Today we’ll start with a matters relating to Harley’s.
Firstly, whilst all Harley’s (like our very reliable Anastasia), are motorcycles, not all motorcycles are Harley’s - they would be if they could be, but there is no in between. There may be better bikes, but the name on the tank really makes all the difference. They are big and heavy (say 400 kg loaded), and love the open road, with the big V twin 103 or 107 cubic inch engine designed to rev low, and go forever. However, Harley’s do not like stop start, inner city traffic - the big air cooled engine very quickly becomes a furnace, and with the rear cylinder head and exhaust only an inch or two from a male riders best bits, quite uncomfortable- fried whitebait comes to mind. By all accounts, Not particularly pleasant for female riders (and there are a few), or pillions either. Likewise, a big and heavy bike is a doodle to handle on the open road, but not so at low speeds and in confined spaces. Poor Cuddy was reminded of this when a car park barrier crashed down on his helmet as he passed under it sending him arse over - not good. Roads - in a perfect world roads would be maintained by the people paid to do so using the money paid in various taxes for the purpose. Unfortunately the wombles in local and federal government (in Canada as back home in NZ), have their own pet social agendas to pursue, and as a consequence, the roads suffer. Today was literally a shocker, starting with the inner city roads of Ottawa, then into the back country “B” roads. Any cracks (and there are plenty, almost non stop) are sealed with tar which from a practical point of view is fabulous, expanding and contracting with the extremes in temperatures - there is a downside though, in that a motorcycle wheel, whether front or rear, will slip through it, perhaps 5 cm, which is quite disconcerting the first time or two (think “code brown”). There are also holes, so little wee ones, just an uncomfortable bump, then there are bigger ones, with correspondingly bigger bumps, and not very nice at all. Then there are really big ones, deep enough to bury a body, and sometimes two, bone and bike breakers that should cost some bureaucrat their job. Time for a drink Several of our touring party were pleased for a bit of a lie in this morning, bags not needing to be loaded in the Suburban until 8:30. Seems as though Watertown once had a manufacturing industry, but is now fairly dependent on Fort Drum, Home to 12,000 soldiers, so thank goodness to the military. It is perhaps timely to mention the part the military plays in American society. It is an honour to “serve”, and it is not unusual for soldiers, sailors, airmen or marines to be approached by members of the public and recognised with “Thank you for Your Service” and a handshake, a shouted drink, and sometimes more. President Trump is a huge fan of the military, with nearly 1.3 million Americans currently in uniform and from what I’ve read, they love him as a strong and decisive president, as opposed to his predecessor who was seen as indecisive. The patriotism that Americans show at every opportunity is admirable, with homes proudly flying flags certainly a very common site. So, back on the road again, and not a sign of rain (and we were all quite pleased about that). In deference to a slight drop in temperature, most wrapped up warmly until the first stop, then it was time for sun block and short sleeves. Our stop in beautiful Clayton was a treat - no fast food, no big city stores, and other than a curmudgeonly old fart scolding us for not putting $0.25 in the parking meter. Great coffee, a nice oatmeal cookie, and even a guy in a hot rod with a parrot. Another border crossing, back into Canada - and a reminder that some people really hate their job. After queuing for half an hour in the sun we finally interacted with a young Customs officer - I really think he should find a new and more fulfilling career. Anyway, once he’d established that we weren’t carrying more than $800 in alcohol, we were free to go - welcome to Canada. One more stop for lunch (none to soon - most of us were getting quite weary) then a final push to Ottawa, not really knowing what to expect. I guess it is far easier for a city to present well when the sun is shining (as opposed to being under a metre of snow). Ottawa appears to have impressed most of us a easy to get about on foot (from our downtown hotel), with very impressive historical architecture, Government buildings, hotels and public spaces. Byward Market was a highlight, a centre of restaurants and bars, and after a few drinks and dinner, we wandered back to Marriot Residences, our Home for the night. There are no words that could really do justice to the power of the (two) Niagara Falls that have not be used far too many times by far too many scribes, so, I will instead rely on the attached photo. Some of our number did the cruise, others a tour behind the Falls - regardless, all were impressed, although I did hear several make mention of the crass commercialisation of this resource - a bit like putting lipstick on a pig. Because the water flows from the USA, the best viewing is from the Canadian side, and they reap all the benefits. In fact the USA side of Niagara is little more that a slum in places, abandoned homes and commercial buildings, chemical plants and very broken roads - quite sad. Last nights dinner and this mornings breakfast were both at the restaurant attached to our hotel, neither of with proved memorable for the right reasons - if I was “Alex Romano”, owner, and after whom the restaurant is named, I’d be looking to change the name - what was once obviously justifiably famous and reputable is now dowdy and disappointing. Not to worry, we were “On the road again”, “Living the dream”. Once we’d escaped the squalor of the northernmost part of New York State, we had about 80 miles of freeway riding to cover, or route requiring us to back track over some of the roads we’d come in on yesterday - not surprisingly the view is quite different without the torrential rain that tested collective character. Our first break was at Dunkin Donuts, not because we sought it out, but because that was the first opportunity that presented once Doc got us off the freeway. As with any of these places, 20 plus hungry Kiwis arriving en mass inevitably proves daunting to the staff, but once they get going, things happen although rarely as quickly as we’d like. Everything on the menu has the calorie count next to it, so no excuses. Our Harley’s are a mixture of years, makes and models, and as a consequence the onboard computers and GPS vary - inevitably there will be a variety of routes shown, some markedly better than others, occasionally resulting in missed turns or fairly comprehensive detours. We experienced a bit of that today, resulting in the team being split into a few different groups, and whilst being led a merry dance from time to time, any detours are taken in good humour. The State Troopers park or perhaps more aptly “hide”, lying in wait for speedsters, their dark cars cars camouflaged in shadows under trees (out of the sun) - fortunately our constant 10 mph over the limit has yet to cause any reaction, so I do wonder what their tipping point is. We are now at tonight’s hotel in a town with the delightful name of “Waterland”, so some research required to establish where this came from. Time for a drink. Some mornings require an early departure, and today was one of those days - bags down to the Suburban by 7am, with a 7:30 departure.
The coffee shop opened at 6am and by then there was a queue of Harley guys lined up, with a bright eyed Cuddy leading the charge. After a few days of self medicating for severe back pain using high octane pain killers and alcohol, Cuddy has come good, and is back to his mischievous self. While waiting for 6am to tick over, I wandered about the hotel, admiring the faded magnificence “grand hotels” once offered - marble and carved woodwork, high ceilings, massive lobby - fortunately the grandeur still remains in part, with older uniformed staff seemingly determined to preserve tradition, despite the best efforts of the keen young car park valets who are more “in tune”, with the local patois quite evident. Once on the road it was not long before Doc pulled over and gave the signal for wets - we know from recent experience that the first big heavy drops of rain provide very short warning of what is to come, and during the course of the day we got several decent drownings. Geneva Harley Davidson provided some respite - seemingly in the middle of nowhere, they were very pleased to see us, and again, did well from those who should know better - interesting that there was a run on Harley Cheese-cutter caps, a trend started by Wayne. I resisted temptation, mainly because I was not quick enough. As relatively new Grandparents, we were amused by baby wear - the sort of thing bought but rarely worn, far too low brow for polite company! Back on the road and more very, very heavy rain, very marginal visibility, and even the big trucks that seem to cruise at 75 mph slowed done a little. In between downpours, the scenery is fabulous, particularly along the back country roads we’ve been traveling, helped in part by a lack of any sort of fence or formal divide between road and pasture - a nice change. The border crossing proved less drama than 13 bikes, 21 people and a luggage wagon loaded with goodness only knows what sort on illicit contraband may have warranted, but happily not - we have subsequently arrived at our hotel where, because we were a bit early, not everyone got immediate access to their room, which is a bugger. The rain continues to fall, but we’ll put on our quite wet “wet weather gear” and go for a wander - being on a tight schedule, our time here is limited, and we’re off again in the morning. Having arrived at our nights lodging hot and sweaty, then unloaded the luggage wagon (Barb’s Chev Suburban), the guys usually head of to gas up for the next day, getting beer and chippies at the same time.
Last night Chris’s bike chose this time to break down, Fortunately close to the hotel. A technical examination by those handy enough to know about these things, diagnosed a “shaft” problem, something that evidently should be a quick fix at the nearest dealership, and so it was, albeit the tow truck was late, etc,etc, but a minor problem in the scheme of things. Spitzies Harley Davidson enjoyed the combined spending power of 20plus punters during this time - T shirts, Jackets, bits and pieces, and of course “bike bling”. Anyway, soon fixed, and we were away. Son Andrew suggested we follow tradition and name our bike, something he is very good at. After some consideration I ended up with Anastasia (sliver bike, let’s call it Grey, 50 Shades...), and I’m quite happy with that, so far very willing and able, and has not missed a beat. We were in rural Up State New York enjoying the wide sweeping roads, and delightful scenery when Doc pulled us over to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and indicated that it was time for wet weather gear - a call not made lightly bearing in mind the effort involved. As usual, if was a good call and none too soon - before we even remounted the bikes, the sky’s opened and we were soaked, seeking whatever cover we could 20 people huddled around a seeming abandoned shed( with and old padlock on the door), waiting out what proved to be about 30minutes of very serious rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning - needless to say, most of us have been reminded that our wet weather gear has limitations... Having said that, Chris recently treated himself to a fabulous new high vis wet weather ensemble, passing his second hand gear to Pam, his significant other - nice work mate! The rain stopped and we headed off again, only to get another downpour shortly afterwards- is was heavy, visibility was extremely limited, and if one bike had left the road, those behind would have followed the barely visible tail lights where ever they led. Lunch was in very rural Edmeston - mainly because it was the only town for miles with a store that sold food. In fact, Edmeston was so rural, it had an Amish community, a one horse power Harley. Rather surprisingly there was a bank and I checked it out - talk a step back in time, real tellers (very helpful too). A bit down the road, a deer (and not a little one, a big bugger) shot from one side of the road to the other , directly between two bikes - hit that and you’d be in deep shite. A bit more rain, the into the slow moving traffic that signals the arrival into a big town - we’d arrived in Syracuse, and what little we have seen is a bit grimy, although our hotel for the night, the Marriott, is certainly very grand, perhaps not quite as prestigious as it once was, but it dates back to the “good old days”. Time for a shower and a drink. The team were evidently very keen to get underway, with everyone front and centre long before the 8am briefing.
Last minute adjustments were made, and then we were off, albeit with one or two little hitches along the way. The responsibility of leading 14 bikes into unknown territory is enormous, and there were a few technical glitches to struggle through, but as always, Doc got us through. We had to transit from one side of the city to the other, which was quite a long way in fairly busy traffic, on surprisingly rough inner city roads, but after and hour or so we hit the freeway out of town, and could relax a bit. Or first meeting place was next door to a State Police station, across the road from a State penitentiary, and we wondered if they wondered who we were, and what we were up to... The scenery from here was great, eventually becoming quite rural - small hamlets of 5-10 homes, with typically all but one abandoned, most sad and forlorn, with a faded real estate agents signs out front. There were also many motels, gas stations and other businesses abandoned, worth less than nothing other than as a link to the past. Surprisingly, whilst obviously sitting empty and forlorn for many years, and some obviously suffering from the ravages of hot summers and very cold winters, none of these homes or buildings looked as though they’d been vandalised, which was an upside. Homes that were still occupied were almost always immaculate (albeit some needed a coat of paint), but lawns were inevitably mowed - another notable feature was an almost total lack of any sort of garden - the homes are plonked in the middle os a section, have a drive and a footpath, and absolutely nothing else. It should be noted that many homes and buildings here are 100, 200, even 250 years old, so no wonder the odd one has a bit of a lean on. Several fellow travellers noted the “feel” of the ground we covered today - with the High perhaps our lunch stop at Shelburne Falls, and the Bridge of Flowers - very impressive. A local directed Linda and I to the Foxglove Diner - talk about old school, my Cheese Tomato and Bacon sandwich with pickles and chips on the side was $3.99, lovely, simple people. So, today really was very pleasant BUT it was hot, not the heat of the desert or mid west that we’ve experienced in the past, but certainly hot enough that anyone who didn’t hydrate enough soon felt the effects. In deference to the heat, most of the guys (and some of the ladies) have stowed jackets in top boxes and will have a tan to show for their efforts. Back to our reliance on electronic wizardry - at one point we were led further and further from the main highway, the roads becoming narrower and less well maintained, before tar seal became metal, and I wondered how long it would be before a u turn was necessary. Other than one of our number having a wee “off” whilst almost stationary, we made it through and soon or path began to improve. So, having passed through the lovely scenery of rural Massachusetts, we passed into “Up State New York” and are camped on the outskirts of Albany, have gassed up the bikes and in my case, enjoyed a cold shower and a cold beer (in that order), and will now wonder down to our team meeting by the pool. A relatively early night last night helped put the last of jet lag behind us, and I was up and ready to go at 5am, starting with a little bit of laundry- the sign on the door requested a 6am start, and bearing in mind the racket the machine made, I was pleased to have complied, spending the hour with my book and coffee. You really would not want the room next door to the laundry...
Breakfast then into the car park with the guys, fiddling around with bikes, checking tyre pressures, fitting ever important Harley bells, loading up navigational data (thanks to Nev). Most have brought along a mascot, mostly Kiwis, (ours the chipmunk we’ve had for the past year or two), even Kiwi flags kindly supplied by Mike C - having said that, Chris and Pam have hedged their bets with two flags, Kiwi and Aussie.... It was very foggy when I wandered into the car park at 5am, but by the time our tour bus arrived at 10 the fog was long gone, and we where looking at a stinker - thankfully our pass had exceptional air conditioning, something commented on and appreciated all day. Our guide Neil was great, a “middle school teacher” who was worked as a tour guide during summer holidays for many years, local, knowledgeable and quite funny - he relies on this additional income to fund two kids at college. Our accents and colloquial language had him baffled at times, particularly when he referred to “fannies” (bum to an American). Boston has the benefits of being both relatively compact and rich in history, so an interesting day taking in the sights, scenery and history without long distances in between. A septuagenarian waitress called Mike C “Sparkie “ at lunch whilst lamenting the fact she’d not had sex for 23 years. Cuddy manfully suggested that he may be able to assist. Anyway, perhaps “Sparkie” will stick. Time to head off to the 6pm briefing - we’ll be on the road by 8am tomorrow, so an early night Don Malcolm +64 21 924 114 Saturday morning arrived early.
I awoke at 2am, finally conking out at about 10.30 after a very average dinner in the hotel restaurant with other late arrivals, Wayne and Tina from Taupo, and Chris and Pam who’d completed a marathon trip, Chris leaving from Auckland, meeting Pam in Brisbane, then heading up via LAX. So, unable to sleep, ear plugs in, ito a very good audio book (Tom Clancy’s, “Without Remorse”), finally heading downstairs to the lobby bar at 5am for coffee, and to catch up on the I pad, a wee bit of work to do, then blogs and news to catch up on. What a busy place, even early, flight crews coming and going, most tall pilots in short sleeves (in deference to the early morning heat and humidity), in between Home and destination, wherever that may be in this massive country. In addition there are the travellers, some experienced, business people travelling Light, and tourists, also enroute, inevitably with luggage to spare. Apparently the hotel operates at near capacity most of the time, and that seems apparent, a fairly slick machine that seems to perform without too much fuss. The breakfast area opened at 6 and was immediately full, hungry travellers keen to fuel up on more than the complimentary coffee available 24 hours a day in the lobby. Eventually our group assembled, some still coming to terms with the punctuality that is necessary to maintain momentum, but after our briefing, we were off to Eagle Rider to collect bikes. Uber has been a god send for us, getting great business from many of us, and our friendly driver soon had us checking in, with others arriving in dribs and drabs afterwards. The forecast was for heavy rain, and in deference to the darkening sky, those of us who could, made their way back to the hotel (GPS is fabulous!), pulling into the car park just as the first heavy drops started to fall - others, arriving like a row of ducklings behind Doc were not quite as fortunate. Doc found first hand as his back wheel let go at one point that new tyres had been fitted to some of the bikes - phew. Another Uber ride to Boston Harley Davidson, the obligatory pilgrimage, and for me, to collect the parts I’d ordered, some for me, some for mate Nev who is inheriting Beyoncé once my new bike arrives. I was a bit shocked when a large trolley was wheeled out, boxes and boxes that would have filled a small mini van - a bit of judicious shuffling and repacking saw the pile reduce by half, but more will be required... Last night most of us headed into the Italian quarter of the city, (thanks Uber), vibrant and busy, seemingly good natured and family oriented, with no riff raff apparent - perhaps due in part to the many police about. We broke up into manageable groups, each finding a restaurant of choice, and enjoyed another night of great company amongst great people. Sunday - sightseeing Anyone who has arrived at a hotel at 2am, tired after 24 hours on the go, only to find they have no reservation, and the house is full, knows how we felt earlier this morning.
The guy on the front desk appeared more willing (in fact, admirably so), just not very able, and try as he might, we kept going around in circles. Once the duty manager arrived, things got shuffled about, and very unlike similar experiences in other US cities, this one resolved itself satisfactorily. By now it was 3am, so time for a quick shower, phone on silent (reminded by the incessant “bings” from fellow travellers within our party communicating on our “whatsapp” network, but within different time zones, obvious to the fact that their chit chat was a nuisance to others - my fault for not selecting “flight mode”. If I was into “omertà”, I would reciprocate at an equally I considerate hour in the next day or two, in fact, that is a good idea! So with equal doses of jet lag and just plain tiredness, we conked out, not surfacing until many hours later, well after breakfast had closed, and our fellow travellers had dispersed for a day of sightseeing in Boston. We did likewise, catching the subway into the city, having been advised to disembark at “State”, a good starting point for tourists, particularly those looking for a very late brunch. We exited the station, right into the middle of a noisy protest, people waving placards, dressed all in white, both male and female, most notably with “bloodstained crotches”. Their protest was about the brutality of circumcision - and the catch phrase “no man wants a shorter penis” probably resonated with most men. Quite remarkable. So, down a block or two, and into the markets, cobblestones and old statues a reminder that we were in an area with a significant historical impact, both for Boston and the USA. Somewhere to eat on this hot day (30C) took precedence, and spoilt for choice and looking for somewhere with aircon, we ended up in an Irish Bar. The wisdom of an inside table soon became apparent as those favouring the outdoors soon were soaked by a sudden downpour. We wandered for a bit before jet lag again played its part, so back on the subway to our room at the Hampton Inn. |
Don MalcolmA perfect day involves being on my Harley with a long ride ahead.
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