Rebirth

After a slow and cold winter, spring has finally come to our part of the country. The Robins have arrived and dispersed to tend to their instinctual duties. The weather has been above normal in temperature and the longing for the road is burning.

            During the past week, several days of beckoning were endured and ignored the best I could. My bike had been in the shop getting some work done before the coming of spring. The work was completed three days ago, and she was brought home that same day. I had some extensive work done to the suspension to lower the seat height and provide both Judy and I with a smoother and more comfortable ride. The yearly inspection was due at this time also and during the inspection process the front brake pads were found to need replacement. These things, and a complete oil change, were performed and payment was in the form of gift cards which were given to me as part of my retirement from my employer.

            After picking up the bike and making a quick and hasty supper, Judy and I took the bike on a short, fifty mile, run around the area to test the new suspension and welcome in the spring. The forecast was calling for the following day to be sunny and bright with temperatures in the mid to high sixties. That day was Saturday and plans were made to make the most of the day and ride. So, without any “first ride of the year” traditions to break, we planed on visiting a little roadside diner Judy and I frequent a couple times per year, about seventy-five miles south, near the town of Alexandria Pa. called “Route 22 Diner”.

            We started or campaign to the diner about 11 AM knowing from past treks that it takes just under two hours to reach. A light breakfast held us in check as we rolled along the cool spring morning. It felt wonderful to be back on two wheels and with the new suspension working as planned, smoothing out the bumps from a hard thud to a softer pulse, and the motor singing to me in a monotone baritone voice, I was in my zone. My Zen, if you will. I could lean back into my wife, breath deep, and become one with the bike and all that surrounded us.

            There was no new foliage on the trees and shrubs as of yet, so the barren and bleakness of the fauna told of the passing brutality of winter as the warmth of the day promised the new spring and winters retreat.

            Mile after mile I soaked in all the freshness of the seasons new day that I could. The air, though slightly chilly, was refreshing with the smells of early springtime permeating my nose and memory banks of days so long ago, yet so fresh in mind that it was just a short time ago. Memories of two skinny kids on Honda SL70’s and dreaming of “someday”.

            The trip to the diner was pleasant and without sour incident of any type and we had made the journey in our predicted time slot of just under two hours.

            The diner started life as a railroad mail car and in 1946 it was trucked to its present location. One only must look at the shape of the inside to be able to tell of its origins. Or just use of the three foot by twelve-foot, restroom for a dead giveaway.

            The staff is always friendly, and the food is homemade. Breakfast is served all day long and I saw a few stack of pancakes drift by our seat at the bar, big enough to quell the hunger of anyone I know.

            Our fare for the day consisted of chile and a BLT sandwich for me and a salad and stuffed pepper soup for Judy. After which, we headed for home on a different and longer route from which we came.

            These type of routes are unique in that they entail all the major types of road one will encounter. We traveled through city, four lane highways, two lane rural roads as well as unmarked roads. It was well into our home ward journey when Judy got a message on her cell phone saying her brother and his girl friend would meet us in a town called Patton at the local stop-n-rob.

            Now, anyone familiar with me knows that I prefer to ride alone. But I make exception for Mick. First, he’s family. But mostly he has the same riding style and ideals as I.

            We caught up with Mick and Tina as they were fueling up. A course was set, and we were back on the road in ten minutes, or so, time.

            The way home took Judy and I on a different route than we had experienced. It too was void of new foliage so I could just sit back and watch the road ahead as my brother-in-law led the way.

 A stop for supplies in Clearfield at the JG Warehouse was needed by Mickey and Tina and there we met a man on a motorized bicycle. He told us his story of not being able to afford a Harley, so he purchased an eighty-cc kit and installed it, with an abundance of zip ties, on his bicycle for under $200 and painted to words “Poorman’s Harley” on the gas tank. He told us he could get up to forty-five miles-per-hour and the company that manufactures them was coming out with a 100-cc version, though the name of the company escapes me. He was an incredibly unique man and his machine to say the least. But I could not help thinking of a time long ago when such a machine started the motorcycle industry.    

After stowing their supplies, we traveled together with Judy’s brother and girlfriend a little further before splitting up and going on our separate way.

            A total of 200 miles was logged on the odometer and unlike past day trips through changing scenarios and back roads, I was not nearly as tired. Judy too confirmed she was not as tired or sore as previous seasons. The suspension had worked.