Labor Day 09

Wow, at long last my wife and I were able to join a close group of friends we affectionately call our “Biker Trash Friends” on their annual trek to Springfield, Illinois. A fun weekend of bonding, food and the fastest mile in America, the Springfield Mile has always been offered us as an excuse to gather.

Fifteen of us on ten motorcycles left Colona, Illinois about 10:30AM headed for Peoria and lunch. A quick stop in Wyoming for a drink proved it didn’t have to be Sunday to close down the town. It seems everything in town stopped for the holiday, and why not, what are holidays for anyway? While we were mulling our options I took the opportunity to introduce myself and my wife to two in our group we were not familiar with. They were Dennis and Vince, two friendly laid back Texans. Vince, now residing in Huston Texas, grew up in Coal Valley and as a youngin had befriended Bill Huyten, one of our dear friends and riding buddies. While home visiting his Mother he and Dennis had trailered their Bikes, a 68 Pan head and an 83 Shovelhead, and had planned on joining in the group ride.

Remounting with dry mouths we headed on to where our tires took us. East old man they said, east to Lacon and the Twisters Bar. We walked in behind the bartender, who had just opened for business. I guess we sort of took him by surprise. Fifteen thirsty riders yakking it up and carrying on like it was noon or something. Refreshments were ordered and a chance to take in some of the motorcycle décor. This place is definitely a Biker Friendly Bar. After quenching our thirst we moved on, leaving the Twisters as we had found it. If you happen to find yourself in Lacon, Illinois stop by Twisters, & check out the rest rooms too!

A short ride along the Illinois River brought us to Peoria and our planned lunch stop at Jonah’s Seafood House. Oysters are on the menu at Jonah’s and the reason this upper crust establishment was chosen. I had only had oysters in something called Oyster Stew. This was an annual delight my Aunt and Uncle would make during the Christmas holidays. All I remember about it is I used to drown lots of little round crackers in it. Anyway, I was offered to try Oysters Rockefeller. I like mussels and clams so I said way not. You know what? I think it was pretty good. Not as good as the monster burger basket I had ordered for lunch but pretty good.

With full bellies we said goodbye to Jonah’s and left Peoria behind us. We were somewhere ‘Lost In Illinois’ between here and there when we hit a stretch of grooved pavement. You know. The thing the highway department does to the road in preparation for resurfacing. Riding it is like crossing the steel grate Sabula Bridge. We were several miles into this stuff when the road gremlins grabbed Vince’s 83 and brought us to a stop. Like surgeons in an operating room we gathered around the victim. It appeared the rear brake had locked up and would not release. Several remedies failed and it was agreed the brake would have to be removed and fixed when he got home. Vince removed the caliper, zip tied it to the frame and off we went. It was thirteen miles of God awful grooved surface before we found smooth pavement.

Had I mention the Labor Day weather forecast? Well, at home in the QC the forecast called for near perfect skies and temps. In fact the only green in Illinois was, yup, in Springfield, and it was expected to stay a while. We had been pretty lucky, weather wise, on the trip. It wasn’t until we reached Springfield that the roads were really wet. The only rain we felt was as we pulled into the Motel Parking lot.

Dinner plans for the evening were to attend the Ethnic Food Festival at the State Fairgrounds. A fun time we were told, live music, people watching and your choice of some good grub. However with heavy rain upon us we chose to stay close to the hotel.

Sunday morn greeted us with overcast skies but no rain. A trip to the lobby and the continental breakfast, offered by the management, proved a little disappointing. Mike Hammet, a long time friend, riding companion and past attendee of this event suggested we all ride over to Jungle Jim’s for breakfast. Well ok, I liked the sound of breakfast, but with the name Jungle Jim’s all I could imagine was eating in McDonalds playground. Not something I cared to endure but we joined a handful of our group and headed out. On we rode, mile after mile, passing several establishments already serving breakfast. Just when I thought we were close to Peoria we pulled off the highway, passed the State Fairgrounds and onto Old Route 66. A couple blocks south we pulled into Jungle Jim’s. The place was very busy but we only had to wait a few minutes to be seated. It could have taken longer, I wouldn’t have minded. There was plenty of Route 66 memorabilia and racing pictures adorning every wall to keep me interested. Mike started exchanging harsh words with some guy walking around filling coffee cups. As it turned out that guy was the Jim of Jungle Jim’s. A jovial warm hearted friendly fella who seemed to enjoy verbal sparing with his customers. After a great breakfast we headed back to the motel. If you find yourself in Jungle Jims, ask him what the Barbie on the wire is for.

The word was that due to the rain the track was to wet. So race time was set back three hours. We headed over to the Fairgrounds about 2pm and found room for all our Bikes in a motorcycle only parking lot, which just happened to be next to the Ethnic Food Festival. The festival is a collection of kitchens offering food items from different countries and entertainment. With so many choices it was hard to decide what to eat. It took me several trips around the vendors to settle on a German Brat. By the time we all had finished eating it was off to the races.

It was only a couple blocks to the grandstand so we left our Bikes and walked. The closer we got the more the excitement built. The crowd grew and we could hear the racers on the mile. Finding our seats we settled in.

Those people are nuts I thought as I watched the racers attack the long dirt road that is the Springfield mile. The race momentum slowed a couple of times when crews were called out to help dry the track. Frequent showers around the area were visible from our vantage point and we were fortunate the races weren’t called off completely. Eighteen riders and 25 laps around the fastest mile on the circuit made up the Expert Main Event. Number 14 Jake Johnson on a Harley-Davidson took home $7500 for finishing in first place. After the crowd thinned out we wondered back to the Festival to grab more food and listen to the bands.

The drenched roads on our ride back to the motel proved we lucked out by just missing a healthy rain shower. After a few hours of socializing and mischief making we called it a night and turned in.

We awoke Monday to clearing skies. Packing up, loading the Bikes, grabbing a little continental breakfast and checking out we hit the road for home.

We were about an hour into our trip in a small town somewhere in Illinois when things turned sour. Traffic slowed as our group prepared for a left turn off the highway. Ray and Sarah riding fifth in our staggered position flew past me and almost into the rear of Iron face Angie. Ray had been taking in the scenery a second too long and was unaware the group had slowed. When his attention returned to the road and what was happening, he slammed on his brakes. Locking them up he knew he could not stop in time to keep from hitting Angie. After we all got safely off the road he told us he let off the brake and headed for the only out he had. That was between Angie and an oncoming car. Thank God there was enough room for their bike. This close call reminds us all to be more attentive. I can only speak for myself, but on more than one occasion I’ve gazed longer than I should at something. I suppose we all have from time to time. So, if for no other reason I hope this rambling reminds us all just how fast things change out there. This time we all made it home.

Ride safe and keep your eyes moving!
GB