To Bike or Not to Bike

To bike or not to bike? That is the question.

Gary has had motorcycles off and on, all his driving life. Fifty years of riding and now, after a shoulder injury, and a decision to downsize, the Harley sells to a new owner ... today.

The decision was and continues to be extremely difficult. 

There's nothing like driving by the fragrance of fields of clover in summer, the breeze, warm as a massage, feeling every nuance of the road. Nothing like the scent of moisture in the wind, the sudden downpour and sitting it out under a highway overpass or beneath a cluster of maples, just talking until the sun dries the road.

Selling the Harley is rough for each of us but particularly for Gary. Driving is Gary's favourite form of meditation. He forgets his worries and the to-do's, the bills and the challenges when he is on the bike.

Gary went out for a ride yesterday. These pictures are of him getting the bike ready and leaving the driveway. He enjoyed the time by himself, one last trip.

But, it's time. "Not to bike" is the answer.

It's been a good run.

Ride For Dad

My husband and two of his friends are participating in the motorcycle ride for New Brunswick to raise funds for prostate cancer research. 

They'll have fun today and perhaps a bit of wet weather, all for a good cause.  One of his friends raised over $1600. to contribute to the campaign.  Congratulations Bob.

Have fun riding with all the others from around the province and may the rain hold off until you are each back home.

Perfect Pie

On a grey sky day full of the waning warmth of summer, we go for a bike ride.  Not wanting to sit at traffic lights, sweltering in our motorcycle gear, we head out to the country.  At the bottom of the street, we turn right onto Route 114 and drive toward the Fundy Park area of lower Albert County, NB.  Off to our right are thunder clouds, to our left, grey and blue skies.  We are optimistic.

As we drive, I feel the warmth and smell the scents carried on the wind, scents connecting me to the sights we pass.   Sensory stimulation can be delightful—clover, new mown hay, lilies, pockets of cool air, salt marsh, evergreen forests, or can be pungent—manure, stagnant ponds of brackish water, diesel fuel, asphalt, tar and skunk.

As a passenger on the motorcycle, I am free to gawk as long as I don’t move my body too much and disrupt the equilibrium.   My heads rotates side to side as we pass new houses and houses six to eight generations old, former neighbours, sights familiar from my childhood, fields, marshland, the Petitcodiac River widening as we travel toward the Bay of Fundy.  The closer we draw to the Bay, the cooler, cleaner and fresher the air feels.  We both appreciate the natural loveliness of this drive on Route 114.

We reach the village of Riverside-Albert, home of September’s Albert County Fair and cross roads to Fundy Park or to Mary’s Point and Cape Enrage, to the Trans Canada Trail or Crooked Creek Lookout.

We stop at a local restaurant.  There is no name and no sign, just a flag and a flashing sign in the window; both say, “Open.”  It’s just past the Guardian Drug Store, on the opposite side of the main street.  We’ve not eaten here before and are apprehensive. 

The décor is simple and clean.  There are plastic protectors over the plain tablecloths, paper place mats, and a school binder with menu pages.  We are surprised at the variety of dishes available on the pages, but want only coffee and pie.

Gary has lemon pie, his favourite.  He says that it is just right, tart and bursting with the taste of fresh lemon.  The meringue is perfect.  I order peach pie with French vanilla ice cream.  It is tasty, full of thick juicy slices of peach.  I close my eyes and think “mmmm.”  I open my eyes and realize that I have mmmm’d aloud.  The family at the next table are grinning at me.  They are having fried clam platters and fish and chips.  Their food must be good as they are gobbling bites from one another’s plates.

I eat my pie and ice-cream and feel content.  It’s so good.

When we leave, both the waitress and the cook are at the counter.  I tell the cook, “It’s the best pie I’ve had in a long time.”  She giggles and puts her head down.

Later she waves at me when we are getting our gear on again to ride and she is outdoors on her break.  We smile at each other.

Gary and I know we’ll return, perhaps for more than pie next time.  Or, maybe a meal and then pie, or maybe the pie first, just in case.

Text in red has hyperlinks which will connect you to another website with additional information.   Words and image are © copyright Carol Steel.

Feel the Sap Rising

Feel the Sap Rising

Men bend over bikes,

change the oil, with grins

glazed with saliva

and dreams of the road.

Butt-cracks to a breeze

that still whispers

of winter.

Men bend over bikes,

hear the calls rising,

“Come rumble and roar.

Be potent and young.

Ride under spring’s skies.

Come feel

the sap

rising.”

Note:   With apologies to my daughter who rides and loves her motorcycle as much as any man could love his.  She too waits for spring with excitement and wonder; waits for the first day she can ride and enjoy the sap rising.

Photo is mine.

Gary In the Storm

Gary in the Storm

After supper last evening, Gary left to go for a short ride on his motorcycle; met with his riding buddy, decided to head for Sussex and a coffee and chat, their usual routine.

All went well until they turned back toward home and ran into a quickly moving lightening storm near Salisbury.

Like all seasoned bikers, they stopped at the first sign of rain under the canopy of a service station and discussed the need for donning their rain suits.  They waited and because the rain appeared to have stopped, they decided “no rain gear” and headed again for home, a distance of 25 kilometres.

Summer storms move fast and can come up suddenly and violently.  Last night was no exception.  They heard the thunder and saw lightening rolling through the clouds over the city, as they approached.  And they got wet, very, very wet.

It rained nearly 30 millimetres in a brief time.  Forced to drive slower than one-third the speed limit because of water on the roads and visibility challenges, not to mention the discomfort of being literally soaked to the skin, it was a most unpleasant ride home.

At 11:15 pm, I saw him driving at the bottom of our street and ran to open the garage door.  Slowly, slowly I heard him navigating the floods of water pouring down our street; finally into the garage he came.  Everything was dripping!

Gary was cheery as usual, exclaiming that it had been an adventure!  And wonder of wonders, his saddle bags didn’t have a bit of water in them; everything in them was totally dry—even his rain gear!

These photos are from Gary’s clothes last night, after he took them off in the garage.  Apparently, his waterproof boots aren’t waterproof.  Note the puddles on the floor after he dumped them out.  He hung his shirt over the garbage can to drip; it too made a puddle.

After a warm shower and a rum and coke, he was fine again.  His leather motorcycle gear—well, that’ll take a few days to dry and return to normal.  However, his rain gear is all ready to go again!

Riding the Motorcycle

Riding the Motorcycle

Riding a motorcycle offers ample opportunity to enjoy all the visual details of each place we pass.  However, the most amazing details are the olfactory ones—the smells that one can’t always appreciate, or even notice while driving in an air-conditioned car, with the windows closed.

Fields of clover and of Queen Anne’s lace are fragrant-perfume experiences, as are driving by fields of sweet new-mown hay or freshly cut lawns.  As we drive near woodlands, a cool balsam-y smell of dampness, moss and leaves wafts toward us.

Along the coast, we get wind of the tang of salt water, the briny scent of wet sand and pungent seaweed, and sometimes, the nose-wrinkling odor of brackish salt water marshes.

The road itself offers up smells, sun-warmed oily tar and the suffocating stink of dead skunk.  From the bike, there is a hint of hot metal coming from the pipes, exhaust smells and a whiff of heated rubber from the tires.

I notice a subtle trace of chemical smell coming from my new helmet, a perfume of coconut from the sunscreen on my face, the appealing scent of my husband’s skin.

 

Driving out in the fresh air really increases the sensitivity to smells—both good and bad—now we smell everything, even scents we don’t usually register.

We drive by chip shops and restaurants, our noses full of the pungent greasiness of fried foods.  We stand in line for ice cream and breathe the electric-heat smell from the ice-cream freezers, the cool milky scent of ice-cream, a trace of musky pong from the others in line, beach-goers full of salt and sand and sweat.

Unfortunately, we can also smell the faintly rank garbage can in the parking lot, foul and fermenting in the heat.

Near the end of the day, we drive home sniffing comforting wood smoke from campfires and fire pits, and take in the juicy fragrance of meat grilling on a barbecue.

 

The heady perfume of peonies greets us as we return to our own driveway.

On the motorcycle, all the subtle odors of summer reach our nostrils, a full range from the malodorous to the sublimely aromatic.   This heightened sense of smell makes the ride a sensory rich experience.

Sunny Sunday in New Brunswick

We motorcycled through a fabulous sunny Sunday afternoon, starting from Riverview, through Scoudouc, travelling up the Acadian Coast, then back via the Old Shediac Road.

 
It is a beautiful drive along the coastline of New Brunswick, and was a perfect day for the bike—cloudless skies, warm and breezy, with a stop at Grande-Digue for ice-cream!

The storm surge damage of last winter and this spring is painfully apparent.  Half of the roadway is washed away in places along the coast.  Many homes and cottages, now much nearer the water than they want to be, are posted “For Sale.”

Tons and tons of newly dropped grindstone rock are piled along the ravaged coast, to create protective breakwaters.  Beaches have been decimated or have disappeared.  The coastline has drawn back and is changed completely.

Still, life goes on!  We drove by cars parked at the edges of steep craters gouged by the water, where there used to be gently sloping beach fronts.  People were helping each other down over the huge grindstones, handing off coolers and small children to reach the beach.  Young couples, singles and families, most of them sun burnt, were labouring to return over the massive rocks carrying empty picnic baskets, wet towels and blankets.  All looked contented and happy.

Enjoyment of the gorgeous day happened regardless of impediments on the beaches.  Clearly the warm waters and the glittering sands are still delightful and alluring, providing a warm day’s play and relaxation.

I couldn’t take any photographs of the road work or restoration or beaches, as I didn’t bring my camera along.  Jostling in the side-bags of the Harley wouldn’t have done it any good.  There were spots on the rough roads that didn’t do me any good!

We did enjoy the day and the drive and each other’s company and the ice cream…very much.  Despite the rough spots, it truly is a scenic coastline!