Midnight Rides

Since I have had some troubles with a new bike doing funny things it has thrown my riding schedule all to hell. So in order to make ends meet time-wise I've been riding at night. This usually means pulling out at anywhere from 9-11 at night and riding to 3 or 4 in the morning. Night riding is something I truly enjoy.

So I packed up some water and powerbars and headed out around 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. Heading south out of Windham on 202 I thought I'd cruise southern Maine and NH, maybe head for Laconia since Louden and bike week were kicking off. No such luck, five miles down the road and I'm in dense fog and it's getting worse by the mile.

Living near a snow belt line, no matter what time of year it's cooler on one side and warmer on the other. So I doubled back and headed north through Sebago Lake, up 107 and the back door into Bridgton, ME. The stars were out as long as I rode northerly.

North Conway, NH during the day is bumper to bumper hell with Mt. Washington in the background. Tonight the motels were full and all the little tourists were tucked snug in their Mt. Holiday Inn's. The road was MINE!
I stop at the rest area and stare into the panoramic view of the dark, eat a powerbar on the Tiger and drink my Poland Spring water.

Well ...heading out on 302, breaking off in Jackson and heading around Mt. Washington is one pisser ride. The two lane twists for miles and near Wildcat ski area it breaks into a 4 lane. I passed one car. I love this section and it's time to stretch our paws.

I tool around the Mt. tripping 3D's on the speedo and the Tiger is quite happy in 5th gear, butt hey, this section is too populated with hikers and campers to keep the deer around so I pop into #6 and I'm a happy, happy guy. I am patient and I still love this bike that has made my month of May so freaking utterly miserable. Butt damn it growls! I'm feeling great just letting frustrations pass through the throttle. Midnight and the perfect prowl.

All too soon I'm winding down into Gorham, NH. which is really Berlin, NH the Gorham people just don't know it yet. There's a guy in a blue stich at the Irving gas pumps, he's got an old Indian and the poor bastard is gonna die kicking the monster over. I pull over to the side and watch. I like big old bikes, butt I'm curious to see if he's going to shoot a clot starting this thing up. He's got that 'one more kick and I fall over and die right here staring at the stars' sweat on his forehead. He's pooped. Butt hey, one more try and the monster fires! Kick starters..... I look the Tiger over, it wouldn't fit.

I don't need fuel, so I coast from under the street lights and head for Farmington, ME. Next stop , Bethel, a ski haven for flatlanders who will be taught to 'ski like the pros' in one day! Amazing....and everyone drives an SUV.

The ride up the mountain was on recently paved highway, exquisite. The ride on Rt. 2 to Bethel starts out bumpy and just gets bad for 30 miles. The frost heaves of winter have taken their toll. But some twisties are coming, however now I'm in deer territory and I anticipate the little darlins will be out and about.

I flit through the dark and past the turnoff to Rt.113 a truly great narrow road that takes you up one heck of a hill (Evans Notch) and breaks out with a view of the Mt. Washington Valley. Nice, real nice and then throws you off the other side. No fun at night though, no fun at all. So I continue on 2 just me, me, me and four tall white streaks standing in the middle of the road. I hit both breaks, swerve, let off, break, slow down to a crawl. It's the back of the doe's legs, she's standing in the middle of the road with her butt pointing towards me. She looks up maybe ten feet from me and heads modestly for the trees. I'm glad she was all concerned about my stopping in time.

The rest of the road is calm, I spot a shooting star complete with a hint of tail and bright white from my mobile perch on a dark road. Ok! Minutes later I'm cruising through Bethel two cars in front of me, one local cop, 5 cars are in the donut shop at the Irving station. I have no need for Dunkin Donuts at 1 a.m. and cruise on to Farmington - which is really Rumford, but Farmington doesn't know it... yet. Rumford is a mill town, a big time mill, logs stacked 6-8 stories high and more. Half the state of Rhode Island in trees waiting to wipe America's squeezably soft bums. The rest go to the little dragons to build prefab whatchamacallits....

I leave Rt. 2 in Rumford and take Rt.108 to Dixfield. The river roars as I pass by the mill. This is a great get-your-yaya's-out road hidden in the lumber region. A long ride through the forest and an occasional town of twenty or so souls hacking out a way to make a buck. We are on the perimeter of 'the other Maine.' Money and jobs to the south and not a damn thing to the north. Well the Queen Elizabeth or Mary or some big tourist flotilla shows up once a summer in Bar Harbor. You can get even up here - sort of, but you'll never get ahead - till you move south of the imaginary line.

My ride on 108 is relaxing and quiet and fast, it's also 2 a.m. or so. So....it should be. I head south again towards Auburn, ME a most civilized city with bright lights and all night Denny's. A veritable feast of Leo's as I approach main drag. I refuel and wind my way silently down 202 to Windham and home. A modest 250 miles. The Tiger was a good kitty. I pull in the drive, my dogs all know it's me and no one barks. It's well after 3 a.m. I'm better now.


© 1999 dennis kesseler