mileageslaves Annual ride with a spritz and a twist By David Cwi #28490

I AM LYING HERE on a picnic table at a rest stop north of Columbus, Ohio, trying to take a nap and the rain has started to fall. A spritz in the face.

Just enough to get me awake and moving. I’m wearing my helmet, but my

shield is flipped up. This puts my head in just the right position for a nice quick schnooze, and Lordy, do I need one. I was in Nova Scotia at noon yesterday, and I’ll be home for dinner in Indiana today, 1,700 miles and 32 hours or thereabouts. But that’s not the story. At least not

for now. Maybe next time I’ll talk about how you can in fact UN-teach stupid…like this unplanned IBA Bun Burner, stupidly executed and ill advised. So to protect the younger riders, maybe I should say SOME- THING about that. On Sunday we were at the Bluenose

Rally. I’m guessing the day started around 6:30 a.m. while the ride started later, nearer noon. We crawled out of our tents to tear down, pack and get ready for the fabulous lineup and ride. Envision all bikes at the rally rolling through local towns on our way to Kentville and brunch, some bikes with country flags on them. It’s the traditional end of the rally. A string of bikes flowing past waving well-wishers with traffic stopped for us at intersections. Way Cool. While the band was playing Satur-

day night and others were responsibly downing adult beverages, I was hydrating and went to sleep early. I’d already made up my mind to try to get home early. This meant that for

104 BMW OWNERS NEWS September 2016

the first time in nearly 20 years of attending, I did not dance. And part of that was my distress over the band, but mostly it was because I wanted to crash early. More about the band in a minute (as if you cared). Heck I’ll tell you now. Usually Saturday night at the rally means

a great couple of sets by The Good Feelin’ Band, a genuine bar band. This year they had a wedding crashers band—very com- petent, lots of folks dancing, but no soul. Ken Ryan, I believe, was the name of the

lead vocalist for the Good Feelin’ Band. This guy could infuse any rock song the band cared to cover with the precise vibe of the original version, but better. Why Ken was not on contract and making big bucks for some U.S. record company is a mystery to me. I was told that he died this year. Can- cer. Missing Ken, it was hard to get a groove on with these other guys. But now you know that this rally is old school, with a fun Saturday night for sure. By the end of the rally awards brunch on

Sunday, that being around 11:30 a.m., I was still feeling “fresh.” Time to start for home. The original goal: Augusta, Maine. Stop there, eat at the steak house near the hotel, and finish up 1100 miles or so the next day back to the house. A doable two days. If you are going home from the Bluenose

back to the Midwest you have a choice. Roll toward Detroit or Sarnia, Ontario, meaning go there via Canada entirely or pop into New England, go around Boston, hang out on I-84 or I-90 or a few other options and roll. (Don’t forget your Speed Pass.) I was tied to three other Raiders headed toward Ohio and New Jersey, so I was locked and loaded for I-84. But wait. Monday, the next day, would be

the Monday of the Fourth of July holiday. I got it into my head that I did not want to deal with holiday Monday traffic the next day all the way from Maine to Indiana, so, what the heck, why not get past New

England and roll 900 miles or so after the award ceremony brunch, which SHOULD have meant stopping somewhere West of Hartford, Connecticut. But NOOOO. Once I got moving I had

full-on “horse to the barn” syndrome aug- mented by “avoid Monday traffic” paranoia and, what the heck, I was feeling goooood— at least ‘til we reached the border and the USA had only one border agent on duty. We were stacked up for 45 minutes, and the adrenalin and the energy went WHOOOSH. Maybe next time we’ll talk about riding

into the night, knowing that if you day- dream you’re dead. Like I said: you CAN un-teach stupid. So I’ll learn you…maybe… next time. But the whole point now is to talk about the Bluenose, the old school rally with its own unique twists and the rally I’ve attended more than any other, not counting the BMW MOA National. Here’s why it’s special to me and worth all the miles. Twenty years ago I met the divine Ms.

Cindy at a local U.S. rally, and she men- tioned she was going to the Bluenose Rally. All of a sudden, attending that rally got interesting. And figuring out a way to ride back to the USA with this girl seemed like a very good idea. So I’m a bit sentimental about it. Nova Scotia now is not like Nova Scotia

back in the day. I love the Province and the people. When I started riding there, there were no four-lane roads. At one time, very local roads were pot-holed enough that I bent rims twice. But now the Transcan is basically all four lanes, with folks up there are running 20 clicks over the speed limit, and they are as wacko on the roads as we are.

They’ve got Tim Hortons and Canadian

Tire everywhere, and Murphy’s Fish and Chips in Truro. I recall walking into Cana- dian Tire and thinking this was a clubhouse of all things “guy.” Imagine a mash up of Dick’s Sporting Goods, Home Depot,


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