poaching roads ~ 2015, 4.30

   It's been a long winter; plenty of snow but the roads were cleaning up with seasonal rain to wash away the winter grit and loose aggie so treacherous to motorcycles.  Our infamous Smugglers Notch mtn road remained closed, keeping us off that granite canyon run. He wrestled the dusty winter cover off  the LowRide,  scheming for a worthy ride out. "Dress warm," the only clue to our outing this day. Back to my coat closet, pulling my cold weather jacket out, adding a fleece vest under it and gauntlet gloves were the riding kit for sure. That said, I opted for my open-face lid and silk scarf for cover if I needed it. I was jonesing for the wind on my face and I could easily duck behind his shoulder if I needed a break from the cool air. Chapps for my legs, wool socks in my boots and I was ready.

  The shovelhead roared to life and the sound of our people filled the barn.  I smiled large as he trolled it onto rte 109 and took a quick spin to sound it out; returning to my dooryard with a nod to mount up. It's still very much stick-season, patches of snow along the wooded roadsides with plenty of white-stuff and skiers up on the higher elevations. For me, winter was done, spring was overdue and wind therapy was the answer to our cabin fever. I ride better in the cooler temps; sitting up straighter with more stamina for the miles out and more grace for the dismounts when I'm not wilted by hot weather. Today promised to be a grand day out as he indulged my pre-season riding whims. Beside him, my right leg swung over the sissybar easily; I'm on the bike, boots on the pegs, camera ready, I am good to go.

Mt Mansfield ski trails from the Stagecoach Rd 

big dollar equipment

   Right, left, the roundabout and east, we'd have to get around the mountain today; but I knew the locally traveled short cuts to the Stowe side of the gateway of the notch road. Secret roads with lite travel and no straggling tourists to dodge. The lifts were closed on the ski ways, but devoted skiers were free to climb up and schuss their way down over the forgiving spring snows. Twenty years ago, I would have been among them; flash forward to this day and they can admire our early ride out as we roll up their access road, VT rte 108 north.

I can remember climbing ski ways to carve  spring snow

its merely a suggestion for this driver, aptly nicknamed Outlaw

 why the notch road remains closed, trees across the lane up ahead as well

thwarted in our poaching plans,  back to the gate; at least there were no cops waiting

   The day was barely in progress and there was still gas in the tank evoking my driver to visit a favorite bike shop in Jonesville; a pleasant twirl from Stowe. We didn't see many other bikes out yet and the roads were still heavey from winter frost lifting from the ground. I was grateful these passenger pegs allowed me to rise up a bit, when I saw the bumps coming, easing the jolt as they were met by the wheels. Gliding down the mountain road, we diverted to the scant boro of Moscow to avoid the bustle of Stowe village. "Troll this one at 25mph" I warned, "the town constable takes her job pretty seriously... ready to pounce on errant speeders." Onto rte100S,  navigating the season openers of road construction; we were detoured at almost every junction. Nice to see them get these crossings upgraded...

   Feeling the chill, we stopped at a favorite eatery in Waterbury, barely accessible via a roundabout in mid construction. Seems Vermont is placing these exchanges throughout our state. It's amusing to observe how many locals lack the understanding of how they work. The vehicle on the circle has the right-of-way, but slow merging is encouraged. If you know how. I prefer these traffic directors as they allow visibility of a smallish profile like our motorcycle. Everybody is going slow enough to avoid unwanted contact. As bikers, we don't like contact and appreciate the hi-vis junction. Complicated intersections with long stop lights are an invitation to get clipped by left turning motorists not looking for a lone headlight at the stop line. I don't drive the bike, but I am acutely aware of our vulnerabilities on the traveled lane. A second trip around the circle and he found the obscure opening to the cafe's entrance.

warm enough to keep the doors open

Walking into an empty dinning room, we took a window seat that overlooked the shovelhead. Our waitress cracked a light smile when we ordered hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. I often wonder what people think we should order when out riding. Stereotypes precede us no matter where we stop, for better or worse.
 

mountains of whipped cream for the chilled bikers

 

    The lunch was completed with their house BLT x 2 and we were ready to roll southward to Rat's down rte 2. This is a place beyond franchises, brand loyalty and newish anything. Vintage Harbor is a collection of barns, filled 3 stories high, with all things old skool. Really Old Skool. It's worth it to stop in just to see the inventory, chat with Rat himself, and get the low down on franchise rip-offs. The place is like a working museum with ample curiosities for a pillion like me.
 

the worn sign is an indication of the era within

recently acquired, I think this Outlaw's '84 shovelhead is too young for this wrench

gleaming after all these years

a flat head rebuilt, ready for a frame

   We stopped to stretch our legs and inquire about a nut or such and some decals for the tank. The originals have been ruined by leaking gas, escaping the pitted fill hole. Owner and operator, the old-skool biker wore a grizzled white beard, loose button-down shirt and stood behind the front counter always with a can of lite beer in his hand. Yet I don't recall ever seeing him take a draw from that can."No decals." according to Rat; "...a greedy bastard from PA bought all the old Harley decals...let me look for that nut..." as he pulled out massive parts catalogs to search for the item in question.


























   As this tuff-talking-Harley-driving-old-schooler, swapped tales with Rat, I strolled about the "lobby", admiring all things motorcycle. Everything had a price, but negotiation was expected while any stories accompanying said item were shared freely, if Rat was encouraged. I could spend hours sifting through the barns; he knew where everything could be, if it existed in his piles of stuff.

  An hour later, sufficiently warmed up, empty-handed of the desired nut (it really was a unique design for a unique purpose), he recommended a shop not too far from my address. Our day was growing short as we saddled up, ready for the final leg going home. Back through Stowe and Morristown too, until we picked up another less traveled lane back to my neighborhood. Enjoying the quiet road home, he took a soft left turn to poach one more route, closed to the winter plows, with wide enough gap to sneak the bike onto the covered bridge lying a fat tenth of a mile from my farm. An apropos way to end a rule-bending day.

 This day's lesson: rules will bend a lot before they break...providing one doesn't get caught.

peace ~ resa