Not Much PMS Time Left - Ride Report - Long

Riff Raff's Rides
Copyright 2006

Tree Trip 2005 - Panic, Desire, and Paradise

Sunday morning, Octobrrrrrr 16: ANNNGGGGG… slap! "Just
one snooze cycle, oh damn, that was the end of one."
It's still oh-dark-thirty on this October morning.
Time to quick-march the arrival of wakefulness with
deliberate actions; get up, turn on the pc to start
the weather update, head for the bathroom while the
'trons make nice and connect and download the
environmental details while I perform the mundane
morning rituals. And the conditions are: 40 degrees
currently, warming to 60, it probably won't break 55
further north - cold for a long ride but doable -
scattered showers possible (oh joy). It'll be a bit
colder on the ridge, wear the longjohns? No, but pack
them and the extra sock liners just in case.

The VFR was retired for the season back in September,
so the SV650 has the duty today. Riding 'naked'
(meaning no windscreen or fairing for you non-riders)
in the cold requires extra consideration. Let's see,
upper layers; the heavy Iditarod t-shirt (most
appropriate), electric vest (don't leave home without
it), the "still plays with motorcycles" sweater
(thanks again Mom, Pat has one now). Cover the lower
half with the socks, bicycle shorts, and jersey weight
sweatpants, if it's not enough, I can put on the
thermal underwear at breakfast. Army boots next (man
they are done, hope that cracking sole doesn't let in
much air, or wet). Overlay it all with my security
blankey (aka the Aerostich suit), make sure the back
vent is zipped shut first (many's the ride that was
colder than it needed to be by forgetting that item).
Down to the garage to take care of the helmet next.
The clear visor with the 'FogCity' insert is called
for at the start, pack the tinted faceshield
(hopefully for later use in dealing with sunshine).
Camera, map, the extra clothes, light weight gloves,
and bulkier ski gloves join the extra visor in the
tank bag. Garage opener in the left jacket pocket,
waterproof boot covers in the right thigh pocket,
wallet in the right chest pocket, keys in the right
jacket pocket; check, check, check and check. Final
preps: windproof bandana on, glasses off, a 'buff'
head tube folded over to serve as a 'do rag is next,
then helmet, glasses back on and its 'open sesame'
time. Hold the end of the vest cord clear and climb
aboard, plug in, roll out, and reverse tap the opener.
It's brisk, a touch of gray to the east, too early for
the squirrels to be stirring. Nice and quiet after the
rumble of the garage door quits. Flip the key, thumb
the starter and give it that initial throttle blip it
likes right as the engine catches, the computer
controlled fuel injection takes it from there. I will
never be nostalgic for all the gas and choke fussing
required to breath life into a 70's era air-cooled
engine on a cold morning startup. Turn on the vest (no
messing around this morning, the initial highway blast
will require serious heat), don the gloves, grab the
bars, clutch in, first gear snick, release left
fingers while rolling right wrist, and away we go.
Down the hill to a breakfast of petroleum porridge and
the beast is good to go for the next 200 klicks.
Properly prepared and motoring out 30 minutes after
gaining consciousness is a pretty good effort these
days.

The early start with no dawdling allowed is required
by a Renovo rendezvous at noon with Marc Brinker, like
me a VFR list member, coming down from CT on a last
hurrah of the riding season. After the initial frenzy,
the 70 mph freeway blast to clear city congestion is a
calming period. Take stock of the body's adjustment to
the cold and confirm that the initial intention of a
fifty mile stint to breakfast is still a good plan.
There's an oft passed diner just north of Kittanning
that I can finally check out and hot coffee by then
will be especially savored by four out of five senses.
Only a few vehicles about, must be a reserve weekend,
two of the drivers are in camo and unit patches mean
it ain't hunting garb. I don't do sunrises too often,
but this one's worth it. The first beams light up the
lower tendrils of a streaked cloud deck ahead of me.
The mixture of angles, water vapor, open air, photons
in the visible spectrum and an active imagination have
me picturing an inverted meringue pie with a
steel/blue/gray topping and pink tips. Fully risen
sunbeams smiling through clear plexiglas, the first
shivers of the morning, and the destined breakfast
stop all arrived within a five minute span - life is
good today.

Good, but not perfect. The coffee was suitably
warming, and the eggs were passable, but the first
impression of a gaunt waitress pierced with a rainbow
of rhinestones in various parts of her face, in
surroundings that had acquired a well earned patina
from hard use without gaining any charm from the
process, did not favorably color my perception of the
place. Oh well.

Stair-stepping my way east and north from the
pin-cushioned server, with the tinted face-shield now
in place, I did not progress very far before the first
of several intermittent rain-showers caught me. A
heavier band forced a stop to don booties and reverse
the visor back to clear and that proved to be the last
swap as the clouds took up fairly solid overhead
coverage for the rest of the day.

I did catch one short sunshine break at a very
opportune location. Joining US 119 for a short stretch
I came upon a green and white road sign indicating
distance and direction to the following locales:
Dubois, 10 miles straight ahead. (That's dew-boys for
yunz ferriners, and if yunz think it should be
dew-bwa, I'll remind yunz that dem Frogs lost the
French & Indian War 'n at. Victors get the naming
rights.) Pittsburghese dialect and history lessons
aside, there was nothing noteworthy about that
expected waypoint. What caused me to stop and expose
some film was the sequence of destinations that a left
turn onto state route 2008 would lead one to. Paradise
lay three miles to the west (another place name
identical to my girlfriend's surname). Desire was two
miles further on (making a pairing that rivals
Intercourse and Fertility in Pennsylvania Dutch
country for close proximity aptness). But beware of
what you seek, for just a couple of miles further on
lay Panic, PA. All-in-all, a route better run from
west to east don't you think?

Actual exploration of those places must await another
journey. I continued on through variable weather,
making good time with another coffee stop along the
way. Running ahead of schedule allowed time to detour
for an advance scouting run of a road near Wycoff Run
state park that Marc and I would travel later in the
day. It was a particularly pleasing piece of pavement
in spite of contending with the downhill direction, in
the rain, over a smattering of sodden leaves. I looked
forward to passage in the opposite direction under
hopefully dryer conditions.

I arrived at Yesterday's Hotel thirty minutes early
and Marc turned up before I had finished shedding all
of my gear prior to settling in at the restaurant
table, so we were definitely in sync. After a light
lunch we headed out and looped through the area.
Initially damp roads, cool temperatures, Marc's tired
front tire, and the occasional leaf strewn lane
mandated a less frenetic pace compared to mid-summer
conditions, so we adjusted riding styles appropriately
and enjoyed the end-of-season sights, smells, and
sensations. Rain, most traffic, and critters all
cooperated by going elsewhere. We started out on PA
144 north from Renovo, cut over to route 120 with a
photo stop at the Alvin Bush Dam, headed west to a
very entertaining jaunt up Wycoff Run and then worked
our way back east to PA 364 for a run to Orviston.

Returning from that terminus, we gave fellow lister
Kirk Anderson a call and set up a late afternoon get
together. Swapping bikes for the run to State College,
so that Marc could sample the SV's traits, I got to
experience the effectiveness of heated grips for the
first time and was surprised at how much warmth made
it through my insulated cold weather gloves. A Santa
Claus delivered set now awaits installation at home.
The other surprise while on opposite mounts was Marc's
initial puzzlement over how slow I was going. I was
not accounting for the larger rear sprocket he had
mounted. Going from being fully exposed, to the
elemental protection offered by the VFR, I didn't
realize that the increased calm was being augmented by
an even more than usually optimistic speedometer. When
the reason for my really relaxed pace dawned on him,
he took the lead and we finished our travels together
in good time.

After a quick visit with Kirk, Marc had another social
call to make, so following a different VFR than the
one I had spent most of the day with, we headed out
for dinner and some enjoyable tale telling. Kirk and
Marc both have an enthusiastic and upbeat attitude
that comes across no matter what the subject is and
makes them great company under any circumstance. The
return was a long dark cold slog back home via US 22,
but fortunately uneventful. Next time I'll take my
chances with the deer on the back roads rather than
put up with that miserable routing, but it was still a
stimulating day's ride with good friends. Life is
indeed good.

Cheers,
Greg

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