False Spring

It was Friday, March 6th, when a call came in from the local motorcycle dealer: Lindz's bike was ready for pickup after a factory recall. We checked the forecast and saw Monday promising a proper burst of warmth. The plan was simple: I'd double up on my bike, and we'd retrieve hers. Moments later, a text from a friend sealed the deal: "Monday looks great! Let's go riding!!" So, the three of us were set to ride into Cambridge, collect Lindz's motorcycle, and take the long way back to Stratford.

Monday came as promised—sun in the sky, a glorious 16°C, and no snow on the ground. A perfect inaugural ride for the year. The trip into town was uneventful; knowing the winter's grit hadn't been washed away by rain, we took our time. It wasn't the most exciting ride, but in early March, on two wheels? We couldn't complain.

At the dealership, we spent time admiring the bikes and catching up with friends we inevitably bumped into. You always run into friends at the bike shop. They brought Lindz’s motorcycle around, and we were off, ready to truly enjoy the ride home.

However, only three kilometers down the road, my engine died. Suddenly, we were stuck on the side of the highway. Modern motorcycles have a lot going for them—the ease of pressing a button and going is fantastic. The downside, at least for some, including mine, is so much technology that I don't even know where to begin when a problem arises. I checked the usual suspects, of course, but with no luck, I had to assume it was electronic. We were forced to call CAA.

My friend, on his bike, took off back to Stratford to fetch his car. Meanwhile, Lindz and I settled in for a two-hour wait until CAA arrived. Some friends just happened to ride by so they stopped to help. We caught up on the side of the road for a while. Talked bikes and then determined that there was nothing they could do to help us. So off they went. Once the tow truck arrived, it was a quick trip back to the dealership. By then, my friend had already made it back with his car.

The short ride I got was great; the sun felt good, and it was nice to catch up with some buddies around motorcycles again, even if it was on the side of the road. The day absolutely did not go as planned, but all-in-all, it was still a day on two wheels.

Today, I woke up to a howling wind and snow covering the ground, with a "high" of minus one. The sun and that short ride now seem like just a fevered dream. All Ontario riders know the joy and heartache of a false spring. It’s the constant, maddening cycle of being a motorcyclist in Ontario. I'm staring out the window, glaring at the white snow that mocks me. I know it won't stay long, but it can't leave quickly enough.