How Far is Too Far for Breakfast?

Group Photo

I look at this photograph with gratitude for having friends to share the journey. On motorcycles and scooters and in life. And for me at least the expression on my face says a lot. I didn’t realize my face was adorned with a big, dumb, grin.

The four of us left home this morning to ride to breakfast, a predictable rhythm in my life, and a pleasure to be willing and able to embrace it. When I was thinking about a ride one of the questions that emerged is how far is too far to ride for breakfast?

The first order of business was identifying a place to have breakfast. Reading comments on a recent obituary for a farmer I once met indicated he frequented the Cottage Restaurant in Lamar, Pennsylvania. I figured if it was so highlighted it might be worth a look. The route to the restaurant was simple. No maps needed. It was just 27 miles away on a route I’ve ridden or driven dozens of times. The bigger challenge was the ride home. It would be a bore to return the way we came so I began to look at Google Maps to look for alternative routes and roads I had never visited. With every cow path in Pennsylvania now paved the choices seem endless.

It didn’t take long to determine a route and memorize it for the following day. I don’t carry maps anymore and the only GPS I generally use is meat-based. The ride home would consume about 135 miles.

Most of my life has been led in relative isolation and solitude. I didn’t make friends easy and I was loathe to reach out to others to do anything unless it was a dire emergency. Scooters and motorcycles have enhanced my ability to reach out to others, often strangers, and make friends. And not just related to riding but in other aspects of my life as well. An unlooked for gift of riding.

Dave said he would ride to breakfast. Paul would too. And Andy, the non-retired member of the group said he would come as well. All I told them is it would be a long ride and we would be back in about five hours.

A Cool Morning

Dave was waiting in the driveway when I arrived. It was a cool morning with the temperature hovering at 54F. The sun was coming up and I had convinced myself in a couple hours it would be warm despite the forecast not mentioning anything of 70 degrees. All the gear choices were easy except for gloves. The only cold weather gloves I have are the Gerbing 7 volt battery powered ones. I’ve been dragging my feet in the purchase of some cool weather, non-electric gloves. They’re big and bulky and I just didn’t want to use them but I am glad I did. Never had to power them up but they kept my hands warm. Any other choice would have made the ride a little miserable for me.

Weak, formerly frost-bidden old arthritic hands don’t like cold.

Gas Stops

The small gas tank on Paul’s Harley 48 meant we would stop for gas twice. Dave took the opportunity to fill up as well. Keeping the gas tank full is a habit borne of nervous experience when the only gas station in a remote area was closed. So now I am more than happy to stop for gas. Plus, as I get older, any opportunity to stretch my aging back is welcome.

Conversations

Andy lived a few miles away from the gas station and we planned to meet him on the way to breakfast. Paul and Dave always get into some quasi-engineering conversation about the motorcycles. I never took my helmet off while we waited so the foam earplugs filtered out most of the conversation.

The Kawasaki W650 is perfect for these kind of rides. I’m glad it’s part of my little fleet.

Breakfast

My review of the Cottage Restaurant is “adequate.” Nothing special, nothing bad. I think its proximity to Exit 173 on Interstate 80 colored my opinion. How could anything exciting be at an off-ramp of an Interstate highway? Regardless, we ate breakfast and were on our way to the more interesting part of the ride.

Something I noticed — Andy seems impervious to the cold. He’s riding with a sweatshirt. I was cold with a heavy flannel shirt and a leather jacket. Must be youth. Or drugs. Mine.

Don’t Lose the Path Steve

I’m usually pretty good at keeping routes straight in my head. As we were heading north I started thinking we really needed to be going east and the hills ahead didn’t look like what I had envisioned at this point in the ride. So I pulled over to sneak a peak at my iPhone to check Google Maps. Cheating I know. An inconvenience for my fellow riders (I think Dave thanked me for the opportunity to warm up), and my own disappointment for being lost. Generally, I like being lost. But not with others following me off towards oblivion. They have families.

Turns out we were on the right road. Just didn’t travel far enough yet to get to something I recognized.

PA Route 44 Mountain Lookout

Exploring this stretch of central Pennsylvania is well worth the journey. As the road winds through Tiadaghton State Forest, a scenic lookout opens up to views of the Appalachian Mountains’ ridge-and-valley landscape.

At this particular stop, however, the highlight wasn’t just the scenery—it was discovering just how quickly our reflexes still work.

We were standing around enjoying the view with not a care in the world, until someone remarked that they heard a heavy truck coming up the mountain. It didn’t quite register until the massive rig came into view, noisily crawling toward us just a few hundred yards away. Realizing none of us wanted to get stuck behind that behemoth, it was amazing how fast helmets and gloves went on, and bikes fired up and out of there before it arrived.

No Good Closure on Rides

The W650 sure is pretty…

I spend a lot of time planning a ride—when to start, where to go, the best backroads to link it all together. What I continually fail to plan for, though, is the conclusion. Honestly, I’m still not sure how to bring a ride to a close. Usually, as we near home, we just drift off to our separate routes with a brief wave, maybe exchanging a text later in the day. But it always leaves the journey feeling a bit incomplete. About fifteen miles out, we offered a quick round of goodbyes and pulled back onto the road.

If you’ve found a better way to wrap up a group ride, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

So—150 miles just for breakfast. Too far, or just right? I was smiling, and in the end, maybe that’s all that matters.