Friday morning, 5 minutes until departure:
The morning’s check of the radar showed that there was some rain in my near future. Sure enough, as I hit the Berkshires, the gray skies slowly began to release their contents. Thankfully, it was nothing too serious, but I kept an eye on the traffic coming in the other direction just the same. Their wipers weren’t running too hard, so I crossed some fingers and kept on rolling. The precipitation was off and on; long enough to get me a bit wet, but then would stop long enough to almost dry out before starting up again.
Further along and well into NY, the interstate rounded a mountain and brought one of the many scenic valleys into view. That was nice and all, but what I wasn’t so impressed with was the solid-black sky over the valley. I was trying to calculate what my chances might be that I would make it through the clouds unscathed, and that’s when the lightning started (which pretty much answered my question for me). Gearing myself up for a nasty stretch of roadway, I was quite surprised to see the highway cut to the left and around the storm system. I was treated to quite the light show as I rolled safely (and dryly) around the storm cell. It’s not often that one gets to watch a lightning show from the seat of the bike and still stay dry.
The clouds began to clear out as I pushed further into western NY and things were looking good. I arrived in Olean a bit early so I decided to slide over and visit the graves of a couple of fallen brothers. Now each year when I make it out there, I like to bring and leave a little something on the stones - this year; it would be some Massachusetts quarters. The first stone I visited was Dana’s. He used to bust our asses (those of us from Mass), calling us Massholes and such (not entirely undeserved, LOL). I’d half-wondered how he’d feel about having a Massachusetts quarter placed on his headstone, but I’d figured I’d chance it.
I pulled into the cemetery and began rolling between the markers - the closer I’m getting to Dana’s, the darker the sky is suddenly getting. I pull up to the spot, park, and make my way over. I say my hellos and lay the Mass quarter beside the collection of tokens left by others over the years. No sooner had I done that than I felt the first drops of rain begin. I made my way back to the bike and the sky just opened up. I knew Dana was telling me to “Get that sh*t off my stone!” (but I also knew the big guy could handle it). From there, I headed over to Gapper’s grave and paid my respects to him as well. From there, it was a quick blast through the downpours over to King and Pat’s house where the garage was open and the light was on. I rolled in out of the weather and shut her down. Strolling into the house, I was greeted with hugs and a nice cold beer. We kicked our feet up, caught up on things and let the rain fall harmlessly outside. It doesn’t get much better than that!
When the rain had passed, we headed down town to Mickey’s and met up with more of the crew for some grub and suds. After chowing down one of Tommy’s famous steak subs, it was time to head next door to The Parkwood for some more libations. The laughs were plenty, the drinks flowed easily, and the plans for the following day’s run were laid out.
The next morning, King and I fired the bikes up and we rolled over to Bub’s abode for breakfast. Breakfast! For the years I’ve been meeting up with these guys, we’ve always hit a McDonald’s or other similar establishment for breakfast. But not this time; this time we were living large. Walking into the kitchen, I was greeted by the efforts of Bub, Lynner and Steph; mountains of scrambled eggs, a full baking sheet stacked half a foot high with crisp bacon, two enormous stacks of French toast, donuts, bagels, orange juice, milk and 100% pure maple syrup. I haven’t seen a spread like that in ages. We all gathered round and filled our internal fuel tanks with a good hearty base for the coming ride.
After we’d had our fill of the fantastic spread, we all saddled up and pointed our tires towards the Knapp Creek fire station and the unfortunate event that awaited us.
The reason we had assembled (and the reason I’d ridden out to Olean) was that a good friend had passed recently in an accident on his daytime job. In addition to that job, Chuck Hitchcock was also the Fire Chief of the Knapp Creek volunteer fire department and that department had set up a dice run for this day, with the proceeds going to his family. The weather had cooperated and everyone was expecting a decent turnout. But we weren’t prepared for the sheer volume of bikes, riders and passengers that continued to show up. Registration was slated to commence at 10am and run for two hours, with the ride kicking off at noontime. When we fired up our bikes and the procession began pouring out of the parking lots, there were still people in line, waiting to register. In fact, almost 40 minutes later, when we had arrived at the first stop, parked, waited in line and then finally rolled our dice, we got word that there were still people registering back at the fire station. Truly amazing. But not surprising; Chuck was one hell of a nice guy.
But I’m getting ahead of myself; back at the parking lot (prior to the run starting), we were walking around and checking out some of the bikes that were lining up. It was a good mix of cruisers, trikes and a few sport bikes thrown in for good measure. Just before noontime, a reverend gathered us around and a few words were spoken for the family, for the friend we’d lost, and for our safety on the ride ahead of us. That done, we broke apart and headed for our rides. 
There were a total of five rolls that would be made on this dice run, but rather than having us all wasting a lot of time with a bunch of different stops, the first and last rolls would be made right at the fire station. That left only three stops along the way, but more importantly; it left us about 3 hours of good solid riding through some fantastically scenic areas. AND, since we’d be riding through PA, we wouldn’t need our helmets. Although, there was the whole issue of the 1 mile standing between the fire station parking lot and the state line. It didn’t take more than a second or two for us to come to the conclusion; “Helmets? We don’t need no stinking helmets!”. So we packed ‘em and headed on down the road; our heads unencumbered by any foolish plastic headwear. Cruising along the main drag for a very short bit, we banked a left turn at the appropriate landmark and crossed over into PA, proper.
There’s not a lot I can add with words, so I’ll just let some pics do the talking for me… 
At ride’s end, we gathered again at the fire station for our final rolls of the dice. Once again, my luck-of-the-dice held steady (IE: crappy) and I knew that my total would not be a threat to anyone else. No worries, there was still plenty of good company to enjoy, a slew of hearty food to sample, the 50/50 raffle, and the matter of a host of door prizes generously contributed by the surrounding community.
Having not eaten since the last stop (an agonizingly-distant 45 minutes earlier), I was thoroughly famished. I partook of some pizza and a huge cup of piping hot chili - topped with oyster crackers and shredded cheese! I figured that would hold me over until that evening’s cookout back at Mark & Mary’s house…granted; that was only two hours away.
As we enjoyed the food, we listened as the raffle ticket numbers were called out and the door prizes were slowly claimed. I soon realized that my luck-of-the-dice had spilled over to the raffle tickets and that again; I was no threat to anyone else. Holding out one last vestige of hope that perhaps I might finally have some luck with the 50/50, I moved in close to the MC so as to be sure to hear my numbers when they were called. Overall, it was a perfect outing for my luck; all bad. With the conclusion of the raffles and prizes reached, folks began to find their way back to their bikes and the gathering slowly broke apart. King and I headed back to his castle, dropped the bikes off and headed off to Mark &Mary’s BBQ in the Jeep.
Arriving at roughly the same time as the rest of the crew, we cracked some cold ones, gathered about the grille, set the food to cooking and set flame to the firepit. Plenty of wood kept the fire running strong and plenty of laughter kept the camaraderie going stronger. A few of us even had a marshmallow fight, bouncing the little white puffs off of each other‘s heads time and time again. Any that fell into the wet grass instantly turned into sticky blobs of goo…which only added to the hilarity as they would now stick to whatever they were thrown against; shirts…jackets…or faces. All in all; a great way to once again end a day; surrounded by friends.
The next day saw me up early; my thank-you’s and appreciation extended for the hospitality received once again, and rolling down Smith Hollow Road, heading in the wrong direction (trip concluded, headed home). The fog was thick, the sky; overcast. So there was really only one thing to do; rip the hell out of the throttle and get home sooner. Things worked out great; the front end didn’t disintegrate on me, I didn’t have any unplanned rendezvous’ with local law enforcement officials, and the sun actually managed to poke it’s head out by the time I rolled into my driveway…a mere 6.5 hours later. Not too shabby at all.
Not sure what it is…but every time I hang out with that crew, I always have one hell of a time.
RIP Chuck, you will be missed.
Ride Hard, Take Chances
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