Last Saturday was promised to be an exceptional day. Sunny and warm, clear skies, open roads (its the off season for tourists). Ideal for a spring ride. I had an invitation from a very kind H.O.G. on a very keen custom glide. (that's Harley Owners Group). I met him at the creeme stand and we mounted his gorgeous bike, I noting his burly frame. We departed in classic Harley style. His was a big chromed out, fully dressed touring bike with a plush second seat complete with passenger foot boards. Spotless in immaculate black and gold finish with the full complement of bling... and a stereo on board. By far the best ride I've ever been on. We took the Mountain Road up and over Smugglers Notch. It looked so ominous without snow in the pass to soften the massive granite heights. The boulders were so close to us in the twisties that I could touch them. I did. Like a worshiper seeking the face of God, I reached out to the ancient power of granite, melded with the intimate power of clutch and chrome...We glided down, down, down, 1900 vertical feet to the Stowe valley and then onto the interstate. The bike never wavered; the driver never faultered. A mountain of a man, younger than I usually ride with, but seasoned, skilled, smiling broadly with his legs stretched out on the forward highway pegs . A modest helmet sticker on the back of his glossy black lid: "size does matter"... At highway speeds, tunes busting out, each one roiling with the throttle, the bike and man were flawless in performance...and by his grace, I was along for the ride. As loud as it was; this was peace. South we went, south to Woodstock and then Quechee. Gearing the throaty bike down when he spotted the pull off he sought at the Quechee gorge over pass. The sun was brilliant, the sky pristine, the view was enormous. We dismounted and walked about on the bridge. He shared the history, the geology; this mountain of a man saw minute beauty and massive fortitude of the landscape. He had my full attention; a gracious surprise. Remounting, we cruised farther along the road and swapped a few stories over a genteel meal. In a generous leather vest adorned with logos, ride patches, a massive American Flag spanning his shoulders, framing arms that could swallow me whole, he would flash a broad smile and wink his eye in hearing my tales. He is the "big easy" I would think to myself. Well fed and remounting his gleaming bike, we glided onward to the west picking up route 4 to Rutland, the mid point of Vermont. More stunning views on an open road with a rare count of cars. The skies began to darken so we amended our plan a bit and drifted more easterly, toward home. Coming into Rutland, I experienced the complexities of motoriding among cagers and developed a vivid appreciation for the skills at hand. The number and frequency of hazards was tremendous. There was an intersection littered with gravel and sand on the paved thruway. We needed to make a left from a stop at this light. I swallowed hard remembering the MSF warnings on left turn sight lines, road conditions that can bring a bike down, being seen in heavy urban traffic. We were in the middle of the worse case scenario. The man up front showed no such concern. He patiently waited, put her in gear, glided over the debris and into our lane. "I think we need more crud in the road..." I joked in his ear. He laughed easily. A ways up the road, he wasn't laughing when we were missed by inches as a car pulled into our lane from a parking lot. Inches, only inches prevented her broadside collision with us despite my bright gold jacket, the reflecting chrome and my waving hand. Only inches spared us as she never saw us right in front of her car. I held my breath, he shook his head and patted my knee. It happens too often, drivers looking without seeing. I bow down to his mastery of his bike, and our fate. Thankfully, we cleared the traffic and picked up 22A north. It was another empty piece of blacktop all the way to Middlebury. Vermont never disappoints in her scenery. I never tire of engaging it. The westerly skies were nearly black now, our lake Champlain excursion would be put off to another day. Two hours between us and home, we headed north and east, into the light...In downtown Middlebury it began to drizzle. The big man up front was a worthy weather break for me in my open face helmet. By Ferrisburg, the rain would sting my cheeks when I peeked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse. Still it was warm and wonderful with my arms around him, winding over the narrow roads of farm country. We rolled into Starksboro and the skies opened, rain fell, then poured. Neither one of us in rain gear, neither one of us cared. It was an early ride out, after a long winter of no such twirl through the country. Even the rain couldn't deter our hunger for a long awaited ride. By Hinesburg we had to stop; the rain too heavy in his face to push on, lightening ripping the skies. He found a nice dinner and parked the cruiser while I stepped through the door. Warm and dry and empty seats for us in this full house. I must have looked very foreboding in my sopping jacket, dripping helmet and limp pony tail with soggy black chaps. All eyes were on me, then my none-too-small, drenched motodriver stepped in behind me. Silence in the dinner as we were directed to a table in the back. Draping my wet jacket over a chair back, I could hear the mumbbles, giggles and low gasps. I was soaked, to the bone, and apparently, through my little white blouse....this wasn't a wet t-shirt kind of joint; wives and moms did not appreciate my new brazier, I would not win a free beer here... my shy friend cleared his throat and offered me the seat by the heater as he ordered up something hot to drink. When the mugs of hot cocoas arrived, complete with whipped cream, I smiled large. A neatly dressed man by the door chuckled and whispered: "they ordered hot chocolate!" to his spouse. "What did they imagine of us?", I thought to myself as I scooped up the cream and marveled at the "cats 'n' dogs" bouncing off the car hood out the window. I love the smell of fresh rain, of lilacs and apple blossoms; but my driver didn't know this and was concerned I was displeased. "no, its the first ride out...it's all good. Besides, I was dry until your jacket hit saturation point and then drenched my lap. That's why I shrieked a ways back. If I'm wet, you're wetter. You make a pretty good weather screen, don't you know..." He smiled, got a little warmer and waited a bit. When the rain eased up, he went out and got my leather coat from his "boot". It was thankfully dry. Final sip of cocoa and time to brace for the last leg home. He went out and turned the bike around, tried to dry my seat; I paid for the cocoa and started zipping up my damp layers. A curious patron asked "how far did we have to go?" I turned and smiled big: "about 40 miles I think, but my scarf is still dry so I got that going for me..." He laughed, I put on my lid and headed out. The last leg was getting colder with air temps dropping and water rising in the rivers. The closer we got to the Mt Mansfield region, the farther north we traveled, the wetter it got. But the bike handled easily, no slipping or sliding, none of the forewarned traction dangers in the MSF manual. A heavy bike with good rubber, a strong driver and his respectful skills over the road. As we glided down the Boyden Farm Hill in Cambridge, we hit a fast, wide and deep rivulet over the road. It never fazed me, I was secure in my driver's obvious competence in all we faced this ride. But he startled me when he gasped. "Never saw that!" he exclaimed. The bike did the work that time; we eased over the last 3 miles and pulled up to my waiting car. I was glowing, a fabulous ride, the dry, the wet, the edge of it all... We laughed; it was over for me but another 30 miles for him. He felt bad for me, I felt bad for him and then I smiled. "Ahhh, you just wanted to see me in a wet shirt...I know your game..." He blushed and smiled brightly, "we'll get it right next time..." and off he went winding out that HD throttle. Music to my ears. I love these guys, their bikes, their savvy... I have ridden many times since with this gentleman; we'll practice until we get it right...it's all good.
peace ~ ell
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