| Polar Bear Motorcycles by: Chris Loynd If you've stumbled onto this page out of curiosity, you're welcome to stay and read the saga of riding motorcycles in the winter. Several of us from Connecticut, participate in the Polar Bear Grand Tour, a winter-long set of destination rides sanctioned by the American Motorcycle Association (AMA): www.PolarBearGrandTour.com. Last year I figured my Polar Bear (PB) missives would be a good excuse to try this blogging thing. I enjoy writing and the antics of my fellow Polar Bears often provide good fodder. There were some pretty good stories over the past years. But they were written in transient e-mails now lost. I never expected this blog to reach out much beyond my Connecticut compatriots. But as the weeks went on and the stories grew, so did the blog's popularity. |
Me, Chris Loynd, on my |
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| Our fellow PB riders throughout the tri-state
area have e-mailed me or said hello at the Sunday meets to say how they
enjoy reading about our adventures. This blog allows me to preserve some great memories and to share them with my fellow Polar Bear motorcycle riders, you, and anyone else in the world. Enjoy! So despite my first editor's warning about committing to a weekly column, here it us, usually posted by the Wednesday after our Sunday ride. If you're interested in riding with us from Connecticut,
it is very informal. Each rider is responsible for his or her own safety.
We meet at the Stratford (Conn.) Dunkin' Donuts, I-95, Exit 30, at the corner
of Lordship Blvd., and Honeyspot Rd. Departure times for the coming week
are posted at the bottom of the past week's blog entry. |
 Polar Bear Riders from 2004. Full face helmets, plenty of layers and electric clothing keep us toasty. |
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Please keep in mind I sometimes exaggerate here in an
attempt at humor. I make no promises for the veracity of any statements.
No warranty is expressed or implied. Your mileage may vary. Void where
prohibited. Read this blog with a very big grain of salt. (And discount anything Russ Curtis tells you by at least 30 percent!) |
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Rides:
Use your REFRESH button to see the latest entries. |
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Montgomeryville, Penn.; December 2,
2007
Week 6 Bears: John
"Grumpy" Bowlan and John "Captain" Kammerer. |
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| morning 26۫
afternoon 34۫ crappy! snow, then sleet It is the way of pioneers to see prot�g�s spring up in their place and outdo the trailblazer's achievements. And so I spawned the nutcases pictured above. By all accounts they had a great time! I opted to stay home and warm. Johnny Bowlan, "Grumpy," drove 30 miles north through the developing snow storm from his job in Stamford to pick up John Kammerer, "Captain." Then together Grumpy and Captain turned around back to the south, and drove deeper into the teeth of this year's first winter storm. Why? For the points, for the glory, for the food, for the fun! Russ, as hearty a bear as any, agreed with me. Saturday he sent this e-mail: Hi Chris, I called my nephew who lives in PA and he said, "STAY THE F-- HOME." I'm taking his advice! |
View through Grumpy's windshield. |
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| I took his advice too. But Johnny B. was gung ho to go.
Shift work has prevented him from Polar Bearing since the Cape May
opener. Plenty of our fellow bears have inquired, "Where's Grumpy?" Well
those few of you who made it to Montgomeryville Sunday got to see him. John K. needs only an invitation to participate in just about any motorcycle-related activity. Plus he was protecting his perfect attendance. Me, well, I decided not to go. I had two reasons. One was that I started a brand new job the following morning. As of Monday, December 3rd, I am the new Publicist for The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk. After 18 years as an entrepreneur, I just could not truck calling in on my first day of a regular 9 to 5 job to say I was stuck in Bethlehem, Penn. |
Not everybody made it through the snow and ice. |
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| My other reason was, well, and don't take this wrong Johns
B & K, I just figured there was other stuff I wanted to do. I mean I
think you guys are great and all. I enjoy our friendship and Polar Bear
adventures. But eight hours in a truck in a storm? Somehow I just was so
not in the mood. And if Grumpy wants to therefore label me a more affectionate name for cat (and I don't mean "kitty"), well that's his right. I will take the heat. But enough about me. Even though it is my blog, I am happy to pass along ― with a bit of editing ― Grumpy's report. Starting out from Milford (next town north and east of Stratford, our usual departure point, and home of John K.) at 8:20 am, the two Johns threaded their way down Interstate 95. As seen by me on remote live traffic cams via the Internet (warm and cozy at home), much of the road was restricted to one travel lane. |
Grumpy, jaw set, drives determinedly |
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| John one and John two also passed quite a few accidents.
Grumpy reported the worst one was where Route 15 merges into Interstate
287. A SUV driver discovered that the laws of physics are pretty much
irrefutable and ended up off the road and up on the guard rail (see
photo above). Johns B. and K. passed the slow going with lively conversation. Grumpy caught up on the Polar Bear rides he has been missing. The Captain went on about his plans for retirement. I don't know if John K. is ready to reveal his scheme in so public a forum as this blog. So I will ask him before revealing details in this space. All I can say is that his machinations are fairly complex and costly. But John has worked hard to earn the opportunity he now contemplates. |
One of many accidents our intrepid Bears passed. |
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| The only other thing I might say is that in the land where
I was born lived a man who sailed the sea. And he told of us his life .
. . . Meanwhile Grumpy managed to accumulate enough snow and ice on the front of his monster truck to shield his EZ pass from the toll gate radio receiver. Johnny had to cough up half a buck in cold cash to a human toll taker before he was allowed to continue. Arriving in Montgomeryville around 11:40, their trip actually was not much longer than we originally allowed for on motorcycles. Striding in to sign their books, our boys took a bit of flak from the Bear leaders for not riding. The leaders also noted my absence. And my fellow CT Bears sold me down the river. Grumpy referenced my new job and despite my now working in an aquarium with seals and fishes, Johnny B. drew that analogy to cats again. |
Our guys check in without their bikes for one point apiece. |
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| Sadly I was not there to witness John K's moment of glory
as he collected his Polar Bear rocker, despite signing in for just one
point on this Sunday. He is, I believe, the first Polar Bear to earn the
30th anniversary rocker. Anticipating John K's next move, Bob Hartpence gave him a preview peek at the anniversary gold rocker too. I figure it will take John K. at least a couple weeks more to earn a gold one, now that he is maxed out on his extra blood points and the next bonus point opportunity isn't until February, the famed Crotona Midnight Run. |
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| Johnny B. also reports, with characteristic brevity, a
conversation between John K. and Flight B leader Rich about, "his
accident last year and how the doctor used what looked like a melon
scoop." Johnny B's report next immediately launched into, "then to food. They served us roast beef, salad, chips and dessert with soda or water." Not bad eating, he added. Whatever possible meaning may be found by reading between those lines, you will have to wring from Grumpy next time you see him. Our guys were amazed to see a few riders show up. I am guessing they did not ride from as far as Connecticut. Nonetheless it is impressive riding. Kudos boys. I wonder if the guy on the Ural used his "two wheel drive." |
Now that's Polar Bearing! |
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| With a long ride home facing them still, our hardy CT
Bears dropped off their food drive items and climbed back into Johnny
B's massive, twin-turbo, diesel pickup truck for the ride home. Grumpy reports that roads were drier for the return trip. But at exit 37 on the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut they ran into a roadblock. The road was completely shut down for an accident. Fortunately, Grumpy works in that part of the world and knows every commuting secret back road. After a bit of detouring they made it home safe and sound. Dropping K off in Milford, B headed back home to Ansonia. He finished the day sending me an e-mail report and these appropriately bearish photos. |
Super Bear! |
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A few more road photos. |
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Due to unfortunate weather, the turnout was a bit thin last Sunday. |
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Next week's destination is Schoch's Harley-Davidson, just past the Delaware Water Gap in Pennsylvania off of Interstate 80. Let's set a departure time of 9:00 a.m. That should get us there a little past sign-in. If we get there too early, the split pea soup won't be ready. This is a spiritual destination for the CT Bears. It is sight of my first ride and Clark Makinson's last ride. Click on the links to see my stories about each. Hope to see you then! |
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Snydersville, PA; December 9, 2023
Week 7 bears: once
again only our hard cases, Grumpy on left and Captain on right. |
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| Fellow polar bears, I am running out of cleverness for
concocting blog entries from the comfort of my sofa. For the second week
in a row, I stayed home on Sunday because of bad weather. Not actual bad
weather. Just fear of such. Last week I saw actual snow. This week all I
saw were clouds, oh and scary weather maps. With great confidence, computer models, Doppler radar and scientific certainty the weather pundits predicted ice. Not snow. Ice. With Schoch's Harley-Davidson 150 miles from home (one-way), it seemed just a bit too risky. That's a long way on ice. Johns B. & K. were daunted but undefeated. This week they piled into John K.'s 4-wheel drive Subaru and drove out Route 80. I opted to do something else with my Sunday. Johnny B. took the photos. Here is John K's report: |
Weather worries led to light attendance. |
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Never trust a weather man; we was robbed! So much for sour grapes.
John B. met me, John K., in Milford and we took John K.'s car. The
freezing rain threat which appeared to be in progress or eminent, in
fact never appeared.
John B. even called a local hotel over in Pennsylvania and they told him the roads were slick. We departed Milford at 8:30 a.m. and after a dry ride arrived at Schoch's Harley-Davidson at 10:50. There were about a dozen bikes and some cages like us. We had some soup and sandwiches and left for the ride home. This too was also quite quiet.
Bob Hartpence did arrive but was not well, John B. did get some
photos and Dave (Flight B) took the John B. / John K. "group" shot.
Editor's note: rain never came until long after dark and then it did not freeze. |
Schoch's prepared a party but few came. |
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Our friend Matthew had a similar experience, but with better luck on his motorcycle:
Chris,
I just missed you yesterday. Bob said you left at 11:30am. I hung out for about an hour and then rode home. The rain held out, I�m glad I did not listen to my wife. ( HAHA ) Next week is a local Toys for Tots run so I don�t know if I will make the PB run. My birthday is this week so I have to go to my Mom�s house on Sunday. Matt Next week's destination is The Cabin, Freehold, NJ. Be sure to bring an unwrapped toy. A 9:00 a.m. departure should get us there just as sign-in begins. By the way, the weather forecast is . . . CRAPPY !@#^&* |
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Howell, NJ; December 16, 2023
Week 8 Bear, no
longer plural, only one CT Bear made it to sign-in: John K., protecting
his perfect attendance. |
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| And Then There was One! With another winter storm slamming our Polar Bear schedule, our most intrepid (some may insane) Connecticut Bear drove to New Jersey alone in a sleet storm to preserve his perfect attendance. Here's John K.'s firsthand account: Well I got up early to clear the slush and snow from my driveway. Once I got to the top and looked down the street I realized that resistance was futile. No bike was going out this day. I spoke with John B. at about 7:30 a.m. and he was not going to make the ride this week, so I left from Milford at 8:30 a.m. to compensate for the mess on the roads. (see photos). I had an uneventful ride and arrived at 11:05 A.M. |
Through John K.'s windshield. |
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| I asked Bob to take the Connecticut group shot. He started the sign in early at 11:15 A.M. I signed in and left. The ride home was wet and sloppy. | ||||||||||||||||
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Next week's destination is a new one: Sweetwater Casino, 'pert near to Atlantic City. Distance is 180 miles, Mapquest says 3 1/2 hours one way. We'll leave at 8:30 a.m. all the same so Johnny B. can catch up with us coming off of his night shift. If you can come, bring a new, unwrapped toy. The collection last week was less than usual due to the storm. Santa Bob Hartpence says he will still deliver them before Christmas. Right now the forecast is warm but rainy. The two Johns are chomping at the bit to ride and I haven't had the Springer out for three weeks (except to ride to my HOG meeting which is two-miles away, one way). So maybe we will see you there. Kenny will probably turn up. That boy loves being under water, started in his submarine days I guess. |
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Sweetwater, NJ; December 23, 2023
Week 9 Bears: Nor
wind, nor rain, nor dark of night shall stay these bears from their
ride. |
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| morning
40۫
afternoon 58۫ drizzle to light rain with a few short breaks, wet all day, but at least it was on the warmer side WARNING: Time off for Christmas, paltry prose opportunities for the past three weeks' worth of blogs and an unfulfilled muse led me to share more this week than you perhaps wanted to read. If so, skim or skip this entry. I make no apologies. It's my space to write and sometimes you just have to let the words fly! If you wish to continue reading, do so at your own risk, watch out for the diversions and enjoy the ride . . . Weather has kicked the crap out of the Polar Bear season so far. Last Sunday offered not much better weather than the previous three. For three weeks our most dedicated bears were relegated to their four-wheeled cages. By the good graces of some quirky jet stream shift, Sunday's precipitation remained liquid with no chance of solidification predicted. Our first ride in official winter, the weather was abnormally warm. So a few of us idiots decided to ride 'pert near to Atlantic City in rain all the way there and back. |
With friends like these . . . |
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| Our two most dedicated (afflicted?) Johns, K.
& B. were itching to ride. John H. said he was going, rain or shine. Me,
I waited until PAST the last moment to decide. Maybe it was the steady, cold rain Sunday morning. Warm by Polar Bear standards is still considered COLD in any other riding season. Maybe it was the extra time in adding the extra layers of rain gear. Maybe it is just that I am continually over-optimistic about how long it takes to prepare for a PB run. In any case, my compatriots decided they were tired of waiting for me. So they left, without me, without so much as a "fare thee well." I showed up at our Dunkin' Donuts rendezvous a mere 25 minutes late. They had waited for me 20 minutes then booked, leaving nary a phone message. As John K. said later, "We decided you would figure it out." And I really thought about not going at all at that point. I left a whiny, plaintive message on John K.'s cell phone: "Well I guess you guys left without me. It's a crappy day anyway. I guess I just won't ride today." I mean really, spending all day in the rain? |
My fellow CT bears' bikes parked at
the Sweetwater back bayou bar, arriving 15 minutes before me. |
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| Then I thought to myself, wait a dag gone
minute here! I am the original Connecticut Polar Bear. And it used to be
that I left when I wanted to leave, I rode the way I chose to ride, I
stopped when I felt like stopping. I was the CT bear, back before all
these other guys started showing up, and showing up ON TIME for
crissakes!
Next thing you know they started this punctuality thing. Some of them taking it to extremes! (You know who you are. I won't embarrass you in this public space.) Riding with friends is a wonderful and fun activity. Yet it is not free. The price it demands is an unwritten agreement to sacrifice certain liberties to assuage the common denominator. It is, and needs must be, about compromise. Group riding demands a certain discipline. Positions and hand signals and motorcycling technique must be universally agreed upon for safety's sake. Leader and sweep take on additional duties. In accepting such yokes, they need to ride in a regimented manner not always of their choosing. Russ is one of my favorite riders. Fellow Polar Bear and HOG, he has a natural wit and gift for storytelling that make him a valued companion on any ride of any season. He is also a most excellent motorcyclist whom you can trust with your life at 70 miles per hour or diving into a nearly impossible curve, him a half-second off your rear quarter. Yet I almost murdered Russ on our ride out to Sturgis a couple years back. Not on a motorcycle. I seriously ― if only for a moment ― considered smothering him with a pillow in our shared hotel room. |
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| Three contiguous days of no
sleep with his incessant snoring found me standing over him with a
pillow in the middle of the night, poised to end the NOISE once and for
all! I figured, what can I lose? Maybe a day or two for the cops and the
corner's inquest and I would be back on the road to Sturgis ― alone. Fortunately, we worked out a better compromise. We spent the next evening in separate hotel rooms so I could catch up on my sleep. Then I got the brilliant idea to sleep with earplugs firmly squished into my ear canals. Russ was responsible for the alarm clock and I slept just fine. (Rumor has it his wife Christine adopted my earplug strategy and thus restored bliss to their marital bed.) Mark Twain writes in Tom Sawyer Abroad, "I have found out there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them." |
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| Russ was one of those guys who liked to get on
the road early. Me, I like breakfast and a leisurely shower. Hey, I'm on
vacation! What's the rush? Fortunately we worked that out too. We
compromised. I got going a little earlier and Russ patiently waited a
little later. All in all, I would not have traded two or three Sturgis
ride-adventures without Russ for the one I enjoyed with Russ. As these thoughts and memories swirled in my mind, standing there in the rain in Stratford, I decided to saddle up and see if I couldn't catch these guys. I knew they could not be more than a half-hour ahead of me, probably less 'cause they must have waited for me a little bit. So if I skipped lunch at the destination, we would be synchronized together for the ride home. Off into the rain I rode, alone. As the big Springer and I cranked down Interstate 95 my confidence swelled. I was warm. No water leaked past my defenses. Traffic was moderate. I figured to pull out all the stops, go for broke, throw caution to the wind and so directed my bike straight down to the dreaded Cross Bronx Expressway. Blog readers from New Jersey may not know the Cross Bronx the way we Connecticut riders do. It is near legendary for its traffic jams that appear instantly and without warning. Its surface is akin to a motocross track. I personally lost a rim to this gauntlet years ago. Three broken spokes and a darned good dent, but the big Harley never went down and the tire held air. In fact I am so oblivious to the mechanical vagaries of motorcycling, I first found out about the damage when I brought the bike into Bridgeport Harley complaining of a low-speed wobble. I dropped the Springer off with the service guys and then went to see the GM about some advertising business I was doing for the dealership at the time. Next thing I know an announcement comes over the dealership PA, "Chris Loynd report the service area please." There I found Donny the shop foreman and top mechanic with a face full of disbelief and rebuke. "Do you ever check this bike before you ride it, Loynd?" I answered that I actually did check the oil pressure and tire level once and a while . . . or is it the other way 'round? Donny had my bike up on a lift with the saddlebags off. He had this cool little pointer device mounted to his lift and when he spun the rear tire you could see that it was definitely moving a good bit side-to-side. "There!" I proudly announced, "I told you it had a wobble." At which Donny just shook his head. "Yeah," he agreed, "maybe it has something to do with these three broken spokes and this big dent in your rim." I sheepishly mumbled something about the saddlebags being in the way of my discovering such a minor mechanical anomaly. It was then I remembered the pothole on the Cross Bronx. It was so deep that as I rode down into it I swore I saw molten magma in the bottom. It was a study in the history of road construction as I dove down, deep, deep into the pothole, past several applications of asphalt, then concrete, bricks, cobblestones, aggregate, gravel, packed dirt and a few fossils. It liked to pop me off the bike when I chunked out on the opposite side. Somehow I kept my feet on the footboards and rode the rest of the way home. I discovered the "wobble" several days later when riding around town at less than expressway speeds. |
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| Braving the Cross Bronx would cut a clean 20
minutes or more off my trip. By now I was feeling so confident and full
of myself I figured what the heck? If I hit a bad traffic jam, I will
ride all the way to Sweetwater and back all by myself. Worst case
scenario is I will have a good blog story to tell. Turns out the Cross Bronx monster was sleeping this day. Traffic was heavy but moving. They have actually paved over much of the roadway since I was on it last. I deftly piloted my Harley past the hazards, dodged the maniacal New Yorkers and survived to reach the NJ Turnpike. Clearing the Turnpike I merged into the Garden State Parkway. A quick stop at the Cheesquake service area and I left a different message on John K.'s phone. "I'm on my way. I can skip lunch and ride back with you guys. See you in Sweetwater!" |
Wet bikes rest in a steady but light
rain at Sweetwater. |
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| Fortunately I always print out the Mapquest
directions for the Polar Bear destination before setting off.
Unfortunately, since I had not planned to lead, I did not program my
mirror with appropriate intersections. So I pulled out my printed
directions and committed the exit number to memory, number 52. No problem there. It even stopped raining there for a little bit on the ride down the GSP. As I dove deeper into the pine barrens scenery improved, traffic lightened and, gee, was that even a hint of sun through the clouds there? Off at Exit 52 and the directions quickly collapsed into a mishmash of quirky and confusing route numbers. Most all were three digits with many of the digits the same: 654 to 653 to 653 to 542 to 563 to 643. On a motorcycle you cannot "drive" with one hand as you hold up the directions with the other hand. You can't just drop the directions on the dash or the seat because they will blow away. |
This place is in the middle of
nowhere! |
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| I don't have a tank bag with map window.
Instead I fold the directions and scrunch them under my tank bib. I try
to memorize a few turns and then have to put the side stand down and
consult the next few turns. Little back roads, not all with route signs, were bounded by sand and crisscrossed with slick wooden bridges and steel grate bridges. My heart skipped a beat crossing the first wood plank bridge when my brand new Metzler tires lost their purchase. As you may know from reading my blog, I am not a big fan of GPS. This was the first time I wished I had one. It was raining steadily now. My inkjet printed paper directions were getting soggy. If they reached illegibility I may never be found again. Who chose this place buried in the backwater bayous of backwoods pine barrens? Fortunately I also printed out a map of the local area. A miscue and reversal at Route 9 had me, I thought, back on track. |
Flight B leaders Rich, left, and Dave,
right. |
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| My only hopeful sign was a motorcycle passing
me going the opposite direction of me. I was stopped on the non-existent
shoulder, head down, peering at my ink-bleeding directions. A quick
exchange of information would have been most welcome. But being a
Goldwing, he never even let off the throttle. I would have loved to know
if he was heading FROM or TO my eventual destination. Hoping I had it right, I rode on. Eventually I came upon "Back Road" which was in the printed directions. You know you're in the boonies when one of the roads is named "Back Road." A few turns more and I strode into the so-called casino. It looked more like a restaurant to me, but then I am not from Atlantic County. Sure enough my Connecticut compatriots were there already. They had just ordered lunch and had not yet been served. I asked them to order me a burger, went off to sign the log book, and settled in with them to speed through lunch. |
Flight A leader Ed. No waiting at sign
in this Sunday! |
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| Turns out my brave Cross Bronx foray saved me
the time but cost me a point. These other lubbers claimed just over 200
miles one-way. I put down an honest 180. John K., finally able to earn some motorcycle points instead of the single point for arriving by automobile, earned his gold rocker; but Bob Hartpence forgot to bring them. John will have to wait until next week to pickup his honors. We enjoyed our lunches, mine arriving only a bit later than everyone else. The burger and fries were delicious. It was a real hamburger with lots of meat cooked just right and juicy. For their part, them what abandoned me had not much adventure to report from their ride down. Johnny B. says he rode at 50 mph for a while to give me an opportunity to catch up. But since they turned off to take the multi-parkway ride to the GW Bridge, I would have missed them anyway with the route I chose. |
Sorry John, you'll have to wait 'till
next week |
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December 3rd I
became the |
By sheer luck they picked up John H. on the Hutchinson
Parkway. John was waiting in his usual rest stop, only our guys weren't
expecting him. I had missed John's e-mail, he left no voice mail, so I
did not warn Johns K. and B. As they blew by John H.'s waiting place he
quickly jumped on his Honda ST 1300 and caught up with the other two
Johns. Johnny B., Grumpy, told me his Tom Tom took him right to the Sweetwater Casino. His riding companions complained about a couple of very quick turns. It has been a while since we were together. |
John H. had to chase down the other
two Johns |
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| So we caught up on news of each other at
lunch. John H.'s job has taken him to the tropics in dead of winter
(poor fellow). Johnny B. is finished with night shift for the next
several weeks. Since we rode together last, I have taken a new job. After 18 years of running my own business, I decided to take Influential Communications� part-time. A job opening at The Maritime Aquarium at Norwalk seemed too perfect a fit for me to ignore. It fits my writing abilities, lifelong science interest and is a really cool place to work. So I am the new Publicist (I love the old fashioned title), as of December 3rd. With the distance involved, we did not have time for our usual kibitzing. Instead we suited up for the long ride home in the rain. Grumpy and his Tom Tom got us out of the backwoods bayou. |
Where does Bob get all those great
Polar Bear shirts? |
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| We made our traditional stop at
the top of the Garden State. I took the picture at right of all our
stuff, dripping wet. Because of the high winds we decided to stick with I-95 all the way home instead of the Merritt Parkway because we were concerned about fallen limbs and standing water. As we rode through Stamford, Johnny B.'s lights blinked out. He lost his headlights and running lights. Brake lights and turn signals were still serviceable. So John K. and I tucked Grumpy's now dark bike between us. John K. led on his Goldwing and I followed up on my Harley and we rode Johnny B. all the way home. Our next ride is another long one, Vineland, New Jersey. |
John K. and our reflective wet stuff
at Chez GSP. |
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| According to Mapquest the time and distance
are identical to last Sunday's ride: 180 miles and 3 1/2 hours. With the
extra miles to avoid NYC traffic, if memory serves, we may stretch it to
just over 200 miles. With Johnny B. off of night shift, we should set an
8:00 a.m., sharp, departure. I might even be there if the weatherman
cooperates. |
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| Douglas Colfer Chimes
in: My gosh I do give you CT Bears a lot of credit. I was eagerly awaiting your latest story and quite frankly thought that with the weather being so nasty there would not be any stories from Sweetwater. Then low and behold the story came, like opening a present on Xmas day we are all treated to the adventures of the CT Bears. As I sat wrapping Christmas presents last Sunday morning by the warmth of the fireplace and some good old Christmas music, I thought would they actually be riding in this shi-, nah that's a long trip in the wind and rain. As I headed out to a friends house around 2pm rain pounding the glass, I see another faithful rider, suited up in bright yellow heading north on Rt 130, must be coming back from a PB run I said to myself. As I drove down 195 towards the GSP the beat of the wipers made it even more clear, who would be riding in this crap as the wind tossed about my Super Duty Ford... Then to my surprise the Sweetwater blog hits the page, no, no way did they ride as I read the blog, but then again heck you guy's are the true Riders of the Storm some would say... Well thanks again for another story well written, and for those who choose to skip the long ones, shame on them.. I wish you well with your new job and hope you and your family have had a nice holiday, and may 2008 be a most safe, healthy and prosperous New Year for all of your crew..., safe riding................ |
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Vineland, NJ; December 30, 2023
Week 10 Bears, from
left: John H., Bernie, Ed Karber (new CT PB), John K. (Captain), Ken, |
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| morning
30۫
afternoon 40۫ cloudy but rain held off 'till we were home Some decent weather brought more bears out of their winter dens. And if you can believe it, I was late again. And again my buds left without me. Fortunately this time I was just minutes late and managed to catch my crew by Stamford. I was all set to be there early. As I put on my last layer, my trusty leather jacket, the zipper split. |
How it is supposed to work! | |||||||||||||||
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Zippers are wonderful closing devices. When they work they provide amazing strength. But when they fail, there's no fixing them. They go from powerful bond to no grip, nada, zip. If you must suffer zipper failure, at home BEFORE you leave is a pretty decent choice. Still, I had to make some serious wardrobe adjustments. |
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| My winter layers used to be an electric jacket
liner underneath my trusty, Harley leather jacket. I do not necessarily
― well until now I did not
― have multiple sets of riding gear. I have a leather jacket and
a mesh jacket. Both have served me well for more than five years and
100,000 miles. Except for the zipper on my Harley jacket. This is my second one. Now I need a third. The first time it failed was in Daytona. Lucky for me it failed once I got to Daytona and not on the ride down. I had to pull the jacket off over my head. Marlene, our famous Connecticut seamstress who travels to most of the big rallies, was able to fix the slider for me. Her repair held until summer when I could switch to the mesh jacket. Meanwhile I had the entire leather jacket in for service, including an all new zipper. My mesh jacket is fantastic for summer riding. Air flows right through it. Which is the antithesis of ideal in Polar Bear weather. |
Arriving at Vineland and cold, in my
summer mesh jacket. |
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| The jacket has a nylon, waterproof liner used
for rain. It seals out all wind, but seals in any moisture. I put the
liner and an insulated vest from my new aquarium job over my electric
liner. Then for crash protection I put my mesh jacket over them. By the
time I got it sorted out, my pals had hit the road without me. Even with the electric liner thermostat set to "full nuclear," it was a cold ride down and damp inside the non-breathable liner. I contemplated adding my rain jacket over top the whole outfit for more wind protection. But after arriving late, I did not want to pull the group over to add the extra layer. By the time we stopped for gas, the day was warming up enough to make it moot. All the way down I was thinking about Len Lowe. He's the owner of MLDS (http://www.mlds.biz/) and sets up most every Sunday with all manner of Gerbing heated gear. Perhaps the Polar Bears have something to do with it, Len is the number two Gerbing dealer in the country. |
Arriving, home and warm, in my new
Gerbing jacket. |
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| Len was outside in the parking lot last Sunday
with racks of Gerbing gear including their outerwear heated jackets:
windproof, water resistant outer shell with non-removable heated core.
One jacket serves for all winter riding situations. No separate heated
liner is required. I grabbed a Union Ridge jacket off the rack and rode it home. Len had the most amazing tiny credit card reader attached to the back of his cell phone and a wireless printer. It was all over in a matter of moments. Until my wife sees the MasterCard statement, this was a very sensible solution. A $325 jacket instantly solves a $10 zipper break. To Len's credit, his price is the same as if I ordered online, less the shipping and wait. I still need to find an adapter for my old style plug on my thermostat to the new plugs on the jacket. Hopefully my local Harley dealership will have one in stock. While I definitely prefer the look of the leather motorcycle jacket, I have to admit the textile jacket is nice and light, seals out the wind better than the leather and is three-quarters length. |
Arriving in Vineland, from foreground
to back, Ken, Chris (mostly hidden, but identified by three lights on my
Springer) and John H., easy to spot on his Honda ST 1300. |
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| That extra length of jacket reaches down past my
butt, sealing what heretofore was a rather
annoying cold air leak. With my waist high leather jacket I
had to keep hiking up my pants and pulling down my jacket. Once I can get the electrical hookup working properly, I can lose the electric liner underneath. That will make the new heated jacket even lighter and more comfortable. Not that I have fallen out of love with my leather. Seems to me there's still something special about a leather motorcycle jacket. By now my jacket and I have seen a lot of miles in lots of weather. With its venting and removable liner it is truly a three season jacket ― especially if backed up by the electric liner. Only now maybe I will relegate the leather to two seasons, spring and fall, and use the new Gerbing for winter. Well that was MY Polar Bear adventure last Sunday. Meanwhile we welcomed a new CT Bear, Ed Karber. The vanity plate on his Harley says "Capt. Ed." |
Our CT Bears discuss the ride over
Bernie's bike. That's new CT Bear Ed on the left and his bike behind
him. The vanity plate says "Capt. Ed." So I guess we now have two
seafaring Captains in our crew. On the right are Kenny, background, and
Capt. John, foreground, pointing. |
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| Bernie introduced him to the club. He signed
up Sunday, another Flight B. Flight A leader Ed might want to keep an
eye on Rich and Dave in Flight B. Seems they are hogging all the high
mileage guys. Most all the CT Bears are "B's." So now we have even more seafaring bears in our CT crowd. I did not get much time to talk to Ed this week to learn more of his particulars. His business card says "Yacht Brokers." Boy did that give my wife a start! "Now what?" was all she said, holding Ed's card after finding it on the nightstand. "No, no, honey; it is not what it seems!" I quickly replied, "Ed is one of the new Polar Bears and gave me his card for his e-mail address. I am definitely not buying a boat, and certainly not a yacht . . . at least not in the winter." (While I never even tried to earn a Captain's license, I do have a bare boat sailing certificate.) Meanwhile you will have to wait another Sunday or two to find out what sort of Captain, Captain Ed is. Hopefully we have finally found a guy who is able to stay on top of the water, instead of preferring to sink (or is that "slink"?) below the surface like our PB submariners Ken and John K. Sorry to be sketchy on details. I was too preoccupied with securing a warmer ride home. Bob Hartpence favored us with a very funny story about a prospective bear. |
Blog? What blog? Our newest CT Bear,
"Captain Ed." |
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| You'll have to corner him at one of the meets
to get the story. Suffice it to say, this riding motorcycles in winter
is definitely NOT for everybody; it's fine for most everybody, but not
absolutely everybody. John K. proudly picked up his gold rocker today. He actually earned enough points last Sunday. But once again he outran Bob Hartpence's supply logistics. Grumpy had a great story about the Patriots ― Giants game that was played the night before. Our CT Governor M. Jodi Rell pleaded with the networks and twisted some cable franchise arms to have the game shown in our state. Normally it would have been blacked out because we are considered close enough to buy a ticket. Her wrangling made extra work for Johnny B. who works for a company that distributes satellite signals. Thanks to Gov. Rell, the game went out to more stations than it normally would. This is serious stuff. Grumpy's company faces heavy fines if they drop the signal. They pulled it off without a hitch, as anyone watching the game Saturday night clearly saw. |
Delivering reliable satellite signals
is the guy standing with the "Dick Nixon" style victory signs. From left
to right you have John H., Bernie, Grumpy and new guy Ed, enjoying the
buffet at De Thomasi's Five Points Inn. |
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| Even so there was a tense
moment the day before when during testing, screens in Johnny B.'s
control room suddenly went black. Turns out a Budweiser truck hit the
special satellite uplink truck that Grumpy's company brought in
especially for this game. Feeling good I guess with a full night's sleep after coming off day shifts now, Grumpy led us down and back. I think his Tom Tom padded the miles a bit. It never ceases to amaze me how these GPS guys will follow their six-inch screens over any paper map, sense of direction or common sense. As a whole big pack of Polar Bear riders with New Jersey plates exited the NJ Turnpike at Exit 7, we adamantly continued south, four exits more, to take the Atlantic City expressway. It got us there okay. But Grumpy got defensive when I accused him of boxing the outside of the corner, instead of cutting diagonally across to Vineland. Johnny B. has farther to ride than I do, living farther away from our Stratford rendezvous point. That extra bit, plus the extra bit of miles recommended by Tom Tom, just squeaked him over the 400 mile mark, a whole extra point. As we know Rich and Dave do not believe in rounding. |
John K. and his gold rocker. |
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| So it is a good thing to put down 402 miles.
Because even if you put 399, your total in the book the next week will
show three points, not four. As of Wednesday night, this Sunday looks peachy for riding. If you've ever wanted to try this Polar Bear thing, this Sunday is a pretty good choice. Weather is forecast to be warm, relatively speaking, 48 degrees for the high, 30 degrees low the night before. That's balmy compared to tonight's (Wednesday) 11 degrees. Looks like it will be a very cold walk to the train station tomorrow morning! Our destination, Warehouse Grill, is two hours away, according to MapQuest, just over 100 miles one way. So let's figure on a 9:30 a.m. departure time. Even I should be able to make it on time this Sunday . . . unless my pants or boots fail somehow. Meet us at our usual Dunkin' Donuts, I-95, Exit 30. Meanwhile, a Happy New Year to all! |
Polar Bear leader Bob Hartpence, left,
takes new CT Bear Ed's payment. Ed (right) should be able to earn a
patch, even with his bike shipped to Daytona for a few weeks. |
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