll on Interstate 84. It took a little while for everyone to get through. Guess this is another toll road we can't use.
(Editor's note: We have had troubles before on the last parkway toll before the GW Bridge. Captain had a famous gate-busting adventure there a few years back.)
We lost the Brit at exit 2 as we got off for coffee.
No Dunkin' Donuts, so it was Starbucks. It was a small place so we got our drinks and went outside to chat.
We then saddled up for home, losing people along the way.
It was a NICE day, there I go using four letter words again.
Next report from this week's ride leader.All paragraph and sentence breaks are best guess estimates by the blog editor . . .
From John Jackson:
Hello Blog-master,
Sunday morning arrived a little misty and 58 degrees. Side roads were covered with slippery, wet leaves, so the ride to Dunkin' Donuts was slow and steady. That will be an important standard for the day.
When I got to Dunkin' Russ and John K. were enjoying their hot beverage of choice already. John K. informed me that this Dunkin' Donuts was now offering Same Day Service. So I took them up on it, and damned if it wasn't true! I got a muffin and a cappuccino within five minutes!
By the time I got back, Bernie and Rollie had arrived. Later came Steve D., who was greeted appropriately by Russ, Johnny B. and finally Bill.
John K. asked, to no-one in particular, looking at Russ and I, "Who's leading today?" Russ answered in the negative, so, by default, I said I would. I had it in my GPS.
John K. and I briefly discussed the route to the meeting point on Interstate 84 where we were picking up John H. and Bart. Taking Interstate 95 to Route 25 to Newtown to Interstate 84 was the preferred route.
Promptly at 9 a.m. we lined up and off we went. As I was reading my GPS, I noticed the "arrive" time was 11 a.m. So I planned to keep the pace on the moderate side after we picked up our two northern polar bears, which we did at precisely 9:45.
Onto Interstate 84 west, the train of 10 bikes sauntered. Speed limit 65 mph, I set my cruise control at 64.
Weather was gray with some hint of sun breaking through off to the southwest. But up ahead it was just clouds. We rode through a cloud going up one one those mountains. Visibility was next to nil, so I kept the pace down a little.
I didn't want to slow down too much to prevent riders from bunching up unexpectedly. And I stayed in the lane we were in because I sure as heck could not see my sweep John K. in my mirrors. If he was clearing a lane for me, I couldn't tell.
After about a mile of clouds, we broke through. I do NOT like not being able to see ahead!
I cranked the speed back up to a blistering 63 mph and the GPS still says "arrive" at 11:01.
We got stuck behind a creepy crawling Toyota Camry on the Newburg bridge, doing about 45 to 50 mph. I saw this as an opportunity to knock our arrival time back a notch or two, so I stayed behind, later to be ragged-on mercilessly by our Captain when we arrived and unsaddled at 11:10.
John K. is the best sweep that I have ridden with. He just KNOWS when you want to change lanes. I look in my mirror for a lane change and he is already there, waiting for me to turn on my signal. Perhaps this is why he was so fast to comment on why I stayed behind that slow poke on the bridge.
Anyway, we arrived, all 10 of us, early.
Bob Hartpence (Polar Bear Chairman) was out in the parking lot and came over to say hello. We took the group shot, Johnny B. having figured out his new camera's timer mechanism. Then we went to sign-in and have a lunch a litle before 11:30.
The buffet this year was pretty good: chili, biscuits and gravy, mac and cheese, little meatloaf patties in gravy and some sort of chicken thing, all very edible.
During lunch I asked where Steve D. was. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him. When we finished lunch and went outside, I, being the leader, searched down the line of bikes where we parked and noticed that Steve's custom painted Fat Boy was no longer there. Some metric cruiser of a similar color was parked where Steve's bike used to be. John K. asked where Steve was. Nobody had heard from him. The evidence pointed to him no longer being anywhere near the Cornucopia anymore, so I felt secure in leaving as a group of nine, knowing the tenth had gone on by himself.
The ride back was at a more brisk pace, more like my speed, cruise control set higher and throttled up to pass the occasional slow moving truck.
Back at Port Jervis it had been decided that we would stop for coffee at Starbucks in Danbury, off Exit 2, which we did. John H., having to be home early, rode on. And Bill left before we went to get coffee.
I treated, with the caveat that if you wanted anything special, you would have to pay for it yourself. Of course Johnny B. took this to mean I would not buy him his hot chocolate. But I calmed him down with the explanation that "special" meant lattes, cappuccinos and espresso drinks. Bernie slipped a frappuchino by me anyway!
So after we were all properly juiced up with Starbucks caffeine enriched coffee we continued on our way.
Bart took off up Route 7 and various others slipping out of my slipstream as we wound our way back down Route 34, arriving home at 3:10 on a 70 degree afternoon.
The day was very enjoyable. John K. exaggerates his power to piss off. I think he does an admirable job. But we all look forward to it, the same way we look forward to Russ' crude innuendo.
That's MY story, and I'm sticking to it.
Finally, here is Russ' report . . .
From Russ:
John K. missed me. I don't think I was pissed off all day. I did miss Chris not showing 'till the last second.
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