York Wings: What's This White Stuff?

A couple of years later and on another spring outing, it was déjà vu all over again. This time the club was headed for Lake Placid, a destination I had always wanted to visit. Caroline, my soon to be wife, came with me on what we both

Waiting for the ferry.

would soon discover as trip that would test our endurance, and hers in particular.

Our weekend getaway started off on a promising note. The weather was beautiful as we headed out of Toronto towards Kingston where we would take a ferry across to the American side. Unfortunately, the further away from home we got, the more foreboding the weather became. Finally, the group pulled over to don rain suits as the first stinging drops of water were felt. I had my well worn yellow Dry Rider suit to put on, while Caroline, who was still a newcomer to the two wheel world, had to rely on her father's green two-piece workman's rain suit, which on her was at least four or five sizes too big.

Meeting at the motel.

The weather continued to deteriorate and in the final miles before hitting the outskirts of Lake Placid, the rain had changed into snow showers. The chill and dampness penetrated us to the bone, and both of us had teeth that were chattering. As we entered the town, our only thought was to find a place to stay that was warm and dry. We pulled into the first motel that had a vacancy sign and with fingers that felt ten times their normal size; we fumbled with the removal of our suits and the gear from my bike. Caroline was now shaking almost uncontrollably. It was then that we discovered that her borrowed rain pants had split along the seam from front to back, and that she had been sitting unprotected in a pool of frigid water for at least the last hour. It took a very long hot shower to return her back to normal.

The next day we met up with the club at a restaurant a short

Lake Placid

distance away, and mercifully the precipitation from the day before did not return. The cold, however, was still there. After some local sightseeing, we put on every bit of clothing that we had brought along, and it was back on the highway for home.

Although the experience hammered home the importance of proper riding gear if one insisted on riding in less than ideal conditions, I think in the future I'll leave these types of adventures for the terminally insane.