Fall Roundup Ride

Thursday night. Telephone. Ringing. It’s Ed. It’s Ed and he’s got an offer for me; he and a couple of his buddies are heading up to Vermont on Saturday, to do an overnight. Am I interested in joining them? Hellz yeah! The weather was calling for heavy rain on Friday night, but then clearing and warming for the rest of the weekend. Perfect weather for a Fall ride.

Saturday morning dawned damp and dreary, and with a bit of a chill in the air. The storm from the night before had been mighty, as evidenced by the tree debris all over the roadways. The rain had ended, but the clouds hadn’t yet relinquished their stranglehold on the sky. Donning our gear, we made a pact with the sun; it would shred the clouds, providing us with some welcome warmth, and we’d shred some pavement, leading the way westward for it’s daily trek.

True to our word, we rocked and rolled up 495, picked up Rte 2 and hammered our way westwards as the sun began to hold up it’s end of the bargain; the sky lightening behind us. Larger and larger breaks began appearing above us, and before long, blue was far outweighing grey - and found us crossing the state line, passing into New Hampshire.

Picking up Rte 9 out of Keene, we grazed the outskirts of the Green Mountains, then took them head-on. Slicing the corners we approached - and then pulled into - the lookout atop Hogback Mountain. The foliage was pretty amazing…

Firing up and rolling back out, we set the miles to passing beneath our tires. Our destination was Bennington, and we soon found ourselves within city limits. A hotel appeared before us, it’s welcoming “VACANCY” sign beckoning to weary road travelers. We commandeered a parking spot and headed towards the lobby. The lady working the counter informed us that they were all booked up – apparently unkempt and unshowered bikers aren’t welcome there. Shrugging, we headed back to the bikes and meandered a bit further down the road until we managed to secure evening accommodations at the famous Crackside…er…Kirkside Motor Lodge, now located conveniently beside the town church – presently in the process of being dismantled. (Religion has failed to take hold in this part of the village.)


After checking in and unpacking our bikes, we strolled uptown and found ourselves an Irish tavern for some solid and liquid sustenance. Having secured those items, we discussed our plans for the rest of the afternoon. The Sox weren’t on until 8 so that left us a bit of time to kill. And while we were sitting inside a perfectly good tavern, we felt our daylight would be better spent by checking out a local battle monument that I’ve been wanting to check out for years.

(Each year, when I make the trip from NY to Maine, with the Olean crew, we always pass this thing - the Bennington Battle Monument - and I always tell myself that I’m going to check it out someday. Well, that day would be today.)

It was a short jaunt to the outer skirts of town. We rumbled up the entrance street, the stone spire sticking far above the surrounding trees. Finding a spot to park, we did a walk-around, around the base, and checked out the statue of John Stark, and checked out the stonework of the monument itself.
Hey John, which way to the beer store? That way? Thanks man!

The story behind the monument; it was built to commemorate John Stark’s victory over the British, many moons ago. When they were designing what to build, the Governor at the time wanted something that was bigger than anything else around. He got his wish; the structure is 306 feet tall and is the tallest man-made structure in Vermont. There’s an observatory at 200 feet (which is as high as visitors can go - only maintenance people have access to the top 100 feet). So we plopped our $2 down for the ticket and took the ride up. Stepping out of the elevator, the first thing I noticed was the strong wind blowing through the open windows. Each of the 4 sides had protective, safety windows installed, but they were drawn open to allow visitors to poke their heads through and check out the scenery. Which I did…

Check out those maples!!

We came back down - to find that the rain clouds had resumed control of the sky. We took cover on the downwind side of the obelisk until things abated, dried off the seats and fired things up. From there, it was a short side-trip to the package store and then back to the motel to do some priming before heading back to the Irish tavern to catch the Sox. We milled about for a while, polished off what we’d picked up, locked everything up and walked back to the bar.

Before long, our charm and charisma had won the hearts and minds of the locals on both sides of the bar. Hell, even the owner was buying us our drinks. We were laughing it up, watching the Sox dismantle the Indians, talking about the upcoming Pats game, just general good times. There was even the token grumpy Irish bartender, and we managed to get him to smile before we left. After the game was won, the owner (TJ) gave me his card (I still have it - it’s good for a free drink on any future visits!) and told us that he and his friends were heading to another bar that had a later last-call, and that we should head there as well. He gave me the name of the bouncer that would b working (Scooby) and said to tell this Scooby guy that we knew him (TJ) and we’d get in without having to pay the cover. Sweet! So they left and we finished our drinks and started the walk. Well, our minds were light (from watching the Sox victory - certainly not from the libations), and we wound up forgetting the directions, and the name of the bar we were looking for. Taking a gamble, we took a side street and walked…and walked…and walked until we finally came upon what sounded like quite the happening bar. So we walked in and when the bouncer approached, I confidently said “Hey Scooby, what’s happenin’?” To which he replied “What?” "Uhm…are you Scooby?" "Nope. There’s no Scooby here." "Oh (Damn - wrong bar!) Ok then…so how much is the cover?"

The bar itself was a mess of 19 and 20 year olds…oh wait…no, they were all 21 (wink wink) and the drinks were kinda hefty on the wallet. We had a couple of beers, listened to the band knock out a couple of not-bad AC/DC renditions, politely declined an offer to jump on a "party bus" that was headed to a bar in NY which stayed open until 4am, and then decided to head on back to the motel.

Arriving safely back at said motel, the guys headed off to sleep…but I had other plans. See, the scaffolding on the church beside the motel had been in the back of my mind for a while now. Climb it? Why, I would never do such a thing. To do that would involve trespassing, and I would never stoop to such activity. Being the law-abiding citizen that I am, I opted for going to bed, instead.

And I have no idea how these pictures wound up on my camera.

Sunday morning dawned bright and welcoming. We packed up, cleared out the room, and broke for the edge of town. We picked up Rte 7 and headed south into Mass, to Rte 2 east. Passed through some of the Berkshire mountains and saw some AMAZING scenery. Snapped some pics while we were rolling along, but wasn’t able to get pics of the truly amazing stuff, as the roadway was too twisty-turny to allow for screwing around with a camera. But here’s what I was able to get;




And here’s a backwards, over-the-shoulder pic of Ed, waving to the camera. Hi Ed!



Not sure what was up with this little guy, but he hitchhiked through most of Western Mass. I don’t know where he was headed, but we must have passed his stop because he just up and disappeared at one point. Didn’t even leave a tip. Hey you little bastard, “Gas, Grass or Ass - nobody rides for free!”



And that was the overnighter to Bennington - a sweet Fall roundup ride. Thanks for the call, Ed!

Ride Hard, Take Chances

2007 Halloween Run

The information had been posted on-line, the phone calls had been made, and the masks had been lined up. What was all the excitement about? It was time for the annual Halloween Run!

As in years past, the plan was to meet up at Ronnie’s house for some pre-run libations. Oh sure, we could head over and line up with the rest of the masses - sit around for a couple of hours, waiting for the signal to fire up the engines…and then wait…and wait…and wait until it was finally our turn to kick down into gear and start snail-pacing in a forward direction. But we’d rather take a ride over to a buddy’s house, kick back with some frosties, and share some laughs. Those of us needing some last-minute adjustments to their rides could rest assured that the rest of us that were just standing around would be quick to lend a hand or be ready with the needed tools. Ha ha, right! In our world, the only thing that can be counted on is that we’ll be hiding the tools and hoarding the frosties!

But I’m getting ahead of myself. How about some history? Years ago, this run was one of the major Fall events to attend - not just for the enjoyment of a nice fall ride, or the amusement of seeing so many riders decked out in costumes, but for the after party! The run would wind up in front of the Cavan (tavern) in Hyde Park, bikes would commandeer both sides of the roadway, the lines at the bar would swell within seconds, and that’s when the real show would begin. Once having been attended to by the goddesses behind the bar, the patrons would pour back out on the concrete sidewalks to bear witness to the circus presented before them. Bikes of all makes and models would begin setting themselves apart from the parked witnesses. With a twist of their throttles and a roar from their engines, they would declare a patch of pavement as their own. They‘d bite into the claimed blacktop with ferocity, masticating it up with a healthy dose of rear tire, and spitting everything back to the sky in a rich, thick cloud. This in turn would of course be met with roars of approval from the studio audience. Inevitably, some hot classic cars would also make an appearance, ambling up and down, tossing their throaty roars into the mix. This street party would go on for hours, and as such, was the highlight for the day’s events.

But like all great things, this, too, would come to an end. Complaints from the neighbors (whatever for?) and the loss of patience/tolerance from the local constabulatory, meant the party was over. For the past four or five years, the run has ended at various bars and taverns, far away from Hyde Park. We usually break off near the end and rendezvous at whoever’s house is closest and knock back some more brew-ha-ha’s and talk about the day. This year, however, the run would end at a decent biker bar next to Gillette Stadium; The Outlaw. And, the bar was putting on a burnout contest and even had prizes for the best and second-best burnouts done. Now this was something akin to after-parties of old! The Outlaw hosts a weekly Bike Night during the summer and they have a burnout pit there full-time, that anyone can just roll into and fire it up if they like. No permission is needed, no advance warning is given. More than once, I have seen an otherwise off-night be awakened in such a manner. The stillness of the night is suddenly shattered by the sound of someone looking to make a contribution to the bottom line of their favorite tire company. But I digress (as usual). My point is that this year would find me in attendance at the end rally point once again, and up close and personal to The Pit.

The group pulling out of my driveway was smaller than that of years past; only three bikes. No worries; the weather is looking good for the day (mid 60’s, mostly sunny and clear), we should have a good spectator turnout along the route, and most importantly; we’re riding!

We gassed up at a nearby gas station and rolled out hard onto Rte 1, headed for Dedham and our rally point with the rest of the crew. We made the necessary right turn, bobbed and weaved our way past a couple of stop signs and rolled up upon Ronnie’s abode - and were greeted by the welcome sight of bikes lined up and waiting. We lined our rides up with the rest of the bikes, shut the engines down and said our hello’s.

We milled around for a bit, catching up on times and downing a few road sodas. When it was time to depart, we donned the masks/costumes, fired the bikes to life and hit the roads - the excitement and anticipation was building! I was running the Sweep position and we hadn’t gone more than a few miles before a car was riding up on our asses, the driver hanging out of his window, hollering to us. I cut over to the side and signaled the guy to come up beside me so that I could find out what his deal was. Turns out he was just a fan of the whole spectacle and only wanted to know if the annual run was going on today. He was more than excited to find out that things were, in fact, planned for today and with that, he happily pulled back to allow me room to catch back up with the rest of the crew.

We arrived at the starting point, were waved into the lot, paid our dues ($20 each!) and then coasted over to the far edge of the parking lot. We picked up where we’d left off with the refreshments and awaited word that things were kicking off. We did roll up closer to the front after a bit, but it was still a lot of wait and wait again. I surveyed the scene to see what had shown up for costumes - lots of cool masks, and a not a few instances of solid effort.

Zig’s contribution to the day’s festivites;
The announcement was made and the bikes started roaring to life. Those that had been caught unawares (or who had not been paying attention), scrambled to get to their bikes before the sea of motion passed them by.

The run was good; nice turnout along the route, plenty of kids - some even in costume themselves - lots of happy people enjoying the fun. Roughly 50 miles later, we arrived at the Outlaw and sidled up the entrance, fighting for position with every other rider there. The folks doing parking detail wanted us to follow the crowd and park in the middle of the lot but there wasn’t a chance of that happening. Spotting an opportunity, we split the gap between two bikes and broke for the far edge of the parking lot. We wanted the option of an open lane to the exit, should we need it. And as luck would have it, we would up very close to the burnout pit - I love when a plan comes together!

We hit the beer line, hit the food line, hit the beer line again, bought rounds for the crew, had rounds bought for us, shared laughs, caught up with folks not seen for a while, etc. Just general all-around good fun had by all. Lisa and I did the obligatory walk-around to see what cool rides we might find, and there were some decent offerings;

The only reason I took the following pic was that if there was a contest for the ugliest bike ever, this frikkin’ joke would be right up there. Just how ugly was this thing? Words fail me, and that’s a rare event in itself. I didn’t even bother sticking around to try and get a second, better shot.

The biggest disappointment of the day was that the burnout pit, for some reason, appeared to be dismantled. No hole shots were being done, no one was lining up…by all appearances, it seemed that the pit was off limits. What had happened? We'd been promised a burnout contest!?!?Figuring that more political BS had won out over good clean harmless (?) fun, the choice was made to make a break for sanity. The homestead was only minutes away (and the beers didn’t cost $4 there), so we said our farewells and made for the exit.

It was a most-excellent day; a treat for the kids (and adults) who watched us pass, fun for us to put a show on for them, and good weather from start to finish. Sun, fun and friends - Can’t wait to do it again next year. Ride Hard, Take Chances

Chuck Hitchcock Memorial Run

The NY trip (back a couple of weekends ago) was a success; made decent time on the trip out, and then made fantastic time on the way home; 502 miles in 6.5 hours. Not too shabby at all. (And I didn’t have a single cat jump out in front of me).

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

Scarecrows, Scenery and Stunts

A rare weekend free of tasks/projects/responsibilites had presented itself before us, so I decided to head up to the house in NH on Saturday morning. The weather was warm and somewhat humid - surprising for early October - but I wasn’t complaining. I was facing some incoming rain that evening, so I hammered the highway, looking to get up there and enjoy some of the sunshine before the clouds moved in. And when I say I hammered the highway, I hammered it….up until 4 miles before the 95/93 connection, and then I hit some heavy traffic, slowing me to about 15 miles an hour. I could see the overpass for 93 and the traffic was moving well - cool! That means this traffic mess is confined to 95 and all I gotta do is get to the exit and I’ll be rolling again. Some jockeying between lanes and soon I was in good shape, sliding up the 93 on-ramp and setting the speedo needle back on the high side of the gauge where it belongs. The blacktop was piling up behind me and I was back to making some decent time - things were looking good. I started hitting the expected backup right before the Mass/NH border and things slowed a bit. I figured I’d soon be rolling again, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Traffic had me stopped cold, feet planted unhappily on the roadway. I haven’t seen traffic that bad on that highway, in years and years. There was no rhyme or reason for it - no bad accident, no road construction, nothing. I was going to chalk it up to leaf-peepers, but that wouldn’t have made sense as the foliage really has a ways to go before it hits peak. Whatever the reason was, a trip that should have maybe taken 2.5 hours, wound up dragging into almost 4 hours in length.

Finally arriving into the outskirts of Wolfeboro, I started noticing many houses were displaying scarecrow-themed Halloween displays. I pulled over and snapped some pics of the ones I liked the best. Here’s one that was in front of a doctor’s office (they were doing surgery on a skeleton);

Here’s some scarecrow kids skateboarding on a half-pipe, in front of the town supermarket;

Here’s a scarecrow mailman, treed by some scarecrow dogs;

A lot of thought had been put into each of them, but definitely the one I thought was the best overall, was the Headless Horseman themed one.

I hit the house, unloaded the bike and headed back into town for eats and drinks at the Wolfe Tavern (love that place!). This place looks like an old town meeting house, or an old B&B or something, that has been converted into a cool tavern. Instead of one large bar area, or large function room, it has a lot of smaller rooms that are all interconnected. And in almost all of the rooms, thousands of cast beer steins are hanging from the ceilings. Here’s a shot from across the upstairs bar…

Here’s one of the smaller side-rooms, also awash with hanging mugs…

Here’s a shot of one of the front rooms - complete with fireplace (not shown) and a mounted moose head…and more mugs!

How does one get a mug of your own? The Wolfe Tavern has a beer list which contains something like 99 beers. They give you a beer punch-card and every time you have one of their different beers, they punch out the appropriate beer on your card. You’re only supposed to receive credit for 2 beers per visit (liability issues and all), but the bartenders are pretty cool and if you catch them on a good night, you can get credit for many more than just two.

So while I was eating and having a couple (wink wink) of beers, the bartender (Kathy) confirmed my guess that the town was hosting a scarecrow contest. Not sure if there’s a prize or not, I didn’t really get that far, we were too busy talking about the different displays and how cool they were.

Seeing that the daylight was fading into an ominous gray outside, I settled my account with the tavern and saddled back up on the bike. Thankfully, it’s only about 2 miles to the house, because turning onto the street from the parking lot, the skies in front of me were more than just gray; they were borderline black. I managed to get the bike into the garage and myself into the living room just as a deluge began to hammer down around me. There wasn’t much point in going back out at this point, so I just relaxed inside for the evening.

Sunday came all too soon. There were two big sporting events to catch that day (Pats & Sox!), and rather than spend the day watching them up there and then have to fight traffic on the way home, I opted to hammer the highways again and watch them from the comfort of home. So I packed the bike, did a sweep to make sure everything was cleaned up and tidy, and rolled (regretfully) towards home and back towards reality.

But I still have time - the snow hasn’t come yet and the temps aren’t that cold. There’s still time to make it up there again for another visit to
NH and the beautiful scenery therein.


That would have been the end of the weekend there…but a buddy of mine from the gym had told me about some trick-riders that had been tearing up one of the dead-end streets near his house recently. Apparently they’ve been gathering on Sunday afternoons/evenings and practicing their stuff. So I figured what the hell, I’ll take a ride over and see if they’re there. They were, and it was awesome! There were many spectators, and about 5 guys on sport bikes doing all kinds of sick sh*t on their rides. Standing burnies, drifting burnies, wheelies, fronties, no hands, feet over the bars while burning, etc. etc. etc. I took some clips with the digital camera, let’s see if I can load one to give you an idea…

Here’s another one…

Here’s the guy doing the jump-n-go the right way (according to them); the front tire never hits the ground. Frikkin’ insane!

The crowd was cool with a couple of strangers showing up and taking pics/vids of them. Some of the riders belong to a group called Barely Legal Stunters (http://www.barelylegalstunters.com/home/home.htm). They said they’ll be back to the same place in following weeks, so you know I’ll have to try and get some more good clips!

Ok, that’ll do it for this post. I still have to do the write-up on my trip out to Olean last weekend – I’m hoping to have that posted by the end of this week. For now…

Ride Hard, Take Chances.

And now for something completely different...

So a while back, I made a comment that I may have to make a sacrifice to the weather gods, to thank them for the extended riding weather. I had even commented that maybe I would sacrifice the new Heineken beer keg that I’d bought. Well, I’ve been remiss in that regard, as the beer keg has remained untapped and unsacrificed…until now. Now…it’s Monday night - Monday Night Football is on…and my beloved Patriots are playing tonight. So now is the perfect time…the perfect place…the perfect scenario for the sacrifice of a beer keg. So without any further ado, here’s the steps I went through to tap this keg.

Ok hold on - you may be thinking “What the hell is he talking about - is he actually saying he doesn’t know how to tap a keg??” Trust me, I know how to tap a keg as well as the next person. But I’ve never tapped one of these mini kegs - and you know how I like to do little play-by-play breakdowns and goof around with things. So sit back and let’s have some fun…

Here we see the first shot - I figured tapping the keg right on the coffee table would be a good idea. Right in front of the TV, within easy reach of where we’d be sitting…it made perfect sense. Oh but wait, it’s probably not a good idea to tap a keg right next to the laptop…

So, I moved the keg over to the counter.

Here’s a shot of the instructions. Wow, talk about real in-depth, easy and precise, oh-so-nice, clear and concise directions. Hey look - it’s pictionary!

Only two moving parts? Huh…pretty sure that even I can’t screw it up if there’s only two moving parts.

Despite my confidence (having only found two moving parts to deal with), I figured there was still a good chance of making a mess, so I opted to move the keg down onto the floor.

Ok, so here we go. The first step is to take the round thingie and press it onto the top of the keg thingie, making sure to line up the round slot from the top of the keg thingie with the ring from the round thingie. ("Thingie" is the technical term, but I suppose I could have used thingamabob or whutzyacallit.)

Then press the nozzle thingie down into the receiving hole of the round thingie. But - and this is important! - don’t press down hard on the nozzle thingie! Because if you do, the beer starts shooting out!

Bad keg, Bad! You piddled on the floor!
Dispensing the beer is pretty simple; either press directly down on the spout, or flip the round lever forward and use that to press down on the spout...

So let’s test this bad boy out! (Do I lose points for using a Sam Adams glass?)

It pours well…tastes like normal Heinekan beer…but, I’m disappointed in the carbonation. It comes out pretty flat…very flat, actually. Brother Bill was assisting me with the consumption aspect and said that we should look on the bright side; having little carbonation meant we could proceed at a faster pace, without worry of those annoying little bubbles getting in the way. After all, we're watching our Patriots kick some ass on Monday Night Football - no need to stand on ceremony here; we just want beer, right? (Brother Bill is wise!)

So all in all, it was kinda fun to try, but I won’t be buying another one of these mini kegs. (But that didn’t stop us from finishing it off while we watched the Pats dismantle another team – Go Pats!)

And that is the saga of the mini beer keg.
Cheers!

Lance Corporal Shayne Cabino

A little over a week ago, we gathered for the 2nd annual memorial run for Lance Corporal Shayne Cabino. The day dawned bright and clear; temps were forecast in the 70’s and things were looking good. Brother Bill and I rolled our bikes out in the driveway and set to cleaning them up and getting our flags rigged up.

The rest of the crew arrived shortly thereafter and we headed off to the American Legion, Post 106, in Sharon. We rolled into the mass gathering and were directed by Danno to park over by his bike, as we’d be taking up positions at the front, behind his lead. Setting our kickstands into the dirt, we began making the rounds, exchanging handshakes and bear hugs to those we hadn’t seen for a while. Turnout was good – the previous year brought roughly 130+ bikes out…this year, with the better weather and word of mouth, it looked like we were going to top out much higher than that. (I think the final count was about 175 or so.)

Registration was handled very well and things went very smoothly. They were even handing out flags to those that hadn’t been able to line one up of their own. This ensured that each and every bike would be proudly displaying colors for the run. The parking lot was awash with sunlight glinting off of chrome, and flags flying fast in the breezes.

The departure time came and was met with the roar of bikes coming to life. Final checks were made, thumbs-up were given and the State Police escort eased us out onto the roadways. (Having a full police escort for the entire run allowed us to slide though a multitude of intersections without interruption, and that doesn’t suck.) The streets were lined with folks who cheered us on – some waved, some clapped, some stood solemnly at attention as we passed.

I tried snapping a couple of pics using my side mirror…but I guess I should have cleaned it ahead of time…

The pic I shot over my head, of the crew behind me, came out pretty good…
We wound our way over into Canton and took a very-slow pass by the Veterans Memorial there, then we meandered our way through Norwood, Westwood, Medfield, Millis, Medway, Franklin, Wrentham, Foxboro and back to Sharon for the cookout.

Once we were all settled back at the Legion, the throngs set to lining up for either beer or food…(one guess which line I became a part of)…

Beer! But before we could help ourselves to the frothy libations, we had to purchase tickets…ok, this should hold me for a while…

We ate to our hearts content, we talked about the ride and how well it had gone off, we played some horseshoes, we laughed at each others jokes, and some of us took home some pretty cool door prizes. So far, the day couldn’t have gone much better, all things considered.

When it was time to mosey along (hours later), we put a plan together to have the crew over to the house for a fire and more cookout- and margaritas. With our plan laid out before us, we broke off, each heading in our own directions; the crew opting to go exchange two wheels for four, and Brother Bill and I heading to the store for more grub to sacrifice to the BBQ gods.

We got back to the house just as the crew began arriving at the homestead. The grille was fired up, the fire was stocked and started and the blenders were set into motion. We ended that Saturday just as any day should be ended; together with friends.

The reason for the day’s events sucks – the loss of a brave Marine, who died far away from his home and family. But his sacrifice is something that we are all eternally grateful for, and we thank his family and we honor his memory.

www.shaynesrun.com

Ride Hard, Take Chances. And Support The Troops!