It started the way that so many of the world's great endeavors begin...over beers at the bar. I had been home for about a month from my journey out to Colorado and I was staying with my wife and children at a beautiful lakeside lodge on Lake George, New York. While the lodge is spectacular in its location and accomodations, I found myself bored out of my mind by day 2. There's only so much relaxation a guy can take...whiling away the day reading motorcycle magazines, Jeep magazines, and the Overland Journal...watching the kids play with their friends...sneaking off for some Afternoon Delight with the wife. Hell, I even tried sailing and tennis. I wanted to kill myself. I am just not cut out for static recreation...I need the wind in my...errr...hair, bugs in my teeth, and some form of internal combustion beneath me. Further exacerbating my situation were my fellow guests...primarily wealthy folks from metropolitan New York/New Jersey in luxury sedans...there was at least one NYC judge...a pile of teachers and professors...some middle-aged Jersey Shore types...retirees...Wall Street types...and who knows what else. All fine people I'm sure, but not too friendly and having so very little in common with the guy in the jacked up Jeep with 35s and a winch. City folks are just a little different. The only guy who even spoke my language was the owner of the place...Tom...who currently rides an Electraglide and has an unhealthy fascination with Vespa scooters. Tom and his wife Karla are outgoing and generally very friendly. Occasionally Tom would take pity on me and take me for a joy ride in his Polaris Ranger to explore the more exotic portions of the property...like the lumber mill...or the garage...or septic fields We'd talk waste pumps or tractors or the logistics of running a resort facility with multiple buildings, a ton of college coeds, and high maintenance guests. Unfortunately Tom was busy from sun up to sundown and I tried not to make a nuisance of myself. While I had all the time in the world for BSing, he suffered from no shortage of work to do.
This looks good! An awful lot of awfully good stories begin with "It all began after a few beers at the bar...."
Back to the prologue... After moping around all day long...reading...napping...shagging the wife...napping some more...helping the kids build wooden sail boats...toying around with the idea of auto-erotic-asphyxiation...more napping...it was time for my favorite part of the day...drinks at the bar before dinner in the main lodge. THe wife and I would get dressed up, clean up the kids, and head to the bar overlooking the lake to relax for half an hour or so before the dinner bell. Now, I could say that I enjoyed the bar so much because I was spending quality time with my beautiful wife...or because the 22 year old bartender would give me the dirt on all the sexual escapades of the college co-eds living in the resort's barn...or the view of the lake... ...but the reality was that Tom and his wife also liked to hit the bar before dinner for a few minutes of relaxation and a few cold drinks...and we could talk about motorcycles, Jeeps, travel, and other manly pursuits...while the wives drank fancy drinks and rolled their eyes at our exagerated bravado. Best 30 minutes of every day. I regaled him with comical details of my MA to CO motorcycle ride and he countered with stories of his own. It was like finding someone who spoke your language in some foreign land, thousands of miles from home. After discussing all of the places we had been, we started discussing places that we wanted to go. Key West...Copper Canyon, Mexico...Pacific Coast Highway...Nova Scotia...Banff National Park...Sequioa National Park...Blue Ridge Parkway...Barber Motorsports...Bonneville... Tom mentioned that he and some friends were tossing around the idea of a ride to Nova Scotia in September after the busy season for the lodge came to an end... I mentioned that I'd always wanted to ride to Meat Cove, NS and eat a bowl of clam chowder at a picnic table by a cliff at the edge of the continent... You could almost sense an adventure coming on...
The end of the week came, and while we hadn't committed to anything, the seed had been planted. I told him about my Ride Report on ADVRider and that he should check it out. We exchanged email addresses and I checked out. Now I had just desserted my family for a 9 day ride to Colorado in June with Mike and this was July...I really didn't think my wife was going to tolerate any further motorcycle travel in 2013 so I didn't dare bring it up. Instead, I spent my time strategically dropping subliminal hints, being generally annoying, and waiting for her to suggest that I take another trip...her idea.
I like your style! You're not alone, I think many of us have suffered "family oriented" vacations. I've been tolerant in the past, but have sent out the warning that my behavior may not be the best on the next one Looking forward to the rest of the story. Oh, I'm familiar with your area, my family used to own a vacation property in Shelburne Falls!
What is subliminal to is is black and white for women. They get it before we have thought it through.
During our discussions at the bar, Tom had mentioned that he had always wanted a BMW GS Adventure, but wasn't sure if he'd be able to reach the ground from the saddle. He was actively shopping on Craigslist and looking for a low mile example to purchase. He was frequently forwarding Craigslist ads to me for my perusal. I told him I'd be happy to swing by the lodge with my GSA for him to try it out...just 100 miles from door to door and plenty of great scenery.
So I told the wife I was going out for a SUnday morning ride...no particular destination...just a ride...no ulterior motive... 2 hours later I was hanging out with Tom while he wrestled with a concrete job at the lodge...not as a guest...just one of the guys...I had made the transition. He checked out the bike...tried it out a bit...and confirmed that he'd still really like one. Despite the Electraglide with loud pipes in the garage, he had been an RT rider at one point and I think he missed it. We talked more about a trip to Nova Scotia. He said that he had 2 or 3 friends that had signed on for a trip there in September and I had an open invite to join them. I said I'd have to check with the wife. The whole ride home I was trying to figure out how I could possibly score a second week of motorcycling in a single season...another week away from the family...more money...missed Little League practices...wife covering all of my responsibilities...missed work... Who'd mow the lawn? Who'd walk the dog? Who'd pick the kids up in the afternoons? Who'd bring out the trash on Thursday? Who'd defend our home from invasion by psychotic killer clowns? Who'd winterize the boat? THere's just no way she'd go for it...
I returned home mid-afternoon... "How was the ride?" she asked "It was good" "Where did you go?" "You know...up through Vermont...over towards Lake George...stopped at the lodge to let Tom check out my bike" "You rode back up to the lodge?" "Yeah, I was in the area and Tom wanted to check out the GSA. He's thinking about getting one." "So you went back to our vacation and just hung out?" "Yeah..." "So when are you going?" "No, I can't possibly go. I've got way too much going on. I can't leave you and the kids alone..." "So when are you going?" "No, I can't possibly go. I've got way too much going on. I can't leave you..." "So, when are you going?" "No, I can't possibly go. I've got...." "So, when are you going?" "No, I can't possibly..." "So, when are you going?" "No....." "So, when are you going?" "The weekend after Labor Day?" "Thought so."
The wife's a saint! Either that or she secretly hates me and prefers when I'm away. Either way...I'M FINALLY RIDING TO NOVA SCOTIA! I immediately texted Tom "I'm in!"
IN the following days, a flurry of emails and text messages passed between Tom and I. He was still shopping feverishly for a new bike and gathering up equipment for a road trip. His riding buddies seemed to be getting increasingly erratic and uncertain as the date approached. I had encountered some mushy clutch action during my trip out west so I pulled the slave cylinder, inspected it for leaks, found nothing, and flushed it completely with new fluid. In the future, I'll be carrying the tiny wrench for the bleeder, enough hose to bleed it away from the swingarm, and a small bottle of the rare unobtanium BMW clutch fluid that I couldn't find anywhere when I was on the road. I set about updating my packing list to account for the cold weather I'd likely encounter in the far north.