Ride Up North (RUN) 2010

Day 2 – July 29 - Lincoln, NH to Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada

2010-10-14T18:51:00.000-07:00

It rained overnight, but it’s cool and dry in the morning. We head down the Kancamagus Trail, with some nice sweepers. Take a short cut on the Bear Notch Road, which has some tighter turns. We are headed to Mt. Washington. We stop about 5 miles from Mt. Washington for one of our “necessary” breaks and the weather is great. You can see the mountains in the distance.

We get to Mt. Washington and there is a sign at the toll booth that says it is 53 degrees, winds at 57 mph and visibility of 25 feet at the summit. At the bottom, it’s clear and warmer than 53 degrees. I ask the toll taker, does that mean at the top you can only see 25 feet. And he says “Yes”. We don’t discuss the winds and visibility on the way up.

We ride part way up the less than 2 lane road behind a van carrying people smart enough not to drive to the top. Not bad at the start, mostly 1^st and 2^nd gear and nice tight turns. We fall behind the van when a car cuts in between. We pull over, let the car go ahead and we regroup. So far the ride up has nice views, until …

At about 5,000 feet the fog begins, and winds pick up. Hey the guy said it was 25 visibility and 57 mph winds “at the summit”, and we are a couple of miles from the summit. And then, the asphalt ends and the hard packed gravel begins. Now we’re trying to negotiate the steep climb, can’t see that far ahead, fighting strong cross winds, try and not go off the edge, and keep the power to the rear and not spin the back tire. What a fun ride this is!

We get to the summit, and first comment from each of us is “Stupidest thing every done on a motorcycle.” And the toll taker was right. Visibility is only 25 feet.

Next challenge, getting back down …

All of a sudden, a couple comes out of the fog. They had driven up. She is laughing saying that on the way up she said to her husband, “Can you imagine riding a motorcycle up here in this?” And we say “Yeah, can you imagine …”

We ask the couple for a favor. “Can we follow you down? It really helps to be able to follow tail lights.” If they had not said yes, we would have left the bikes and car jacked them.

We start down, and the wind shield fog up. In a car, no big deal. You do what the car in front of us did, you turn on the wipers. I’m surprised these are not in the Harley accessory catalog. But then, they wouldn’t help, because the windshield fogs on both sides. And just for some extra giggles, my goggles fog up as well. I can do something about the goggles.. Take them off, and look to either side of the windshield to find the car. I do look in my mirrors, and see Greg, but not Curtis. I haven’t heard a scream like somebody falling off the side of the cliff, so I assume he’s back there somewhere in the fog.

We finally break through the fog at about the 5,000 foot level, and the car in front pulls off. That’s ok, we’re home free ….. except for the gravel. Not as bad going down as up. Finally get through that and we are back to a “normal” world.

You can see the clouds just above our heads.

Ok, let’s get the heck out of here. But first, we can now proudly display this …

As if there are not enough dangers with fog, wind, and steep hills, every now and then you need to be prepared to ….

Heck, watch out for the signs too. They are bigger than the moose. Note, there are “Hundreds of Collisions”, like the big “BRAKE For Moose” isn’t enough to get your attention.

At the first rest stop, we decide to indulge Greg and head to Dixville Notch, the Baldwins and a rubber factory he visited about 35 years ago. Nice roads along a river for a good way. We stop for lunch, but we are still in too much shock about Mt. Washington to get the waitress’s name.

We cross over the Notch in the mountains and there are the Baldwins. But the rubber factory moved several years ago.

So on to Saint John. We went through Mexico, Rome and close to Peru, heading toward the boarder. Yes we took the long route. Nice roads with truck passing lanes to get by the slow pokes. Actually, they really weren’t going slow, they just weren’t going as fast as we were. We kept up a good pace to the boarder crossing at Calias, ME.

We crossed the boarder with no incidents. But all of a sudden the signs say Saint John is much farther than I thought. Like many, many more miles. What happened? We won’t make it there until really late. We pull over to put warmer closes on, and realize we are in another time zone. It’s one hour earlier! We won’t get there until midnight at best. Then those with more experience in Canada tell me that the signs are in kilometers, not miles. They give me some wacky formulas to convert kilometers to miles, and all I get out of it is its not far as I thought. Why can’t the Canadians be like the Americans, aye?

We are headed to Saint John, not St. Johns (that’s in Newfoundland, which is a loooong way away). Saint John is on the Bay of Fundy. Each day 100 billion tons of seawater flows in and out of the Bay of Fundy during one tide cycle. This is more than the combined flow of the world’s freshwater rivers! So there is a great change in the water level on the shore due to the tide change.

Ever the environmentalist who always wants to do his part, Curtis try’s to bring the level of the water up, just a bit.

As we approach Saint John, we have to cross a bridge, and pay a toll. And then we can’t figure out the correct lane to be in to pay a toll. All the signs are pictures, no words. We get through the toll and drive right to the hotel. Curtis can actually find his way without Calamity Jane (the GPS).

Check in, and go get something to eat. We eat outside, and the place is slanted. None of the tables are level. I get introduced to …

And this became the drink of choice while in Canada.

And then Greg gets approached by a young woman. At first Curtis and I think we should excuse ourselves so they can negotiate in private. Turns out, she doesn’t want Greg. She wants one of his American cigarettes. She says they are like pot, and get her high. The young woman’s brother joins her, and asks if he can have one too. Greg is in another country and he has become a “pusher”. Oh great! Greg, there is a TV show called “Locked Up Aboard” about Americans caught drug smuggling in other countries. Watch it so next time you’ll think twice about pushing your “cigarettes” on the Canadians.

Day 2 - 481 miles

Day 1 – July 28 - Bridgewater, NJ to Lincoln, NH

2010-10-14T18:18:00.000-07:00

Left the house at 5:15 so we could leave Greg’s at 5:45. These guys look about as happy as me about being up and on the road so early.

Weather is cool and dry.

Headed up I287 with all the morning commuters. I take this road most every week day, and on this day I finally was happy to be going in that direction. Look at those poor slobs off to the rat race. Must suck to be a commuter …

Go to the Tappenzee bridge and the Saw Mill Parkway. Wouldn’t you think that a “Parkway” would mean you just cruise? Well, the good folks in NY don’t know that and they put stop lights on their parkways. Not that NJ has something over NY, but we stop on the Parkway too. It’s called traffic.

On to Connecticut. Greg and I are happier than we were at 5:45, but Curtis … well you see for yourself.

Lunch at a mall near Amherst, Mass. The waiter, why bother getting a waiter’s name, we’re only interested in waitresses, tells us the place is closing in a few days and we should come back on the weekend for the specials. Right!. We did wonder what they were going to do with the 37 TV screens and displays. Probably closing because of the cost to run all of those. Oh, well, ride on …

We ride through a town where there was an American flag flying from every phone/electric pole. And there were a lot of poles, on both sides of the street. Quite a site.

Ride on to Lincoln and the Kancamagus Motor Lodge, where Leo is the manager. Very nice guy and a very biker friendly place.

We talk to some bikers pulling trailers. They say they hardly know they are behind them, and they can still take curves pretty sharp. Curtis starts thinking about getting one for his trips with Barb. Look at Curtis’s bike, the saddle bags are full, the tour pack is full, and there is a bag on top of the tour pack. He needs a trailer so he can have room for all his things. Barb’s will fit in the tour pack.

Dinner is at the restaurant at the KML with Heather as our waitress. There is a couple at next table and he has Boston accent. It’s like having a younger version of Charlie with us. And this one had a girl/wife with him.

We went to bed expecting rain in the morning.

Day 1 - 409 miles

Preface

2010-10-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

This ride was originally planned for 2009, when Curtis would be home on leave from his deployment in Iraq. We were hoping to have Charlie, Mike and Joe on the ride then, but dates got shifted and Mike and Joe could not make it. And because we were concerned about the weather, a hurricane was headed toward the area when we were planning on being there, we went south last year. And this year, Charlie wasn’t able to make it. We missed everyone, but hey, we had to go.

One early morning on this ride, when it was cool and the roads were empty, the scenery was wonderful, and everything was about as good as it can be, a song came on my iPod. I couldn’t help but think that the song captured it all. It said exactly why we do these kinds of rides. So read the lyrics, or better yet, play the song, and read this journal. Hopefully, besides the great camaraderie we share while on the trip, you too will understand how we can spend so much time each day covering some many miles.

Lyrics (abridged) of I Hope You Dance, by Lee Ann Womack

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance!
I hope you dance

Everyone dances differently. Some move their feet a lot, some move their hands and heads a lot. We were given a chance to dance, and this is how we danced …