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Showing posts with label Ducati Streetfighter. Show all posts

Tigh Loughhead and the East Coast Ducs at the Schroon Lake, New York

I've been quite remiss in getting this post up. In September, a bunch of Ducati owners dedicated to riding, made a plan to travel up to Montreal, Canada for the weekend. I had been up to Montreal over July 4th weekend, and had such a good time, that a number of my other riding crew wanted to go.

The first East Coast Duc at Columbus Circle at 5:30am

Montreal is only about five or six hours from NYC, so I find it kind of silly when anyone with wheels in the City who likes to travel hasn't been up to Quebec yet.

11 Ducati motorcycles meet at the Executive Diner Restaurant/26 Sawmill River Rd.

I wouldn't say I love long trips with a lot of riders, so I had slightly mixed feelings when thirteen riders on eleven different Ducatis showed up to ride to Canada.

Pair of Panigales

On top of the simple fact that more riders (and differences in style, degrees of proficiency, etc) typically means less safety, I feel like there should be some mathematical theorem outlining an inverse relationship between additional riders and overall ability to get from Point A to Point B. Motorcycle riders are stereotyped as badass outlaws, when in reality- we're emotional, cranky travelers that probably need to pee sometime soon...

Tigh Loughhead and the East Coast Ducati Riders Social Club out of New York City

However, the East Coast Ducati Riders Social Club was conceived as a club devoted exclusively to riding. I've ridden with a number of people in the Tri-State area, where a number of people get excited about riding, then never show up, and I was amazed that nearly everyone who had RSVP'ed to attending our Montreal trip arrived ready to go.

We had a great lunch at a Barbecue place off of 87, and slabbed it most of the way, stopping off at Schroon Lake for a photo op.

I managed to lose the key to my luggage (see the sidecases on my ST3 below) at the pump at the gas station, which some idiot picked up and walked off with.

I scoured the entire gas station for probably fourty-five minutes, until a middle-aged man walked up to me, telling me he had pocketed my key and left. I wasn't really even angry though, as the prospect of spending the next five days without toiletries or a change of clothes had gotten me a little stressed.

Credit Gerald Charles

We pushed on throughout the day, and made it to the border by late afternoon.

My other Ducati at the border crossing.

Most of the crew wanted to stay somewhere nice, so they booked luxury rooms at a place called the Hotel Zero1 Montreal. I'm not nearly so picky (moreso about the pricetag), and so my buddy Shawn and I shacked up at a Travelodge a block away, for less than half the price.