It began with an innocent wish when my biker man asked, "...where would you like to go for the 4th?" My simple reply: "Everywhere." Two weeks later, on July 2nd, I had a plan. "...it's The 4th this weekend, let's put a flag on the bike and ride the roads..." I proposed with a timid gaze knowing most bikers don't like to 'distress' their chrome with accessories. My face broadened in a child-like grin when he promptly said "ok, why not?" I didn't say it then but, 'I wanted to mount the biggest flag the bike could carry without it hitting the ground.'
Saturday morning, on an errand to the local hardware store, I discovered the perfect flag. She was all cotton, Red, White and Blue with grommets for easy hanging. An unbelievably low price for July 3rd, at $5.95, my delight was only slightly dulled when I saw that our national symbol was made in China. At 5 x 4 foot and made of strong-enough construction, I grabbed it and a wooden flag pole I hoped would be stout enough the handle the job. When I asked the store clerk "if it could tolerate the wind sheer at 70 mph...", he was silent at first. "Whatcha gonna do with it?" was his puzzled remark. "Mount it on the back of my sweetie's Harley for the fourth." I replied proudly. He didn't just laugh, he chortled that back-country Vermonter way when he sputtered "...not likely..." I took it home anyway.
My biker man looked it over, fetched the tools and pipe clamps he would need to make it happen. And he did; successfully adapting the pole's base end for a perfect fit and securing it tightly to the gleaming,chrome sissy bar of his vintage Harley. It looked good, seemed plenty strong with the lowest corner of the fabric missing the ground by an inch while at rest. Wow. It looked really good; the ultimate 'bling' on his spotless bike. We fastened the saddlebags and went through the pre-ride check list for our Independence Long Run, a 3-day weekend adventure. I was pumped, though swinging my leg over the back to mount my pillion seat proved to be a most challenging act in agility I no longer possessed. The width of the bags and the immovable flag pole proved to be a clumsy and comical recital for my coordination. An amusing scene repeated often throughout this ride. After two tries, I got the method down pat and with a tap on his shoulder we were good to go. We had only vague plans to ride the length of Lake Champlain, both west and east coasts, observing our nation's annual celebration of our Declaration of Independence along the way. It would be the first time either one of us would skip our home town parades. We were curious how other small towns would show their pride. Somehow, I expected it to look almost foreign by comparison. The adventure would prove otherwise.
He asked where to begin our adventure and my sincere reply was anywhere. I did want to see Fort Ticonderoga though, since we'd be on that side of the Lake. Wearing my 'Doug for Gov' tee-shirt on the VT side of Champ's lake was a bit hot, but I had promised and so it made the trip in fine contrast to the brilliant flag. The smallest movement of our classic ride would unfurl the flag in all her glory. I would catch glimpses in his rear view mirrors and our traveling shadow in the late day. A stunning display on a blue sky outing as we headed for the Lake Champlain ferry. I imagined how we must have looked to the world and wished for someone to snap a picture of this handsome turnout. My driver wanted to begin with the NY side in Plattsburg and follow rte 9 down, south to Crown Point and our destination, the once mighty Fort Ticonderoga.
On the hour long web of back roads to the boarding ramp, we got waves, honks and silent stares from folks along the way. We stopped at the Sand Bar crossing the Lake and he snapped a picture of me and his ride. His two "favorite girlz." The breeze off the water was enough to wave the light weight banner with elegance. I thought of how significant this Lake was in those historic early days of declaration followed by revolution. So many essential battles pitted and won by principled men with every thing to gain and even more to loose. I had to wonder, "why isn't more attention paid to Vermont's pivotal role in our nations's birthing?" I don't recall anything more than a passing notation in my American history lessons. Yet that war could not have been won without Vermonters and the scrappy battles fought on these waters.
Picture taken, a beauty at that, we mounted up and rumbled to the ferry docks. The ticket seller was nice (from VT I'll bet), the ticket taker was hasty and curt (from NY I'll bet). By the grace of some angel, we were the last vehicle put on this ferry. Crammed into a dingy back corner, we would see nothing from our placement. We walked along the cars, pinched into the steel railing. Half way from the bow, my balance was shaky at best with soft swells heaving the boat. I'll take my picture from here. The ride was over in 20 min and the bike started easily announcing our landing in NY with a grand Harley entrance under a flowing flag dwarfing our bike. More people waved, beeped and gave us the thumbs up. My driver was glowing, any reservations about this holiday accessory were forgotten and he reveled in the happiness our vision gave total strangers.
I felt equally pleased with our presentation. "This is way better than riding in a parade, and I've done many of them on horses. This lifts my heart. Thank you for indulging my dream." was my gentle statement into his ear
. He reached back and patted my left knee in his approval. Lifting his visor, he spoke over his left shoulder, "thank you for thinking of the best way to spend the 4th..." I thought of my motivation for this tribute. So much has gone ugly in America, it seems. Blunders in the world scene and deception in the Capital. I was beginning to feel disenchanted and depressed as an American citizen. So much angry talk filled the airwaves. But I wanted to believe that we could over come our national misdeeds, heal the blight of hideous deeds in the world; I needed to rekindle my faith in my homeland. My dream to fly this huge flag on a three day motorcycle ride was an affirmation to myself: 'don't give up; each individual has the power to set the story right and re-balance this amazing experiment in democracy. One person, one vote; we each held the power to overcome the discord.' This over sized flag was my testament to this. Our vintage chrome pony was my instrument in this concert of color and loud pipes. My biker man's kind heart made it possible to perform such.
Pulling away from the ferry in NY, people honked and shouted out " Nice flag!". The bike purred her HD melody as we rolled through Plattsburg stopping briefly at the golf course that harbored our breakdown last summer. Not much action this year, we sported water bottles not beer on this shade break. The 'Doug for Gov' shirt was tucked away while in NY and we saddled up for this side of the Lake and the long run to the Fort. The NY landscape looked all together different up close compared to our long distance views across the Lake. It had better soils and little sign of the granite that Vermont lives with. The trees were tall softwoods, mostly red pines rustling in the sun. As we glided away from the defunct air force base marking the edge of the 'city' it became apparent that this side of the Lake, the Upstate of NY, the eastern fringe of the Adirondack Park, was poor very poor. Only our most remote towns in Vermont might seem this forgotten, devoid of commerce and even community pride, but these places were like ghost towns. Victims of an Interstate highway that left them behind. It made me glad to live in the Green Mountains.
Along the way, I wasn't fast enough with my camera to catch some of the extraordinary geological scenes. We spent much of the ride cranking at 60mph or faster once outside the villages. We went through a dozen small hamlets with the rare gas station as the only sign of a township. Probably there were actual towns, just not so much along rte 9. We investigated a couple NY state camp grounds along the Lake and spotted some familiar places found on the map. We took a stretch break at Ausable Chasms which, as an ancient natural phenomenon, was breath taking. The tourist development of it's existence was harsh to me, as it was hosting a tour of Canadians speaking Chinese who were more than willing to pay for the story. Though the building itself was large and uniquely retro in the Ralph Loyd Right kind of way, it was grungy and clammy from hundreds of visitors that day. There were no interpretive displays as to the history or formation of the impressive gorge. People had to pay for a guided tour to get that benefit. I was annoyed that a natural place was so commercialized and made to be like a bit of Disney World in these great mountains. Too often the awe of a place is lost in a packaged tour. I walked away thinking out loud, "Why does everyone have to be entertained?" As I stood on the bridge over the canyon, I wondered at what the aboriginal peoples must have thought of this place; what reverence did it hold for them? With his hand on shoulder, it was time to pour myself back onto the bike with an ungraceful reach across my seat and continue the south way down the lake side. I would need a better camera to capture the scenery as I missed many remarkable scapes.
Three more hours would roll by easing us into the lazy afternoon and the first sounds of backyard fireworks. The flag continued to fly in all its glory. I, on the other hand, was wilting. The Low Ride is a fun Harley. Smooth and nimble on these winding wilderness roads. But the pillion seat, though plush for it's small size, was not very supportive for such long, hot miles. It was not a touring bike. I was squirming in my skin and my driver knew it. He stopped and we found a dinner as we rolled into the area of Ticonderoga NY. An excellent fish dinner in the tidy campish eatery refueled my resolve to continue. That and the adjoining motel was sold out; all three rooms. We had to go a ways for the next bed. We at least got directions to the Fort, about 45 minutes away he thought (as the crow flies, maybe). The young, handsome waiter must have meant NY minutes as it took a full hour just to find Crown Point, the actual home of the Fort. With the hazy pink sky behind us, we pulled into a gas station and fueled our empty gas tank. Good timing is better than money when one is a long way from home, we needed to find sleep. We entered the store(?) to pay and get directions to a motel, any motel. The attendant was a young, busty girl seated on a tall stool behind bullet-proof glass. '...don't see that in VT...' I thought. She spoke to us, all of us as it seems several people needed directions for their next stop, through a hole in the glass. She expertly directed all parties to the places they sought with confidence in her accuracy. My partner smiled and remarked quietly to me that "she just saved all our asses and she is only getting $8 an hour..." We found our motel and overpaid for a mediocre room just so I could lay my aching, sunburnt body down. 'I will remember sunblock for the next time...' A few wimpy fireworks filled the night air as we drifted into dreams of our day's long run on the west side of this historic Lake. Tomorrow we would divine our way to the Fort on the 4th, find breakfast and cipher the way through the maze of small town parades we would find in VT... morning would come too soon and part two of the Independence Long Run would unfold by the mile...
thanks for coming along... luv, peace, ride ~ ell
Refreshed and regrouped we spied the large map on the wall inside and began to consider our northbound route home. I sat comfortably in a beautiful handmade rocking chair made from carefully woven battens of clear cherry hardwood. It felt divine to sit without moving, if just for a while. This was his 'neck o the woods' so I listened to his narrative of the preferred route home. He always asked me at such times, "...if its ok with you..." "As long as there are not too many stop and wait lights...surprise me." My driver paused, asked in his quiet voice, "...why no stop lights? I'm not worried about traffic; it doesn't bother me; I'm totally confident in city driving..." I gazed into his confusion and clarified my requirement; "I trust you everywhere, it's sitting still in this hot sun at a traffic light that bothers my brain. It's just too hot, and Rutland is too ugly for today..." With that he smiled and promised there would be stop signs but no lights to get stuck at. He plotted a little more and then showed me his plan.
We would begin due north on rte 30 along the shores of lake Bomoseen then up to the junction at 73 east, through Brandon Gap at 2170' and twisting through the Green Mountain National Forest. We would randomly observe the celebratory spirit of tiny towns like Talcville, Rochester, Bethel and junction northward on rte 12. He hoped our timing would put our arrival there after the big Randolph celebration and give us near-empty, Sunday roads to cruise on. "Sounds good; I guess I'm ready enough, let's ride." as my ready-to-ride grin stretched my sunburned cheeks. I'd never been on these roads and the novelty inspired my enthusiasm to ride on.
It was a sweet respite before we motored onward. My thoughts rambled over the back roads '...how many miles have we gone since yesterday? ...it seemed like a week had gone by but only hours measured by miles and state signs... we were half way on our adventure and I'm having the best 4th ever...' We would need a rest before continuing, the sound of silence at his man-world homestead... this story will continue, just one more last run to make it home... see ya ~ ell
