We wake up to a fine touring day. Temps are in the low 20's, sunny with a bit of cloud. It's the last day ... and we are glad. The breakfast conversation is about getting home, missing wives and children, and that we are tired. Muscles are sore from 14 days of non stop riding, fighting the wind on high speed slab, wrangling the bikes through curve after curve. It's both physically and mentally draining and the lack of an off day simply did not leave enough time to recover.
But ... today we have one last glorious day of curvy Pennsylvania roads via the famed 666 through Allegheny park. The day started with a bit of slabbing, including the circle route through Pittsburg. There, we had an interesting incident where a cop, hiding behind a large pile of dirt, suddenly appeared out of seemingly no where, lights flashing, siren wailing, apparently off to chase one of the lead speeders in our group (it's always best to have a rabbit up front so the pesky wolves chase them, not us). The point is, the cop's entrance was performed without due regard to upstream motorists and the car ahead of us had to take evasive manoeuvres and Tom could have been in trouble as well since it seemed he was about to look back for a visual check to see if the group was still together. Had he been looking for us, he could have easily had a close call.
We knew we were close by the large groups of bikes converging on the entrance to the park around Oil City Pennsylvania. This is one of the many old towns in this state with a difference. When oil was discovered in the area, many of the oil companies, Penzoil, Quaker State established headquarters here, so that town had some affluence. Today, it is largely a tourist town catering to park lovers and out door enthusiasts. We ate a small pizza to refuel for the ride ahead.
The entrance to the park was spend following a large group of harley riders, out for a Saturday snort. Harley riding is punctuated by tight formation but slow and noisy riding. Following a pack is a recipe for a headache. The open pipes throb and belch large quantities of partially burned fuel (tuning the large displacement V motors to produce the signature vibration and exhaust throb results in less efficient combustion - that's one of the reasons Harley's product relatively little horsepower to displacement).
Fortunately, the leader is a pro and as soon as Tom makes his first passing move, the leader signals to his group to go single file, slow down and let us pass. We wave our appreciation and show our respect to the riders, and the road is ours again.
666 is a scenic route that meanders through the forest and spends a lot of time following the Tionesta Creek, which is 50+ feet wide and was host to canoeists, rafters and general fun seekers.
The winding roads come equipped with a 45 mph speed limit and few passing zones. That's OK. We are a bit tired and the scenery is so vibrant, that we stay within striking distance of the limit. Most of the public are parked and enjoying the trails and water, so there are few cars on the road. The distance is only 35 miles but it takes time to cover the distance (compared to slab). We stop at a gift shop in the middle of no where (no cell coverage) called the Country Beary Shack for a quick rest. This is a ladies store but there is a distinct biker feel to it. The proprietor rides and is interested in our trip. Tom and I get some Route 66 coasters and comment that the store should have some route 666 stickers.
Soon we get back to regular Pennsylvania roads and make a short detour to Warren PA so Tom could buy some special cement - yes, he was going to put a bag of special compound cement, for a backyard project, on the passenger seat of his bike (pillion). Unfortunately, it's a special order so he goes home empty handed.
Next stop is our riding hub; Ellicotville New York, and specifically, Coffee Culture on E Washington street. The giant fireplace/flame pit has warmed us on countless rides and today is no different. It's close to end of day and the sun is waning. A north wind is dropping the temperatures to the mid teens and we are not dressed for the cold. A bowl of chilli, hot coffee and a pistachio muffin, beside the fire, warms us up for the final push to Toronto. We share the space with a vacationing couple and a family with grownup kids. They are fascinated by the details of our trip and the one young lad announces to his parents that he is going for his motorcycle license as well. We provide him with the same safety advice that is offered to all new riders and wish him well.
The final ride to the border is uneventful, other than the cold. New York state police have been very successful enforcing the speed limits so we don't stray much from the max number. A sudden fuel stop in another sketchy part of town confirms that Tom doesn't care about the wrong side of the street. As we fuel, we are approached by two separate meth heads who are will into space land, but still aware enough to as for some hand outs. They linger by the bikes, perhaps hoping we would leave them alone for a few seconds, so they can grab something of value to pawn later. Dave and I aren't buying into that so we keep our loved ones in sight at all times.
The border crossing goes quickly and we are back in Canada.
Within 15 minutes, it's clear that something is different. Traffic is a bit heavy but the driving habits are completely different. Traffic is not flowing smoothly, cars are irregularly spaced, speeding up, slowing down - as if each person wants to set the speed limit for everyone else. Passing lanes are blocked by non passing cars - it's F%#ing horrible. 7,300 km or relatively predictable driving conditions in the states and then this. It stood out like a sore thumb.
Police siren screams behind us and up front, cars refuse to clear the lane. Cop is forced to flash his lights and they finally move. One car suddenly hauls on the brakes, as if that's the right thing to do when you wake up from a stupor and realize a cop just sped by you. Then, at slow speed, the driver hops back into the left lane. I flash my high beams, which, when combined with the police like lime green reflective bands on my jacket, freak the guy out and he immediately move to the right. I pass and then the bugger cuts Tom and Dave off when he returns to the left lane without checking mirrors. Welcome to Ontario. I wonder if professional long distance truckers share this perspective.
The ride to Toronto, on the QEW, in the evening, is actually the most dangerous part of this entire trip. Ultra high speed passing on the right, is the most unpredictable risk vector. We stop at the Casablanca exit gas station, grab a coffee, shake our heads in amazement at the drivers we just experienced and then, say our good byes.
The camaraderie that comes from an adventure this deep and intense is unmistakable, and after three similar rides, it's clear, that each member of this group of riders has a deep, unshakable connection and can call upon his buddy for anything. We share a manly hug, slap on the back, share thanks for a great trip and even as we part, the thoughts are already focused on family and job.
The transition from trip to real life started several days earlier and the thought recovering from rider fatigue, and the joy of family reunion makes this last step a pleasant formality. Perhaps it's also a sign of male psyche; had fun, thanks a lot, move on to the next.
I will be posting more pics and perhaps some shortened vids in the coming weeks. Work is waiting and our projects demand a lot of my time, so either subscribe, so the blog notifies you or updates, or check back periodically.
Mike
But ... today we have one last glorious day of curvy Pennsylvania roads via the famed 666 through Allegheny park. The day started with a bit of slabbing, including the circle route through Pittsburg. There, we had an interesting incident where a cop, hiding behind a large pile of dirt, suddenly appeared out of seemingly no where, lights flashing, siren wailing, apparently off to chase one of the lead speeders in our group (it's always best to have a rabbit up front so the pesky wolves chase them, not us). The point is, the cop's entrance was performed without due regard to upstream motorists and the car ahead of us had to take evasive manoeuvres and Tom could have been in trouble as well since it seemed he was about to look back for a visual check to see if the group was still together. Had he been looking for us, he could have easily had a close call.
We knew we were close by the large groups of bikes converging on the entrance to the park around Oil City Pennsylvania. This is one of the many old towns in this state with a difference. When oil was discovered in the area, many of the oil companies, Penzoil, Quaker State established headquarters here, so that town had some affluence. Today, it is largely a tourist town catering to park lovers and out door enthusiasts. We ate a small pizza to refuel for the ride ahead.
The entrance to the park was spend following a large group of harley riders, out for a Saturday snort. Harley riding is punctuated by tight formation but slow and noisy riding. Following a pack is a recipe for a headache. The open pipes throb and belch large quantities of partially burned fuel (tuning the large displacement V motors to produce the signature vibration and exhaust throb results in less efficient combustion - that's one of the reasons Harley's product relatively little horsepower to displacement).
Fortunately, the leader is a pro and as soon as Tom makes his first passing move, the leader signals to his group to go single file, slow down and let us pass. We wave our appreciation and show our respect to the riders, and the road is ours again.
666 is a scenic route that meanders through the forest and spends a lot of time following the Tionesta Creek, which is 50+ feet wide and was host to canoeists, rafters and general fun seekers.
 |
| The terrain map shows how nicely the road follows the valley - perfect riding conditions with beautiful scenery |
Soon we get back to regular Pennsylvania roads and make a short detour to Warren PA so Tom could buy some special cement - yes, he was going to put a bag of special compound cement, for a backyard project, on the passenger seat of his bike (pillion). Unfortunately, it's a special order so he goes home empty handed.
Next stop is our riding hub; Ellicotville New York, and specifically, Coffee Culture on E Washington street. The giant fireplace/flame pit has warmed us on countless rides and today is no different. It's close to end of day and the sun is waning. A north wind is dropping the temperatures to the mid teens and we are not dressed for the cold. A bowl of chilli, hot coffee and a pistachio muffin, beside the fire, warms us up for the final push to Toronto. We share the space with a vacationing couple and a family with grownup kids. They are fascinated by the details of our trip and the one young lad announces to his parents that he is going for his motorcycle license as well. We provide him with the same safety advice that is offered to all new riders and wish him well.
The final ride to the border is uneventful, other than the cold. New York state police have been very successful enforcing the speed limits so we don't stray much from the max number. A sudden fuel stop in another sketchy part of town confirms that Tom doesn't care about the wrong side of the street. As we fuel, we are approached by two separate meth heads who are will into space land, but still aware enough to as for some hand outs. They linger by the bikes, perhaps hoping we would leave them alone for a few seconds, so they can grab something of value to pawn later. Dave and I aren't buying into that so we keep our loved ones in sight at all times.
The border crossing goes quickly and we are back in Canada.
Within 15 minutes, it's clear that something is different. Traffic is a bit heavy but the driving habits are completely different. Traffic is not flowing smoothly, cars are irregularly spaced, speeding up, slowing down - as if each person wants to set the speed limit for everyone else. Passing lanes are blocked by non passing cars - it's F%#ing horrible. 7,300 km or relatively predictable driving conditions in the states and then this. It stood out like a sore thumb.
Police siren screams behind us and up front, cars refuse to clear the lane. Cop is forced to flash his lights and they finally move. One car suddenly hauls on the brakes, as if that's the right thing to do when you wake up from a stupor and realize a cop just sped by you. Then, at slow speed, the driver hops back into the left lane. I flash my high beams, which, when combined with the police like lime green reflective bands on my jacket, freak the guy out and he immediately move to the right. I pass and then the bugger cuts Tom and Dave off when he returns to the left lane without checking mirrors. Welcome to Ontario. I wonder if professional long distance truckers share this perspective.
The ride to Toronto, on the QEW, in the evening, is actually the most dangerous part of this entire trip. Ultra high speed passing on the right, is the most unpredictable risk vector. We stop at the Casablanca exit gas station, grab a coffee, shake our heads in amazement at the drivers we just experienced and then, say our good byes.
The camaraderie that comes from an adventure this deep and intense is unmistakable, and after three similar rides, it's clear, that each member of this group of riders has a deep, unshakable connection and can call upon his buddy for anything. We share a manly hug, slap on the back, share thanks for a great trip and even as we part, the thoughts are already focused on family and job.
The transition from trip to real life started several days earlier and the thought recovering from rider fatigue, and the joy of family reunion makes this last step a pleasant formality. Perhaps it's also a sign of male psyche; had fun, thanks a lot, move on to the next.
I will be posting more pics and perhaps some shortened vids in the coming weeks. Work is waiting and our projects demand a lot of my time, so either subscribe, so the blog notifies you or updates, or check back periodically.
Mike
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