Touringroads -- Ken Aiken

Atlanticade: It’s Nice to Feel Wanted

2011-01-16T17:14:00.000-05:00

“Moncton hosts a number of high profile events and it seems that Atlanticade, perhaps because it’s a local organization, sometimes gets lost in the shuffle. People in city hall never seemed to grasp the concept of this event even though there was a 3.7 million-dollar spin-off last year.
Last year [2009] the city booked the Bon Jovi concert on the same weekend as Atlanticade. Now while this sounds like a great opportunity the reality is that hotel room rates throughout the city get increased for these big concerts and this affects the wallets of those coming to Moncton for the rally. Furthermore, the powers-that-be in city hall never notified Atlanticade organizers and the news of this concert was learned through the grapevine and too late to make scheduling changes for the rally. Every year there seemed to be some municipal issue, but the Bon Jovi concert essentially was the straw that broke the camel’s back." – interview with Dan Hicks, founder and promoter of Atlanticade.

Divorce is an ugly word, but sometimes a relationship has such irreconcilable differences that there’s no other choice but separation. So the city of Moncton and the Atlanticade rally parted ways last year. But there were other suitors for this motorcycle event and the pretty little city of Saint-Andrews-by-the-Sea was hosting the 4th Annual Atlanticade Rally for the very first time.
Make no mistake about it: it’s nice to feel wanted. John Craig, the mayor of Saint Andrews wanted it. Tim Henderson, the city’s chief administrative officer wanted it. Just as importantly, Karen Young of the Fairmont Algonquin hotel wanted it. The only question was whether riders would travel almost to the border of Maine to attend it.

The Algonquin is a five-star resort hotel that smells of old money, but when I arrived it was all about motorcycles. The blue and white striped Bud Beer tent was set up in one area while bikers lounged in polychrome Adirondack chairs on the front lawn by a makeshift bar. Bikes were parked everywhere and this is where I met Dan Hicks, the promoter of this event.
Atlanticade was taking places from July 1st to 5th. I’d already heard about the Canada Day fireworks extravaganza of the night before from folks encountered along the road earlier today. That certainly was a success, but the vast influx of residents from towns as much as an hour away from Saint Andrews prevented any count estimates of the number of motorcyclist on hand. Today I’d encountered hundreds of bikes on roads along the Fundy coast. It was often hard to distinguish between groups of riders and large numbers of individual riders who happened to be in the same place at the same time and that were going in the same direction. How many of these were simply passing through via Route 1 and how many were attending the rally was impossible to determine.
Dinner was sitting around with the mayor, Heather Ireland and the Biker TV crew, Tim Henderson, and Dan Hicks eating sausages and drinking beer in the gorgeous Kingsbrae Gardens. There were other events going on downtown, but by the time I wandered back to the hotel it was dark and time for bed. However, not for those folks in the blue and white striped tent – with live music they rocked on to who knows when.
Seven AM on Saturday downtown Saint Andrews was practically deserted and I was searching for that first cup of coffee. The morning light was perfect for photography and Water Street with its attractive facades was cordoned off for motorcycle-only parking, but you could count the number of bikes on one hand. However, by high noon both sides of the street were lined by a several thousand scoots parked cheek to jowl for several blocks. Scooters, dirt bikes, chopped Harleys, baggers, Brit bikes, Beemers, crotch rockets, dual sports, and trikes were mixed together in an eclectic jumble that is distinctly Canadian. Up here it’s not important what you ride, only that you do ride.

This tiny city can honestly lay claim to being the prettiest one to be found on the Fundy Coast and possibly even in the entire province. I can’t believe I missed it in the past: probably too much in a hurry to drop down and check it out. There’s a blockhouse at one end of Water Street and a large campground on the other at Indian Point. The National Historic District is composed of street after street of beautiful homes and the Kingsbrae Gardens are gorgeous. Katy’s Cove has a beach; Brandy Cove has the Huntsman Marine Sceince Centre and Aquarium. Minsters Island is accessible during low tide via a tidal road that crosses the ocean floor. This island was where Sir William Van Horne, the builder of the Canadian Pacific Railway, constructed his 50-room summer cottage from local sandstone as well as other outbuildings and a unique tidal swimming pool. In other words, there’s plenty to see and do in Saint Andrews.

Just in case local attractions weren’t enough, three guided tours were offered on a daily basis: the Charlotte County Coastal, McAdam Train Station, and International Island. Directions for these were posted for those who wished to travel on their own. Eldridge’s H-D/Honda threw a BBQ on Saturday at their Saint John showroom and some took off on that jaunt. There also was the Charlotte County Treasure Hunt and other touring activities that kept riders on the road day after day in perfect summer weather. There are several operators based in Saint Andrews who offer whale-watching tours and many took to the boats and headed out into the Bay of Fundy. The day was too perfect, so I got on the Street Glide and headed out of town.
In the narrow channel between Eastport, Maine and Deer Island, New Brunswick there is The Old Sow. This is the second-largest whirlpool in the world, a phenomenon that takes place twice a day as the incoming Fundy tide battles against the outflow of the St. Croix River. It’s something I’ve always wanted to see. Arriving at the site, imagine my surprise to find scuba divers suiting up, families on the beach, and the ferry making passage to the U.S. shore! I did get to witness the gyre and numerous “piglet” whirlpools, but it was fairly anti-climatic. However, the roads of Deer Island proved to be a delight to ride and I even had a whitetail dash across my path—how apropos.

There are two ferry routes into New Brunswick from Maine: one from Campobello Island and the other from Eastport. Actually Campobello Island is reached via the International Bridge at Lubec, Maine and Eastport on Moose Island is connected to the mainland by a causeway, but both are linked to Deer Island by ferry. From Deer Island another ferry weaves through the islands to reach the tip of a peninsula at Letete, so this route requires a bit of island hopping. Saint Andrews actually lies directly north and slightly west of Eastport and Lubec, but one has to ride counter-clockwise around Passamaquoddy Bay to reach it. Most people simply make the international crossing at Calais, Maine and go east around the head of the bay on Route 1 and then south on Route 127 to reach Saint Andrews at the very tip of this peninsula. It’s quite scenic regardless of which is chosen.

There were vendors and hundreds of bikes parked at the Arena when I returned to town. More in the parking lot at the Algonquin, and still a couple thousand downtown. Not everyone registered for Atlanticade so it’s difficult to determine how many showed up. I asked the local sheriff and he was of the opinion that 5-6,000 motorcycles were in town. No matter what the “official” count is deemed to be, the 4th Annual Atlanticade turned out to be more successful than any that had been held in Moncton. It seems that everyone had a good time and there were no problems so I expect word-of-mouth will increase attendance next year [2011]. Oh by the way, it will be held in Saint-Andrews-by-the-Sea. It’s nice to feel wanted.

Cristal Mines

2010-12-04T11:26:00.000-05:00

Cristal Mines

Keys

2010-11-28T14:26:00.000-05:00

Keys. There’s a porcelain bowl sitting on the table by the front door and it’s filled with keys. There are keys to the car, spare keys for the condo, and those for various properties I have access to. Then there are keys for the bikes. Even these are not straightforward but are on rings of various types and hold an array for disk locks, cable locks, U-shaped locks, and heavy padlocks. They are even a few for luggage. It’s really not so bad. At least it wasn’t until I decided to repair a broken one.

The plastic bow on one of my Kryptonite keys had broken and left me with just the steel blade. I knew that I had other Kryptonite keys and could, with a little modification, fit the blade into a new bow. Opening up the wooden box containing my collection of unused keys I came face-to-face with my past. I think the key on a chain with a fob depicting a favorite restaurant in Italy fits the lock on my former father-in-law’s apartmentinno in Venice. The circular one with the neon yellow bow was used for a long-lost disk lock on the since-sold Sportster. This one has a green plastic insert that was an important indicator code for something, but I’ve forgotten what. There are quite a few sets of identical keys connected together in pairs and triplets on cheap split rings. They must be important. I have those that slide into locks with makers like The Chicago Lock Company, Taylor, Master, and American U.S.A. – although I suspect I know what this last one fits. There are those that are vaguely familiar and obviously fit some piece of gear that I’ve reviewed in the past and might still have stored. If I throw them away I’ll regret it later. The Craftsman key obviously goes to a tool chest, or at least a lock once used before I switched them so my stacked cabinets would be keyed alike. This one is obviously for a bicycle lock. I’m now left me with a small pile that could be anything. Except this one: this is the key to the Ducati ST4 that was stolen in Modena. It was a factory bike that was loaned to me and I keep it as a reminder of a time and place, that not all journeys have a fairytale ending, and that simply locking a front fork is not sufficient to secure a motorcycle from theft. Keys—and locks—have a purpose.

It seems that we live in a society where theft is common and security a necessity. Less than a week ago my communal garage was pillaged and several sets of automotive tires stolen. The bikes were not touched, but now they’re cable locked together and disk locks have been fitted. Which is what prompted me to sort through my keys in the first place.

I’ve found some old keys and fitted my blade to a fancy bow with an integrated LED light. It’s now on one of my primary key chains. This wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t realize that sitting on a shelf in my storage locker is a large peanutbutter jar that’s three-quarter full of keys. I only ask that you don’t suggest that I switch to combination locks: I’m having enough trouble remembering all my computer passwords.

On The Rocks

2010-06-28T06:10:00.000-05:00

         Deeley’s big Harley trike seems to roll down the highway of its own volition. Which is a good thing. In the gray light that lies between dawn and sunrise I'm still half asleep and racing against the tide. It takes something special to get me out of bed at first light. However, the means justifies the end: I am heading to "The Rocks."
         The Bay of Fundy has the highest tides on the planet. Twice a day, a volume of seawater that’s equal to all the fresh water rivers and streams in the world rushes into this cul-de-sac. Twice a day the vast orange mudflats disappear forty feet beneath the ocean waves, and twice a day the rusty red cliffs of the Fundy shore are exposed. "The Rocks" is how locals refer to them, but to the rest of the world these natural wonders are known as Hopewell Rocks.
        This site attracts millions of visitors a year, but I’ve arrived on a Sunday well before park service employees have open the gates and begun their daily routines. I’m alone except for a crying gull and a stationary heron so I watch my step. This is not the time nor the place to twist an ankle on seaweed covered rock.

Academics called them "sea stacks," while the trees that grow on the tops of these towering columns of red sandstone have caused them to be colloquially known as "flower pots." Sculpted by tidal waves they form a garden of awesome beauty. Undercut and unstable they eventually succumb and fall, mere token sentinels against the relentless erosion of time. I can feel it as I walk along the seafloor among their towering forms.
Once upon an time, when the world was young and the concept of life merely an iffy possibility, there existed a mountain range older than the Appalachians and far greater than the Rockies. Torn by wind and water the fragments of these majestic peaks tumbled down ancient rivers to create a vast beaches on an elemental sea. Layer after countless layer, eon after eon, until by sheer weight they became fused into stone. Now the sheer force of the great Fundy tides tear at this sandstone releasing ancient pebbles that have survived in suspended animation for hundreds of millions of years. This is a new beach on a new sea, part of a natural cycle almost too immense for the mind to grasp, but I feel it in my gut.

Printed photos in the glossy magazines don’t do them justice. These standing pillars of stone and sand that have been sculpted by the relentless movement of water are what I’ve come to see. But great art, whether formed by the hand of man or God, evokes something deep inside and I am not immune.
One could follow my footsteps imprinted in the orange mud and gravel beach as they round the cape, but only briefly. They will be washed away when the great ocean waters return a couple hours hence. My footprints, like so much else, are infinitesimal against the backdrop of time.

I’m on a tight schedule, so mounting up I point the Harley north. I have appointments to keep, a constant race against time.

Perce: Erosion Tourism

2010-05-30T07:52:00.003-05:00

I’m touring before tourist season. Salmon fishing doesn’t begin until the first week in June; most information kiosks and interpretation centers are closed until the beginning of next month. As with most things in life, this provides both advantages and disadvantages. The disadvantages are obvious: if something is closed it can’t be viewed or used. The advantage was brought forth yesterday when I became stuck behind a RV camper with a train of six cars behind it. In another week or two they will become an epidemic on winding roads where one’s attention is in constant conflict between the rough pavement and gorgeous views.

     In Percé a tourist town of the first order, vendors were already out of winter hibernation and attempting to sell parking even while the public lots (usually it costs to park in the public ones, but they’re not yet staffed) are half full. I parked at will when and where I wanted. These were the choice spots and my composing of photos was greatly simplified by not having to content with unwanted elements moving into the frame.
     The roads are great, but in places the pavement suffers from fiscal neglect, years of the thaw/freeze cycle, and even ground movement. Some roads, especially two that I wished to take in Port Daniel and one in Carleton, were closed due to erosion of cliffs due to wave action. Depending upon the location, the coastline loss has been 2 to 10 meters a year. Observing how the sea undercuts the red sandstone cliffs, some of this apparently happens in rather dramatic fashion. The famous hole in the rock for which Percé is named is not the original eye: that one has long since collapsed. Fortunately—at least for modern tourism—nature has been gracious enough to create a second hole in the same rock. How much longer will the majestic building that is the retreat for Laval University stand on promontory depends upon fate simply because there is no technology that will protect a cliff of that size from the effects of a natural process. Even certain sections of Route 132 are now much closer to the coastal precipice than when it was created. Asphalt shows telltale fracturing and sloping in numerous places due to ground movement. It’s not dangerous, but is hell for the road maintenance crews.
     This is Lands End. Today I'll explore the very extent of the last land-contiguous portion of the Appalachian mountain chain.

Catch and Release

2010-05-27T19:55:00.001-05:00

I’d just left Manitou Falls, a vast cataract filled with tea-colored water whipped to a creamy white froth amid thunder and ground tremors. The woodland path to the falls was through a boreal forest with a carpet of mosses as thick as any found in the temperate rainforest around Mount Rainier. The pink granite bedrock was flecked with white and black and splattered with lichens in day-glow colors of green, orange, and red.I’d never seen anything like it without chemical enhancement.

Running late, I fitted my earplugs and pulled onto smooth pavement. Perhaps I was preoccupied with thoughts about what I had just seen or perhaps the earplugs deadened my sense of movement through space, but when I crested the hill the approaching driver spotted me at the same time I spied him. On came the blue and red strobes as I sneaked a quick peak at the speedometer.

My license is clean and their radio phone – yes, with the big black handset (cell phones don’t work this far east on the Côte Nord)—was having problems with reception. So they decided to let me go. But first they brought out their camera and requested that I take a photo of them with the T-Rex. A trophy shot, like those of huge Atlantic salmon with men and women dressed in khaki and poles in hand that are posted in hotels and service stations along this coast.

“Just keep it under 115 and you’ll be okay,” I was admonished.
It was with the gratitude of a landed trout in a catch-and-release stream that I continued my way up the coastal highway with one eye on the speedometer.

Motorcycle Touring in The Charlevoix

2010-05-23T22:34:00.001-05:00

     The number of motorcycles on the road today in The Charlevoix would make a rally organizer jealous. Hundreds of bikes crossed the thin slice of space-time that represents my travels today.How many passed through Baie-Saint-Paul in the course of the day is anyone’s guess, but this region still remains almost unknown to U.S. riders.
     Most of my day was spent eating. Like Italians, everyone here who is not eating seems to be talking about the highlights of their last meal or the anticipation of the next. My “light” breakfast included 12-grain bread, chocolate bread, and fresh croissants with three types of homemade preserves. Okay, it also included a couple of eggs over easy, orange juice, coffee, and assortment of fresh fruit and berries. My friends were concerned that I wasn’t eating enough! The Charlevoix is foodie heaven.
     Even the most boring of the three primary routes that cut across this ancient meteorite impact crater would be considered a premier touring road almost anywhere in the United States—the River Route is consider to be one of the top ten scenic highways in Canada.

     Most of my morning was spent with Guy Paquette, one of the finest contemporary painters in this country. I’d always admired his work – at least that which I had seen in galleries – but his more personal creations are on a totally different level than his very-much-in-demand (and very pricey) work. Just to add icing on the cake, I like this guy.
      So between eating and hanging out in an artist’s retreat I really didn’t have that much time to cruise the roads of the Charlevoix today, hence my reference to a thin slice of space-time and my surprise at the number of bikes on the road. Now this is hearsay, but it comes from Manon, who is President of the Saguenay H.O.G. chapter and one of only two women in Canada to hold such an office: almost 33% of Quebec motorcycle registrations are women riders (compared to a U.S. average of 12.9%). My observations are that more than a quarter of all bikes are carrying two people. This is May and snow is visible on most mountain peaks – just wait until summer starts!
       All good things must come to an end. So I finish my glass of Chilean wine, pack the T-Rex, and head east on Route 138 seeking the end of the road. It will take me three days to get there.

View Charlevoix Motorcycle Roads Quebec in a larger map

La Baie to La Malbaie

2010-05-22T09:03:00.000-05:00

     The Saguenay fjord is not a place for a road and there are only a few places where tributaries have cut their way to the river and former fishing villages now reel in tourists. Sainte-Rose-du-Nord is one of these. The roads into these small villages are dramatic themselves, although I can only imagine the height of tourist season the ensuing traffic jams in these cul-de-sacs.
     Between Sainte-Rose-du-Nord and Sacré-Coeur this highway follows a glacially gouged valley and a famous salmon fishing river, the Sainte Marguerite. In other places this gorgeous valley would be called a “notch” or a “canyon” and would be considered a major tourist attraction. Here the fjord gets the publicity, Route 170 on the west side of the river has the major truck traffic, and Route 172 remains a touring secret to most of the world. I don’t stop to take a photo: I’m having too much fun with the T-Rex on smooth asphalt.
     It’s another narrow road with several very narrow, quite tight, hairpin turns that leads down to the tiny marina. Again, it’s worth the effort. There is another road—Chemin de l’Anse-Creusse—that goes to Sacré-Coeur, but the low clearance on the T-Rex isn’t designed for rough pavement and I pass it by, this time.
     Tadoussac is busy. Long lines for the ferry crossing to Baie Sainte-Catherine means I’m on the third boat. The T-Rex always draws a crowd and this time is no exception.
     I meet my riding buddy, François Gariepy, on the other side and we west to La Malbaie. From La Baie to La Malbaie today’s ride should be called. There are more stories than can be fit into this short space. Another time I will schedule a day of riding followed by another of writing. This seems to be the only way such wonderful touring will find its way into print.

Laurentian Spring

2010-05-21T06:28:00.002-05:00

     Snow in the mountains; ice on the lake. Spring came early to Canada and most of us have been riding since early March but it’s now late May and the last vestiges of winter cling to the northern shores of these mountain lakes and lie hidden in the deep boreal shade along the roadside. Accompanied by Ross, Raynald, and Manon I’m headed south on Route 381 from La Baie on the Saguenay River to Baie-St-Paul on the St. Lawrence.
     This is a motorcycle-touring road: narrow, only a couple of hamlets, and great scenery. Like all northern roads this one has its rough spots interspersed with flawless asphalt and it is shared with trucks moving cargo and timber. Unlike Route 175, the steep grades reach 19% so the only trucks on Route 381 are those that absolutely have to use it.
Spring has arrived in Baie-St-Paul and we peel off the layers to sit comfortably on the patio of Chez Bouquet to enjoy lunch with my riding buddy Francois Gariepy. This is a town to savor, but lunch is all we have time for. Mounting up we opt for the River Route (362), one of the top ten scenic roads in Canada.
     We make it no farther than the village of Les Eboulements where we stop at the old forge and chocolate makers. The forge was established at the end of the 19th century and continued in operation until 1980. The chocolates are made in the house, but this is not ordinary chocolatier: they hand make over 80 different chocolates using cacao from around the world. They offer a chocolate-coated education of the cacao bean and the Belgian tradition of turning it into the world’s favorite confection.

Francois leaves us in Port-au-Persil while we continue to St. Simeon. We’re not taking the ferry across the St. Lawrence to Riviere-du-Loup today. We turn north on Route 170, through the Saguenay Park that borders the famous fjord. It’s another fine touring road, but to catch a glimpse of the fjord requires turning onto one of the few roads that lead to its shores. We make the detour in Petite Saguenay and follow the river through the deep canyon to reach the fjord. It’s a beautiful sight and photos just don’t do it justice.
We make it back to La Baie just after 6 PM. It’s been thoroughly enjoyable ten-hour ride in the company of friends. Tomorrow I go solo and head down the eastern side of the fjord to Tadoussac.

Touring Lac-Saint-Jean, Quebec

2010-05-19T21:30:00.000-05:00

I know how to read a map scale, but the sense of distance remains an illusion until you find yourself actually riding these roads. It took an entire day to circumvent Lac-Saint-Jean. Blue sky and new leaves on the trees coupled with rushing river cascades and waterfalls made for some great sightseeing.

It snowed here last week and the fiddleheads are just coming up. Such events are almost ancient history farther south in Montreal. The tourist season is at least a month away, but residents were out taking advantage of the hot sunshine. Bicyclists and scantily clad rollerblading enthusiasts; sun worshipers on the pristine sands of Pointe Tallion; and so many motorcycles on the road that one couldn’t be blamed for thinking that a rally was taking place in the vicinity. In other words, it was a perfect day for a motorcycle ride.

Guided by Ross on this red Honda GL1800 and trailed by Ray on this big black Harley bagger with my bumblebee yellow T-Rex sandwiched between them we were a sight. The stratification by brand (and even model) that so prevalent in the U.S. doesn’t exist up here. I saw Harleys riding with Honda scooters and KTM’s. What’s important is not what you ride, but that you do ride. It’s a nice sense of inclusion that we would do well to emulated south of the 45^th Parallel.

Naturally we hit the tourism high points – Ouiatchouan Falls in the ghost town of Val-Jalbert, lunch at Zoo Sauvage (this is not a local nightclub, but a premier wildlife zoo) – and made quick stops at a couple of popular motorcycle service shops. There are dramatic waterfalls and cascades in this region and we passed by most, but did manage to stop a three or four to enable me to practice some photography. With Ross guiding I was freed from having to navigate while reaping the benefits of riding the best motorcycle touring roads around the lake. Ray is the kind of guy that everyone takes a liking to and he took on the role of explaining the nature of the T-Rex to the people who came over to check it out every time we stopped. Fortunately I will be graced with their company on tomorrow’s long journey through the Charlevoix Region and back by way of the Saguenay fjord. I’m looking forward to it already, but it requires an early start so most of my packing has to be done tonight. I best get on with the job.

In the Saguenay

2010-05-19T06:10:00.000-05:00

     Quebec City has become one of my favorite places to visit. This one was measured in hours and with some reluctance I left my abode at Auberge Saint-Antoine and wound up and through the old city to reach Route 175.
     The dangerous two-lane Route 175 from Quebec City to Chicoutimi is being transformed into the divided four-lane Autoroute 73. It will be a beautiful road when completed, but now it’s just 200 kilometers of construction. I’ve noticed particular outcroppings and individual boulders that bulldozers and earthmoving equipment have carefully worked around and where streams have been channeled for form waterfalls. There’s no hiding mile after mile of high fences built to deter moose, but nothing is 100%. In the meridian between the north and south lanes stood a seemingly bewildered moose. The south lanes were still crushed stone and yellow machines worked nearby but this cow was oblivious to them. Somehow a path had been cut through the boreal forest and this prehistoric beast was stymied by the change. For me it was a warning: if there are moose about during the day, this was not a road to be traveled at night on a motorcycle.
     I easily find my biker-friendly hotel, La Saguenéenne. Regis Nadeau has been a presence at motorcycle shows in Montreal and Quebec City long before most people even thought about motorcycle tourism, but I’ve been unable to accept his invitation to stay at La Saguenéenne until now. There are more motorcycles on Quebec roads than in most regions in the states and the warm spring weather (last week it snowed) has everyone out. On a Tuesday during the day I saw more motorcycles on the road than during a nice weekend in Vermont.

My guides for today are Nancy Donnelly of Tourisme Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean and members of the Saguenay H.O.G. chapter. They know the roads and this provides me with an opportunity to drive and sightsee without having to navigate. This afternoon is just a shake down for tomorrow when members of the chapter are leading me the sights around Lac-Saint-Jean. This is the inside tour, with a couple of special requests thrown in.
The Alma Bridge – the first aluminum bridge to be built in the world—spans the Saguenay River. In fact, this is where the river begins; I will follow it to the Saint Lawrence River not once, but twice in the next couple of days. Atlantic tides somehow intrude deep into the Quebec heartland. Here, a hundred kilometers from the St. Lawrence and hundreds more to the ocean, tide run 4 meters high and the river teems with shrimp and all that prey on them.

     We make a run to La Baie Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! is reputed to be an old French expression for a dead end and the bay was mistaken by early explorers as a continuation of the river. I think the proper pronunciation is more of in the vein of a sudden realization than that of a funny joke.
     Off we go to the locally famous cheese maker for cheddar curds. It’s worth the trip. The landscape reminds me of Vermont and the cheese is delicious.
     This is all for today. Thursday will be a full day of exploration. Right now it’s time for a cold beer and dinner with my new found friends.

Twice Three

2010-04-14T12:17:00.002-05:00

The idea is not new, in fact, the first successful motor vehicle was a steam-powered three-wheeled wagon built by Nicolas-Joseph Cugnot in 1769. Karl Benz’s "Motowagen" of 1885 was the first successful car to be powered by an internal combustion engine -- it had three wheels. Di-Dion Boulton tricycles were introduced in1895 and these were powered by the 138cc, 1.5-horsepower gasoline engine that would create the motorcycle industry. Three-wheeled vehicles were huffing and puffing along a full century before Sylvester Roper first mounted a boiler on two wheels to create the first motorcycle.

My practical experience with three-wheeled vehicles dates back a mere decade to when I met Bob Keyes, a rocket scientist who developed the quickest, meanest street-legal vehicle on the planet to illustrate what he called “the physics of three.” I never did get to pilot the Vigilante, but rode in it enough times to know that his arcane diagrams and string of mathematical formula had led to creation of the ultimate cycle-car. Subsequent day trips on exotic trikes –Lehman’s R1100 BMW, the new 1800GL Honda as envisioned by Hannigan, and the Boss Hoss with a 302ci small-block V-8 – have shown me how much fun three wheels can be.

Trikes (single wheel and steering in front; two wheels behind) and cycle-cars (two wheels and steering in front) have attained popularity at various times and for different reasons during the last century. Harley-Davidson ceased production of the Servi-Car in 1973; Leman reinvented the trike in 1984. In the past decade they’ve gone from being an eccentric oddity on the road to becoming the fastest growing segment of the motorcycle industry. I hate to think it’s because we’re getting older, but I know that when the time comes that I can no longer lift my reclined bike to an upright position (which gets more difficult each year) I’ll be switching to the stability of three wheels.

This summer I get to try out two very different three-wheeled motorcycles: three weeks piloting Campagna Motors’ new T-Rex that’s built in Montreal (www.campagnamotors.com) and three weeks aboard Harley-Davidson’s new Street Glide Trike from Deeley H-D in Toronto. Street Glide Trike The first is a true cycle-car while the other is a classic incarnation of Harley-Davidson’s most famous trike model.

Besides the obvious fun factor, I’ve been given the opportunity to test both systems, although each has its own merits and adherents. I’ve always wanted a Morgan, especially the sexy Super Sport F (1933-37), and have lusted after more than one vintage H-D Servi-Car (especially those after 1951, the first to be fitted with hydraulic brakes). Now I have my chance, although the horsepower of the T-Rex is equivalent to a half-dozen Morgans and the H-D has amenities not even conceived of half a century ago. It’s two three-week trips back-to-back: twice three for me.

I’ll be reporting my journeys on Twitter (www.twitter.com/touringroads) and in this blog beginning May 16^th.

Not Quite Circular

2010-04-05T10:40:00.000-05:00

It’s one of those hole-in-the-wall places you have to want to find. I had the address; I had an appointment; and I had a bent front rim that made my ride reminiscent of those cheap motel beds fed by quarters to induce a vibrating rattle advertised as being a “sensuous massage.” The hand-lettered sign and a bent aluminum rim hung on the clapboarded wall, suggested that I had located M.C. Wheel in Swanzey, NH, but I really wasn’t certain.

I stepped into a tiny cluttered office. A huge leprechaun with flaming orange beard, facial tattoos, and an infectious grin leaned through a very narrow door at a 45-degree angle and cheerfully asked, “Can I help you?” This was my introduction to Josh.

Mark Moran built his first wheel-straightening machine in 1992; his first for alloy motorcycle wheels was fabricated in 1996. The specialized gigs, fixtures, and gauges are all home-built for a single purpose: to straighten and true aluminum and magnesium wheels. Still it was Josh’s big, fat, nimble fingers that deftly manipulated hydraulics, steel spacers, and curved gauges while his practiced eye watched the truing caliper dial and his hands spun my rim like a practiced DJ to the rhythms of Bob Marley. Straightening and truing a motorcycle wheel to within five-thousandths of an inch tolerance is a craft honed by experience.

It took a couple of hours to straighten my Escheresque front wheel. The cost was 150 bucks; watching the process was priceless.

Tracking Down Indians

2010-02-08T12:07:00.000-05:00

Tracking Down Indians

by Ken Aiken

“Street Sweeper,” the very name evokes an image of a mean, ground-hugging, custom chopper with an absurdly wide rear tire. Whether this was built as a concept vehicle or a production prototype is unknown, but the black and white photos, now curled with age, showed a 1931 Indian Scout attached to a street cleaning sidecar device. Although a strange concept by today’s standards, it definitely was an innovative design in the early 1930’s. The Indian Street Sweeper was patented (#1,922,338) on August 15, 1933 and these photos prove that at least one was actually constructed.

Yesterday a Nor’easter had dumped a foot of snow on the city streets; today the Polar Express delivered bitterly cold temperatures. I really don’t care since most of my day is being spent in the warm confines of the library sorting through material from the Indian Motocycle Company. This is my second trip to view the progress being made on the exhibits and my first to do a little research in the archives. When Esta Manthos donated the world’s largest collection of Indian motorcycles to the Springfield Museums the gift also included an extensive library of ephemera. Correspondence and personal photos of the founders Oscar Hedström and George Hendee, company sales literature, old photographs, parts manuals, and other papers are piled on tables and shelves as library staff valiantly struggles to collate, copy, and catalog it all. Some of these documents and photographs have been scanned and reproduced as part of the informative stage backdrops for the motorcycles that will be exhibited, but cataloging is proving to be a Herculean task. Meanwhile, I’ve been turned loose in a candy shop.

Ever since first laying eyes on those little three-wheeled delivery vans and trucks that zip down the narrow cobblestone streets of Italian towns and cities, I’ve wanted to build a version using a Harley frame and big V-twin engine. However, long before these little 90cc and 125cc Piaggio post-war scooters came into being, Indian had invented my desired custom: the Traffic Car (filed July 2, 1930; pat #1,876,155 on Sept. 6, 1932). Initially built around the 45ci Scout, but with a massive steel rear sub-frame (pat.#1,933,101; filed Nov. 19, 1930; approved Oct. 31, 1933), they were introduced in 1935 and are now one of the scarcest Indian models of the pre-WWII era. [see: “Three For The Road: A Brief Look At Trike History” www.thunderpress.net/MONTH_ARTICLE-pdfs/2008/0608/Threeforther/Threeforther.shtml]

The Indian Motocycle Company produced a number of three-wheeled bikes. Some were arranged as sidecars, but with casket-like chests (delivery vans), Landau carriages (used as taxis in Newark and Baltimore), and even specialty designs. The “Indian Fire Patrol” carried chemical fire extinguishers, a small tank of water, hose, and a fire axe and it was being used by fire departments as far away as Tokyo, Japan. During the Great Depression the classic trike design was introduced and became popular as service vehicles (“Dispatch Tow”) and for police work (“Indian Patrol”). The Dispatch Tow was introduced in 1931 utilizing the Model 101 Scout, although the patent for the sub-frame (pat.#1,933,102; filed March 18, 1931) wouldn’t be approved until October 31, 1933. In the archives are photos of models that I’ve never seen: one with a full bench seat behind the saddle and another fitted with two luxurious leather bucket seats. My favorite is a photo of a concept trike—an Art-Deco-inspired streamlined, full-fairing delivery vehicle, but whether or not it ever got off the drawing board is unknown.

Sorting through a stack of 8x10 photographs taken by the Indian Motocycle Company for publicity purposes, I discover another production model that I never knew existed. The Springfield Police Department once owned a small fleet of armored motorcycles. I suspect these were made during Prohibition when whiskey running was taken seriously. Both the motorcycle and sidecar were fitted with protective shields made of “crucible” steel and bulletproof glass. The shields had gun ports and folded down when not being used. I have no idea how much weight these added to these relatively low-powered motorcycles or how it affected handling, but I’m sure Elliot Ness would have appreciated them.

Stacks of photographs document races and hillclimbs during the golden era. Some are identified; most are not. Personal photos, family albums, and publicity photos wait to be sorted and cataloged. That of a 1902 Indian in South Africa grabs my attention, as does the image of Johnny Seymour establishing his 1926 land speed record on Ormond Beach. The archives are a treasure trove and the challenge is to organize all of this material prior to moving it into the new museum. So far only those images and information that pertain to the exhibits have been digitalized for use as the graphic backdrops on the various stages. Despite all the special accommodations that the staff has made for me, there’s only a limited amount of time available. Handwritten notes are taking much too long and so the notebook is abandoned. Making photocopies is a vast improvement, but still too slow. I’m now frantically photographing everything that catches my eye, filling one flashcard after another, amassing megabytes of information without trying to make sense of any of it. No lunch break; no trips to the bathroom; no stopping for coffee, just a race against the clock. It’s anarchy in the archives.

I find a complete parts manual for the Model 841 shaft-drive, transverse-cylinder military model of 1943 and of course have to photograph the drive train and transmission illustrations. The sales catalog for 1914 provides information about the Hendee Special and then, in the same manila folder, I discover the complete wiring diagrams and a technical review for the first electric starter used on a motorcycle. Lady Luck continues to sit by my side as I uncover information about the X-cars and other products the company was developing and producing just prior to the stock market crash of 1929. The Hendee Manufacturing Company had an aeronautics department and a considerable amount of information is revealed regarding the Hendee V-8 manufactured in 1910 and the Hendee Rotary 7 produced in 1911. All of a sudden it becomes apparent that Indian was much more than a motorcycle manufacturer and that I’ve become enmeshed in a much larger project than intended.

Is it a coincidence that Indian riders held all American land speed and distance records at a time when Hedström was developing high-performance airplane engines? What caused the recall of the first electric starter on a motorcycle in 1914? I don’t have the answer to the first; I believe that I found the answer to the second. Details, details, details. Separately this information becomes nothing more than a specialized version of Trivia Pursuit, but each and every detail is like a piece of a giant jigsaw puzzle that’s waiting to be assembled. It’s now obvious that the picture on the outside of the Indian box doesn’t exactly match that of the pieces I’m finding. Some of my questions can’t be answered here and it’s time to examine a few of the motorcycles in the collection.

The new Museum of Springfield History is literally under wraps. Swaddled in white plastic, the building is getting a facelift and the grand entrance hall is under construction. Progress has been made since my last visit, but the staff is already feeling the strain of meeting a deadline that is still months away. Somehow curator Guy McLain manages to make time between meetings to escort me to the collection.

I'm standing in front of the actual bumblebee-yellow 1949 Scout featured in a photo uncovered in the archives and, despite knowing the answer even before it's formed on my lips, I ask the keeper of the keys if I can take it for a test ride. Fortunately, Guy has a sense of humor. I don't get to ride it, and of course sitting on exhibits is permissible only in children's museum. In stocking feet and wearing special white cotton gloves I'm free to walk on the staging and examine what I wish, although time is very limited today. I always wanted to know how the early twist grip operated. Now I know. I'm interested in the differences between the 1930 and 1931 model Silver Arrows and want a closer look at the Model 841 shaft drive and the Eliason Moto-Toboggan. Responding to my discoveries in the archives I take detailed close-up photos of the Hendee V-8 airplane engine, and then pack my cameras and gear.

I head north, burdened with answers to questions that were not asked and even more questions about answers that were found. However, every story has a beginning and I suppose that I should start with, “The very first Indians were a line of bicycles made by George Hendee in 1898.” The rest I’ll fill in as I go.

Motorcycle Quiz

2010-02-07T17:06:00.000-05:00

Motorcycle Quiz

compiled by Ken Aiken

Those that think motorcycle trivia is, . . . well, trivial , have probably never won a bar bet by pulling an arcane nugget of knowledge out of a fuzzy cranium. Sometimes these tidbits even spark a desire to dig a little deeper and learn a bit more about the history of particular marquees or mechanical innovations. Then again, it a great way to kill time on a evening when the wind is howling and the thermometer has dropped so low you suspect that Hell just might freeze over. Whatever your reasoning may be, here are 40-plus questions to test your two-wheel knowledge.

MOTORCYCLE INNOVATION

1. Indian first used the twist-grip on their 1905 models; Glenn Curtiss independently invented it at least a year earlier. Who is now acknowledged as being the original inventor of the motorcycle twist-grip throttle?

2. The first engine used in a U.S. production motorcycle was a licensed copy of the French-made De Dion-Buton. What was the name of the Massachusetts company and the brand of motorcycle it manufactured?

3. The first use of ball bearings in motorcycles was applied to the main shaft of the engine in 1902. Who pioneered their use?

4. What were the first U.S. motorcycles to be exhibited at county fairs and circuses?

5. What motorcycle company built the engines for the first Indian motorcycles?

6. Chain-drive transmission was first used on the 1890 Panhead-Levassor automobiles. What was the first year and manufacturer to use chain drive on an American motorcycle?

7. In 1904, the first year Harley-Davidson motorcycles were manufactured, how many miles of paved first-class roads existed in America?

8. N.Y.P.D. began purchasing motorcycles in 1904, but they didn’t organize their motorcycle squad until June 1911. Earlier that year the first motorcycle police patrol in the U.S. was established. In what city did this take place?

9. The first hydraulic brakes were used on the 1920 Duesenberg – although some historians credit the 1896 electric bus of Thomas Parker -- and the first interconnected hydraulic brakes were on the 1928 Ascot-Pullin motorcycle. On what year and make of motorcycle were hydraulic brakes reintroduced in the U.S.?

10. On July 6, 1903, George Wyman became the first person to cross the North American continent on a motor vehicle. What was he riding?

11. What was the first motorcycle to feature floorboards?

12. Who invented the pneumatic tire in 1888?

13. The single-cylinder engine was the first to be developed in the United States. The V-twin arrived in 1903 on the Hercules (Curtiss). The three-cylinder came into production on the 1909 Curtiss. What company made the first American 4-cylinder engine in a production motorcycle?

14. Charles f. Kettering invented the electric starter and the 1911 Cadillac the first automobile to feature it. What was the first motorcycle to feature an electric starter?

15. What U.S. motorcycle was the first to feature a side-valve engine?

16. The first adjustable rear coil springs appeared on an American motorcycle in 1915. What was the brand?

17. In 1910, the Scott was the first motorcycle to employ a kick-start. What was the first production motorcycle in the United States to use it?

18. What was the first production motorcycle model sold in the United States to feature a front disc brake?

19. The 1910 Scott was the first motorcycle to use telescopic front forks. The 1934 750cc Nimbus was the first to use hydraulic damping in telescopic front forks. On what year and model were hydraulic front forks first used on a production motorcycle in the U.S.?

20. What motorcycle was the first to use pneumatic tires?

21. The first American motorcycle-only race took place in May 1901. Where was it held?

22. The first motorcycle road race took place between Paris and Rouen, France in 1894. The first road race in America took place between Chicago and Evanston, Illinois in November 1895. The first American motorcycle road race took place in May1902. Where was it held?

23. The first hillclimb competition took place in France in 1897 with 57 competitors. The first American motorcycle hillclimb event took place on May 30, 1902. Where was it held?

24. The first closed-circuit dirt track was Naragansett Park in Cranston, Rhode Island in 1896. The first track built exclusively for motorcycle racing was a concrete oval was Brooklands in Surry, England in 1907. The first built in America for motorcycle racing was a board track built in 1909. Where was it located?

25. The Isle of Man Tourist Trophy (TT) race was established in 1907. In 1911 an American motorcycle swept the field and captured the top three places. What was the name of the marquee?

KNOW YOUR HARLEY

26. In what year was the teardrop tank introduced?

27. Harley-Davidson introduced rear telescopic hydraulic shocks on which model?

28. Harley-Davidson made history during a race in Fresno, California in 1921. What was this milestone?

29. In 1960 H-D introduced a fiberglass-body motor scooter that was started with a pull-cord (like a lawnmower). What was it called?

30. In 1942 H-D manufactured an opposed twin, shaft-drive motorcycle. What was its model designation?

31. The FL Electro-Glide was introduced in 1965 with an electric starter. What was the first H-D model to be fitted with electric start?

32. In what year did H-D begin producing snowmobiles?

33. Joe Smith broke a speed record on his H-D in 1971. What was it?

34. The “Turnip Eater” was a H-D motorcycle that made history in 1970. What did it achieve?

35. In what year did H-D become the largest motorcycle manufacturer in the world?

36. The first H-D built for police duty was delivered to the Detroit Police Department in what year?

37. In what year did H-D begin exporting to Japan?

38. A childhood friend of Arthur Davidson designed the carburetor and oil lubrication system for the first Harley-Davidson motorcycles. What was the name of this famous inventor?

39. Who designed the first H-D logo and pinstriped the fenders of their first motorcycles?

40. William Harley and Arthur Davidson sold their first motorcycle to a friend. What was the name of the person who bought the first H-D motorcycle?

41. Harley-Davidson acquired a seat on the New York Stock Exchange in 1987. What was the first year that the company sold public shares of the company?

42. The famous H-D eagle first appeared on gas tanks in what year?

Motorcycle Companies and Early Aviation

2010-01-18T11:29:00.000-05:00

"When Motorcycle Companies Took To The Skies" was recently published in ThunderPress. During the first decade or so of the 20th century the rapid technological advances for internal combustion engines allowed for the creation of a aeronautics industry. Power-to-weight ratios were a consideration addressed by motorcycle manufacturers so it should come as no surprise that some of these companies would venture into this new industry. Two motorcycle companies that were actively involved in developing engines for aircraft were Curtiss and Indian (Hendee Mfg. Co.). Curtiss went on to change aviation history while that of Indian has been largely forgotten.

The full article can be read at www.thunderpress.net/MONTH_ARTICLE-pdfs/2009/1209/WhenMotorcycle/WhenMotorcycle.shtml

Montebello Land Rover Experience Driving School

2010-01-16T13:51:00.000-05:00

Learning To Love A Rocky Road: The Land Rover Experience Driving School in Montebello.

--previously published on NaturalTraveler.com

The vehicle slides sideways as sand-encrusted tires seek purchase on naked rock. Even more unnerving is the radical incline angle of the Range Rover that limits the driver’s view to treetops and sky. Yet all is as it should be: I’m attending the Land Rover Experience Driving School in Montebello, Quebec.

This is not a training school for those planning on running in the Baja 1000. In fact, there’s rarely an opportunity to shift the vehicle out of first gear while maneuvering around the obstacle course. The focus of instruction is to build driver confidence, teach basic off-road skills, and train owners how to properly utilize these amazing machines.

Following instructions, I angle the wheels and maintain gentle pressure on the accelerator. The Range Rover Discovery (LR3) regains traction and pulls us to the top. Now for the next lesson: descending a steep rocky trail. With the transmission in first gear, Simon encourages me to take my foot off the accelerator (no problem) and off the brake (are you crazy!?) to allow the ABS (anti-lock braking system) to take control. With all-wheel drive and independent suspension, the computerized system coupled with high-compression engine braking does a better job descending the trail than I could manage manually.

There are four Land Rover Experience Driving Schools in North America and each provides a unique experience in terms of terrain. Each of these is located at a five-star resort of international acclaim: Equinox in Manchester, Vermont; Biltmore in Ashville, North Carolina; and Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley, California. The first Land Rover Experience was established here, at Fairmount Le Château Montebello in Quebec.

Located on the north bank of the Ottawa River about halfway between Montreal and Ottawa, Le Château Montebello is the retreat of world leaders and movie stars. It’s the largest log building in the world and has hosted major historical conferences including a recent G8 Summit. Although the office and headquarters of the school are located in the relatively smaller log structure of the Sports Complex adjacent to the Château, the courses and trails are in the nearby Fairmount Kenauk Preserve, a 100-square-mile expanse of forest and pristine lakes.

My vehicle for the day turns out to be a LR3 with an optional winch. Built to traverse the toughest off-road trails--whether through jungle, across savannah, over desert, or in the Northern Borel Forest—the interior of this hundred-thousand-dollar technical marvel makes my Jag look almost plebian. Make no mistake about it: although the vast majority of these vehicles in North America are owned by soccer moms and commuting business executives whose off-road experience is limited to jumping a curb or traffic island, this Range Rover will tackle anything in the world that’s seven-feet wide and claims to be a road.

After a couple of hours of driving through trenches and ditches, over large rocks and outcroppings, along watercourses and deeply rutted roads I “graduate” to a real-world trail through the Kenauk.

The beavers have been busy expanding their territory and I’m forced to drive over their dam and through the shallows to continue on the road. The Range Rover is not an amphibious craft and there’s a technique to driving through water that’s deep enough to reach the top of the tires. However, this is the good portion of the trail.

Sometimes teetering on three tires or scraping the skid plates of the undercarriage we slowly crawl along a trail of deep mud ruts interspersed with rocks. On the street there’s nothing so annoying as a driver that “rides the brake.” Off-road requires a bit of unlearning as the brake and accelerator are utilized simultaneously to minimize suspension compression and rebound. My calf muscles are cramping as I apply this lesson to the real-world scenario. Occasional bangs on the undercarriage indicate how well I’m doing.

We stop at the foot of the hill and walk the trail to the crest. A steep incline with both loose rock and small boulders this challenge is complicated by a tricky corner in the middle with a drop-off on one side. Simon gets out to direct me, but this stretch of road has to be traversed by a combination of memory, “feel,” and the wheel position indicators on the LCD display console.

Slow, but constant acceleration and careful maneuvering gets me up the hill and around the corner, but I loose traction when climbing a series of large rocks. Now I have to back down to the corner in order to make a second attempt. The LR3 has an onboard camera that will provide a rear view, but I’m not about to take my hands off the steering wheel to seek the proper button! Instead I carefully follow Simon’s instructions. The incline prevents me from seeing any portion of the trail so trust in my instructor and the capabilities of the LR3 becomes of paramount importance at this stage.

This school is about more than learning off-road driving techniques. Besides individual instruction, Land Rover Experience offers corporate team-building activities. Mission Impossible, Geo-Cache, Scavenger Hunt, and Off-Road Challenge develop trust and communication skills in addition to developing personal confidence.

We cover about six kilometers (3.7 miles) during our two-hour drive. Leaving the Kenauk Preserve, the single-lane gravel road feels like an open freeway in comparison. No, this is not the Baja 1000, but it’s the most fun I’ve had behind the wheel of a car in many years.

A Night at Quebec's Ice Hotel

2010-01-16T13:45:00.000-05:00

An Ice Time In Quebec -- previously published in ThunderPress and posted on sites by Quebec Tourism. It's not for everyone, but those looking for a very different experience should consider spending a night at the Waldorf-Astoria of igloos, the famous Ice Hotel.

Quebec bikers are crazy and get a little out there during the depths of winter. I was in Quebec City to attend the largest bike show in the province and make the contacts necessary to carry out my summer touring plans. Determined to figure out what riders did when the snow was ass-deep for months at a time and temperatures dropped to negative double digits, I booked a room in the Waldorf-Astoria of igloos, the world-famous Hôtel de Glace (Ice Hotel) in nearby Duchesnay.

There’s only one ice hotel in North America and, being made entirely of ice and snow, it’s not a four-season resort. Every December a new hotel is constructed and every April it melts away in a natural rhythm that has been inescapable since the last Ice Age. With the wind blowing out of the northwest and the temperature at minus-19 degrees it seemed that another Ice Age was imminent. I stashed my gear in the heated Pavillon Talik and headed over to the hotel.

I was surprised at the relative warmth even as my breath rose hard and white on the still air. In the lobby a delicate bouquet of ivory flowers and green leaves screams in sensory contrast. Ahead stretches a reception hall in a style that I can only describe as Tolkienesque: walls the color of the finest Carrara marble carved in bas-relief beneath a Gothic arched ceiling supported by crystal-clear pillars of ice. In the center of the hall a massive ice chandelier infused with ever changing spectral hues glows in dim splendor. With my steps leaving waffled imprints on a floor raked with Zen precision, I advance, expecting at any moment to encounter an ice queen or perhaps the White Witch of Narnia. Soon joined by my cohorts we set off to explore this fantasy world of ice and snow – and to find our rooms for the night.

Detailed descriptions are useless—the hotel is built to a different design and the sculptural theme differs each year. Embedded LED lighting transforms 500 tons of carved ice and 15,000 tons of sculpted snow into surrealistic visions. Animal skins cover chairs and benches carved from special ice that’s made in Montreal and trucked north. Foam mattresses grace crystalline beds. One suite has a fireplace and a hot tub; my monastic room has a floor to ceiling pierced wall of ice as the footboard to the bed. Others feature elaborately carved walls with fantasy designs, dragons, hockey players, and artifacts or photographs embedded in blocks of ice.

It was time out for supper. Since the ice hotel doesn’t boast a kitchen--they should open a sushi bar--we quickly walk to the government owned and operated Pavillon Horizon. To our surprise and delight we discover an inexpensive five-star restaurant with impeccable service, a wine list to die for, and a menu so exquisite that it nearly results in paralysis of decision for six devoted foodies. Such was simply not expected in a rustic outpost on the edge of the Canadian wilderness.

In our absence the public spaces of the hotel have been transformed from a Nordic ice palace into an ultra-chic nightclub. Music pulses in the acoustically flawless Ice Bar while colors sluice through ice and soak in walls of snow a meter thick. In one corner, imprisoned on four sides by thermal glass, a fire burns in heatless, décor-designed splendor while guests frantically sculpt ice on workbenches supplied for this purpose. The bartender pours concoctions into the rocks--the results looking like a cliché 1960s B-grade sci-fi movie--while a demonic face looks over his shoulder. I comment that my father had always admonished that I’d earn a one-way ticket to Hell. Bill retorts that this couldn’t be Hell, because the Devil would only allow a single drink for all eternity and we were getting refills. Point well taken. Meanwhile the women have disappeared and there was only one place they can be.

In the courtyard hot tubs gurgle beneath a full moon so crisp it didn’t seem real. Fighting against the Artic night none of the tubs can push the water temperature above 98 degrees. All guests go through a briefing before being allowed to stay the night. One of the admonishments was not to go to bed until your hair was completely dry or risk becoming literally frozen to the bed. Likewise, don’t put eyeglasses on the side table: they’ll freeze into the ice. Therefore the inevitable becomes an ad hoc experiment: how many nearly naked people, whom one is not on intimate terms with, can be packed into a 6 x 4 foot sauna (eleven is the correct answer).

Dressed in a bathrobe and hiking boots I contemplate what was learned while padding back to my room through snow tunnels. The past couple of days had been spent snowshoeing, dog sledding, and watching teams of athletes competitively push and paddle special ice canoes across the treacherous pack ice and currents of the St. Lawrence River. I had checked out arcane machines designed for winter riders and watched thousands of people of all ages reveling in Winter Carnival activities in spite –or defiance-- of the frigid weather. Snuggling deep into my Artic sleeping bag I come to understand that Quebec bikers aren’t crazy, but rather are infused with a spirit that our puritanical American culture seems to lack. Up here they call it joie de vivre – the joy of living.

Vintage Motorcycles At Owls Head Transportation Museum

2010-01-16T13:35:00.000-05:00

Vintage Motorcycle Day At Owls Head -- previously published in ThunderPress. Vintage Motorcycle Day is an annual event held at the Owls Head Transportation Museum (one of my favorite museums) and I highly recommend attending it during Labor Day.

The price at the pump is at an all-time high, but like a addict in need of a fix I’m blowing out carbon emissions fast enough to catch a little air when dropping into Dixfield Notch. I’m headed to the coast of Maine for the annual Vintage Motorcycle Day at the Owl’s Head Transportation Museum, one of the finer shrines to the internal combustion engine. With the price of fossil fuel climbing faster than global temperatures the quality of one’s ride becomes paramount and shouldn’t be treated lightly.

Pulling into my host’s driveway, I see that Jeff has arrived home a mere hour ahead of me. We hadn’t spoken in two weeks and considering that he was riding in from Labrador City and me from Montreal this was no mean feat of coordination.

I arrive at the museum early in the morning. Early enough to switch on the lights to the engine room; early enough that my footsteps echo in the cavernous halls and I can poke my nose into workshops that will be securely shuttered before the crowd arrives. I arrive early enough to have unobstructed views in order to photograph a small part of this amazing collection. Today is a celebration of the motorcycle and there’s no place better to start than at the beginning.

Motorcycling began when Sylvester Roper built his first steam velocipede in 1868. He was the first motorcyclist and the museum has built an exact replica of his first design (the original is in the Smithsonian’s collection). For today’s demonstration the boiler won’t be fired up and compressed air will be used to duplicate steam pressure, but there it sits as if waiting for some brave soul to mount up and ride it away. Next to it sits an 1898 Leon Bolle Tri-car that’s ready to roll, and back inside next to the entrance doors sits an 1885 Benz. The engines that herald in the motorcycle—The Otto Cycle (“cycle refers to the four-stroke cycle, not a motorcycle) and a 1902 DeDion-Bouton (the licensing of this engine created the motorcycle industry) are displayed opposite a 90-tone Harris-Corliss steam power plant.

Wandering past a 1919 Harley-Davidson Model 19F that’s parked next to a 1929 Rolls-Royce Derby-bodied touring car that was once owned by Clara Bow, I cross the hall by the blue 1905 Panhard tourer to check out the showroom-condition motorcycles that are going up for auction later in the month. The famous Richard C. Paine collection is up for sale and these are among the items being placed on the block: a 1910 Peugeot 660cc V-twin; a 1913 Yale; and a 1916 Model 16F Harley-Davidson. Dream on: the bargain-priced Peugeot has a pre-auction estimate of 30 to 35 grand!

Back out in the sunshine riders have begun to arrive. Some of these registered for the road scoots are as cherry as those in the exhibition halls. Dewey Rice finished restoring his 1922 Model F Harley-Davidson this spring and has “ridden it all over the place,” but for everyday transportation he relies on a 1926 Model JD with sidecar. Not everyone is arriving by motorcycle: some fly in and others arrive in cages that any biker would desire. There’s a chocolate and cream-colored 1954 Bentley with a price tag of only $12,500 and while the less expensive 1949 Packard ambulance needs more extensive reswork, it’s a real biker’s car. Just beyond the Bentley is a trailer packed with vintage Indian and Harley motorcycles. They’re for sale, but I don’t ask whether you have to buy the entire trailer or get to pick-and-choose. Meanwhile, Carl has fired the seven-cylinder radial engine of the 1933 Waco for flight, but the wind is a bit stiff and so takes off in the WWII light bomber instead. As the parade continues to stream through the gates, the back lot of the museum assumes a festival atmosphere.

Despite its showroom sheen, the orange C-class Harley-Davidson-single racer that’s been trailered in is reputed to be ready for the final tech inspection. I spot my dream machine and with lust in my heart wander over to check out a pristine 750 XR. It looks brand new! Others are more captivated with the 100% original Excelsior X that’s just rolled in and parked near the veteran Indian hill-climber. The Harley WLA is loaded for bear and I just have to take a peek. Yup, there’s a Thompson machine gun in the front scabbard—bet this is one bike that no one messes with. So many dream machines and these are just the America brands!

There are Beemers, Hondas, Italian stallions, and rows of Brit bikes to scrutinize. I discover an unfamiliar Moto Guzzi scooter and another of my dream machines, a Ducati 907ie. Meanwhile, Charlie keeps the banter flowing over the PA system as time for the Ingo competition draws near. The lines at the food vendor are dauntingly long and, ensconced in the shadowed maw of a maintenance hanger, I watch the kids playing with pedal-powered vehicles within their fenced-off patch of asphalt. The Leon Bolle putts around the yard. This last day of the summer is turning into the hottest one of the season as the crowd continues to grow.

One of my friends tells me to check out the front parking lot. Making my way around the main building I encounter a sea of motorcycles just beyond a tour-bus load of bewildered seniors who are wondering what they’ve run into. There are more bikes visible in this one parking lot than I’ve seen at most rallies this year, and they’re still rolling in.

The Ingo competition is underway and I get to witness what the ten volunteer contestants have gotten themselves into. The 1935 Ingo-Bike turns out to be a weird cross between a bicycle and a scooter. When the rider provides a rhythmic bouncing motion to the scooter platform frame the energy is transferred to the off-center hub of the rear wheel and causes forward motion. The principle is sound, but the contestants soon discover success requires more practice than theory.

Just as the crowd appears to reach critical mass, it begins to dissipate as if by an agreed upon plan. This is the coast of Maine and the day is just too fine not to be riding. By 2:30 it’s essentially over and I pack my gear. Home is 250 miles and two mountain ranges away. If I start now perhaps I can get through moose country before it gets dark.

Distilled fodder from a 300-million-year-old Carboniferous jungle feeds my metallic beast as I contemplate the brief history of the internal combustion engine on my long ride back. Owls Head is one of my favorite transportation museums, perhaps because everything has been restored to operational condition by a small army of devoted volunteers, acolytes of the arcane mechanical science of motive power.

Mount Washington Hotel

2010-01-16T13:25:00.000-05:00

White Mountain Resort -- previously published in ThunderPress magazine. I am fortunate to have the opportunity to stay at many exceptional properties during my travels. Most of these experiences have not been published or have received a brief mention or paragraph in my stories. I will be posting more stories about these during 2010 in hopes that some readers will take advantage of the experience offered by staying or visiting these places.

One of the last grand hotels in the state and embodiment of luxury for generations of New Englanders, The Mount Washington Hotel (now called the Mount Washington Resort) in Bretton Woods is a cultural experience. Built in 1902 its construction included cutting edge technology (a steel skeleton, fire sprinklers, a hydraulic elevator, electric lights installed by Thomas Edison) and old-world craftsmanship (two entire Italian villages and their craftsmen were brought to the White Mountains to build the hotel) combined with “cost-is-no-object” furnishings, fittings, and accoutrements.

The sale of this venerable property to a consortium has resulted in millions of dollars being spent in the meticulous restoration (not renovation) of the hotel and the professional pride and expertise of its employees is evident in every little detail. The grand dame of the White Mountains has returned to the splendor of her youth, and while she still has here own post office (and zip code) and retains her private telephone system, there are subtle updates such as the wi-fi computer connection.

I used the original “auto entrance” to unload my gear, but, to their obvious disappointment, didn’t allow the valets to park my motorcycle. I didn’t retreat to the once notorious speakeasy called the Cave Grill, but did relax with a snifter of Grand Marnier on the Grand Veranda. I did borrow a jacket to have dinner in a room where light filtered through windows made by Louis Comfort Tiffany and where my table was set with more silverware than I have fingers on my hand, but in the morning opted for the quick self-service coffee table with Styrofoam cups. Instead of relaxing in the conservatory or lounging in the palatial Grand Hall, I chose to sit at the table were the gold standard was signed into law and International Monetary Fund established in 1944.

The White Mountain Region has an abundance of hotels, motels, and campsites. There seems to be a place for almost every taste and budget. However, The Mount Washington is something more than just a place to lay one’s head – despite the eleven pillows and exquisitely comfortable bed I experienced. Staying here is like stepping back into the Gilded Age without sacrificing modern conveniences and, as an experience, few hotels in North America can compare.

Motorcycling Montreal

2010-01-16T12:48:00.001-05:00

Motorcycling Montreal

by Ken Aiken

Leaning back against the gray-stone wall and soaking up heat from the spring sun, I savor my first cappuccino of the day as sibilant sounds of French and the clicking of stiletto heels on cobblestones reach my ears. Across the street the horizon is defined by the top deck and smokestacks of an ocean-going vessel and white seagulls that soar on motionless wings against a flawless blue sky. It’s early Saturday and with little traffic on Rue de la Commune I’m able to park my scoot directly in front of the café – something that will be nearly impossible in a couple of hours. It feels like I’m back in Europe, but in fact I’m just an hour’s ride from Vermont.

Montreal is the second largest French-speaking city in the world; only 18.5% of the slightly fewer than two million inhabitants consider English to be their primary language. Despite their diverse ethnic backgrounds, residents are fervently French in culture, but communication poses few problems since most have English as their second or third language.

This is an island city. Situated in the middle of the St. Lawrence River at the mouth of the Ottawa River, 994 miles from the Atlantic Ocean, Montreal became North America’s second-busiest port until the St. Lawrence Seaway opened in 1959 and is still the largest inland port in the world. Discovered in 1535 by Jacques Cartier while he searched for the elusive Northwest Passage, its strategic military and trade location caused it to play a pivotal role in the development of both Canada and the United States.

Vieux (Old) Montreal – with its narrow cobbled streets flanked by gray stone buildings housing restaurants, shops, and art galleries – has a distinctive European feel and the greatest concentration of 17^th, 18^th, and 19^th century buildings in North America. A promenade of a communal green and the King Edward and Alexandria piers lay between Rue de la Commune and the river. Reclaimed from their former roles as major international docking quays, they now support an IMAX theater, food vendors, and the city’s science center. It’s just one of the city’s many “green zones,” but definitely a choice one for people watching.

Riding over the low ridge that divides the tourist-oriented port from the modern city, I find a parking space on Boulevard Saint Laurent only half a block from the red-and-gold gate that leads into Chinatown. The narrow sidewalks are overflowing and small grocery stores packed as Asians come from all over the city to shop in this small, unique district. Distinctly foreign, I could be in any small Asian city once under the dominion of France.

I take time just to ride around the city, cruising through canyons of glass and steel and eventually winding up Mont-Royal between the Cemetery of Notre-Dame and the 500-acre park. Stopping at the only observation point accessible to vehicles I gaze at the expanse of the eastern part of the city. Sticking up like a sore thumb, the futuristic leaning tower of the “Big O” (Olympic Stadium and former home of the Montreal Expos) is an unmistakable landmark of Montreal Est (East) and I orient myself in relation to it.

Cruising down into The Plateau, the stadium is centered at the end of Avenue du Mont-Royal like the front sight on a rifle. Sidewalks are crowded as residents of this ethnically diverse area browse trendy shops and run Saturday errands at specialty stores. The ambiance reminds me of the Haight district of San Francisco in the 70s: head shops, music stores, and funky galleries intermingled with straight retail establishments. Once again the bike gets parked and I become a tourist on foot.

On Rue St. Denis, I ride by another of Montreal’s numerous tree-filled parks. Intrigued, I loop around and park in front of a row of townhouses in which each otherwise identical residence has its window frames and front door painted in a different vibrant color. The architecture on these streets is pure eye candy and judging from the plethora of turrets and parapets, 19th-century Montrealers took the expression “a man’s home is his castle” to heart.

From St. Louis Square (a park) it’s a short stroll down Côte Prince Arthur Est, a pedestrian-only avenue of ethnic restaurants where BYOB is the trendy norm, to Boulevard St. Laurent. On the northern edge of the Latin Quarter, this is the center of Montreal’s noted restaurant and nightclub district. This is a place where it’s easy to drop $300 for dinner, but dozens of restaurants offering midi (mid-day) la table d’hôte (complete meal specials) for) for less than ten bucks.

Quebec drivers are among the worst I’ve encountered in my travels and busy mid-day traffic means it’s now impossible to sightsee and ride safely. Parking places have become especially scarce, so I park illegally the next time, squeezing in alongside a Honda VFR in a space reserved for taxis across from Place Des Art on Rue St. Catherine Ouest (West). The smell of reefer is everywhere. This casual, but not blatant, openness on one of the city’s busiest streets surprises me. Strip clubs and tacky tourist shops blend with international clothing outlets, fine restaurants, books stores, offices, and performing arts theaters; it’s a heady mix for a country boy. After an enjoyable half an hour of people watching I return to my scoot. A police officer tries to explain in English and French that I’m parked in a reserved space. I answer in Italian and indicate that I’m leaving – it satisfies him and I escape without a ticket.

Aided by directions and a map of the city I find my way to Little Italy. My first impression is one of disappointment, but that changes once I begin to enter storefronts strung along upper St. Laurent. In a very small bottega (shop) that has large burlap bags of coffee beans stacked against the front windows and espresso machines awaiting repair lining shelves on the back wall, I discover a typical Italian bar. Ah, you don’t know coffee until you’ve had a real Italian espresso. A couple of businesses away there’s a supermarket and I end up dropping a hundred bucks on essential staples that will barely fit into my reorganized saddlebags. Best of all is the fact that I can now converse with shop owners and understand some of the conversations that swirl past me on the street.

I feel like I’ve spent a day in Europe, but with the orange glow of the setting sun reflecting from the city’s mirrored towers, I head back to the States on two wheels – which is better than a long plane ride!

Addendum

Written for a national magazine in 2002, this assignment left such an impression that I moved to the Plateau district in Montreal and have maintained a residence in the city ever since.

Touring NY Wine Country

2006-11-30T21:44:00.000-05:00

Cool air slaps me in the face as I quickly close the massive wooden doors of the chateau against the onslaught of a heavy August sun. Following our guide through the dimly lit stone tunnel and down a narrow aisle flanked by massive casks made of French oak, the sharp tang of fermentation fills our nostrils with anticipation. This is the archetypal image of a European winery, but we’re far from France: we’re the Finger Lakes Region of central New York and these are the Champagne cellars of U.S. winery number 1.
Those who have drunk their fair share of fruity jug wines are probably familiar with 90% of the region’s production. However, it’s the remaining 10% that’s unsettling the oenologists in France and causing frustration for vintners of the Rhineland. I’ll let you in on a little secret: the Finger Lakes Region is producing world-class wines while offering some of the finest motorcycle touring in the Empire State.
Wine tasting and motorcycle riding? Definitely not P.C. – or is it? After all, you’re not suppose to drink the wine! The fancy (and sometimes not so fancy) jugs and vases on the tasting counter aren’t there for decoration, but to function as spittoons. Look, all you have to do is swirl the wine and stick your nose in the glass to appear knowledgeable. With a little practice you can swirl, hold the glass up to the light, and make note of syrupy residue on the glass to judge the amount of acidic tannin (body) in the vintage. Then, and only then, do you take a mouthful of the fruit of the gods, roll it around, and spit it out. Of course, your passenger isn’t under the constraint of safety maneuvering a few hundred pounds of machine while keeping it upright, so she/he can joyfully imbibe.
The panoramic landscape is breathtakingly beautiful and it doesn’t take much effort to image that we’re touring in Europe. Vineyards spill down the hillsides to impossibly blue lakes nestled between green hills patched with rectangular fields of gold. Away from the major highways the roads are narrow and meander past farms and through small country villages. The smell of summer’s peak fills our nostrils as the electric buzz of cicadas cuts through the thickening air.
As the mile-high wall of ice advanced south during the last Ice Age it bulldozed long, narrow trenches into the limestone bedrock of west central New York. Oriented north to south and aligned west to east, these trenches get deeper the farther south you travel. Technically there are 11 of these lakes, but the six largest ones – Skaneateles, Owasco, Cayuga, Seneca, Keuka, and Canandaigua – are considered to be “The Finger Lakes.”
The first night we ensconce ourselves on the northern end of Seneca Lake in the Ramada Lakeside Geneva. All the finger lakes bear Iroquois names, but the two largest are named after the tribes who inhabited this land before the arrival of white settlers: the Seneca and Cayuga. I was told that this hotel is built on the former site of a major Seneca village, but who knows? This evening, live music rolls across the water as classic rock and roll at the Ramada tangles with heavy metal from a lakeside gazebo. The bullfrogs in the reeds don’t stand a chance.
Seneca Lake is the deepest (632 feet) and second longest (38 miles) of the lakes. Downtown Geneva is at lake level, but Route 14 immediately begins its steady climb in elevation as we head south on mansion-lined Main Street. We’re now on the Seneca Wine Trail.
Our first stop is at Fox Run Vineyards and the annual garlic festival. Garlic is one of the region’s noted specialty products and local vendors are on hand offering bulbs by the pound and samples of various culinary treats like garlic pickles and pickled garlic. But then there’s the wine – Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Merlot, Cabernet, and Riesling – to be tasted and compared. In the winery we learn about the different methods of producing boutique vintages; in the vineyard about the challenge of growing grapes and why this region is suited for doing so.
There are 26 wineries open to the public on this trail alone and the folks in the tour buses and limousines seem intent on hitting most of them. One is enough for us and we simply cruise to the southern end of the lake and ride down the hill into the village of Watkins Glen.
It’s hard to determine whether Watkins Glen is best known for it’s incredibly beautiful limestone gorge or the international raceway. The raceway plays hosts to Grand Prix and NASCAR competitions as well as special events; the scenic waterfalls and natural beauty of the gorge (located in the middle of the village) attracts tens of thousands of visitors each year. It can be a very busy place on a summer weekend. Today we just ride through, climbing the escarpment and proceeding east on Route 79.
The city of Ithaca is squeezed between the steep limestone slope and the southern shore of Cayuga Lake. This is a hip little city, home to Cornell University and Ithaca College. It’s Sunday and nothing much seems to be happening. We visit the local farmers market (mostly ripoff prices) and the revitalized downtown pedestrian area, Ithaca Commons. There is a fantastic craft galley, an excellent music shop, and two great used bookstores in this downtown area. Still, this award-winning urban project seems overrated and we pack up and head north on Route 34 to nearby Lansing.
Honestly, I wouldn’t normally give a second look to this staid brick building at the junction of Route 34B and this would be my loss. Rouges Harbor, situated high above Cayuga Lake, is anything but a harbor. Built as an inn and tavern in 1830, this restaurant and B&B is one of the best kept secrets in the area. The funky chic interior is 100% authentic with a patina of atmosphere that a modern restoration could never achieve. The food! Here we found one of the best menus experienced this year (including those in Montreal) supplemented by an extensive list of New York wines. Tall, narrow doors; floor to ceiling windows; pressed tin ceiling; sloping floor; and not a square corner in the place made our antique-filled bedroom a delightful repose from the commercial boxes of modern lodgings. However, the bathroom was absolutely modern and the supply of hot water, endless. Non pretentious, this is a perfect base of operations for motorcyclists touring the Finger Lakes.
The next morning we return to the heart of the city to view the magnificent Ithaca Falls. This105-foot waterfall is just one of 150 within a ten-mile radius of downtown. We take our photos and then head for the region’s largest antique shopping mall (3 miles north on Route 96). There’s plenty to see and do and I have a list of places – Moosewood Restaurant, Ithaca Beer Company, Ithaca Gun Company’s museum, the new Museum of the Earth, and the Ithaca Clock Museum – that will just have to wait for another visit. We have an appointment for a guided tour of perhaps the greatest collection of glass in the world and already we’re running late.
At the Corning Museum of Glass we spend the afternoon enthusiastically running through incredible exhibits, watching a glassblowing demonstration, and then actually working hot glass in their studios. After all this effort we headed to the Wellness Center & Health Spa in Bath (how appropriate) for a relaxing massage, then on Elm Croft, a restored 1835 Greek Revival mansion for the night. Travel writing is a tough job, but someone has to do it.
Keuka is only one of a dozen Y-shaped lakes known in the world and the only one whose waters flow both north and south. Ironically, the birth of naval aviation at the beginning of the 20th century occurred not along the Atlantic seacoast, but on this lake in the village of Hammondsport.
Glenn Curtiss is the father of naval aviation and the contributions of the prolific inventor far outstrips the accomplishments of his rivals, the Wright brothers. But before he was a pioneer aviator, he was motorcyclist and every time you twist the throttle on your scoot you’re utilizing one of his many inventions. The Glenn Curtiss Museum is one of the lesser-known treasures of the Finger Lakes Region. As a avid bicycle racer and builder he began experimenting with engine-driven bicycles in 1897 and developed his own motorcycle business in 1899. In 1902 he began breaking speed records on motorcycles of his own design (Hercules, later changed to Curtiss), which finally culminated in his land speed record of 136.36 mph in 1907 that earned him the title of “the fastest man on earth.” Motorcycles obviously weren’t fast enough and he began building airplanes in 1907. He made the first pre-announced airplane flight; won the first international aero race; acquired pilot license number 1 in both the U.S. and France; and trained the first woman pilot. His planes were the first to cross the Atlantic (Lindberg’s was the first non-stop voyage); the first to land on ships; and the “Jenny” became the most famous of the WWI bi-planes. The Wright Brothers earned the headlines, but Curtiss did more to make flight viable. Three hours in this museum isn’t nearly enough, but we really must be on our way.
The Pleasant Valley Wine Company was established in 1860 and their Great Western champagne shared a gold medal at an international competition in 1863. Irreplaceable 100,000 gallon redwood fermentation vats sit alongside modern ones of stainless steel; sherry-filled oak barrels lie hidden away in caves carved deep in the hillside beneath the chateau; and bottle after bottle of champagne are stacked beneath vaulted brick ceilings. The history of wine making in the Finger Lakes becomes a tangible reality as we are guided through this incredible labyrinth. We leave the cool depths of U.S. Winery No 1 to continue our journey along the Keuka Wine Trail.
Wine is the catalyst driving this resurgence of regional tourism. Every lake seems to have its own wine trail and every year more and more vineyards are planted on their steep slopes. The chefs follow the wine, the hoteliers follow the chefs, the artists and craftspeople come close behind. The beauty of the Finger Lakes has always drawn visitors who return year after year, but this region has remained semi-secret until now. New legislation passed on August 1 allows small wineries to ship their produce outside the boundaries of the state. The Finger Lakes are about to be rediscovered.