If there are four horsemen of the motorcycle enthusiast’s apocalypse they would be: Rain, Wind, Debris, and Grooved Roads. This trip had all four, sometimes at the same time.

Usually, I would preface a story like this with, “Don’t tell my mother,” but I’m pretty sure Tracey is going to rat me out when she edits this, so I guess that cat’s out of the bag and I’ll take my talkin’ to.

It started with a text from the captain/coach of my old senior A (semi-pro) hockey team. Could I join the team for a road trip to Flint, Michigan as the backup goalie? I hadn’t actually tried out for the team this year but had made an offer to show up if they were ever short. I was so excited about the prospect of playing but one thing immediately crossed my mind. What would the weather be that weekend? You see, I had been looking for an excuse to go on an extended motorcycle trip in the fall. Given the unseasonably warm weekend ahead I knew that I had to do it.

After extensive logistical figurings, I gave my pads to a friend in Hamilton to be picked up by some teammates on their way to Flint. Then, Saturday morning I loaded up my backpack and jumped on my bike. The bike in question is a vintage Harley. If “Harley” was an adjective like “vintage” then, in this context, both would mean the same thing: unreliable.