WDGAH 11 - A very late accounting - PMS Therapy - Part 1, very long

I was tempted to go trolling with a comment along the
lines of:
All you wussies whinging about noisy, bad fitting
helmets should just shut up and ride without one like
real men do!
Those that know me would've recognized the absurdity
of matching that statement with the source and
hopefully gotten a chuckle out of it, but I realized
that stooping so low as to search for humor in the
outraged howls of protest and condemnation from others
was definitely the sign of a bad case of Parked
Motorcycle Syndrome.

Physician, heal thyself!


Riff Raff's Rides
Copyright 2008

WDGAH (We Don't Give A Hoot) - An annual congregation
of a small group of deviants and miscreants united by
connections of varying strengths and durations to
Honda vee-four motorcycles. My current take on trying
to pronounce such an unpronounceable collection of
letters is "wid-ja" which, while no clearer in the
attempt to convey a recognizable utterance, is at
least easier to say than, "wi-di-gah".

My intended routing to the eleventh version of this
event was via Saratoga Springs, NY joining up with Tim
Reed along the way. Pat Hoban, my regular riding
cohort from Jersey, would have to make his way there
on his own. I figured he could pick a likely junction
and lie in wait for northbound VFRs. Any of the
regulars would not be unduly alarmed by passing a
yellow, bug-eyed Viffer amplified by a matching hued
drybag and finding it becoming a permanent fixture in
their mirrors. It's mostly harmless.

Day 1 - Wednesday, September 5, 2007 - 181 miles
After almost a full work day Wednesday, the odometer
began ticking tenths twelve after four in brilliant
sunshine. The evening ride included a few sections
that showed off the fruits of the road rehabilitators
season's efforts to great advantage.

Day 2 - Thursday, September 6, 2007 - 421 miles
A 6:15 start meant riding through the full photon
transition as morning twilight gave way to a misty
dawn dominated by deer.
The Blockhouse Cafe in Liberty, PA provided a pleasant
breakfast. The elderly but very endearing ladies
running the place were a delight, but alas the baker
had not gotten up at two that morning, so there were
no fresh cinnamon rolls on the menu. I asked for her
phone number - so that next time I could ensure the
availability of such a wonderful confection by giving
her a wake-up call.

Day 3 - Friday September 7, 2007 - 336 miles
Tim had conscientiously warned me of his hi-viz yellow
Aerostich the day before so I was careful to avert my
eyes until I had the tinted face shield in place
before we had started out. Later, with him in the van
and pointing east into the morning sun, it was a toss
up as to which object caused the greater amount of
constriction in my pupils. I had thought Pat's red
suit, yellow bike combination was eye-catching, but it
pales in comparison to Tim's red bike, yellow/silver
suit ensemble.

The tastiest treat of the morning was served upon
reaching NY 28N at Minerva. A Steeler's black and gold
color combination of virgin asphalt and fresh road
stripes removed any throttle input inhibitions and we
passed an uphill crawling concrete truck with
alacrity. From there it was fourteen ultra-smooth
smiling miles to the start of the active construction
zone which also coincided with our next turning.

Apologies to all: I can only blame a prolonged brain
cramp as the reason for not sharing the following
information several years earlier.
Very near the west end of Tracy Gap Road, part of
Routemeister's Triple 8's loop, lies the very
attractive Split Rock Falls.
There is a small pull-off area on the east side of
U.S. 9 about 4 miles north of I-87 Exit 30 (about 2
miles north of the NY 73 junction). You can't see the
falls from the parking area, but you'll certainly hear
them upon engine shutdown/earplug removal. Wear quick
drying shorts under your riding gear, or go skinny
dipping when no one's about, and on a hot day a more
refreshing break than a plunge into one of the pools
would be tough to find. Past experience has proven
that even after a three week heat wave in the middle
of August, the water is still cold. The upper pool is
not as deep and of course, a check for any fresh snags
before diving is in order.

We took a break at the summit of the App Gap (VT 17).
Not surprisingly, lots of riders were enjoying the
view from there on such a gorgeous sunny day. I was a
bit puzzled by the reactions of one group who thought
we were wearing rain suits. It's been a long time
since another rider has been confused about the
purpose of my Aerostich, but Tim's canary yellow hued
version must have been the cause of their confusion.
After clearing up the attire misconception I was
engaged in some road recommendation one-upmanship with
their guide. They had come across the same Blue Ridge
road thru the Adirondacks that we had and were singing
it's praises. Their approach had been from the north,
so they missed the freshly paved portion of NY 28 that
we had romped on, they didn't know about Tracy Gap
Road at all, and waterfall recommendation provided the
final topper as several of his buddies said it sounded
like a great stop. Game, set, and match!

At Bryan Roth's excellent barbeque I heard of plans to
spread Alan Wilson's ashes on Saturday. This accounted
for the presence of a car with Ontario plates in the
yard, because Ellen Vanek, Karel's wife, had driven
down to participate in that ceremony. Her border
crossing was a good one. When asked the purpose of her
visit by the usual grim-faced government functionary,
she considered that a stated intention of spreading
the cremated remains of a friend along some public
roads might cause more interest than desired, so
instead she said that after watching her husband
disappear every year at about this time with the claim
going on a motorcycle trip, she was checking out his
story this year. That produced a good laugh and a
rapid pass through.

We didn't have to wait for Saturday afternoon to hear
of a bad accident this year.
I noticed a pickup or SUV hauling ass southbound past
Bryan's and thought that if another lumber truck was
heading north, he was in for a rude surprise.
Unfortunately, the vehicle encounter that did occur
was with one of ours. Not long after the truck blew
by, a black VFR came to a stop in front of the
driveway but stayed in the road. I heard someone say
it was Martina. Rather than pull in, she called for
some help and as a few guys went to assist I heard her
stay something about there being an accident back up
the road. Suited up in seconds, I pulled out with
several others making preps to follow. The sharp bend
at the bottom of a steep hill proved to be the spot.
The unfolding scene showed the rider off the side of
the road in the grass, lying on his back with a man at
his side. I briefly checked in with them and
determined that while in obvious pain, he was
otherwise alert and coherent. Seeing no immediate need
for first-aid skills so rusty they could induce
gangrene and knowing that the arrival of others was
imminent, including Bryan who volunteers with the
local emergency services, I decided I could best serve
the situation by heading for the intersection at the
top of the hill to warn any oncoming traffic and
prevent further mayhem.

I directed a few locals away, waved on the ambulance
and fire truck, nodded to a UPS driver who went by on
the cross road three times, and watched a couple of
deer in a field while enjoining them to stay there and
not venture onto the roads later in the evening. A
lady from the house on the corner came over and after
hearing the reason for my station, wanted to know if a
green truck was involved because her husband was late
getting home from work. I had noticed another vehicle
stopped in what looked like a side road or driveway on
the outside corner of the bend, but hadn't paid any
attention to it. The fleeting color impression I had
gotten at the bbq when the vehicle went by was blue.
In due course, the ambulance came back up the hill and
I saw the rider propped up in the gurney facing aft.
Shortly after that the fire truck pulled out and then
the inaccuracy of my color observation was revealed
when hubby's green pickup came up the hill with the
driver side mirror dangling at the side of the door.
The guy who had been with the rider was the driver who
had hit him. He stopped to tell me what had happened
and revealed that Scott Paulsen was the victim's name.
The driver had set up to cut the corner and was going
too fast to react in time when he saw the oncoming
bike. As later related to me, Scott saw the impending
hit but a high dirt berm on the inside of the corner
blocked any option of pulling off the road. Already
moving slowly to negotiate the near 90 degree turn on
dirt, he was at a virtual stop when the mirror and
side of the truck made impact. Three fractured ribs
and dislocated shoulder were the significant injuries.
The bike was totaled. The driver freely admitted that
the accident was completely his fault and he was quite
upset by it all. The wife immediately started adding
to his troubles by giving him hell, saying that he
knew better than to be driving fast on that road. Not
being a devotee of tabloid gossip or the 'dirty
laundry' school of journalism, I let that domestic
tableau unfold without further observance and headed
back to Bryan's. From what I gathered later, in normal
circumstances New Hampshire does not mandate liability
insurance and the guy did not have any. Fortunately,
Scott was well covered because judging by the
appearance of the family homestead, I would be
surprised if a significant portion of the damages will
ever be recovered from the driver.

Martina had accompanied Scott to the hospital, bikes
and gear needed to be shifted back to the hotel, and
Scott's wallet needed to be delivered to him. I
volunteered for the billfold detail and Mike Schwab
joined me. We checked up on Scott, provided feedback
to Marc Brinker who rode to the hotel and got the
wife's car to provide Scott a way back, and lent moral
support to Martina who was allowed to keep Scott
company in the ER while the rest of us alien life
forms had to cool it in the waiting room.

We conjectured how Martina's presence could be
interpreted by staff and bystanders. A curvaceous
Czech chick, clad in tight black leather and boots,
accompanies a man suffering from broken bones to the
hospital - draw your own conclusions. Playing off of
that theme, when we did get to visit with Scott
briefly, I made the mistake of cracking a joke about
moans coming from their hotel room that night - what
they say about laughter being the best medicine - it's
not applicable to someone with fractured ribs; sorry
Scott. Mike literally gave the shirt off his back to
make up for the slicing removal of Scott's shirt
earlier by EMT or ER staff. Since it was one of the
rare, WDGAH 6 polo shirts, Mike extracted a promise
that the razor removal method not be repeated, unless
it was Scott's arm being sliced, and he'd better not
get any blood on it!

Later at the Seven Barrels, Martina was looking for a
group to hook up with for tomorrow's ride and Marc
directed her my way.
Not wanting to hook up with a bunch of hooligan speed
demons, the chary Czech chick asked what kind of
riding we would be doing. After reassuring her that we
weren't extreme velocity junkies and would be
tolerable of whatever pace she went at, she agreed to
join us.

to be continued




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Greg,
Thanks for the write up. Seems I have to count on you for my memory ;)

I am a little upset you never told us about that swimming hole before BP

Carl
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