The Tribe MC of Seattle

Bruce and Richard really led the way at the carnival, staffing the booth, taking pictures, and in general, giving everyone a great time.  Bruce sent these comments about the Purim Carnival … I thought I’d share them with everyone:

It was definitely fun. You guys should go out and check out the photos I got a couple of families on the bike, the record I think was 4 at the same time.

 Best 10:

1. Best husband comment, “So,” looking at his wife, the answer was obvious and we all know what the question was.
2. Best kid comment, “What do you do with these?”; Ok, sorry, guys, but the first thing that came to mind was, “Ride it.”  Doh…
3. My favorite mom comment to kid, “No way your climbing on that until I clean you up.” At which point she pulls out a box of wipes and cleans the kid head to toe. Thanks mom, that lolly pop would really had made a mess of things.
4. Best club comment,”Bruce take off the chaps, they’re not here to see you.” Ok, Ok, I get it, it really is all about the bikes.
5. Proof Harleys are better. The kids wanted to sit on Richards bike, but mom told them to climb on mine for the photo.
6. Most embarrassing, couple standing together, “Want your picture with him?” response from her, “No, I would rather have it with a biker.” Hey, don’t believe me, the evidence is on the site….
7. Lesson learned, check your controls BEFORE you start the bike after something like that. Kids out of control will reset the controls on your bike faster then white on rice. Poor thing would not start when I first got on, and I think I may have blinded the poor person walking towards me…
8. No matter how hard you try, some kids don’t smile, but the parents (especially the moms) always do when sitting on a motorcycle.
9. No Richard you can not sell them their stuff back for a ticket and Ned thanks for the sales (big pimp’n).

   And Last …

10. Best comment of the day, “You better enjoy that, because that is as close as your ever getting to one ot those!” can you hear the ego deflating….

By the way, does anyone know how to remove cotten candy after it has been melted on? Did not see a chunk on the cylinder head….

Thanks to all of the members of The Tribe that made our booth at the SJCC Purim Carnival a huge success.  Bruce and Richard selflessly rolled in their motorcycles and made lots of kids (and some adults!) very happy with the opportunity to sit on a real motorcycle.  Thanks also goes to Ned for decorating our booth.  And of course thanks to everyone else who was there to help out — Clive, Lenny, Steve, Neil, Craig, and Doug.  All in all, a very successful day — we definitely showed our colors to the community and they were really glad we were there!

And welcome to Craig and Denise — our newest members of The Tribe MC!

Great ride this morning — pretty chilly, but fun.  And a great breakfast as well at The Kitchen in Enumclaw, WA, where the pancakes are wagon-wheel sized (or should I say motorcycle wheel sized?).  5 bikes, 6 riders today and another half dozen at the meeting this morning at Starbucks.  Great gathering!

Thanks to Ned for leading The Tribe MC on a fun ride on this month.  Pictures are posted here.

Once again, The Tribe MC hosted the Seattle Association for Jews with Disabilities (SAJD) picnic – we raised over $500! Everyone had a blast. Click here for photos.  The morning started with a brief ride through Carnation and Fall City and ended at noon in Seward Park, where we were met by the SAJD folks.  Thanks to the members of The Tribe MC for another year of strong participation.

Once again, Mort comes through with an awesome breakfast place.  Glenn, Steve, Mort, Elaine, and I met for coffee at the usual spot at 9 AM and followed that up with a short ride down 202 to North Bend, where we ate at Twede’s, famous for being the cafe in David Lynch’s Twin Peaks.  The food was great and plentiful, and the company was terrific.  From there, we rode to see Mort’s grandchild, just born a couple of days ago. 

It’s 7AM. Body clock says its time to get up. We have a ride today. I look at the little weather station on the closet door, barometer has slightly dropped in the last 12 hours. Not a good sign. Yesterday was sunny, in the low 70s warm, daffodils gently swaying in the warm breeze. A perfect spring day…for mowing the grass at two houses, cleaning both cars, and finish moving mounds of little used, overvalued stuff in the basement getting ready for the remodel starting next week. That was yesterday.

Today, morning temperatures in the 40s, overcast, typical. Wife-unit stirs and says, “…is it raining? Maybe you should call someone to see if they still want to ride.”

Get dressed, breakfast. Cell phone, check, wallet, check, email, check, and, oh yes, the list. Today, I am the Road Rabbi. My esteemed eastside riding companions are to follow me on a Mystery Tour of Seattle. The list has about a dozen off the beaten track places to visit, some touristy, some not.

I check the oil, check tires, pull on the road helmet and start up the trusty PC 800. Wind over the floating bridge is nil but I still feel a chill on my back.

Twenty minutes later I pull into the Starbucks parking lot, the start of a perfect day. Doug and his daughter are there. Tables are pushed together, coffees ordered. One by one, riders arrive with smiles. Jeff distributes newly minted club logo’d black tee shirts. (They look great. I still think blue is a better Jewish color.) The plan for the day is to go on tour, have lunch, then arrive at the Cinerama as volunteers at the Jewish Film Festival by 2 PM. Where are we going? Can’t tell. It’s a mystery. OK. Let’s ride.

Over the 520, up 10th Ave East to Volunteer Park. We park at the base of the water tower. Neil says his hip hurts. Someone else volunteers to watch the bikes. I say, come on girls, its only 105 steps to the top. After catching our wind and seeing the 360 degree view, we descend.

Next is the cemetery. It’s a final destination to Seattle luminaries, fallen heroes, Italian POWs and father/son graves of Bruce and Brandon Lee. After 20 minutes riding around, we stop. Where the heck did that grave site go? Were they moved? Better ask someone. Finally, after a short walk, we gather and pay homage to the kung fu film masters. Next, down a few hills, pass by Clive’s daughter’s apartment, we cross over the University Bridge on to Gas Works Park.

Thousands of walkers truck along the Burke-Gillman trail. It’s a fund raiser for MS awareness that began at the Park. We pull into the parking area. Some are relieved to see a relief station, especially me. We trudge up to the top of kite hill. Glenn points out the famed, Sleepless in Seattle, floating home. If it were sunny, we could actually use the sun dial/calendar upon which we are standing. Mort is taking more pictures. Next, on to the bakery.

This is not a tourist stop. It’s a statement of sorts to our way of life. People are hungry and here are hundreds of loaves of boutique breads awaiting transport to the compost pile. In the parking lot are three large white steel storage bins, overflowing with Challah, orange-pecan, French, Italian, flat breads. Imagine the fuel and labor to grow and gather the ingredients, the fuel and labor to make it, deliver it, then return it to the day-old bins. Help yourself, gentlemen. Help me understand this. It will only go to waste. Next, on to the Troll.

A few blocks away, tucked under the Aurora Bridge is a sculpture most unusual. It is the famed Fremont Troll grasping a VW bug. More pictures. Within minutes of our arrival, two bus loads of visitors arrive. We ride off and park across from the Lenin statue in front of Taco Time. Yes, its still for sale. Asking price is $150,000. Then, we amble around the corner to see, Waiting for the Interurban. Observe the dog’s face. (What a delicious way to get even with the lone arts committee-man who didn’t approve of the concept.)

It’s getting to be lunch time. The next stop is about 25 minutes south. We ride on the Alaska Way viaduct to just south of the Museum of Flight. (Thank goodness the viaduct didn’t collapse and thank goodness we have Mort at the end of the procession on his bright red scoot. Its easy to spot and keep track of our group.) We park in front of famed, Randy’s Restaurant.

Our booth for 10 is ready. Airplanes all over, models suspended from the ceiling, pictures on the walls, aviation décor gone wild. And so has the waitress. Clive isn’t sure to laugh to not. She is a 26 year veteran of the eatery and is the famed stereotype of the old-broad school of table waiting. Ron meets us there after a late arrival back from Mexico. Steve can’t stop grinning at the outpouring of love from our waitress. This is fun, really. Plenty of coffee, good food, separate checks, big tip and back onto our bikes for the return ride to downtown Seattle.

Over the viaduct, huge container ships on the left, stadiums on the right. Wriggle around the city streets, up 4th Avenue to the theater. We circle the block perhaps three times attempting to find space to park. We settle on the parking lot behind the theater and cram eight bikes onto two spaces, Clive takes up a collection and feeds the toll box. We are welcomed into the theater and the rain begins. Perfect timing. It is fun to see so many familiar faces from the Jewish community. Phyllis and Sharon are there, too. We don our new tee-shirts, greet people at the door, sell tickets, dispense will-calls, usher people up the stairs, point out rest rooms and elevators, distribute voting ballots, shake hands, watch and laugh with stage performer, Judy Gold. The film thereafter is about Jewish women comedians. Some of us stay for the 7 PM film about two transgender, gay Israeli men and their reorientation into Israeli society.

Glenn and I are the last of the bikes to leave the parking lot. It is dark and lightly raining. I get home a few minutes before Phyllis. She asks how the day went, who was there, where did we go. How come you didn’t go to…(shhh, we might want to use these places some time in the future.) Maybe I’ll go, too with my new helmet. Do you think she’s beginning to get it?

Some Tribe members braved the cold on the 17th and headed up into Skagit county to drop by Skagit HD and have a little lunch.  My odometer showed a total of about 150 miles for the day, which was pretty good considering that the weather was mostly below 40 degrees.  Ned, Neil, Mort, Jeff, and Ellen hit the road about 9:30 AM and returned mid-afternoon to thaw out.  Thanks to Mort for the pictures below.

Mort definitely shows up when he’s on the road

Neil and Doug, ready to ride

Doug, looking tough as nails

Jeff and Ellen, ready to brave the cold weather

As reported by our Sofer Ned Porges 

“Ned, can’t you see it’s raining? I don’t get it. Here it is, eight o’clock Sunday morning, and you’re going motorcycle riding? (sigh) I just don’t get it!”

It was a light rain with foreboding clouds and light winds as I rode over the floating bridge to the Factoria Starbucks. Ever the optimist, my new rain togs were still in the trunk of the Pacific Coast. Pulling into the parking lot twenty minutes later, I see but two other bikes, Clive and Neil sitting under umbrellas, sipping coffee. High fives and grins all around. Where is Josh? Where is Jeff, Douggie D, Elaine, et al?

Do we go southwest to the Long Beach rodeo? How about north to the Concrete Fly-in?. We look up to see gray clouds rolling in from the west. Raindrops pelt down harder and bounce off the parking lot. If we go east over the mountains, it will be sunny, warm, and dry. No brainer. Despite the rain, consensus reigns. We alta-cockers pull on the rain suits. We’re riding east to Ellensburg and the “Jazz in the Valley Festival.”

At the freeway entrance and a quick stop at the Shell station, Neil phones his college student son in Ellensburg. “Sunny and warm” he says. Let’s ride!

Light traffic on I-90, Roadway is wet and we keep our speed down to the double-nickel. I flip my face shield up and then down to accommodate the patches of rain. Within fifteen minutes the road begins to reveal patches of dry concrete. Then a moment of sun peeks through. Led by the turn-signal-flashing Suzuki Boulevard, we arrive at the west summit and see scattered clouds in front of us. Seven or eight minutes later we are at the east summit and are greeted by blue skies, dry pavement, and warmer temperatures. Ned takes the lead on his white Honda anticipating the Roslyn exit that leads to state route 10.

Route 10 is a beautiful ride. Clive and Ned have been here before thanks to Jeff Kay. This is Neil’s and his Milwaukee Vibrator’s first time. River rafting on the right, canyon walls on the left, nothing but blue above, wind’s picking up, soothing warm air flows.

It’s noon. We pull into a parking lot on the main coming into Ellensburg. Neil’s son meets us there. Tall, handsome, youthful, gracious, (just like his dad.) With some distress, we wrestle off our rain gear. (Old bones don’t bend like they supposed to.) We head off towards old downtown, park the machines, and sit down in a booth at what appears to be a popular restaurant. Old-timey memorabilia hangs from the ceiling and a red, flying Pegasus Mobil Oil sign from yester-year, adorns the wall. Good food, conversation, camaraderie, feels great. Our party of four becomes three, “Nice meeting you guys. Gotta go study for a test.”

We three, now in 85 basking degrees, walk towards the sound of music in our t-shirts. Old brick buildings, galleries, town newspaper and a half city block parking lot fenced off, good music getting louder. On the corner is the ticket booth crowded with people and a sign indicating, “Sold Out.” We sit on a nearby park bench, pondering. A passing by woman suggests going to the entrance to ask exiting patrons for their pass. Ned smiles and walks off. Seven minutes later he returns victorious with three pin-on passes. We sit four rows from the front and are delighted by a big-band sound, featuring famed clarinetist Eddie Daniels. Before the 1 PM performance begins, Ned walks over to say hello to Eddie Daniels, Clive buys three cold waters, Neil chats and saves our seats. The festival director / bandleader makes the introductions and the foot tapping, finger popping, music begins. We three, a triumphant trio, sport three big grins.

A couple phone calls to our sig-others in Seattle indicate that the weather is overcast, with scattered clouds. Beguiled by the warmth in Ellensburg, we decide to ride west sans rain gear. The raising elevations nearing the passes, we stop along the freeway to put on an extra layer and with backs to traffic, make certain biological concessions.

Nearing Bellevue, Neil peels off first, then shortly thereafter, Clive. Ned continues over the 520. Under the overcast skies, Ned thinks, “…great guys, great weather, great ride! How could anyone not get it?”

As reported by our Sofer Ned Porges 

“OK, you’re home and so glad you called me. From Arlington, was it? You took shelter from hail the size of marbles, ran out of gas in the mountains, detained at the border, and say this was the best time ever? Last time you were blown off the road and came home with a fever and that was the best. I still don’t get it. So, start at the beginning.”

We met at the usual place, Starbucks in Bellevue at 9:00 AM.  Friday. I was ready the night before, gassed up, and there at nine sharp. Neil says he was up and ready at six. The weather promises to be clear for the next few days. Despite the positive outlook, I have my newly acquired rain gear tucked away in the Givi, thanks to Clive. Had a toasted bagel, on both sides of course, hit the rest room twice to be sure, introduced to guest rider Tad, and hit the road at 9:30 sharp, my very civilized Honda Pacific Coast behind four Harleys and two Suzuki Boulevards; the start of the greatest ride ever.

Seventy-five miles later we get off the I-5 slab and had north. We decide to not detour to see the Grand Coulee Dam and continue north. A quick stop in the 1960s Bavarianized Leavenworth for a break. Neil and Ned, senior citizens they are, head for the nearest rest room. Too touristy so we ride another ten miles and stop at a real guys bar-for lunch. Great stand up, life sized, girly Budweiser posters. Next stop at Ned’s suggestion is Suicide Hill in Omak, home of the annual Colville Tribe downhill horse race. Later, a stop at a Harley dealership, for who knows what. Rather than stand around looking at drooling hog lovers, Ned heads for the local grocery to stock up for Shabbat.

We cross into Canada and head for the Best Western Osoyoos. Bikes are lined up under the portico, we are under cover for the night. Lucky Ned gets the single room and announces a meeting at 7:30 in his “executive suite.” Laid upon the table are two candles, two bottles of wine, a fresh round bread loaf, and cups. Clive says, where are the yarmulkes? Hats appear, and the brucha begins with gusto, Ron in full voice. We break bread, pour the wine and feel good. Tad asks if that was a Jewish drinking song. Doug explains this is a religious ceremony. Tad says, “I like this religion.” We walk a couple blocks to an Italian, nee Chinese, nee something else, restaurant. Hostess says no, we’re closed. Owner sees seven hungry bikers,”…of course, come on in.” We dine well.

Day two, bright sunshine, dry and warm. Wonderful feeling. Beautiful lakes, mountains, rock formations, twisties. Temperatures drop as we climb to 4000 feet elevation. Sign says last gas for 125 km, (75 miles.) First to run dry is Clive, then Ron. It’s fourteen miles to Merritt and $20 for a plastic gas jug.  Jeff Kay straps the jug to his KSHRHOG and goes back up the highway to our stranded companions. Meanwhile, back in town, we convene at a local, colorful bar where a tattooed, pierced, attractive female youth implores us to enter the calf-roping contest outside. Neil almost succumbs except for the entry fee. The local cowboy-hatted winner has a red hot iron and brands a wood post inside, near our table. Smoldering wood permeates.

Next stop is Harrison Hot Springs. What a pleasant surprise. Elegance, grace. Copper clad grand piano in the lobby, valet parking. Ned calls for another meeting in the “executive suite.” Doug proposes a toast and cracks open a single malt scotch. Ned produces a six-pack of iced, hard apple cider. Then it’s off to the hot, and hotter pools. White robes are hanging in each closet. Seven grown men, laughing, talking loud, soaking away worldly cares and thinking dinner. Dry off, walk in the drizzle to the local watering hole and down dinner with two pitchers of beer. Another memorable day.

Day three. Thanks Tad for drying off the bikes. We load up and hit the road at 11:30 with low dark clouds overhead. Lunch stop at Mission, B.C. A tall young proselytizing man wearing a long overcoat demands to know if we are hell or heaven bound. Clive wonders what all the religious stores are about, Mission this and Mission that. Doug explains the town is named Mission. Now we’re paralleling the border on a freeway heading for another Harley dealer. Place looks more like a boutique with everything emblazoned with various H-D logos, kids clothing, mugs, greeting cards, and…oh yes, a few motorcycles. Intermittent rain. The new rain suit is great, warm and dry. A few more miles to the border crossing. A stop at the duty-free and then in line. Customs officers decide that Ned needs to be privately questioned in the detention area. Twenty minutes later he comes out, puzzled, but grateful that Ron is waving a fistful of bail money.

Unbelievable rain, sheets, low visibility, pull over onto the I-5 freeway shoulder. There is a committee meeting deciding what to do next. We head for the nearest exit and a Shell station just south of Arlington. We take refuge in the convenience store and pour hot chocolates. Then, a deluge of marble sized hail drops from the skies. We have to shout to be heard as the hail pelts the metal roof. The rain stops, skies clear and we continue south into sunshine. At the 405/5 split, we grin and wave good-bys.

Where do we go next? Some people just get it, and some don’t.