Port Dover 2003: Friday the 13th

Rider's Log: Day Two

We've arrived: Lucy and Walter in the Port Dover school parking lot.

Friday morning started with heavy fog and drizzle. As soon as Lucy's kids were off to school, we needed to make a small detour to Brampton and meet up with a good friend, Walter, who would be coming along with us. His Electra Glide Classic was gassed and ready to go as we pulled into his driveway. Earlier, I had scanned the local newscasts to assess the morning rush hour situation, and so was aware of a major slowdown on the 410. To avoid this, we attempted to scoot our way around by way of Georgetown before heading south to connect with highway 403. Our progress, however, was hampered by far too many traffic lights. So we turned south earlier than planned and were rewarded with a closed road due to a jack-knifed trailer. A U-turn and another impromptu decision had us on the 401 and at least moving in more or less the right direction.

Before going too far, we exited onto another road towards Hamilton. Trying to make up time we kept our pace on the brisk side. I noticed a police car going in the opposite direction and had a momentary panic attack like I always do whenever I see one, but sighed with a great sense of relief when he had kept on going. A few minutes later I suddenly became aware of flashing lights in my mirror. I looked at my speedo and thought, oh s***! Maybe if I pretend I didn't see him he'll go away. I knew that wouldn't work when the siren whooped. We pulled over. I stopped in a commercial parking lot, Walter a bit further on the side of the road. While I struggled with the removal of my gloves, the officer went directly to my friend and had a brief chat. Before I could even come up with some lame excuse about my inexcusable behavior, the officer was back in his car and gone. He had thought my buddy's helmet was illegal.

Eventually, we found our way on to the 403 and joined all the other motorcyclists heading towards the rally. Things were finally looking up - even the rain had stopped - when for no reason I could ascertain, we hit a traffic snarl. We were now in first gear and our progress was measurable in feet (or meters if you prefer).

Walter had earlier chided me about my choice of bike and the superior protection and comfort I had forsaken when I had traded in my FLHTC, so now was my chance for a little bit of revenge. As I twisted the throttle I shouted to him "Stay with me if you can" and shot forward splitting the lanes. With near open pipes barking and crackling and with only inches to spare, I flew by semi's and station wagons like they were standing still (which for the most part they were). In no time at all I was free and clear of the congestion and was once again happily cruising at speed. Lucy, my passenger, was apparently pleased as well as I could hear her reciting the Lord's Prayer. I may have proved a point to my friend, but now I had to wait until he caught up.

In Port Dover, even the OPP have to wait in line.

Finally we were on the last leg of our journey, gassing up on highway 24 with dozens of other bikes already there and doing the same. But there were still a few more hurdles to be conquered. With the sky spitting on us irregularly, we rode into the town of Simcoe and once again found ourselves in heavy traffic. The town's traffic lights rotated so fast through their cycle that only one or two vehicles made it through at a time. It also didn't help that there was road construction and detours to negotiate, which further added to our frustration. But we persevered and in time emerged on the other side and open road once more.