Apologies for posting this a little late, and it's also a little wordy, but here goes........
Sunday, October 30th certainly didn't begin as an epic day out.
Setting the alarm for PM instead of AM was just the start of it but fortunately some inner voice forced Slackbladder to wake up just fifteen minutes later than planned. There was still time to make the first rendezvous at 7am. With all of the pre-ride checks done late the night before, time was found to time to fix breakfast and mindset for the long day ahead.
As he rolled the Rockster out of the garage, Slackbladder powered up the GPS, only to see it display the correct time of 5.35 AM. BUGGER!
Organizing a ride on the morning after the clocks went back just added to a confused state of mind. Being an hour too early, he decided to fill the bike with gas, and return home for a nap in the chair before setting out again. Unfortunately the quick nap in the chair became a not-so-quick nap in the chair and when Slackbladder woke up he was now late again. It certainly was not looking like an epic day out so far.
The temperature was in the 30's but was forecast to hit 70 later in the afternoon. This prompted a varied selection of gear to wear, with thermal layers and heavy gloves initially giving way to lightweight gloves and space to discard thermals. Spare visors for both sunny and cloudy conditions were also carried.
The frost on the parked cars confirmed the forecast. Heading onto the superslab saw little traffic, with the sun starting to burn off the early morning mist. The daylight allowed Slackbladder to see the carnage that served as a timely reminder that extra care was needed to avoid Bambi and Rudolph at this time of the year. On one ten-mile stretch of highway, the remains of thirteen deer carcasses were seen in much disrepair.
Slackbladder pulled into the rendezvous fifteen minutes later than planned, with no sign of Captain America. A voicemail on the cellphone revealed America had pulled over at the exit before Slackbladders. BUGGER again!
Eventually they met two exits and twenty-five minutes later than intended and were now running late for rendezvous #2 over the Tappan Zee Bridge. A phone call to the Reverend Ray (the Quicker Vicar) led to a change of plan and a revised rendezvous in New Paltz in New York State. So far all roads were of the superslab variety with little or no chance to enjoy the kind of roads that could make the day an epic.
The initial woes continued as Slackbladder's EZ Pass for the toll roads refused point blank to work with the first two tollbooths. Rendezvous #2 eventually took place at a small town Starbucks and America, Slackbladder and Reverend Ray set a course to Falls Village, Connecticut for Rendezvous #3.
Falls Village calls itself the second smallest hamlet in Connecticut. You know there is such a thing as being too honest. Would anyone have cared if they had said, welcome to Falls Village, the smallest hamlet in Connecticut?
Things started to look up as the EZ Pass magically started to work through the tolls (was this the Reverend's pastoral influence, or simply a result of turning the tag around the right way?). The GPS started to work its magic and the third rendezvous was made without additional drama, aside from being ninety minutes late. The initial chills of early morning gave way to warmer mid morning temperatures. Roads were getting busier as churchgoers and others went about their business. For the group of riders, the only church they would be visiting that day was the Reverend Rays Church of Two Wheels with morning sermon by the Faster Pastor himself.
Rendezvous #3 was the Toymakers Cafe in Falls Village. An eclectic location, only open between Thursday and Monday, it was opened about four years ago by Ann and Greg Bidou, who decided to escape from the stresses of NYC corporate life. The plethora of two-stroke and four-stroke "toys" in the large barn behind the cafe gave away the origin of the name. The parking lot contained about twenty bikes, mostly European and Japanese of various ages. Bikers of all ages stood around sharing tall stories of the whereabouts of unknown and empty twisty roads, or how much power was gained or lost by the latest modifications to their steeds.
Inside the cafe, rendezvous #3 officially took place. Introductions and friendly handshakes were in order as old friends met up again and new friends given some friendly "stick" about the late arrival. The cafe had a heavy British feel to it with the signature Biker Tea served in Triumph and Norton chipped china mugs. Bangers were a highlight on a menu unlikely to be featured in any Weightwatchers listing of healthy eating establishments. BSA, Norton and Triumph T-shirts for sale conjured up images of leather clad bikers from another era trying to impress themselves and everyone else doing the "ton"(*) to and from roadside cafe's (Another era? maybe not). Pounds Sterling was also an accepted form of payment.
A steaming mug of coffee and the finest waffle in the entire history of the world dusted with cinnamon and sugar and lathered with maple syrup removed the last morning chills and set things up nicely for departure.
The destination for the day was Mount Greylock in Massachusetts, Just south of the Vermont state line and just east of New York State; the views from the top take in five different states. At 3491 feet it is the highest point in Massachusetts.
When Herman Melville saw the outline of the mountain from his home in Arrowhead, it reminded him of a hump back whale. It was said that this was the inspiration for him to write Moby dingle.
A lighthouse built in the thirties and being transported to Boston's Charles River went mysteriously astray and ended up on the top of the mountain, initially as a beacon for aviators, and latterly as a veteran’s memorial. History does not record how long the welcoming committee at Charles River waited patiently while looking at their watches waiting for their lighthouse to arrive.
For the six riders leaving the cafe, the destination was not as important as the journey and after a brief refueling stop the fun began.
The tight twisty roads began almost immediately after departure. The surfaces were a mix of good and bad, smooth and rough, with the occasional loose stones in mid corner enough to halt any thought of relaxing. The trees that flashed past were a vivid mix of reds, golds and yellows, with enough leaves still left on the trees to be confident about the grip of the tyres on the road surface. The sweet smell of hot apple cider and wood burning fires occasionally made their way through from the roadside stands into the cocoon-like world inside the riders helmets. The smell of flattened skunk was a less welcome intrusion into that same cocoon-like world.
Families picking the last of the pumpkins for Halloween stood and watched as the group swept past. Statelines came and went, Connecticut, New York, Connecticut again, New York again, and finally Massachusetts. Some hand signs from the front of the group indicated the destination was high on the left. A long wait at some temporary traffic lights at a roadside construction site led to an exchange of glances that indicated the next stretch of tarmac was extra special. The road climbed higher up the side of the mountain with wide sweeping hairpin after hairpin. The trees thinned out and gave way to scrub and rock. As the elevation increased the last remnants of a snowfall from the previous day were melting at the side of the road. Both Slackbladder and America later remarked that this stretch of road reminded them of the Cherohala Skyway in Tennessee.
And then it was over almost as quickly as it began. Pulling into the car park at the state park half way up the mountain, the group found the way to the top of the mountain closed due to the previous days weather conditions.
It was difficult to think of any more pastimes where the disappointment of the closed destination had such a little effect on the day’s enjoyment. After a chance to swap more tall stories and splashing of boots in the visitor’s center, the group turned for home. After much consulting with GPS and torn and frayed maps, the more direct option was chosen.
After another refueling stop, they followed the tourist route through small town Americana. Pittsfield, Lenox, Lee, Great Barrington, Millerton, West Cornwall and other Anglo sounding towns passed in one long picturesque blur. The empty roads encountered earlier in the day gave way to minivan and SUV clogged roads as the last of the pumpkins were driven to their grisly appointments with large carving knives.
Eventually the group pulled into the car park of a roadside bank. After more friendly handshakes and farewells, the three Kawasakis (a Japanese circus troupe?) separated from the three Beemers and headed south. The Reverend Ray, America and Slackbladder turned west directly towards the fast disappearing sun. By now, tired limbs were exercised as much as it was possible to safely do while still in motion. Short periods standing straight up on the footpegs allowed the circulation to return to areas deprived of it for too long. The sight of Reverend Ray standing up with arms outstretched had not been seen this side of a Cecil B deMille biblical epic. Cars parted like the Red Sea to let him through. Picking up the Taconic State Parkway south, the three Beemers weaved through the heavy traffic, as they got ever closer to the superslab and home. The Reverend carried straight on for Long Island as Slackbladder and America turned west again and hit the Thruway. As darkness fell and visibility fell along with it, the tinted visors that had done such a good job keeping the sun at bay were swapped for clear ones at the last refueling stop. A caffeine bomb from the roadside services supplemented a “splash and dashâ€Â.
The next hour went past quickly on the superslab as the two Beemers headed ever closer to home. Exchanging final waves, America and Slackbladder parted ways twelve hours after the mixed up rendezvous.
As Slackbladder turned off the motor in his driveway, he checked the GPS. It was 7pm and the mileage read 493 miles.
It had indeed been an epic day out.
(*)â€Âton†refers to the figure of 100mph.
Over the hills and far away
Moderator: Moderators
There were a few scary moments, but we were glad to reach the top unscathed. Here is a picture since you missed the "summit"! 
Re:Over the hills and far away
Doug,
The guys I rode with that day went back 2 weeks later in the middle of November and got to the top. They echoed your comments about the ride up to the top of the mountain. I was annoyed that day that I did not take the camera with me, there were plenty of photo opportunities with other aspects of the epic day out.
Jim
The guys I rode with that day went back 2 weeks later in the middle of November and got to the top. They echoed your comments about the ride up to the top of the mountain. I was annoyed that day that I did not take the camera with me, there were plenty of photo opportunities with other aspects of the epic day out.
Jim
