Alberto made several very accurate observations today, the last of which was, "This was a great day". He was right - and his other observations were spot on as well. My predictions unfortunately weren't quite as accurate...

I was first at the Lookout this morning, just about 8 o'clock on the dot. Gassed and very pleased with myself I snapped some photographs of the lovely Hudson, some hundreds of feet below me. The sun was glowing through some high, feathered clouds stretching like thin fingers from the East and looking downward a breeze ruffled the water into a cheese grater pattern, a particular glowing shade of silver, with an orange stain where the sun reflected. The rumble of Rainer's GS broke my reverie and we had a nice chat about how great, and expensive Schuberth helmets are, among other things. A pleasant surprise interrupted our klatch, Dom glided to a stop and big smiles ensued whilst we caught up. Joel joined as well and we allowed our discussion to turn to riding and destinations. Deciding on Georges and a turn or two on 301 we donned our helmets, but lo, one more bike - it's Alberto! We jokingly tell Alberto not to even take his helmet off and that two minutes later would've left him an empty parking lot to circle.

It's a venerable Citibeemer trek, well known by all of us. It's not only a venerable ride, but a reliable ride, a ride that gives as good as it gets. A ride almost guaranteed to be fun - great suggestion Dom! Up the Palisades, to exit 15, ups and downs, down to 9W. Across the Bear Mountain Bridge up 9D, (how many 9's are there? Just like the 17's...) We can see the Hudson blinking through the foliage at us, and each tree has a brilliant yellow or red shadow, a perfect circle where the leaves have fallen, each a circle of summer's growth redolently arrayed on smooth green lawns. Right on Snake Hill Rd. in Garrison, winding our way up to Rt. 301. It was clean, hardly any cages, and it delivered us the promised sweepers and thrills under leaden gray skies. I saw a total of 5 deer, one down and four up, between the Lookout and George's. 'Tis the season after all. It being Halloween, the waitresses were costumed as pussycats and purringly served us our breakfasts. Politics and the economy stupid, topped the list of subjects while we scarfed down our George's breakfast and after saying my piece; I sat with my maps and Zumo planning my post-breakfast ride. Riding is about freedom, and I meant to make the most of my Sunday freedom. Alberto's "why not?" when queried about the contination, spurred us on, as Dom, Rainer and Joel hightailed it for parts south.

Behind George's lies the land of Connecticut, replete with endless 2 lane twisting, writhing roads, every turn seems to take one to a curvy Valhalla, and I haven't explored it much - this day I would explore a little more than my share! I led a two-man Citibeemer junket to Northern Connecticut. I got us lost a bunch in the beginning, I'm sure Alberto tired of my finger swirling an upside down martini as we u-turned half-a-dozen times before hitting some fantastic roads, getting our bearings straightened out, literally and figuratively, and conquering CR-65, then 37 and on to 39. North on 202 found us outside of Litchfield for gas and a gps reassessment. Alberto's second accurate observation, "It's a perfect Fall day", simple, elegant and to the point -and it was. We decided to fatefully head back to NY State and my beloved Duchess County, and I liked the way Mohawk Mountain State Park looked on the map. Actually the roads leading to and from it were curvy and bodacious, just the way we like them. The sun was shedding it's cold afternoon pale yellow light in between low gray and white clouds. We entered Mohawk and I started noticing cross-country skiing trails intersecting the asphalt. Gravel roads had been tickling my eyes and seat ever since breakfast, and now was my chance to finally test Stelvio off-road. Besides the fact I was with an accomplished dirt rider I was fairly sure would accompany me. I hope he didn't regret it too much.

With plenty of leaves slickly covering soft loamy earth it wasn't an unpleasant first 200 yards. Stelvio was feeling nimble, and sure to boot! We came to an intersection, should we stay flat, left/right or continue straight up the hill? Definitely up the hill! Dodging some small to medium rocks, I gassed it and bounced up the hill at the crest the trail had mostly petered out - well it became more of a hiking trail. I waited for Alberto and then turned left. This trial was obstructed by downed trees, I hopped the first 2, then slowed and stopped at a slightly larger one. This was to be my undoing. I was like a 6-month old puppy loose for the first time, kind of sloppy, tail-a-wagging, drooling, alert, and yet not seeing... First trip over this 7" diameter tree stranded me on my skid plate. Alberto helped me haul my beast backwards and free. This is a heavy bike. I was well aware of this fact, but it sunk further in very quickly. However, not to be vanquished by this smallish piece of wood. I proceeded to stack smaller branches in front so as to make an approach for us to tackle this obstacle. Alberto torqued his way up and over it. My California 2-stroke dirt bike experience was telling me to get a little more speed to pop the bike up and over this ride-stopping trail-blocker. Speed I did, up I went - and ride-stopper it was. I got a little squirelly on the leaves as I approached, and didn't quite hit it perfectly perpendicularly. And the heavy Stelvio was demanding perfection. Alberto was suitably impressed with the height of my jump. I wish I could've seen his expression as I, out of shape, landed, washed the front end out and tumbled ass over tea kettle into the soft leaves. I wasn't hurt, however as I got to my feet the beautiful black and silver road bullet was a wounded animal behind me in the dirt. The first thing I saw was my left mirror blinking under some leaves. Twisted and morosely signaling a wrong turn. We picked the bike up, there was dirt in every nook and cranny, even oil weeping out of one of the allen nuts on the valve cover. I just knew the bike was not made to single-track, but I had to find out empirically didn't I? Before I could get too down on my self Alberto gently teased me, coming out with his standard, "now it looks like a GS", and I had to laugh. I made sure to ask him if my legs had gone over my head in at least a somewhat-classic Flying W, he replied he thought they had and I was mollified. Another accurate Alberto-ism, "these big ADV bikes have so much torque they'll get you out of trouble without so much speed needed". So true.

We mulled over steps to be taken and made the equation quickly, as at this point we didn't know if the bike would even run. I placed the trailer call to our most esteemed Connecticut representative, Mr. Scott Schifilliti. No answer - oh damn. I left a long, I'm sure confusing, message and we went to plan B. The damage seemed to be limited to the mirror, scaped bodywork and some broken plastic, (besides my wounded pride) - and we then came upon the brilliant decision to try start the bike and ride it out. What do you know? No gear shift lever! Another clean break. We dug, or I should say Alberto dug, around in the wet leaves and dirt with no luck. 5 minutes later as he searched for a stone for my kickstand, he found it 10 feet from where it should've been. Thankfully bike was still in first gear, and very thankfully the transmission seemed to work. I gingerly turned it around and limped down the hill. It seemed to run fine and we headed for the nearest gas station, the CITGO at the intersection of Routes 4 and 7. Rounding a corner on our way out of this intimate, yet stunning park we came to a lookout. Making lemonade from the lemons I'd just buried my face in 15 minutes previously, I pulled over for a photo op. I was unhurt, my bike would run - and the sun was making a beautiful patchwork of the Connecticut mountains. It was a good day, (later to become a great one; as escorted by Alberto, I would pull up to my door). I snapped a picture, then unsatiated, I waited for the light to change. The sun molded the landscape in changing blues, blacks and then fantastic yellows and reds where it had bestowed the remaining Fall leaves with it's shifting light.

We turned to leave the lookout and I toyed with my shift stub and hit neutral! The day was definitely looking up, I called Alberto over and he tugged two or three times on it and I figured I was in third, and if I was; I could get home! Saving me hundreds of dollars in towing, storage etc. I was in fifth as I later found out South on 684, turning a solid 5,500 rpm's and putting down a respectable 75 mph. Pride, I was so proud of Stelvio at that point! Scott had called me back while we were buying duct tape for my dangling mirror at CITGO. He'd cancelled his afternoon plans with Deb to be on call for me, should I not be able to run. You da man Scott!

5:30pm found Alberto and I on the FDR being cutoff left and right by impudent cagers - and I was learning how to heel shift my wonderful bike. Fifth gear just wasn't cutting it in stop and go traffic, my clutch was a puffing out stressful smoke signals, wrinkling Alberto's nose at the on-ramp to the Third Avenue bridge. You guys can all make fun of this Italian Black Beauty as much as you want; this wonderful machine took a beating and got me home! We stopped at the Mobil station on the Hutch for a vanity break, and to do another visual inspection of my bike. I'd been periodically checking the valve cover for more oil, there was none, but I'd noticed another disturbing symptom; my front brakes were surging. Meaning they wouldn't apply smoothly, when I'd squeezed the strength would vary, stronger, lighter and so on. More noticeable slowing to a stop of course... Anyone want to weigh in on what that might be? Bent rotor? It didn't look so...

Only 242 miles, but for obvious reasons, it felt like 542 miles. Oh yeah, and that Schuberth? I'll be needing another one before they're sold here again. I broke my visor after knocking my helmet off the bike while stacking wood, making my "jump".

Many thanks to Alberto for his steadfast companionship, clear mind and gentle teasing and to Scott for being on call - and on point.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/29382895@N04/sets/72157625160882227/detail/

See you all soon, probably on that Orange bike I still own and love.