By: Chris Loynd
Hooters!
Hooters is our shortest ride in the
Polar Bear schedule. Most of us only get one mileage point. However
this year we managed to stretch it into one of the longest rides –
in terms of time.
There was a Harley-Davidson ad a few
years back that said, “No great story ever started with, 'I was
sitting on the couch when . . .'.”
Captain has had his share of adventure
on a motorcycle. Fortunately he overcomes most every adversity with a
well stocked kit. He is a consummate Boy Scout, though I don't know
if he ever was one. Captain is always prepared.
He reminds me of the pilot Orr in
Joseph Heller's “Catch-22.” Orr keeps crashing. Each time his
plane is shot down he makes a water landing and comes popping out of
the plane fully prepared for any emergency with his little yellow
life vest and paddling around in his tiny, inflatable life raft. (For
all I know, Captain carries a tiny, inflatable life raft on his
bike.)
So when his tire went down on our ride
last Sunday, Captain snapped into action, pumping it up with the
compact, portable, 12 volt, air pump he always carries in his bike's
saddlebags.
Captain was sweeping and we were
alerted to his plight only when his buddy rider Token2 eventually
noticed Captain was no longer in his rear view mirrors and came
riding up to alert the leader. (I'm not sure who was riding ahead of
Token2, but that is the rider who should have alerted us when Token2
dropped back with Captain to see if assistance was required.)
Mac, leading his first Polar Bear ride,
was oblivious. But in his defense, we do tend to get strung apart a
bit when we merge from one highway to another. And there were a lot
of bikes, well okay just eight, to keep track of.
While Token2 was up front shouting at
Mac through a full face helmet, a car pulled up and matched speed
with me. I was in the third position, which made me the second
left-side rider after Mac. We were in the right-hand travel lane.
This guy in the car was gesturing in great earnest. I had not a clue
as to what he was trying to say. I soon found out.
Token2 now in the lead, pulled us off
at the northernmost rest area at the top of the Garden State Parkway
(GSP). He knew only that he had lost sight of Captain as we merged.
Before anyone launched a heroic rescue
effort, I got Captain on his cell phone and he told me he had lost
pressure in his rear tire on the on-ramp to the GSP from I-287. He
was hoping to pump enough air into the tire to reach us. It takes
some time. Those little pumps are slow. Waiting seems even slower.
Token2, perhaps feeling guilty about
abandoning Captain, hesitated a bit then decided to ride back to see
if he could help. This would require him to ride through quite a few
miles of northern New Jersey and southern New York. Captain arrived
at the rest stop long before Token2 reemerged from his fruitless
reconnoiter.
When he arrived at the rest stop where
we were waiting, I crawled on my hands and knees behind Captain's
bike as he slowly pulled forward, trying to see if there was a nail
or screw or other obvious problem with the tire. We went quite a ways
through the parking lot, me on all fours like a dog sniffing
Captain's rear tire. I could not find anything. Only when we arrived
at Hooters did Captain reveal he had a center stand, you know, the
kind that allows the back tire to spin freely while the bike remains
conveniently stationary?
Captain next pulled out his tube of
Slime flat repair and used the gas station's air to pump his tire
back to life again.
It seemed longer. And nobody looked at
their watch when we pulled over. But the whole delay was maybe 30 or
40 minutes. We headed to Hooters.
Unfortunately, the Slime did not
perform as advertised. So in the parking lot of our destination,
Jim-O, yet another apparent Boy Scout, brought out a tire plugging
kit.
These are good guys with which to ride!
It seems everybody but me had a can of slime and air pump. Jim-O had
a complete tire plugging kit, one especially made for motorcycles
nonetheless.
I remember when I bought my bike. I
asked my friend and Dealership General Manager Domenic Maturo what
tools I should carry on my Harley-Davidson. Dom looked at me, smiled,
and said, “You?” and then held up his cell phone, “This is all
you need.”
In fact I do have some tools tucked
away in my saddlebags. But I don't much know how to use them. And
there are a few emergency supplies too, mostly centered around my
survival as I wait for help to come after I've called on my cell
phone.
And in my own defense, I have tube
tires. So if one goes flat, well, there's no way I'm carrying tire
irons and a patch kit or spare tube. Besides, I would not have the
first, faintest idea of how to get the wheels on and off this machine
with its springer front end and the drive belt on the rear.
Captain tediously pumped his tire back
to life in the Hooters parking lot. We patiently waited.
Then we were headed home.
Mac, also a Navy man, gave no quarter.
Me, I maybe would have tried to limp the bike home. Mac blasted up
the GSP at speed and Captain kept up . . . for a little while.
Fonz said you could see smoke out of
both sides of Captain's rear tire when it blew.
Captain never heard the explosion. He
just felt the wobble. But it must have been a big boom. Because when
Captain went to guide his crippled bike from the far left passing
lane to the far right shoulder, across four travel lanes, he found
them all empty. All the cars had come to a dead stop behind him. Fonz
and Jim-O had blocked the lanes too.
Captain never lost his balance. He
expertly guided the bike to the shoulder. This time Fonz, Jim-O and
Token2 stayed with him. (In fact I wonder if Token2 followed the tow
truck all the way back to Milford.)
I did not see it happen. Three other
bikes and I were trying to keep up with Mac at the head of the pack.
So I cannot say for sure how Captain reacted to calamity.
I bet he was nonplussed.
My point of reference comes from when
Captain blew up his Harley-Davidson motor on a Polar Bear ride last
season. I stayed with him until the tow truck arrived and then
followed them home. Captain took it all in stride and with good
humor.
Then there is the story of Captain on a
summer ride across the country a few years back, where his engine
blew up and he had the bike shipped home, completing his trip by bus
and then flying back from the West Coast after completing his
vacation. He describes it all as a fun adventure.
Hooters was good to the eyes and
stomachs, not so much the service. I was left waiting for my food,
last one at our table. We tried to recall who it was that befell the
fickle finger of fate two years ago. We voted that it was Russ whose
order was forgotten. Well they don't hire the wait staff based upon
an I.Q. test, and who can protest?
My chicken sandwich arrived just as my
compatriots were finishing their meals. As my fellow Bears can tell
you, I am a slow eater. So it turned out I contributed, in my own
small way, to making our shortest mileage Polar Bear run of the
season into the longest in time.
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