Tag Archives: wet

A Brief Sojourn in the Northeast Kingdom…continued

Yet another day spent in America’s glorious Northeast Kingdon. I may even be your King, or at the very least a Prince. Archduke?

A quick update really, for all y’all Manboy aficionados.

An atrocious, atrocious day. 34 degrees this morning according to Weather Bug, although in all honestly it did feel warmer. Riding through Rumsford, Maine at noon time, a bank sign noted that it was 50 degrees. I stayed relatively warm, bundled up in all of my clothes and jacket and pant liners, but I didn’t think I would need this shit until Alaska. It rained all day long and I did not see one bit of the sun. The rains would not stop.

New rain overpants are functional but make me look like a genie, or MC Hammer.

That’s fine, they do their job well enough I suppose. There is no such thing as a perfect rainsuit. 99% of all cultivated-wild blueberry farmers agree on this very fact. I know because I’m warm and dry and staying at a Wild Blueberry farm in Cherryfield, ME. Why I’m even typing this from a child’s bed, which is fine because I’m warm and dry. Ben and his son Rowan are an absolute delight and a gift to the weary traveller. Rowan downloaded a bunch of games on my phone and Dad made me a delicious steak, oyster mushroom soup, and fresh bacon, greens, and brussels sprout medley.

 An absolute feast really, sumptuous and succulent, better than most restaurants even, and topped off with two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups no less. Better than spooning peanut butter out of the jar, eh? Or even a can or delicious, delicious sardines? Sure, but don’t let Ronnie Peabody, cultivator of the Maine Coastal Sardine Museum, hear that!

All this can be yours too, although you will need make an incredible journey through the wilds of Maine, ride your motorbike in drenching, punishing rains, and then win the hearts and minds of both father and son. Or find them through couchsurfing.org. But always be nice, just like Dalton says. Be nice.

I’ve got a date with destiny tomorrow at the Sardine Museum in Jonesport. 1:30pm sharp. Wish me luck, I’ll need it!

Greetings from beautiful sunny Cherryfield, ME!


A Brief Sojourn in the Northeast Kingdom

Ah, there is nothing better than blowing an entire day’s budget on a hotel room on your second day on the road. Fuck you mother nature. Why is it 41 degrees in the middle of June? And wet?

Livin' Large in the North. Actually pretty cheap for a hotel with a hot tub. Though you must make note to utilize your desolate loner discount card.

The skies were open all day, the motorcycle God’s crying their tears from heaven. Shivering and alone in McDonalds @ 7:30 pm I relented and got a room in one of those kitschy White Mountain towns I used to go to with my family when I was a kid. It could be anywhere around here, but the town’s name is Gorham. I passed Santa’s Village and Six Gun City on the way, such strange little theme parks, and a remembrence was dreamt of those weird and stressful summer childhood vacations spent in the Lesser White North.

Give me cold and give me wet, but give me one or the other, for I can do them both, but either or. This shit’s hard to do on a bike. For comparison, say if you don’t ride, wet yourself down with a hose and ride as fast as you can on a bicycle for 9 hours.

My waterproof jacket is only half so, protecting my precious Canadian loons and paper dollars but not sparing my Flip from the elements. My precious little Flip, it may be done for, and after so many adventures (the flip took a dip, haha). Rain pants gifted to me before the trip have been torn asunder whilst kicking over the CB, rendering them useless.

Well, whatever, thats enough of that.

Bike is running eh…its running. The chain is fucked up in some way that I can’t explain. This bike has never been good to it’s chains. There’s no exception here, and I don’t think this one will see me through the wilds of Canada. I have my repair tools, but we’ll see. Its violent action has already caused the sprocket cover plate to shed a precious screw, integral to the operation of the clutch. In a stroke of luck, I was able to find the right screw at the first place I looked, an ACE hardware store in St Johnsbury, VT. Huh, the last time I had to replace it, which was many moons ago, twas unobtanium anywhere on Long Island and had to be sourced from afar. Front brake squeals like a little pig, nonstop and LOUD, whenever I apply some pressure. I’ve got some caliper lube, but who wants to dissasemble that assembly in the rain? I’ll get to it at some point. Gas mileage was poor on the way up, getting about 40 mpg when it should be 50 mpg. It seems to be getting better after I synched the carbs a bit. This bike is a cantankerous little bitch, and like many relationships in my life, requires a lot of attention. I won’t give up on the ol’ gal though. She may be tamed, but not yet.

A momentary lapse in the vicious rains coincided with a visit to the Magic Hat brewery in Burlington, Vermont. This was no coincidence people. Look, do yourself a favor and go back and read my beer reviews of Magic Hat’s precious little brews, for I am enamored. Yet, remember and know that I trust no one and that it is difficult for me to unconditionally love anything, let alone a product. So, I always try to remain objective. And I am being entirely objective when I say that the Magic Hat brewery is fucking awesome. They have free beer. Well, free samples in little double shot glasses, but free nonetheless. A lot of thought goes into Magic Hat’s products, with each brew bearing its own intricately designed artwork replete with adorable labels placed in a magical boxes. The brewery is decked out with tasteful  metal sculptures and art work everywhere. The first thing you see is this weird welded up metal tower. Climb the spiral stairs inside to the very tippy top, but don’t forget to feast your eyes on the caleidoscope on the way up. You have been warned. I drank my fill of #9, yet sadly was unable to be turned on to anything new, for I have already sampled every brew they had on tap. The taste of each and all was resplendent , as fresh as can be.

The ride up yesterday was uneventful. It rained as well. I predict that the weather on this trip will be one of extremes. For it will be cold and wet in the north, and blisteringly hot in the southern latitudes. Such is the lament of the manboy, for nothing ever comes easy.

A. Mora’s cabin was a more than welcome retreat. A blazing fire and a little Piazzolla gave my spirits a lift. I would have liked to stay another night but, you know…I’m restless.