I grab a quick shower and text my friend Steve, "You still game?"
Our wives were originally supposed to come along for the ride but plans didn't work out. Steve has a brand new bike so he wants to put some miles on it and I'm always up for a ride. We arrange to meet at a gas station near Bear Mountain at about 10:30...wifeless. I quickly brush my teeth and sneak quietly out of the house so as not to disturb the savage...er...my wife.
The meeting place is about an hour from each of our respective houses. I set the GPS and lean out of the driveway and head for the Throgs Neck Bridge. The sun is peeking from behind a few clouds so I'm hoping that we have a no-rainer.
It turns out to be a beautiful ride. Traffic is moving well and, aside from a few scattered drops, it appears the rain will hold off for today. I hit the Taconic with about 15 miles to go and I see some swirling leaves up ahead of me on the roadway. When I reach them, the bike is clipped from both sides by, what feels like, a gale force wind. I wobble the bike back into the center of the lane and curse those solid rims.
I had always heard about getting rocked by strong wind blasts on a Harley Fat Boy but never really believed it. My first experience was crossing a short bridge into Roslyn on a particularly windy day. I struggled to keep the bike in the lane as the wind threatened to push me to the roadside. Today's gusts were stronger and more consistent, but after about 5 miles, the sun came out and all was right with the world again.
I make good time and pull into the gas station where we had agreed to meet. I top off the tank and pull into a parking spot to wait for Steve. Several bikers seem to use this as a meeting stop and I eavesdrop on a few gathering rice-burners who are collecting for a ride into the hills.
About 10:40 Steve rumbles into the parking lot on a beautiful black Harley Fat Boy with 16" ape-hangers and chrome rims. I've known Steve for years but we've settled in two different states. It's been awhile since we've seen each other but it's always as if we've never been apart. Good friends are like that. The years and distance may separate you but when you finally meet, it's as if those obstacles are erased. It was just me and Steve again.
He knows the area better than I so we head to a place he knows in the neighboring town. We drive through West Point when he realizes he made a wrong turn. I'm ravenous by now. I'll go anywhere, let's just eat! We snake up a winding path and pull over to admire the view. It was simply stunning. Some of the locals have decorated the cliffside rocks with spray paint which adds an odd color scheme to the already gorgeous vista. I need to take a few shots.
The ride is simply beautiful. The streets are surrounded by rolling hills and vegetation. Quiet, simple homes nestled into the landscape. We reach our destination and grab a seat at the bar. I order up my standard Corned Beef Hash and Eggs, and Steve opts for the Shrimp Eggs Benedict.
We talk about our wives, his kids, life in general. Bro-bonding. The food is delicious and the conversation is engaging. But we came to ride.
We decide to head over to the Seven Lakes area and he leads us through some beautiful country nestled in the mountains. There are some campsites and hiking trails off either side of the roadway but I can't stop to gaze as I am mesmerized by the road. Sloping, twisting and turning asphalt winds its way through the woods. A few hairpins come on me unexpected and I throttle down and shift behind him as we speed through the wilderness. I must be grinning from ear to ear.
We ride all the way through to the end and stop at the junction to Route 17. We stop to get our bearings but the trip is almost at an end. We need to head our respective ways so we say our goodbyes and agree to split at the turnaround a few miles back. He says he'll point the way but I just figure I'll follow the GPS.
I make it back and think about what I'm going to write. I send Steve a text that I made it home alive and to send my helloes to his wife. We share a few "LOLs". He's a good friend. I may see him once every few years but he doesn't change. And I realize that's what makes friends special. Throughout your lifetime you will have friends that come and go, but there are those few that you know will be with you forever. Because they aren't anyone but themselves. No pretense. No drama. Just someone you can talk to, someone you can share your life stories with and they respond in kind. When you are with them, there are no surprises. They are just who they've always been and you love them for it.
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