Interview with Mark Adcock and Greg Mackinnon

Press play above to hear my interview from the 2016 Down East Rally at Hermit Island, Maine.

Living Legend Recruits Toddlers for 2 Wheeled Adventure

     Back from a recent trip to Nova Scotia,  seasoned GS rider Muriel Farrington takes time out of her schedule to dine by campfire with the Rossier family.  With her well weeded garden growing leaps and bounds, she turns her attention to two little sprouts:  Shae (3 1/2 yrs), and Sophie (1 1/2 yrs).  They got some seat time on one of the two BMW's Muriel will use to break the 300,000 mile lifetime mark.   Tips on cooking and housekeeping will have to wait as the ever gracious and elegant Farrington shares the joy of gasoline and rubber with these little riders.  

One on One with Muriel Farrington (45 min)

Listen to this:

Northland Restaurant and Dairy Bar

Stephanie and I were hungry.   The kind of high throat hunger you get when it sneaks up on you.   The kind of hunger that you mistake for thirst until you drink and it just gets worse.  White out torrential down pours covered the road.  We were east on rte 2 in NH headed to Gorham to pop up camp for the night at Moose Brook State Park.  We passed the road that lead to the park and T'd into the main drag.   To the right Gorham,   where hikers hike the presidential Whites.    To the left Berlin home of car sales for the Northeast.    A few miles up the road a Walmart.   The girls had been in the car too long so we ushered them across the parking lot and turned them loose in air conditioned comfort.  At checkout we asked the cashier if she knew of a good place to eat.    "The Dairy Bar" she answered.   "No" I said, "I want a sit down dinner".    She went on to tell us that was the only restaurant in town other than a take out joint and pizza.   We passed the brick sided buildings of Main Street.    Factory buildings that boomed from the paper mill.    The town looked like it peaked in the 1950's. As the road flattened out next to the river buildings thinned and an old fashion sign pointed us off the right side of the road.  The Dairy Bar:  a massive glass faced building that looked more like an insurance office than an eatery.  A warm grey haired hostess walked us past the main dining room to the left into a room that could seat 100 on a good night.   Window seats had riverfront views while the opposite wall was lined with gigantic old school tan booths that looked both vintage and fresh.

This place was toddler friendly for 4 weather wary travelers.    I ordered a hot roast beef sandwich with stuffing instead of bread and a cup of seafood chowder.   Hot fresh baked rolls hit the table and quickly melted foil wrapped pats of butter.  Was I that hungry?   The rolls were good enough for dessert.   My plate followed shortly.   A pleasant mound of beef sheets folded on stuffing covered in gravy,  yeah baby.   The beef was well done and not over seasoned.   Some chefs will bury a bad cut under a thick layer of salt and spices.   The beef reminded me more of last night's prime rib then just another cut of rump roast that you might find at an establishment that puts profit before quality.  As I continued to eat from top down I broke the gravy dam letting browned meat sweetness drizzle into the stuffing hidden below.   The one dinner roll we couldn't finish went foil wrapped for the next day. As I walked up to pay the bill I scanned it wondering if they left something off this proved more value than I anticipated. No longer hungry I now became curious and I asked the hostess what was going on with the place.  She told me that the current owners had owned the place for 50 years and that through the years their family of customers had continued to grow.   She went on to share that 12 years ago a fire demolished  the structure allowing them to start over in a way they never dreamed.  They could build the restaurant exactly how they wanted it.  Charming, delicious, current yet old school: Northland Dairy Bar,  Berlin, New Hampshire.

If you go:

Northland Restaurant and Dairy Bar

Route 16,  1826 Riverside Dr, Berlin, NH 03570

$  I Got it.   

Street Skills at the National BMW Rally

When Sandy and I showed up to the Street Skills tent outside the rally we dismounted and walked around the bikes sizing our classmates up like cowboys in the Old west.   Two Iron Butt license plate holders (Pete and myself) and my riding brother:  Sandy triple digits Marincic.   Finishing the foursome was Tracy, a lady rider of 6 months that had focused on training to rapid launch her riding career. Quickly Tracy became one of the crew, whatever butterfly's she had were contained somewhere deep inside her.  Her jaw tightened and her brow revealed her intense commitment to the skills.  Tracy was all in.  

Within the first few minutes of my Street Skills course I felt like something was being taken away from me.  Our instructor: Jon DelVecchio a local New Yorker began to deconstruct riding a motorcycle.  When I ride my 99 R1100RT it feels like I am water skiing.  I sit tall and straight to carve and lean in the same plane as the bike.  It feels good and natural and it has become my habit.  Jon was describing how that was all going to change.  

Back at the campsite when I told my friends I had a course in the morning they asked me what I was teaching and if there was more room for them. “No”  I said, “I am taking a course".   "Why" they asked,  "You know how to ride?".  “I want to be safer and have more fun riding”: I told them.  The MOA foundation sponsored this course lowering it's cost after a rebate to $90.  This is another example of how the MOV’s own Paul B Scholarship has reached out into the masses.   From multi day track based riding schools to now half day clinics,  the foundation continues to drive for safe proficient riders.   Foundation President George Rice was reached by phone adding: “The Foundation’s mission is to make sure people don’t injure themselves on motorcycles and have a good time riding.   We think riders can both have a good time and be safe and we are committed to that goal.”

There are three primary types of kinesthetic learners: watchers, thinkers, and doers.  Although I would like to think I'm a thinker I am much more of a doer.  To this point Jon's first exercise involved all of us standing in front, facing him with our feet less than our shoulders width apart.  We tipped at the waist moving our heads and upper body to one side past our imaginary motorcycle grip hands and we "kissed the mirror".  When we got it right our center of mass moved outside the center of rotation and we tipped over catching ourselves by taking a step.  This separation of upper and lower body in relation to cornering made me smile.  I was headed into new territory. I truly committed to do everything that Jon instructed.  I bought in putting my water ski technique on the shelf in exchange for an expanding flat plate, where the rubber literally meets the asphalt. .

The flow of the course developed as Jon laid out each new increment of each combined task and reviewed it with us until we understood it.  We then immediately put it in the progression on the curvy back roads of New York farmland.  Our stops were busy and information loaded exceeding the value that I had anticipated.   Jon put us to work.  Each stop we leapfrogged having the tail become the head, changing up the order so that each of us could have a look at the skill that Jon was modeling.  Jon fine tuned the group with precision.   He laser engraved Street Skills on to our motorcycle minds.   We picked up speed and built confidence for encountering hazards in corners.  Sometimes performance riding is safer.  For me the wrap up was at a stop sign after our last set of twisties. I pulled alongside Iron Butt Pete with an ear to ear grin. " I can't believe what a difference kissing the mirror makes!"  "I know" he said smiling "I know".

If you go:

Street Skills LLC

(585) 802-9859

http://streetskills.net/

To donate to the MOA Foundation:

http://www.bmwmoa.org/page/foundationhome

Warren Pieces

Builders of custom homes: http://warrenpieces.com/ 

Mad River, Warren VT

When riding with the Hermit it is always important to say yes to adventure.  The heat of the day had subsided.  He rode the manufactured rock crushed sharp and loose refusing to get pressed into the softness of an April back road.  What could only be described as broken marbles found us east of the Lincoln Gap.  We were in search of the German Flats road.  a paved twisty vacant of Escalade driving snow bunnies.  Up a hill over the next and past the unfinished concrete mansion.  The kind a schizophrenic architect would build and not finish so no one would find him.  We found it.  Our downward sweeping twists that hit pay dirt after miles of loose aggregates.  And soon,  we swooned.  Slowly, rhythmically with the evening sun at our backs the oilhead at the front with the airhead following the warm rush of the spring air rising off the sun baked asphalt.  Lefties,  righties... the curves sweetened as we descended.  Off the mountain at a T to route 100.   South to Warren on the road to nowhere.  Driving wrinkles in circles, the round headlight of the Hermits R100 stayed in my mirror.  

      After stretching things out a bit an acute left turn took us down left now leaving 100 for the prize seen above.  Just another covered bridge- just another cool mountain stream breathing hushed tones of moist air resisting the heat of the day.  At the other end of town we rolled past the Warren Pieces home base.  Builders of luxury custom houses and skateboards.   Only in the VT.  Right at the stop sign and we climbed.   Waves of warmth buffeted my chest.  70 degrees.  It melted the ice of my chest, the crushing weight that held me anchored.  Absent of two wheels.  And now, as I surged forward leaning at the waist,  anticipating the next gear shift, ready to roll throttle on, the roadside streams frigid whisper became a frozen chorus.   Mixing in my helmet with the heat of the day as we rolled on and peaked out with a round sweeping left hand turn.  Top of Warren.  Home of the hippie farm.  Home of the glider rides.  Millionaire ally.   Riding now north the back way to Waitsfield with the setting sun to the west,  watching the row of million dollar houses on the east side of the road.  There was so much fence crisscrossing the hill above the road it would take all summer long to paint just one property.  Yes they must have stock in Sherman Williams.  The mansions punched tickets for entry into their own place in the club.  We slowed and I put on my 4 ways,  pointing out to the Hermit: Warren Pieces most recent creation.  A hilltop paradise,  custom in and out.  If you have to ask how much, you couldn't afford it.   Warren ridge dropped out beneath us with sweeping splendor.  Rolling hills glowed with fresh dense green.  And on to the Waitsfield covered bridge- over the Mad river once again.       Now the Hermit was thirsty.  We headed 17 west leaving 100 for the night and bellied up to the polyurethaned planks at the Hideaway.  To say that our server smiled is short of fact.  She glowed.  Radiated.  Her unmanaged curls draped down near her elbows at their longest.  Big curls.  Big loose curls of rich brown hair.  She left quite an impression on the Hermit.  Though we were spared much snow it still was a long winter.  At times in the cabin he just tended the fires.  And now with him in her hands and a second cold switchback on the way he knew tonight he would not sleep.  After the night said good by to our headlights he would be haunted by her smile.  The smile that glowed like the moon in rainbow halo's.  It must be spring making him think this way.  This was just the beginning of our year motorcycling.  Just the first trip out.  When we split in front of Lincoln General he said: "Just think,  there is someone out there that is sick of making sweet love to that woman".   Tonight the Hermit would not sleep.  

warrenpieces.com

Just another day at the office...  a slow mo shot from this spring at the quarry.    Wait for it.

#igettopressthebuttons,#laughlikealittlegirl, #blowingshitupisfun