50th BBG Attempt Tomorrow
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neanderthaler
Well-known member
Thanks, fellas. Yes, hoping to see the crew at Stagecoach again. Hard to think we’ll ever need heated gear again
Uncle Hud
Just another blob of protoplasm using up your oxyg
21st Annual Last Ride of the Year, a southeastern tradition: https://www.fjrforum.com/forum//index.php/topic/173528-the-annual-last-ride-of-the-year-stagecoach-rte/?p=1386824
Lousy food, GREAT crowd, and the usually decent weather, so the ride makes me feel grateful for our almost-year-round riding climate.
... and decent gloves. LOL
neanderthaler
Well-known member
oh geez, gloves and maybe your aux tank to avoid trying to combust straight air.
Uncle Hud
Just another blob of protoplasm using up your oxyg
My experiences, with thanks to the Candy Butt Prez for his kind words:
It's the Stagecoach Cafe, a magnificent dump of a roadhouse in Stockton, Alabama, but the ride is formally called The Last Ride of the Year. It's been scheduled on December 30th for 20 years or more, and the MTF (anithesis of CBA) holds a banquet at Streets Seafood in nearby Mobile the night before to encourage attendance.
The Stagecoach food is truly jailhouse fare: broiled chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, green beans, and some kind of fruit pie, all served buffet style ... huge spoons to slop the food on your paper plate, and second helpings are probably expected. That said, I've eaten it three times, and will do so again barring the combination of serious wet and serious cold.
Attendees are all types: riders in leather on chromed-out H-D cruisers; urban sportbikers in leather on crotch rockets with outrageous paint jobs; LD riders in Klim or Aerostich whose dashboards are cluttered with electronic devices; ancient bikes (last year a hand-shifted Harley); Spyders, trikes, and the normal assortment of odd folks that tend to gravitate to our hobby/sport. License plates from at least six or seven states.
For me, it is a declaration of America: five hundred bikes and their spectrum of riders, gathering peacefully and politely for no reason at all except to gather peacefully and politely.
Last year, after working up my nerve, I asked a grizzled bear in a leather vest to move his full-dress H-D with Mississippi plates. I wondered whether I should be asking his wife/girlfriend/SO/bitch, and whether he was packing -- not at all uncommon around here.
Me, clean-shaven, in a bright yellow Aerostich and a US Soccer scarf: "Hey, man, can you slide forward a bit so I can get out?"
Him, almost immediately, and with a huge grin: "Sure, brother! Was figuring you'd be by sooner or later."
The woman gave off an air of, "I told you not to block the guy in, asshole."
BRUMP, BRUMP, BRUMP, and he made a big, slow loop, through the graveled and mud-puddled lot, both feet on the pegs, to pull in where I had vacated.
This December 30 is on a Sunday, so it will be a big crowd if the weather is good. Here's hoping for temps in the 50s with no rain!
It's the Stagecoach Cafe, a magnificent dump of a roadhouse in Stockton, Alabama, but the ride is formally called The Last Ride of the Year. It's been scheduled on December 30th for 20 years or more, and the MTF (anithesis of CBA) holds a banquet at Streets Seafood in nearby Mobile the night before to encourage attendance.
The Stagecoach food is truly jailhouse fare: broiled chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, green beans, and some kind of fruit pie, all served buffet style ... huge spoons to slop the food on your paper plate, and second helpings are probably expected. That said, I've eaten it three times, and will do so again barring the combination of serious wet and serious cold.
Attendees are all types: riders in leather on chromed-out H-D cruisers; urban sportbikers in leather on crotch rockets with outrageous paint jobs; LD riders in Klim or Aerostich whose dashboards are cluttered with electronic devices; ancient bikes (last year a hand-shifted Harley); Spyders, trikes, and the normal assortment of odd folks that tend to gravitate to our hobby/sport. License plates from at least six or seven states.
For me, it is a declaration of America: five hundred bikes and their spectrum of riders, gathering peacefully and politely for no reason at all except to gather peacefully and politely.
Last year, after working up my nerve, I asked a grizzled bear in a leather vest to move his full-dress H-D with Mississippi plates. I wondered whether I should be asking his wife/girlfriend/SO/bitch, and whether he was packing -- not at all uncommon around here.
Me, clean-shaven, in a bright yellow Aerostich and a US Soccer scarf: "Hey, man, can you slide forward a bit so I can get out?"
Him, almost immediately, and with a huge grin: "Sure, brother! Was figuring you'd be by sooner or later."
The woman gave off an air of, "I told you not to block the guy in, asshole."
BRUMP, BRUMP, BRUMP, and he made a big, slow loop, through the graveled and mud-puddled lot, both feet on the pegs, to pull in where I had vacated.
This December 30 is on a Sunday, so it will be a big crowd if the weather is good. Here's hoping for temps in the 50s with no rain!
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