I have successfully made it into the gigantic city that is NYC. The trip here will be unforgettable as probably the worst drive I have faced yet. Making my way to the Gengras dealership I was informed by another experienced biker what the road ahead had planned for me.

He informed me of the bad reputation Hartford held when it came to giving bikers attention on the road. I thought to myself “I’ve been living in Chicago for the last 4 years…There’s nothing I haven’t seen or come up against!” Turns out I was wrong.

After leaving Gengras I found myself in a thicket of traffic going South towards NYC, but this traffic was moving. The speed limit In the city was 55 and I was doing a moderate 85 while being passed, honked at (in the right lane) and catching some interesting hand signals. This speed would hold for maybe 15 minutes until the traffic would unexpectedly slow to about 45 mph. When I say unexpectedly, I mean within seconds and there was no warning except a red sea of tail lights all of a sudden. During this slow period it was like “musical lanes” because everyone was trading lanes with everyone else; like a massive coordinated automobile weave pattern that silently and automatically takes place all day every day.
 

I had a few close calls as I was cut off, slamming on my 2 brakes, and constantly swiveling my head to avoid getting run over. But….ohhhh but, this was my warm up for what lurked on my southern horizon for the “Big Apple” lay in wait. Even on a Saturday my skills were tested beyond their level.

On entering the city I came around a bend to see in front of me the cityscape of New York City. It was breath taking, but the beauty soon faded into horns and squealing brakes. I might as well have been riding a Huffy cause my small presence on the bustling expressway was seemingly an inconvenience to those around me. It was a white knuckle ride to my exit, but did not end there. In fact it seemed worse once I got off the expressway. My “Tom Tom” was screaming at me to shift all the way to the right…then all the way to the left…then back again…then quick turn…then sharp, and again evasive maneuver to the right…exit left, and on and on. It seemed “Tom Tom” was as confused as I was. The streets seem to just bleed into each other as they wrap around the islands that make up the landscape around here. My head is still spinning as I type my thoughts.

I arrived at my destination and met my contact George Dennis. A fast talking and knowledgeable individual that introduced me around and even fed me some of that famous New York style pizza that everyone else in the world tries to copycat. I look forward to the Police escorted ride around Manhattan tomorrow, in fact it will be one of the highlights of this tour.
 

I have to cut this one short because the city beckons…

I write this blog today with heavy eyelids because since yesterday at about 7 am until now I feel as if I’ve just gotten off a rollercoaster. In just over 24 hours I have traveled through 4 states! Not only that, but the events that unfolded were interesting to say the least.
 

I left Manchester, NH and rode about 50 minutes south into Boston and just as I had imagined the sites of the city on a motorcycle were absolutely awesome. I cruised past some of my old watering holes reliving all the fuzzy moments. After a “stumble” down memory lane I arrived at the designated dealership. It wasn’t hard to find because standing over the big Harley Davidson sign was the biggest American flag I think I’ve ever seen. The wind was blowing at probably 15 knots and it still was barely enough to move it off the massive pole on which it flew.
 

Shortly after picking up a few riders we hopped on our bikes and fled the city for the Ocean State - Rhode Island. Compared to where I have been this drive was a little dry as it was just highway miles. That was until I pulled off to get to my beautiful 5 star resort in the sleepy town of Hope Valley. Here was waiting hiking, 4 course meals, 18 rounds of golf, saunas, gourmet desserts, a massage, wild life, room service, and a late check out!! No, no, just kidding. Actually, I stayed at a beautiful campsite called Whispering Pines in RI. The hiking was actually an off road drive on my Harley (which is not made for off-roading) to my camping site (127 E). I did in fact enjoy a 4 course meal except it came from a military issue MRE (Meal Ready to Eat). I had wheat bread with Jalapeno Cheese spread, Spanish Rice, Chili N Macaroni (main course), and topped it off with some short bread. It was surprisingly pretty tasty considering all of these items came in their own individual package and have an infinite shelf life! The sauna was the fire that I started with soaking wet pine; I had help from my neighbors Bill and Bonnie getting it lit. I didn’t play golf, but I did construct an awkward looking bow and some arrows with my knife…sporty I guess! Bill and Bonnie invited me over to enjoy good conversation and smores and seeing as I haven’t had smores since forever they were pretty gourmet to me. My massage actually came from the gravel that my tent was resting on as I tried to sleep. I forgot to burn all of my eaten MRE so just after I had fallen asleep I was sharply awaken by the sound of foot steps outside my tent. Sure enough I watched a small family of raccoons squabble orver the scraps and then a couple of skunks circle my tent…ahhh, nature.

I awoke in the morning to realize my “water resistant” tent was falsely advertised. I also realized that I had slept funny on my phone so as payback it refused to turn on until plugged in. So, without any way to check the time and overcast skies I determined it was around 8-9 am. I struggled to my feet and dug up my morning bathroom materials. A short hike and I was in the bathroom, but during my walk I couldn’t help but notice how silent and still everything was.
 

In the bathroom I was able to plug in the phone while taking care of the 3 S’s and was less than amused to find out my judgment of the morning hour was horribly wrong…it was 6:05 am and I didn’t have to be to the dealership until noon!!! I decided not to go back to sleep and packed my gear (room service) and hit the road by 7:45am; how’s that for a late check out.

Don’t get me wrong, I did actually enjoy my night at Whispering Pines. It is a very nice campsite and it was very nice talking to Bill and his wife Bonnie. Unfortunately I started the day off on the wrong foot and it went downhill from there.

My 2 locations today were Precision Harley Davidson in RI and Gengras Harley Davidson in CT. At Precision my contact was Chelsea and she worked very hard to set up this event. She had signs all over the dealership, info on their website, tents set up and a knowledgeable staff. The same went for Pam at the Gengras dealership. Well, mother nature had a different agenda. People were supposed to show up at Precision around 11am and ride me to Gengras at 1pm. It started to drizzle right at 11am so no one showed. When I got on the road at 1pm it began to down pour and stayed constant the rest of the day. I drove 2 and a half hours in this crap to Gengras where it was the same scene. None the less, I want to thank Chelsea for her hospitality and both girls for their efforts to support The Patriot Tour.

As I type I’m in probably the worse motel I could have hoped not to find. In fact, I would give anything to sleep with the raccoons and skunks tonight. All I have to say is the neighborhood décor has a common denominator…steel bars and you can rent this gem by the hour. I will be sleeping in many layers, a skull cap, and bandana around my face tonight dreaming of my leaky tent. The Patriot Tour gives this “roachtel” 0 frickin stars and recommends the destruction and paving over of it at the soonest possible date! Though, if I can manage to raise a good amount of money for wounded veterans that need and deserve it I would gladly stay in resorts like this for the remainder of the Tour.

Hopefully, my ride to New York City will dry out my soaking ego and bring some passionate riders to the plate.

The Patriot Tour has finally made its first major turn around the upper East coast and is now heading South toward New York City. I’ve passed through the beautiful city of Portland and traveled back to Southern New Hampshire where I’m stopped in Manchester. I stopped at Big Moose Harley Davidson in Portland where I met some real nice guys that gave me some excellent tips for my upcoming travels.

I was informed of a road called the Dragons Tail somewhere in West Virginia, I think. I won’t have any trouble locating this road as it’s marked by a large tree that’s adorned with pieces of all the motorcycles that have crashed on it’s whipping hair pin turns.

I was also told about the nasty santa anna winds that would undoubtedly be menacing my travels through Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and Nevada. Supposedly, they come at you in bursts of 35045 miles an hour. They also change direction and swirl under over passes.

These are just a few things I get to look forward to. The guys also described great places to eat, drink and drive through. In fact, one of those places is coming up and it’s called The Big Tex. Supposedly it has the best food this side of the Mississippi not to mention the environment is one of a kind.

I want to thank these gentleman for their advice and conversation while I was in Portland. I also want to thank Peter and his staff for being so courteous to me during my visit. Peter’s dealership is big and packed full of gear and accessories I haven’t seeing at other dealerships. I’d also like to thank those that road with me yesterday…especially Patty and Jim!

Today I was at the Manchester Harley Davidson with Steve Irons. He was extremely nice and we talked about how we could make next years tour a real success at his location. This dealership was also very impressive as it had probably the largest selection of bikes I have seen yet! I almost wanted to take a few out on a test drive! Thanks Steve, I look forward to seeing you again next year.

Tomorrow I’ll be taking a 45 minute drive (in great weather) towards good old Bean Town…Boston, to hopefully pick up some riders to travel into Rode Island. I’ve been looking forward to this part of the tour because I’m familiar with the Boston area as I spent a summer there for an internship. I really like this city and I can’t wait to enjoy its sites on the seat of my bike. There’s definitely something about riding a bike through a big city on a motorcycle that makes the experience more impressive. The skyscrapers seem bigger and the smells of the city only add to the experience. Tomorrow will be a good day.

There’s not much I can remember from my younger years. From the age of 5 through age 12 most of my memories are mostly just cloudy scenes that lack detail. Most of them will be wrenched from the deep files of my brain by a familiar smell, place, or name of which can only be related to an instant flashback to the lacking experience. They are still lifeless images that don’t really represent anything except a moment in my life, but put them together and they stream the memory of my childhood. However, there is one memory that is as vivid in my mind as if it had occurred an hour ago.

The only thing I cannot place from this memory is my age, but I believe I was 7 years old. I was with my uncle Chuck at a fair in Milwaukee Wisconsin which took place by a lake. I was wearing my favorite shirt and my favorite shoes. The mid summer day was hot and sweaty and the environment was heavy with that all too familiar carnival smell. The air reeked of cotton candy, popcorn, sweat, hot black top, BO and feet all rolled into one and it filled the nostrils with every breath. All around me were screaming kids, sticky hands, bells and whistles, and over annoyed grown ups chasing after their sugar induced children.

My uncle and I had walked around for a couple of hours playing those games you can’t win, riding those death trap rides, and throwing oversized baseballs at some jerk hovering over cold blue water in a tank. After we had our fill of this chaos it was time to leave so we headed for the parking lot. As we turned into the lot I was struck by an image that was unfamiliar to me and an image that might just have changed the course of my life.

There in the lot was a line of motorcycles all parked next to each other in perfect symmetry, but the one that caught my eye was being mounted by a mountain of a man dressed all in black. The bike was huge and its black and chrome finish just gleamed in the hot summer sun. The tail pipes looked like shiny snakes that wrapped and coiled in and out of the bike. The handle bars were almost a foot above the bikers head and were decorated with chrome skulls. The leather was studded with metal spikes. Too me it looked like a dragon that adorned with battle armor.
 

As we passed this sight I watched as the giant man lifted his leg and with a swift motion brought it crashing to the ground. The bike roared to life with a horrifying growl that seemed to suck the very air from my lungs. Then it sat there rumbling in revolutions shaking the ground.

I’m sure my eyes were almost popping out of my head with sheer amazement and terror. My uncle was pulling me to the car so I strained my head to watch the bike take off. As the bike started to move I managed to catch one last glimpse of the bike before it left and what I saw was the dragon’s name…Harley Davidson.

I believe it was at that moment I knew someday I would ride a beast like that. I have carried that memory with me for a very long time watching countless Harleys drive past me. But now, I am one of those riders and I see little children with the same look of fear as I bring my dragon to life. I watch them strain their heads as I ride off and I can’t help but wonder if I have created a similar memory in them. There’s something about a Harley Davidson that can make people turn their heads, but there’s something even more compelling about those that have the balls to ride an 800 lb machine of sheer twisted ragging muscle.

The other day as I was tearing through the White Mountains of New Hampshire when I realized something about the Harley culture that seems to piece everything together. You see, when you muster up the guts to purchase your first Harley Davidson you aren’t just buying a motorcycle; you’re being initiated into the foundation that is Harley Davidson. There exists a huge network of men and women whom all share an intense passion for riding and representing this name. But it isn’t the clothes or gear or accessories that passes rank or seniority. You have the option of full time membership or independent ownership; either way you are part of a family that will give you their respect no matter what road you travel down. With Harley you are never alone. There is an automatic bond between riders on the open road and you can witness it around the word. Riders will gesture to each other with a signal or a sign. To drivers they are mere hand gestures, but to riders they are signs of respect. A bike is a bike, Harleys are just bigger cooler bikes, but the lure of the Harley empire is loyalty to the bond that cements all of its riders together. No matter what road or state or continent there is a universal sign shared by 2 total strangers that have one thing in common. In passing, nothing is said, no glances shared or stories told just one sign, the loyal symbol of pride and honor. That is Harley Davidson, that is family, and that is America.

Ride on.

Saturday May 30th I worked my way through mid state New York to the border of Vermont. As I have never been to Vermont I had no idea what to expect so one could imagine my surprise as I found myself twisting through winding roads that banked me left and right. Around every other curve was a small town nestled in the hills and woven into the tree line that crested the road. One particular part of this drive will always stand out to me as possibly the greatest path to ride a motorcycle. This road is Hwy 100 in southern Vermont. I enjoyed every second of the drive up 100.
Helping me out was the weather. Finally a full day of sunshine. I cruised all day toward my destination at Wilkins Harley Davidson with the sun on my right shoulder as I was headed North. About 3/4 of the way to the dealership as I was riding the crest of a long high hill pass, I noticed a monstrous thunder cloud to the North. At first it looked far away, but as I traveled it came closer and closer. I never actually got underneath it, but I did get close enough to ride through its aftermath.

This storm must have been massive because there were branches down all over the roads, patio furniture thrown about yards, and the roads were drenched. Even though I didn't get wet the storm still seemed to reach out and get me in a different way...I must add that revealing what happened is extremely embarrassing, but I guess I don't care.

I was coming down that high pass looking down into a valley. I could see a stop light at a T intersections about 1,000 yards from me. As I approached this intersection the car in front of me was braking trying to anticipate a stale green light turning yellow. I thought he was going to stop, but as the light went from green to yellow he sped up and began turning left. At this moment my brain hesitated...stop or go, stop or go? I began too slow as well, but then decided to go for it, but I noticed I was coming in too hot and decided too late to stop my bike. So I applied heavy pressure to the rear brake and the tire began to skid (or at least it felt like it was) so I let go and applied both the rear and front brakes, but the bike began to wobble on the soaked road. At this moment I was basically in the turn to my left trying to stop when the front tire found dry pavement and came to an abrupt stop. Now, the thing about an 800 lb machine on two wheels is that when the front wheel is cranked and leaning to the left and comes to a stop it wants to lay down on its left side and if the rider isn't ready...the bike is going down. I was this rider and I wasn't ready, so there in front of about 15 to 20 cars...I dropped my motorcycle to the pavement. I wasn't hurt, in fact I just jumped right off, but I did scrape up my ego pretty badly.

Oh well, they say there are 2 types of riders out there - Those that have dropped their bikes like I did and those that haven't dropped their bikes YET. Clearly, if I had to lay down the bike this was a good time to do it, just so long as I don't do it again!!

Shortly after this pride bashing moment I reached my destination at Wilkins Harley Davidson in up state Vermont. I met with the GM John and some of his staff; they were extremely nice as they fed me lunch and hooked me up with an awesome Harley jacket and even washed my dirty bike!! Thanks guys she was dirty!!

Right around 3pm the Patriot Tour unexpectedly left the dealership for a ride to the east. We rode until I needed gas so we stopped in at a station where we met some more interested riders. They pointed me to Littleton New Hampshire so that swere we ended up. I want to thank those that donated and rode with me out of Vermont.

6 days and nine states down. My back is a little achy, My keester is wearing as I notice it getting uncomfortable more quickly now. But, these are minor problems because I have accomplished much in this first week. More on the personal side I think, but still accomplished none the less. Plus, the last couple of rides have been long and grueling as I spent the better part of the day on the bike. When I left for Vermont on Saturday, I left at 7am and arrived at my destination around 1:30pm and then hopped back on to ride another hour and a half to New Hampshire. The next couple of days will be shorter and easier now that this is behind me.

New Hampshire is beautiful, similar to Vermont in landscape, but what sets in apart and makes it my second favorite state next to Wisconsin is their state motto - "Live Free Or Die!" That's excellent and their proud of it as it's posted all over the place, way to go New Hampshire.

Littleton NH is a quaint little jem. I'm hold up in the Littleton Motel which is great little place; very clean, big and friendly. I went out on the town last night (Saturday May 30th) and met some of the locals. They're very friendly and curious about the outta towner from Wisconsin. I hung out and walked around, had a few beers, and shot some pool. The town was alive last night, but this morning it was quite as can be. I like that because it reminds me of my old college town. Everyone would get so stinkin drunk on Saturday that their hangovers would keep them parked in front of the TV all day making the town appear ghostly and quite.

I've notice that the weather changes as fast as a women changes her mind. It is unpredictable and when it gets nasty, it gets nasty quick. The storm clouds seem to gather behind the hills to the West and then charge for the town, but as quick as they come their gone and the sun's shining down on your face again. Surrounded by trees, rolling hills, quaint towns, twisty roads, and good people I might call this home some day far in the future. Then again, there is much of this country I haven't yet seen. We shall see.