THE STURBRIDGE RUN

THE STURBRIDGE RUN
by Laurie “Rocky” Rockwell

We met at the Tim Horton’s donut shop in Stewiacke, N. S., just after 8:00 a.m. on 24 June 1999. Our club President, Vince, was on his 1969 BSA 441 bitsa thumper and I was on my 1989 Honda Hawk NT650 V-twin.

What would cause two Atlantic Vintage Motorcycle Society members to meet way out there in the county at such an early hour...and be on time? Well, first of all, Vince lives nearby, and this was the first day of a six-day odyssey to Sturbridge, Mass., and the sixteenth annual Triumph Days rally on 26 & 27 June. I wasn’t going to subject myself or my British bikes to that kind of torture so my Honda was the vehicle of choice for such a long trip.

The only other time I had ridden to Massachusetts on a motorcycle was in 1957 on a 1952 BSA A10 Golden Flash. In some ways this would be a near repeat of that great adventure forty-two years earlier.

After topping off our gas tanks Vince lead our two-man caravan north on the four-lane Trans-Canada Highway into the province of New Brunswick. It was agreed that since he was on the older bike he would lead and set a pace that was comfortable for him and the bike. The 441 engine had been freshly rebuilt and barely broken in, but Vince showed it no mercy.

Just west of Moncton, N. B., following another fill-up, the 441 sputtered and died on a lonely stretch of four-lane highway. Vince changed the spark plug and drained the carb, but no amount of kicking or swearing under the hot noon day sun would get the BSA to run. I was dismayed. The trip appeared to be over even before it had really begun.

Eventually, more kicking, swearing, sweating and fettling brought the 441 to life (problem unknown) and it otherwise ran beautifully throughout nearly 2,500 km (1600 miles) of hard riding. Well, to be completely honest it did refuse to idle most of the time and quit many times when pulled up to a stop, but it always started again after a few kicks.

Progress was slow, but New Brunswick eventually passed under our wheels and we were across the U.S. border by mid afternoon. We grabbed a sandwich in border town of Calais then tore across the wilds of Maine on a much improved route 9 which leads to the twin cities of Brewer and Bangor. Route 9 is straighter, wider, and smoother now and construction is ongoing. What a change since 1957!

Just before reaching Brewer we turned east on route 46 and joined coastal highway route 1 which we followed south to Brunswick where we spent the night. It was early evening and a storm was approaching when we flew by Perry's Tropical Nut House and Emporium in Belfast, a popular tourist trap...er...I mean...attraction. With rain on the way and night closing in there was no time to stop for a look-see.

The skies soon opened up and we took shelter under an overpass to wait out the rain, but night was falling and the rain wasn’t letting up. We had to get going so we donned our rain gear and pressed on regardless. It was pitch black, pouring rain, and a thunderstorm was raging directly overhead when we pulled into the first motel that had a vacancy. It had been a long 865 km (540 miles) day and Vince's fingers, knuckles, wrists and joints were aching from the vibration. We dashed across the street for a pizza and then dove into the sheets.

Sunny skies greeted us Friday morning and the forecast was for a fine, but hot and humid weekend.
Since it was only about 280 km (175 miles) to Auburn, Mass., where we had motel reservations, we ambled along route 1 to the factory outlet town of Freeport for breakfast at Friendly's. Before leaving town we left the bikes in the L.L. Bean "motorcycle only" parking lot and toured the world famous store. I had been to Freeport many times by car, but it was Vince’s first visit.

From Freeport, we took the I-95 toll-road and blasted our way south through New Hampshire and into Massachusetts and onto the frenzied six-lane 495 that skirts the greater Boston metropolitan area. It was hot and Friday afternoon traffic was intense as Vince threaded the 441 through the 18-wheelers, SUV's and assorted maniacs on four wheels. We even passed a vehicle with Hawaiian license plates and for a minute I though we had made a wrong turn!

At Marlborough we gladly left 495 and followed a less hostile two-lane route 20 into Auburn and the luxurious Baymont Inn; our home for the next two days.

The only time we became separated during the trip occurred at the highway toll booth leaving I-95 to merge onto 495. I breezed through but Vince had to search for change and then the 441 quit and wouldn’t start immediately. I saw that he had a problem and pulled over well out of the way to wait.

I was stopped on the edge of the truck lane and 18-wheelers were going by every few seconds. I couldn't see Vince because of all the trucks and heavy traffic, but I heard the 441 when it came to life. The next thing I knew I could see the wheels of the 441 passing on the other side of the trucks and heading down 495. Not being able to pull away because of all the trucks I had to sit there and wait for a hole to shoot through.

Vince was well out of sight by the time I got a break so I gave the Honda its head and enjoyed some "spirited" riding until he came into view. He thought I was miles ahead and was leaning hard on the 441 to catch up. He was surprised to see me fill his mirror and then pull into formation behind him. We then throttled down to something more closely resembling the speed limit - or at least with the flow of traffic.

Saturday was as hot and humid as forecasted and I had never felt such oppressive heat so early in the morning. In our T-shirts, sneakers and layers of sun screen, a 25 minute ride brought us to the rally site at the Hamilton Rod & Gun Club near Sturbridge. While Vince registered his bike for judging I parked the Honda and began to wander among the vendors. I was awed by the veritable plethora of piled parts. I had never seen so much stuff!


Then there were the Triumphs. Dozens and dozens of them from ratty to concours and everything in between. It was a total immersion in everything Triumph and British, and it seemed that all was forgiven since the Boston Tea Party in 1773.

Sweet running vertical twins and singles came and went all weekend, including some of the most beautiful BSA’s, Norton’s, Royal Enfield’s and a sprinkling of Velocette, Matchless, HRD, Vincent and Ariel’s I had ever seen. Contrasting with the old iron were 26 Hinckley Triumph demo bikes that were constantly on the go; their riders enduring the heat in full riding gear.

We met Ted Simon of Juniper's Travels fame and I chatted with Cliff and Gina Rushworth, owners of the Ace Classics pre-unit Triumph spares business in London, England. I knew of Cliff and Gina from the British classic bike magazines and it was a pleasure to meet them in person. What can I say about Gina in her halter top and cut-off shorts; that mane of red hair; that smile; those legs...er...ah...where was I? Oh, yes, I also met John Healy the president of the (TIOC) Triumph International Owners Club (I'm a member), and the guys from Bernier Vintage Motorcycles where I bought most of the decals and transfers for my T100 restoration. Barry's Bike Badges from New York had a display and I had also dealt with them by mail-order. Barry's had an amazing selection of cloth patches and I added a few more to my collection.
While talking in the parking lot with a fellow '89 Honda Hawk owner from Providence, RI, he mentioned that I didn't have a Canadian accent, whatever that is...eh?

Sunday was even hotter at 36-37C (95-97F) and the humidity was over 80%. Despite the severe heat the attendance was nearly double that of Saturday and the parking lot was filled with hundreds of bikes; Hinckley Speed Triples, Thunderbirds and Daytona’s plus old British iron and modern bikes of every description - including a new Polaris Victory.

We spent the day much the same as Saturday, admiring the bikes and scantly clad ladies, poking among the "stuff", buying odds and ends, taking photographs, talking to people, and drinking fluids; lots of fluids. Putting the ice from out drinks in our hats didn't cool our heads, but it was worth a try.

The presentation of show trophies dragged on far too long. We were anxious to hit the road by mid afternoon, but you had to be present to win the T100C door prize. As soon as the number was called and we didn't win, still clad in T-shirts and sneakers, we headed for Laconia, NH, at about 5:00 p.m. Our planned route led us north through Worcester to Manchester, onto route 106 and straight into Laconia, about 200 km (125 miles). En route we flew right by New Hampshire International Speedway at Loudon, but had no time to stop and look around.

Along the way I noticed that I was getting tired and light headed for some reason. My reflexes were slow and I was making bad judgment decisions in my driving. We stopped at a diner for supper and I downed three glasses of water in rapid succession and several more during the meal. I was dehydrated and didn't know it. This had never happened to me before, but then I had never endured such heat and humidity before either. Full of water and a hearty meal, we continued our trek to Laconia.

Along the route "welcome bikers" business signs were still up from the recent Laconia and Loudon bike events. As we made our way north toward the mountain and lake regions we met groups of bikers heading south to the cities after a weekend of mirth and merriment. We arrived in Laconia after dark and stopped at the first motel we could find. A hot shower and cool sheets never felt so good.

Monday morning was much cooler and rain was in the forecast. As we packed the bikes and mounted up we noted the fresh motorcycle burnout marks etched into the asphalt of the motel parking lot - but we had no intention of adding any more.

Heading north we stopped for McBreakfast in Meredith just as the drizzle and showers arrived. We had planned to spend the day doing some scenic riding in the White Mountains before heading home, but the low overcast and rain spoiled those plans. We hit the road in our rain suits and would wear them for the remainder of the ride home.

The annual Audi-sponsored Mt. Washington auto road hill climb to the clouds had been the day before and the new Audi TT sports car was still on display in a glass-sided 18-wheeler parked across from the entrance to the auto road. As we viewed the sports car there was a break in the weather so we decided to go up Mt. Washington since we were there and may not get back this way on bikes again any time soon. But our gas tanks were nearly empty so we had to go a further 12 km (8 miles) into Gorham for gas before we could tackle the mountain.

Arriving back at the auto road entrance a park ranger politely turned us back because the road was too dangerous for motorcycles that day. They had spread calcium chloride for the hill climb which made the dirt sections of the road hard and smooth, but very slick in the rain. There aren’t any guard rails and they didn't want any bikes sliding over the edge and coming down the mountain the hard way. Only the bottom one third of the mountain was visible so it was probably pretty nasty at the top anyway.

We were a little disappointed but, it was probably just as well. I've been up Mt. Washington by car and have run into the clouds a couple of hundred feet from the top and you can barely see your own hand in front of your face. It can be dangerous in those conditions, and not being able to see the view, in hindsight, it would have been a waste of time had we been allowed to go up.

Returning to Gorham we swung east on route 2 and headed for Bangor. As we left town we passed a street called Grumpy Old Men Road, I kid you not.

Outrunning the rain some of the time, we blasted across Maine and picked up route 9 in Brewer across the river from Bangor. We made a dash for the Canadian border, but steady rain finally overtook us and it was wet all the way to Saint John, N. B., where we spent the last night of the trip.

Upon reaching the border the skies had opened up and the Canada Customs official seemed to take pity on us and basically waved us through with only a couple of quick routine questions. The road to Saint John was very hard to follow after dark in the drizzle, rain and fog, but we pressed on regardless, hoping that nothing would emerge from the fog every time we saw a moose-crossing sign.

I had the better headlight and led the way using the center line in the pavement as my guide. Vince was using my tail light as his guide so I had to also keep track of him in my mirrors and not leave him behind. It had been a long wet day and we were very relieved to finally pull into a Comfort Inn motel at around 10:00 p.m. My rain suit performed beautifully as did the Totes on my feet. I was tired but dry.

Tuesday morning Saint John was still strangled in fog (a normal state for this city) so we beat it for Sussex which is en route and had breakfast at the famous Bluebird Restaurant - a popular truck and tour bus stop. The rest of the ride home was in alternating drizzle and showers but otherwise uneventful.

After crossing the provincial border into Nova Scotia the 441 started to go slightly off song and lose power from time to time. Vince made it home okay, swapped the Boyer electronic ignition for points and claims to have never had a problem since.

We had seen some great bikes, met some interesting people and had a lot of laughs. At times we rode with groups of Gold Wingers and Harley riders, and once even had a police motorcycle escort. The other riders looked down their noses at us of course, but the two cops had caught up to us and followed along for many miles before turning off to wherever they were going. I got a big kick out of that because the general public probably thought we were a couple of baddies being escorted out of the county.

My helmet is off to Vince for his grit and endurance on the 441. People at the rally were quite awed by his fortitude (insanity?) for riding such a long distance on an old single. Vince was quite disappointed that he was nosed out for the long distance award by only a few miles, but obviously he wasn’t the only rider there with grit.

The record setting heat, humidity and the rain were the only negatives about the trip, but overall it was a wonderful adventure.

I'd do it again in a minute, but next time I won't wait 42 years.