Free Wheelin'

Snowbound…Let's sleep in today

Wake me up. When the wolves come out to play

-Donald Fagen

Between Christmas and New Year's, we had a semi-formidable snow/ice event. This was the fourth such stormy yuckiness that had come our way in December. One of the early ones seemed hardly worth any effort, but a warm afternoon that morphed into a 10-degree night turned our long driveway into a slushy-ice monster. It was even difficult moving the Durango around in a crunchy slide, as we came and went.

A few days of warm rain brought us some relief, and I got the GS out for a longish ride, just because I could. These are desperate times, my friends.

It had been a long while since I rode to one of the stops of the Polar Bear Grand Tour – a superb wintery event that runs through the dark season – and one of the weekly stops would be right along Harriman State Park, a couple of hours ride from Backroads Central. 

I began to form a plan.

A few days later, it snowed again – the aforementioned snow/ice event.

Not to be denied at least a chance at a ride, I was up and out after the second cup of coffee.

My Aerostich, which usually slips on like Spider-Man’s suit, fought me as I had to convince it to go on. The armor and material were ice cold and frozen as they were hanging out in the unheated barn.

I eventually got on the suit, and Hedz, gloves, boots, and I was ready to play with an internal combustion-powered machine. Much like Mr. Wiggin’s residential block that had a conveyor belt leading to a soundproofed section with rotating knives, this machine worked with rotating blades as well; and, best of all, it had an electric starter. Electric starters made motorcycles available to so many, especially women. It was a game-changer, and so was the electric start on my Arien 28. Firing up the 254cc, fuel-injected engine, I let it idle and warm up to the task at hand. Get your motor runnin’, and head out on the driveway.

Those two large spinning blades feed the second-stage impeller, and throttling up the beast, its dual belt power has enough torque to throw 70 tons of snow in one hour.

Okay, it was not a motorcycle, but it was self-propelled, with 6 forward and 2 reverse speeds, and auto-turn steering provided precise steering of the 16-inch wheels, like my old Ninja 600, and lights for snow blowin’ after midnight – me and Patsy Cline’s go-to choice.

Best of all, it’s orange and matches my Roadcrafter suit nicely, as it is important to look good to the neighbors and the horses when blowing snow. It even has flames, Backroads logos, and pinstriping (all applied on a hot summer night, with a bottle of red wine, and WXPN blasting through the barn) Also, men of my age seem to drop like flies playing with snow, and if that happened, I’d hope the bright and conspicuous Aerostich suit laying in the snow with a man inside might grab some passing driver’s attention.

Although I had much faith that the roads would be clear and rideable in another 24 hours, I was hoping that quick and early attacking of the snow/iced driveway would offer me the same, with an easy road out and back. Well, at least clear enough to get out onto the road.

The next day, the driveway was still a mean task, if doable at all on a bike, and the 20-degree ride would chill any rider, even with today’s heated riding gear. I made an Adult Decision, something that happens more and more since becoming a grandfather; I’d just take the Durango, and bringing that would ensure my bride would come along too, as Shira was none too keen on a motorcycle this day. I threw a couple of bundles of the latest Backroads in the back, and we jumbled down the slick drive to the clear, if still icy, county road. If anything, it was a pretty morning, with ice hanging off the branches and turning swampy cattails into cotton. Heading down through Ringwood, I began to have this gnawing and bad feeling. Usually, as you get closer to the Polar Bear gathering, there will be a few motorcycles that will cross your path. 

This day…Nada. 

Pulling into Cooper’s in Sloatsburg, I knocked on the closed door and was told by a woman that the Polar Bears would be meeting just a tad north at another place called Characters. We headed there, to be told they knew nothing about it. A quick, if a couple of hours late, check of the Polar Bear’s website saw that this day’s ride was cancelled. Cancelled? Oh, gee… time for Plan B, and breakfast at Dottie Audrey’s was fantastic.

Looking back on it all, perhaps I should have listened to Fagen … maybe we should have slept in this day.