BUT! I am back, with a new tale of adventure that will, hopefully, not disappoint.
Rally in the Valley. Olean, NY. Friday August 26, 2011 to Sunday August 28, 2011. (They're trying to squeeze in another day by sneaking in a street concert Thursday night, but I ain't buyin'. And since it is irrelevant to this little dose of story time, I'm skipping over Friday night's bike parade and festivities and launching into my personal tale.
Friday Night: An Infamous List
My mother used to say that there were not enough trees in the world for me every time she'd see me writing somewhere. She also used to call my organizational note-taking skills my infamous lists. So, in honor or my mother, every time that I had one to make, I'd call it "Infamous List # (whatever): (Title). And, in honor of my new life I started one for the bike trip called Infamous List #1: Rally in the Valley 2011.
After whatever bits of insignificant things I had to do were complete and I was down for the evening, I sat out on the deck and composed my list of things that I needed to get done before I left on Saturday afternoon. And, can I just say? I really enjoy making my lists. They do a bit to soothe my nerves and a bit to make sure that I am prepared.
And, because I get a certain level of joy from being able to cross the things off the list, I didn't want to start doing any of the things on Friday night. Then it just would have felt like I was putting things on the list only to be able to cross them off immediately and make the list look that much more impressive. I finished out my evening watching The Simpsons and then headed off to bed.
Saturday: Getting Shit Done and Getting on the Road
I woke up pretty early Saturday morning. I wasn't thrilled about it, but I figured that I'd just get crackin' on the list. I started by cleaning the kitchen so that I could be in extremely close proximity the second that my coffee was done brewing. The minute that it was, I started in on a load of laundry. As being around a group of riders requires a certain manner of attire (I know that some of you are stridently disagreeing at this very moment. That's fine. Can we move on?) I knew that I could not (read, then, didn't want to) show up in any crappy kind of thing. Planning (or so I thought--as we will come to find out) for the weather, I grabbed a lightweight Harley pullover, a button down, a couple of camisoles, and a change of unmentionable items. A quick trip to Rite-Aid later and my "overnight bag" (read WWII army gas mask pack that doubles as my go-to bag) was packed.
As I roamed around the house managing to both kill and fill time, I laid things out (credit cards, cash, cigarettes, etc) in neat little groupings to prepare them for their packings. By two-thirty, my camera bag was filled and my "overnight bag" set and I sent a message off to John that I was ready for him.
My heart was pounding by the time that he got here. I was started to get equal measures of excited and anxious. This was going to be the first time that I'd:
A: had an overnight out of town since 2006
B: been planning to go on a 112 mile motorcycle ride
C: be riding as one in more than a pair of motorcycles
D: been planning an 85 mile motorcycle ride since the summer before when John and I rode down for the day to check out last year's rally for the first time.
E: be all alone with John for more than just an afternoon in over ten years. (it's not what you think, but it's a story for another time, regardless)
F: done something kinda note-worthy without a girlfriend in almost six years
So yeah...I was nervous and excited and anxious and eager all at the very same time.
At 2:46 pm on Saturday 27 August 2011, we rolled on out the driveway and into the wide blue yonder.
It was a wholly uneventful, but otherwise pleasant ride down. It was just over 83 miles to the Econolodge in Cuba, NY and we rolled in at just about five o'clock. How just over 83 miles took us just over two hours, I'll never know. I guess the stop for gas and the lunch of a Snickers bar really did us in.
As John went to the counter to check us in, he bobbed his head over his shoulder at a sign on the wall that read "Continental Breakfast 9am - 11am" and said, "I'll buy you breakfast in the morning. To which I replied, "You'd better or I'm telling your wife about this."
In the 17 years I'd known him, I think it was the first time that I'd ever seen John pale.
After he finished checking us in, we took the bike over to our room, unpacked them, and went in to check out our digs. I gotta say, it wasn't bad. Clean, tidy, well appointed...everything we needed.
What I could have done without, however, was John's little freak out about how I shouldn't have said what I'd said in front of a middle eastern woman. I'm not sure what he thought she was going to do, but he was a little freaked out.
Monk and then we took off.
From the motel to Bradner Stadium, it was a little more than 15 miles. Remember this too, as it will also be important in a little while.
We pulled into the stadium and promptly set to finding something to shovel in our faces. I immediately aimed for the healthiest thing I could:
Yep. And then I finished it off with a plate of nachos. That's good eats.
Anyway, by the time we rolled in, most everything was over for the day. There was a bike judging competition..sport, custom, etc. There were bike contests, a slow ride test, that was to "test" balance in a lane 3 feet wide and 50 feet long. There was a ball drop in which the passenger tries to place a tennis ball on top of a traffic cone, a bicycle tire toss (around said same traffic cones) and a hot dog competition in which the passenger tries to take a bite out of a dangling hot dog. Charming.
While I CERTAINLY wouldn't have been caught dead trying to take a bite of a dangling hot dog (even if I wasn't a vegetarian), I would have liked to try all of the other challenges and was kinda bummed that we'd missed it.
So, we walked around for a bit, took in the tents and displays (and let's not forget those fries and nachos) and then headed back to the motel once it got dark.
Really dark, as it turned out.
When we left the motel, we took I-86 into Olean. A pretty quick, fairly painless ride. I'm still not overly thrilled about doing 65 mph or better, I'm getting the hang of it.
However, the way home, John decided that 86 would be dangerous at that speed in the dark, so he settled on taking Route 16 instead.
I'd love to include a pic of the ride, but I'm fairly certain that the city of Olean ran out of money right after they'd paved the road as there was not one single solitary streetlight once we got out of downtown. As such, it was so effin' dark that looking into the glowing orange of my speedometer and then back up caused spots in my eyes.
Arriving back at the motel, John made a nervous joke about how dark it was and I refrained from belting him. Instead I just glowered, to which he replied that he just thought that there was a better chance of hitting a deer on 86 than there was on 16. I told him that, even if that were the case, hitting a deer at 70mph was preferable to hitting it at 55mph. I reasoned that hitting it at 70 meant we'd end up dead; hitting it at 55 meant we'd end up in diapers for the rest of our lived.
I came to find out later, from people who were familiar with 86 and 16, that we were dancing with death anyway, as we were a hundred times more likely to have hit a deer in 16 and that we were, in fact, quite lucky. Funny, at no point in the weekend, would I have used the word "lucky" to describe anything.
I'm going to skip every single event that transpired once we got back to the room, as I really do like John and I'm afraid nothing I could say would paint him in a real favorable light. Suffice to say, that man could talk one of those stone heads on Easter Island to tears...and quite possibly a suicide-by-drowning attempt.
Sunday: A Day of Reckoning
We awoke the next morning around 8 and laid around watching tv until it was shower and go time. We aimed to be at the stadium by 10 and wanted to leave no later than 9:30.
Upon opening my eyes, I was horrified to look out the window and see huge gray clouds blanketing the sky and the trees swaying rather enthusiastically in the wind.
Now, I don't know if you're aware, but I am a fairly inexperienced rider. I got my first bike--a Honda Rebel 250cc in April of 2010 and bought the Harley in July...the 17th if I recall correctly. That's barely a year of riding experience if you stop to consider I took my last ride of 2010 in November and my first ride of 2011 in April. And I don't think you can consider the couple of times I went into the garage to start my bike, sit on it and pet it through the winter as actual riding experience.
So, when I saw the weather looming about, I prayed for either a downpour or a stroke. Naturally, neither one happened. We loaded up the bikes, put on the warmest clothes we had (read, "not warm enough"), checked out of the motel, and headed for the stadium.
By the time that we got there, we'd figured a couple of things out:
- None of the clothes that we'd packed were going to keep us warm
- Riding in 25mph winds was not a good time
- When local weather said that the clouds would clear out by early afternoon, it was lying
We pulled into Bradner stadium in, what would later appear to be, about the middle of the group of riders. We came to find out that the total number of bikes in the run was 477 and the number of participants was 752. It was staggering to a rookie such as myself. It was bout 10:30 and we'd yet to register officially so we made our way over to the registration desk to hand in our forms, pay our fee, pick up our cards and roll our starting dice. 21. I wasn't unhappy, but I really wanted the 30, of course. We decided to walk around for a bit and see what there was to see.
Yeah, nice weather we're having, aye?
We found high ground:
that overlooked the whole stadium...
Please note the flag, as it is indicative of the freakin' wind...
And please, in the next picture, take note of the garb warn by the various people in the picture:
After using an incredibly clean Port-o-John, I ran to the official merchandise stand bought myself the Rally pin:
and a long sleeve T-shirt in a desperate last gasp effort to make sure I didn't die of hypothermia. It was not exactly what I would call heavy-weight, but it was something.
At about 10:55, they told us all to get to our bikes, gear up but not start then up. When we got to our bikes, John reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a pair of chaps. I was instantly awash with regret over having given him oodles of shit (both to his face and behind his back) over buying them and an angry jealousy that I was so very obviously going to be warmer than I would.
The said a short prayer for the riders and then told us to start our engines. Lemme tell you something, if you've never been in the middle of 477 motorcycles when they all start up, you've never...well...been in the middle of 477 motorcycles starting up.
It. Was. Incredible.
At exactly 11:00 am, we started exiting the stadium. According to Gowanda Harley Davidson's YouTube video, it took more than 8 minutes for all the bikes to get out.
Once we got on the road, I had to consciously work at forcing my hands to stop shaking. I was more excited than I had been in a VERY long time and my adrenaline was pumping.
It was a pretty slow ride out of the city, but once we hit the back roads, our speed slowly climbed up to the 55mph speed limit through the winding roads. As excited as I was, I was as terrified at the same time. The wind was steady at about 25mph and, more than just a few times, gusted to 35 and 40 mph. Not cool on a bike that weighs only 553lbs with a rider that weighs only around 145lbs. But then, it was almost worth overlooking when, at the bottom of the first big hill, I looked ahead to see two lines of motorcycles, at least a quarter mile in length making their way up it. I regret that there was no way I was going to be able to get a picture of it, as it was quite a sight to see.
I'd never ridden in a pack before and was insanely nervous that I was going to, somehow, fuck it up and either cause harm or merely humiliate myself in some way. We rode in two staggered lines down the single lane road. One to one side, another on the other side just slightly ahead or behind. Although I wear a full face helmet, and the road noise is always greatly reduced, the sound coming from the surrounding bike is enough to make me smile, even just in memory.
Greater than that, I felt overwhelmed by the feeling of being a part of this group. There was every make and model of bike, though once again, I was still riding the only Iron 883 in sight, every age of rider and/or passenger, people in full helmets, half shell helmets, no helmet at all. I was one of no more than a dozen female drivers, but felt a part of all the people nonetheless. It was a pretty cool feeling.
After we'd gone about 23 miles, we pulled up to the Port Allegany Fire Department. The first riders in the pack were already leaving by the time John and I got there and found a place in line for our next dice roll.
15. Ugh. This roll was not going to help at all.
We wasted no time getting back on our bikes and out again on the road. This time, we'd managed to pull out behind two trikes that were pretty well following the speed limits, making me a little more comfortable.
The scenery was breathtaking. We rode another two lane road through the hills and turns of the Galciated Allegany plateau. I wish I could go into the whole story of glaciation in New York and Pennsylvania, but I'm afraid that I'd bore some of you guys to tears. For someone like myself, it's interesting beyond words, but I'm something of an oddball. In any regard, the foliage was full and lush, the greens brighter than most I've seen in my life and, with all respect to the terror the wind induced, it was beautiful to see it bent in the wind.
Just about 18 miles after we pulled out of Port Allegany, we pulled into the parking lot of Mosch's Tavern in Coudersport.
When we got off our bikes this time, John informed me that he had lost his card very soon after we'd pulled away from The Fire Department and got up to speed. He said that his vest came unbuttoned in the wind and he felt something blow out of his inside pocket. When I finally realized what it was that he'd lost, it was too late to stop. One of the guys who was parking near us turned around and says, "That was yours? I tried to grab it; it actually hit me in the shoulder, but I wasn't fast enough." John looked like a baby that had its lollipop taken away.
He went in anyway to see if there was anything they could do for him, but the best he could get was a business card with some handwritten lines and his roll for the stop. Mine? 16. This was going nowhere fast.
I smoked a quick cigarette and we hit the road.
Another 23 miles and we arrived at Larry's Sports Center in Galeston. This is where I stopped taking pictures and my hands were numb and I was chilled to the bone, thinking only about getting inside and copulating with the warm than indoors promised me.
Larry's was a huge bike dealership, Harleys on one side, all others on the opposite side. But here's the thing. Not only was Larry's warm, Larry's put out food (sliced crusty bread and butter and bushels of corn chips and nacho cheese in a crock pot--heaven!).
I rolled a 23 this time. Seriously? Crusty bread, nachos AND a 23?? Things were starting to look up.
Off we go...
Short trip to our next destination. Fifteen and a half miles to Gold's General Store in Genessee. From the outside, it looked like a tiny country general store. Well...I'll let you see for yourself, as they had two great photos on their Facebook page. One from overhead:
And one looking into the front door:
And, wonderfully, they also had some pictures of the riders rolling in:
Can I just say, I couldn't find enough ways to drag my feet to stay in Gold's just a minute or two longer? I was absolutely chilled to the bone. John was kind enough to grab a tiny bit of food and allow me to sit down until I could screw up the courage and the desire to get back on the road. It was a slightly longer distance than the others--nearly 30 miles, the longest one on the run. The temperature had dropped a couple degrees, the wind hadn't died down and it was starting to sprinkle. The fun was just about gone. I rolled a 20, John ate a small bag of chips and package of Twizzlers, and we headed out.
Off to the Shinglehouse Saloon in Shinglehouse, Pa. The last road stop on the route. Once we'd manage to get it behind us, everything would be all downhill from there.
The place was a honky tonk if ever I'd seen one. I was struck by just how much drinking was going on. I don't EVER drink when I'm on the bike--though, I can't say that I wouldn't ever in the future, but right now, I'm still shocked to see how many people do. It's a tiny bit unsettling, I gotta say.
In any regard, I've lost track of my rolls now, and John had given up rolling completely by the last stop, so we talked ourselves out the door and back on the way.
A quick 15 miles and we rolled back into Bradner Stadium for our final roll and to get our bodies off the bikes for more than 10 minutes. It was a comparatively blissful ride, as it was short, a good portion of it was through city streets where the speed limits were moderate and the wind didn't blow quite as hard as it had been.
When all was said and done, I'd managed to accumulate 133 points. I don't know what it meant in the big scheme of things, as we'd ultimately left before they announced anything. It didn't really matter. I'd done it. All told, about 112 miles through really beautiful scenery:
I'm thrilled, and shocked:
...to have done it.
After we'd used our food vouchers--I opted, once again to go with the fries, but once I'd wolfed them down, I'd found that a new food cart had pulled into the Rally and were offering a three cheese panini. I can't tell you how mad I was. DAMMIT!
We spent about an hour walking around and killing time before we had to get back on the road. Neither one of us were looking forward to the 85 mile ride home. John said that we weren't going to kill ourselves to get back; we were going to take our time on 16 all the way back. "Take our time". Are there any more beautiful words in the English language? I think not.
I wish there was a happy ending to this story. Alas, there is not.
What John neglected to tell me was that the speed limit along 16 is 55mph for approximately 1,944 miles.
:-|
OK...maybe not quite that many miles, but it certainly felt like it, considering that there was still wind, it was still cold and there still was no sun to speak of. Oh, and as for being able to stop and catch my breath (and warm my hands on the engine)...uh uh. Didn't happen. Until we hit East Aurora, there were approximately four stop lights and no matter how long they were green, they stayed green until we passed under them. There was just no winning.
We ultimately ended up stopping for a warm up cup of coffee at "Taste" in East Aurora:
Idiot that I am, I opted for a cold "Mudslide" because I'm a sucker for anything with whipped cream. Moron. It did nothing to take out the bone deep chill that I'd been feeling for the last, oh, say 1,944 miles.
After our coffee, we headed home. Straight into the setting sunlight that was working at burning out our corneas.
Can't win for losing, some days.
So...that's that.
By the time I got home, I was chilled through, worn out and sore in places I have no right being sore in without having gotten dinner and a movie first. But, honestly, the feeling of accomplishment was enough to (almost) make it all go away.
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