D & Dee

It's midnight. In the morning, I'll be heading to the Dee Snider Ride to Fight Hunger on Long Island. I should be getting some sleep but I'm having trouble sleeping and I'm hooked on Bojack Horseman. Netflix is often the cause of my insomnia.

D (my wife Denise) shows up a little after 1 a.m. returning from the Rock Carnival in New Jersey. The man of the hour, Dee Snider, would have just finished one of the final shows touring with his band, Twisted Sister. D (my wife again), shares a few photos from the show. He's gonna be tired in the morning.

A quick nap before the ride

He's not gonna take it!

We talk about the night for a bit. Hers was much more exciting, hanging out with her girlfriends and the bands. We've gone to a lot of shows over the years but I'm much more content staying at home these days. My evening consisted mostly of sitting on the couch with our dog, Snow, and eating cereal for dinner. We talk for almost an hour and I look at the time. We'd better get some sleep. If she's going to join me for the ride tomorrow, we'll need to get up early. Lights out.

The alarm goes off at 6:30 (I should've reset it). I snooze until about 8, half listening to the news and the weather. We're supposed to get some rain which would certainly put a damper on the ride. I look outside and it's overcast but not raining. I let D sleep a little longer and hit the shower.

Can't miss that pink helmet...

At about 9:30, we're almost ready to leave. It's about 57 degrees outside. I'm ok riding in the cooler weather but I'm guessing D will want to drive the car instead. The ride begins at Lido Beach--about an hour away. She surprises me and layers up for the ride. She models a few hats. "Black or pink?" I let her decide...

All geared up and ready to go, I strap a GoPro Session to my helmet and we hit the road. It's a little chilly but I've got a HeatTech shirt under my leather. I'm feeling pretty toasty. I can feel D's cell phone against my back as she chooses to text for the ride. I guess the cold isn't bothering her yet.

We pull into Lido Beach about 45 minutes later. We made good time on the Meadowbrook. As a pre-registrant, we get preferred parking right up front. Sweet!

D dons her pink hat and we wander over into the event area. Lots of bikers milling about. A female singer belts out a Janis Joplin tune on stage. She's got some pipes. Dee (not my wife) hangs out in front of the stage meeting people, signing autographs, and taking selfies. D runs into a few friends who were also at the show last night. Sounds like the rain turned it into a mud-fest. Not unhappy that I missed it.

We finally get our moment with Dee. He doesn't seem to be too affected by the late night show. He's always very approachable, always has a smile, always ready with a joke. D tells him that she was at the show last night. When he finds out I wasn't there, he playfully pushes me out of the picture. He's just a normal guy, which is why he's loved so much out here on the Island.

Me, Dee, and D

We poke around the area for a few minutes, grab a pretzel then head to the bike. Dee says a few words followed by the National Anthem. I see a few cyclists respectfully remove their hats. Say what you will about the biker community, but these guys are patriots through and through. Mark Mendoza gives us the rules: stay to the right, be respectful of the guys in front of you, etc. Kickstands up in 10 minutes.

D relinquishes her pink hat for her sparkly pink helmet. I snapped a sun shield on in case it starts to rain. She looks like a funky stunt driver. Kickstands up! We're in the first group out after Dee. A few rumbles and we're headed out of the parking lot.

Ocean Parkway is closed off for most of the way to allow the event to pass. Spotters at regular intervals flag us forward. Some give us the thumbs-up; some are using cell phones to film the onslaught of 100s of bikers as they roll past; others stand by idly chatting with a fellow rider. The local fire department has strung a few engines across our path and tied an American flag between their ladders. The sky is a steel gray and the air is slightly chilled. Perfect!

Patriotic Firefighters

We cruise by the oceanfront but catch only glimpses as we speed along. Beach towers mark our way at the few turnarounds along the route. The highlight of the ride is crossing back across the Robert Moses bridge. Riders honk and wave as we pass each other moving in opposite directions. The lead passes along the line and it's a wonder to behold all those bikes and happy faces. The air is crisp and clean. Freedom at 40 mph.

We ultimately wind our way back to the bandshell and pull into the parking lot once again. A task well done. Dee is beaming and taking photos with his wife and other riders. He makes his way to through the crowd and back to the stage where he is at home. His chords are raw from a night of screeching with the band, but not too raw to belt out a few tunes with the musicians on stage. A few choruses of "We're Not Gonna Take It" and "I Wanna Rock" are sufficient to put me in a nostalgic mood. I remember the young Dee strutting across the stage in tights and make-up as part of the glam movement in metal. I'm glad he opted to leave the tights and make-up behind today. It's just Dee and Rock n' Roll. I grab a cigar from one of the booths and puff away into the cold air.

It was a lot of fun, but before you know it, we're ready to suit up and make our way back across the Island to Queens. D is bundled up in her pink jacket covered by an old peat coat. She'll be warm enough for the ride back.

My mind starts to wander as the wind whips through my helmet. The cold weather is slowly arriving and I'll be stowing the bike for the winter soon. Fall is here and you can smell it on the wind. Leaves swirl through the air and groups of birds are collecting for their flights which will soon commence to the south. The year is coming to a close. I'll add another pin to my leather vest. Another ride completed. I reach over and pat D lovingly on the thigh. She reaches around from behind me and clasps me in a hug. It was a good day.

I filmed a bunch with the GoPro. Once I get a chance to edit it all together, I'll post here. Y'all come back now. Y'hear?!

Dead in San Remo

The rain started early but quickly moved north. By 11am it was a beautiful fall day. The wife and I have plans to meet friends for a birthday party out in San Remo. I think I'll ride out. It's a little cool but it's just too damned nice.

By 1:30 we head east, my wife and her friend Nicole in the car and I on my silver broomstick. I take the long way and wind all the way out along 25A. It's simply gorgeous!

I hit King's Park by about quarter to three and stop to grab some cookies from the bakery for the party. How am I supposed to carry a plate of cookies on my motorcycle? I cell my wife and luckily she's also just arrived and grabbing a Carvel cake across the street (mmm...). She meets me and takes the cookies and we head off.

I pull up to our friend Mike's house and my wife and Nicole are milling about on the front yard. I park the bike, kill the engine, and ask, "What's going on?"

"Oh, boy. Vinny and Steve are at it." I can now hear shouting from the front room. First distraction.

"Eh, they need to blow off some steam. I'll go up and see what's happening."

I take my time stowing my glasses in the saddle bag and strapping my helmet to the bike. I start to head up the stairs and Mike (our host) comes down carrying some food. "You do NOT want to go up there." I can definitely hear the heated exchange now. Mike says, "Let's go around back and just leave them alone for awhile."

Sounds good to me. We head back and there are a few guests there for the party. We start to mingle and within a few minutes Vinny comes into the back yard. He's the birthday boy and he's not looking happy. He and Steve have been friends for years but have had a bit of a falling out over an incident and it's been a cold war for the last few months. It was bound to hit a boiling point and I guess today was the day. Within a few minutes, Steve has left and Vinny is quiet. He's brooding which is very unlike Vinny. He's the gregarious talker of the group with a fondness for apes. Always the life of the party, he is markedly more quiet today. I can tell this latest altercation has upset him but he's trying not to show it. Second distraction.

Vin and friend

Music is blaring on the stereo. A strange mix of metal and country. We're sharing the birthday party with Mike's nephew, also named Mike, who is also celebrating a birthday, and he's a country music fan.

The party continues as you'd imagine, and Vinny seems like he's loosening up. More people start to show up, good food is served, drinks start flowing...a typical backyard bash. Just before the sun sets, a few of the guys wheel in a large box and we have to divert Vinny so that he doesn't see the set up. As the box is removed, we can all see what's being unwrapped...a graven, ice-sculptured, ass-monkey.

Vinny is introduced and we all have a good laugh as liquor is poured into the head, travels through the ice sculpture's body, and is hilariously delivered out its ass. A few shots later and I have some great blackmail material of friends basically kissing a monkey's ass. USA! USA!

A few minutes later Caroline, one of the guests, walks up to me and says, "Did you know your headlight is on?" Uh oh.

I go down to the front of the house and check. Sure enough the headlight is on and it's hot. I turn the ignition key off then turn it back on and start it up. It coughs once but fires up. Eh, it seems fine. Ignition is set to off. I go back to the party.

Party in full swing

My wife and I have a chat with Vinny. We've known both he and Steve for a long time. We hate to see them split this way and we take time to talk to Vin about it. He's starting to feel a little guilty but the rift has gone too deep. Yet, it's not a lost cause. We can feel the dam breaking, but it won't be tonight. Whatever happens, they're both still our friends. You take your friends as they are. The good with the bad. My wife and I don't have kids so our friends and family are all we have. In life, you take what you can get. Close friends are a small miracle.

The party continues on and the young crowd (literally half our age) start to line up to kiss the monkey's ass. It's like a scene from the Bible. The Israelites, left to their own devices when Moses climbed Mt. Sinai, revel in their liberty and worship the golden calf (Aurochs). I wonder if they kissed a bull's ass? I shake my head. It's getting late. Time to go.

We say our goodbyes. I pull out a sweatshirt to wear under my leather and a balaclava for the ride. The temperature has dropped a bit. Our friend Lou, from up the block wants to check out the bike. A fellow rider. We head to the front and I show it off a bit. I pop the lights on to show him a bit of the "light show" that's rigged up under the tank and wheel wells.

Just before we're ready to leave, Lou says, "Well let's hear it. Fire it up!" I hop on the bike, turn the ignition switch, and fire the starter...click...uh oh...

I try again and again with no result. The starter just clicks. The battery is dead. That light must've been on for some time. Too many distractions today. Damn!

Mike's house sits on a nice hill above the river. We roll it to the edge and I try rolling down in gear to bumpstart it. I hit the bottom after several tries with no success. My wife pulls up with Lou in the car. They've secured some jumper cables. "Hooray!" I think.

I pop the seat off and place it on the ground. Lou's cell phone acts as a night light as we connect the jumpers. Fire 1! Fire 2! ...nothing. I'm starting to think to myself, "How are we gonna get this bike back up that hill?"

Lou goes for help. A few minutes later, a few of the younger crowd comes wandering over to help. I think they're more interested in the situation than actually doing some work but, nevertheless, they're here. I wheel the bike back in neutral and stay on the bike. Someone's gotta steer!

We make slow progress up the hill. The bike is about 700 pounds. This is no easy task and it's a steep hill. We pull over to take a break. Everyone is panting. Hard work.

We finally get the bike in place by the house. I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm leaving it here for the night. A few of the guys play mechanic and try to figure out the root cause. "I can't get a spark. I don't think it's the battery." I've cranked it up after a long winter enough to know, it's just the battery and it's completely dead.

Quit? I don't know the meaning of the word!

Lou has an idea. He takes off with my wife in the car and a few moments later wheels out an industrial size charger. We hook up a long extension and try again. Fire 1! Nothin'. We let itset for a few minutes and try again. Lou cranks it up to 200amps and shouts, "Hit it!" It sputters a little but no dice. "Hit it again! Just keep hitting it!" After about the third try that familiar roar fills the air. We all shout a few drunken cheers.

"Lou, you're a life saver!"

200 amps!

We say our goodbyes again and I follow Denise up to Lou's to return his charger. I thank Lou again and take off down the road. The whole fiasco set us back about an hour. Not bad.

I think about the party, Vince, Steve, Lou, Mike, the ass-monkey, Denise, friendship and anything else that pops into my head as I float along the road in the halo of my headlights. It's a little cold but I'm not shivering and it actually feels kinda nice. The air whipping past my helmet squeals in my ears and I can feel the rumble of the pipes beneath me. I think, there are worse things than being dead in San Remo.

The Aurochs

15K

So last week marked a milestone between me and my Fatboy. I rolled the odometer past 15,000 miles. While this doesn't seem like a huge accomplishment, it can be a small rite of passage for the casual biker. Of course, every additional 5K seems like a rite of passage...

At 15K, it's also time to take the bike in for the equivalent of a visit to the doctor. Time to change out your fluids, check your brake pads, change your filters, etc. So, I set up an appointment with the local Harley service shop and ride over on Saturday.

Of course, the earlier you come in, the quicker you get out. Harley opens at 9am on Saturday so I make sure I'm here at 9am. It's kinda quiet but it's still early.

I ride up behind the shop and park in the line of Harleys on display. Some for sale. Some for pickup. I glance at a shiny black trike off to the left. Nah...

I hand over my registration and fill out the standard billing form to the guy behind the counter. He asks me a simple question, "Synthetic or standard?" 

"What?"

"Synthetic or standard oil."

Quiet in the lot

"I have no idea." It's never good to look foolish in front of the service guy. Too late. This is why I bring my bike into the experts. I just ride.

It looks like I take standard. "Sounds good to me," I mumble sheepishly and walk out with the sales guy to look at the bike. He goes over it quickly, checking lights, ignition, makes a few notes and tells me to take a seat. I'll be here for a few hours.

Ten minutes later, the actual service person comes up, goes through a similar routine and sits on the bike ready to take it into the basement where it will be strapped to a stone slab, hooked up to electrodes, and brought back to life through volts of electricity traveling down a kite line. One can dream.

He plays around with the lights and it looks like he's fumbling around with the two additional front lights, as if he can't find the switch. I call over from my seat at the picnic table, "There's a switch on the back plate." 

"Thanks, I haven't really been doing this too long. Just started today." Sarcasm. Strike two. 

I chuckle an apology, he asks if I want the throttle tightened up. It's a little loose. "Sure" is my inane reply and he pulls away with my bike to the laboratory. Pipes sound good. I'm glad it's nice outside.

A young girl with dyed red hair, covered in tattoos, and wearing a Lamb of God sweatshirt comes out to set up a table and a grill. On Saturdays they make breakfast. Score! At least I can have some pancakes while I wait.

Bikers arrive and exit for the next hour, picking up a serviced bike or dropping one off. A few souls hang around the picnic tables like myself, waiting for their bike to come rolling up out of the garage. The day is gorgeous and we want to ride!

The monotony is broken as a "newb" assistant drops a full dresser on its side while attempting to back it out of the parking lot. Ouch! A few of the bigger fellas walk over to help as the kid stands there with his hands on either side of his head, probably thinking, "I'm so fucking fired right now!" At least he had the sense to let it go and not play hero. Probably saved himself a broken leg or worse.

That's gotta suck!

 

A gang of Asian bikers roll up on a bunch of street bikes, not all Harleys. They're an amiable group and I start up a conversation with them. Turns out three of them are brothers and they ride a lot together. They like my Oakley Madman glasses and I pass them around so the guys can take pictures wearing them. 

After about a half hour they take off and the waiting goes on. Two black guys roll up from Brooklyn, Byron and Terrence. Bryon's got a big ass Dyna and Terrence is picking up a brand new Breakout that he's having new pipes strapped on. We spend awhile trading stories and Byron has us in stitches pretty soon. He's a funny guy. We trade stories of routes we've traveled and he tells us about a guy who had a train horn custom installed on his bike. He goes on to tell us how he blew it behind a car that cut him off as Byron watched a pedestrian basically jump out of her shoes. Pretty soon we're all laughing, but you had to hear Byron tell it. Funny guy.

Lunchtime is rolling around and I'm getting antsy. Red comes out and throws hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. Say what you will about Harley, but these guys run a class shop. I'm happy to wait if you're going to feed me. After my second hot dog, the sales guy comes out to tell me the bike is done, they're just cleaning it up. I can pay inside.

Looks like new

$500 bucks. Well, at least I met a few new friends and had something to eat...

A few minutes later Al, the detail guy, rides up on my bike. Damn! It looks good. He speaks in a slight Middle-eastern accent and continues to buff the bike down with a handful of polishing cloths. He compliments me on how clean I keep the bike. It looks like new for a 2001. Damn straight! She's my baby (...ok my other one.)

I throw Al a tip, say my goodbyes to Byron and Terrence (he's still waiting on those pipes) and rumble out of the parking lot. Maybe we'll ride together some day.

It's about 2:30. Killed most of the day. It was a pretty eventful day considering I was just waiting. Aside from making a few new friends, I saw some great bikes, ran into a Mason friend of mine (Luiz. I'll probably blog about that later), ate a few grilled meals, and got an invite to a Hells Angels rally.

When you hit your next motorcycle milestone, my recommendation is don't just drop off your bike. Go hang out at your local service shop. You'll be surprised at how quickly the time goes and you'll make some new friends.