Archive for the ‘Stan’s Harley Davidson’ Category

July 22, 2010 Run to Tito's Tacos in MedinaRoad Captain Ken Goepfert did a wonderful job planning the run!

When I was 17, I took my bike out to shoot the curves and run the back roads with no particular plans. Today there are kids, meetings, schedules, deadlines. A former pastor of mine called it the “Tyranny of the Urgent.” Now, if I have a few extra minutes, I might take North Byron Road over to Elba and come down 98 to Stan’s, and congratulate myself for getting off the beaten path.

IMG00367-20100722-1814We met up at Stan’s HD on Thursday, the 22nd of July. Ken led us out  of the lot, up through Elba and then west. He was taking so many back roads that once we got west of Oakfield, I was lost.

Then Ken stopped in the middle of nowhere, across from a flower nursery. I figured something was wrong, as he pulled off the asphalt and onto the gravel shoulder. Ken made his way back, talking to each rider in turn. He started off telling me that the fellow who owns the place is a Corrections Officer, and grows day lilies. Ken elaborated that one could  browse the lilies by type, like

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a living catalog, and select the varieties desired. I was waiting for him to explain the problem, why we stopped, but soon realized it was to view the flowers. Then I thought of my wife—she’d love the place. So my next question was: “Where are we?” Turns out it was Knowlesville Road. Rings a bell—I knew I’d driven by that before.

We continued on, and came to Culvert Road, under the Erie Canal. The tunnel was cool, and we all tooted going through—the little beeps of the metrics overpowered by the horns of the Harleys.

I was really getting into the ride. We weren’t just making time to a destination, we were enjoying the trip to get there. Culvert RoadWhen Ken explained that this was the ONLY road under the Canal, it hit me that I’ve lived here 22 years, and never knew of it. One last stop before the taco stand clinched it. “The church in the middle of the road” is on the south side of 31, going into Medina. The old church was in the right of way of a newer road, but rather than destroy a historic landmark, the road splits at “Y” at the south end of the building, into two one-way lanes on either side of the  building. In effect, the church is in the median. How many times I’d driven by and never noticed.

Medina, Slowing down for a night to fellowship and take in the sights truly blessed my spirit. The food was good too. Tito’s Tacos is located on Route 31A, just east of Medina. During the summer they host cruise-ins for bikes and classic cars.

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What a difference three days can make. (Parse that for a second, eh?) On Tuesday, Holly and I took a short run down to Bergen. The weather was sub-45 and windy, pardon my French, but il fait froid.

Tonight was in the high 60s and the last day of a sale at Stan’s. Having discovered a hole in the seat of my riding jeans, it was time for

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a run on the Fatboy. What a beautiful ride in the late afternoon sun! I love this time of the spring, when the leaves are still forming.

The hues fascinate me. In summer, the leaves are all the same shade of green, and the grasses turning from deep green to brown. Now the leaves range from lemon yellow to yellow green to deep green. The sunlight hits the tree-tops and the colors seem to dance like an impressionist landscape.

The green fields are variegated with blazing yellows—mustard, dandelion—and the light umber of broken sod, like strokes of a palette knife across the canvas.

You can see it from a steel cage, but on a bike you sense it. The air is fresh and alive with smells of new growth, manure, fresh sod, and blossoms. The air passing over the skin is moist but warm, not hot and sticky like summer and not clammy and raw like late autumn. The solstice is still six weeks away, so the air is not as turbulent as it gets when the sun bakes the asphalt and the tar snakes ooze forth. One glides through the air, like through the water in a swimming pool. In another month or so, it will hit like waves and tides on the beach, pulling this way, pushing that.

Today as I was cruising home from the CMA Pig Roast at Stan’s, I was thinking that I have lived in this area for nearly 22 years. Over that time, I’ve gotten habituated to taking certain roads to get from hither to yon.

So many roads I’ve passed by. Maybe that comes from driving a steel cage to work for too many years. I don’t get in a car just to drive, but with a goal of getting from A to B, thinking of what I have to do, where I have to be next.

I came upon a road I had driven past several times before, and decided to see where it led. Forget the Google Maps and GPS (I used  to get around just fine without them).

You might think this is a Robert Frost style metaphor A view from the top of the "Million Dollar Highway," San Juan Mountains, Coloradofor some deeper meaning about life. Some roads lead to wonderful discoveries. All I encountered this day was the smell of manure and a few people mowing lawns. At the end of the road, I found I had backtracked, ending up on the same path I always drive to get hither from yon.

Nevertheless, I found it a welcome reminder that taking a break from routine can be like  a breath of fresh air. For a few miles,  I drove for the sake of driving, and I enjoyed the ride.