As I write this my heart is heavy, my eyes are tearing up
just a tiny bit and the rather large whisky and soda at my elbow really is
there to ease the pain. The moment I have been dreading since April has finally
arrived, officially my riding season is over…finished, done, klaar, kaput. The
Boulevard is taking a long, well deserved vacation in Barrie Harley Davidson in
the company of others of its kind. It will spend the next five to six months
warm and cozy and well looked after in heated winter storage. Apparently I may
actually go and visit, but if I do, I certainly won’t be telling you about it,
that will seem a tad over-obsessed. If you live in a place that doesn’t have a
real winter you may be a little puzzled by all of this. Here in Canada, most of
it anyway, it gets way too cold and icy to ride, in Ontario with the high
moisture content in the air, leaving your motor cycle in the garage will result
in rust, not to mention the danger of getting scratched by snow shovels and so
on. Harley Davidson in Barrie offer a great service at a reasonable price, they
stabilize the fuel, keep the battery charged, wash and shine your beast before
you fetch it and, as I said, let you visit from time to time.
Could the flag have been anything else?
There was some paperwork to be done, which included
recording an odometer reading, 13,032 Km. Fuck me, that is not shabby, when I
took delivery of the bike back in late April it was like 2 Km., I don’t travel
that far in the Dodge Caravan in a full year. I know that a lot of
motorcyclists are grumbling that this was not the greatest of biking seasons
and I concede freely that my lack of experience is at work here, but this for
me was just an awesome year. I did not need perfect weather, half the time I
did not even need to know where the hell I was going, all I know is that I rode
and I lived and I learned so much along the way. I learned to really ride, to
master the machine and respect our limitations, I learned my way around the
area and discovered how beautiful this part the world is, and I learned
some things about myself, some good and some bad. Most of all I learned to love
life again, yet be prepared to lose it, it’s a paradox, but I have come to
realize that only when you live on the edge do you know what living means. This
is something I once knew, but had forgotten along the way.
Since driving to Ottawa and back in my car, I have managed a
few short-ish, but still decent rides. It is Saturday October 18, Helena and I
ride up to Barrie Harley Davidson to test ride some bikes. It is an event
arranged by Harley Davidson, a marketing exercise, but fun nonetheless. It’s a
chance to ride their bikes over a route of about 15 km, in formation with 10 or
so other riders. Regretfully we are a bit late in getting there, so I only
manage to get one ride. I ride a Fat Boy…nice machine! A little more powerful
than the Boulevard, more responsive and I really like the gear changes, smooth
as eggs, but a rather pricey option at $22,000 before windshield and touring
bags, at least it has a passenger seat and Jesus strap. For the uninitiated, a
Jesus strap is the belt that the passenger is supposed to hold onto, and when
you accelerate he or she calls out, as they grip the belt with renewed dedication,
”Jeeeesus!”. It’s air-cooled which gives it a more traditional look, but I like
the idea of liquid cooled, it feels to me like the engine takes less of a
beating when you are riding in slow traffic. I would have liked to have ridden
some of the other offerings, maybe next time I’ll get there earlier and ride
them all!
http://www.harley-davidson.com/en_CA/Motorcycles/fat-boy.html
Fat Boy, nice ride.
Helena and I do a good ride the next day on a bright, but
rather cold Sunday morning. It’s about 4 degree C when we leave home,
justifying the layers of clothing and Kermit suit. We go through Beeton to
Loretto (one horse town and the horse definitely died a century ago) to Hockley
Village, there are a couple of fabulous S bends on the way. We stop at the
famous Hockley General Store to take a pee and get some coffee, lots and lots
of motor bikers hanging out, mostly old farts. It’s a nice little place and
much more than a general store, actually it’s a restaurant, liquor store,
purveyor of fine groceries and crappy souvenirs and coffee. We realize that we
were hungry, but want something with less carbs than sandwiches and faster than
the sit-down stuff, so we buy a block of aged Balderson’s cheddar, hummus and
coffee. I realize that my folding knife didn’t make it on the trip so I to buy
a souvenir butter knife and some wooden spoons. We feast on the cheese and
hummus, then get back on the cycles and follow Hockley road to Orangeville. It’s
a really great ride, pavement in top conditions, fabulous twists and turns and
stunning views. Clearly, by the amount of motorcyclists we encounter (lots and
lots of awfully cool gesturing), this is a particular popular ride. From
Orangeville we take Highway 10 (Hurontario Street) south, until we reached the
Forks of Credit Road, I have written about this route before (see ‘Manly Man in
Tights’), and now in full Fall colors it’s totally gorgeous. We loop through
the Town of Erin, doing a Fall Festival that includes some bad country
musicians playing on the lawn of the Baptist Church, thank goodness for full
face helmets and loud exhaust pipes. We travel through Caledon Village on
County Road 24 to Airport Road, then north to Highway 9 and home.
Yours truly dressed in full regalia
Friday evening October 24, sees us riding up to Barrie to
put the bikes into winter storage, it’s a glorious autumn day. Reasonably warm
and more or less wind still, we leave home at about 4.30 taking Highway 9 to
highway 27, then north to Barrie. Along the way I decide that I want to keep my
Boulevard for another few days. The idea of putting it into storage whilst the
weather is so lovely goes against the grain, actually the very thought of
ending the riding season is just too bloody awful to contemplate. My stepson,
Anton, meets us there to fetch us, but as it turns out its only Helena that
goes home in the car. I have a crazy notion to return home by way of Orillia
and Beaverton. That would take me around Lake Simcoe, Iron John loves the idea
and I take Highway 400 north, but don’t even make it past three exists when I realize
that this is foolishness, the sun is setting so fast it makes the head spin. I
take the next exist and turn around feeling slightly silly, but riding these
roads at night on a motorcycle can be fatal, too many critters about that are likely
to wander onto the pavement. I take Essa Road exit and head home on my old
friend, Highway 27. I know that I’m riding on overdraft, the season is over,
but I’m still riding, I like the idea of it. By the time I get home its pitch dark.
I plan a ride for Sunday that will take me to Stratford,
then down to Port Dover on Lake Erie, before heading home. It’s an ambitious
plan and I’d feel happier about it if the clouds didn’t hang quite do ominously
overhead, gunmetal-blue, churning and moving across the sky at a rate that does
not encourage. It’s cold, but not actually raining, I dither, drink coffee, check
e-mails, eat breakfast, clean the kitchen and finally man-up enough to grab my
keys and head outside to the garage. It’s a full regalia moment, tights and Kevlar
jeans (never mind the butt crack problem), T-shirt, shirt, mesh jacket with lining,
double socks, scarf and of course the Kermit rain suit. I don’t mention thick
leather gloves and full face helmet because these items are implied, though
they do help with keeping the cold at bay. I have tried to wear a Balaklava,
but find that this causes my visor to mist up more than usual, actually it
makes it impossible to ride with the visor down.
The route takes me to Orangeville on highway 9, I take the
ring road around the town and pick up county road 109 for a few kilometers,
then south on Highway 3. Since leaving home it’s been reasonably cold and there’s
been a strong gusty wind. Once or twice I’ve been blown almost onto the
shoulder, a little scary, but I’m watching for it. But it’s here, a few kilometers
down Highway 3 that things start to go tits-up. The temperature drops significantly,
you know that sudden coldness that descends just before a storm, and the wind
gets really bad. The Weather Network, lying bastards, did promise no rain, but some
icy drops are certainly descending. As I
cross highway 24 I make an executive decision to abandon my plans for Stratford
and Lake Erie. In my defense my toes feel like some crazy sadist has clipped
crocodile clips on them, by chin has gone into rigor and my hands are colder
than a witches titties. I turn east on 24 and head towards Erin, Forks of Credit,
Hurontario Street and Hockley Valley.
Forests looking threadbare
There is a decidedly end of autumn feeling in air. Although
there are still some trees with a full complement of red leaves, mostly the
forests are looking bare and the ground is covered in a thick layer of brown
and yellow leaves. I know that officially winter only begins on the solstice,
but for me the cut-over is Halloween. Sure I have a slightly different
definition of winter to real Canadians, I did after all grow up in a place where
folks considers 2 degrees Celsius to be Arctic weather. I’ve become somewhat
used to the winter in southern Ontario, and in comparison to some other places
in Canada it is considered to be mild, but it really isn’t the sort of weather
I want to ride my motorcycle in. By the time I pass the Hockley General Store I’m
hungry and desperate for something hot to drink. Coffee and a grilled cheese
sandwich followed by a good helping of heartburn. I head for home. I am disappointed
in myself and in the ride. There are lots of other motorcyclists out, diehards
like me, but I suspect that for them too, the enjoyment factor is not as high
as one would like it to be. Running into bad weather on a trip is one thing, you
suck it up and ride or find somewhere to hole-up whilst it passes, but forcing
the issue for the sake of doing distance is another. The plump dachshunds are at
least happy to see me, and take a break from their busy day to give me a warm
and noisy welcome.
Dachshunds going about their busy day
Monday it rains and the Weather Network is less than positive
about the rest of the week, even forecasts “mixed precipitation” for Wednesday,
a euphemism for god awful slushy mix of rain and snow. Tuesday it seems is the
only window of reasonable weather, slightly warmer and mostly dry. I make the
heart-wrenching decision to take the Boulevard in to storage, assuming that the
forecast holds, it does, more or less. Anton good-naturedly agrees to fetch me.
I planned to leave home at 4.30 take a leisurely ride up the Barrie, but
somehow only manage to leave at 5.10 (I’m making a habit of leaving late), they
close at 6.00 so the leisurely ride goes out of the window. It’s a wild dash on
the 400 motorway in peak hour traffic. Traffic speed is between 110 km/h and
140, and the condition of the pavement is poor, half of the way it’s under
construction and the other half is clearly soon to be that way, It’s a stretch
of road that takes a real hammering. It’s an exhilarating ride at the top end
of the traffic speed, I duel with trucks adorned with “trucknuts” dangling from
trailer-hitches and feel in control, it’s an illusion, I know, but a great
feeling. I get there with 20 minutes to spare. Somehow the ride is an appropriate
way to end the season for me, with a bang and not with a whimper (apologies to
T S Elliot).
Picture of a table on our deck, it actually did snow on November 1, a light dusting to be sure, but it snowed.
Will I carry on blogging? I may post a few over the winter,
assuming that I have something related to riding motorcycles to write about,
but don’t expect too much. I’ll start posting again in the spring, if I am
still around. Thanks for reading - cheers and have a bearable winter if you’re
north of the equator, and a great summer if you are south.
