Sunday Run to the Border
**The following ride report is loosely based on
actual events. By loosely, I mean not
really.
Niehart and the Bandit
It started with a simple problem: my stash of 222's ran out, and with CFR around the corner, I needed to stock up. But bringing over-the-counter pain medication from Canada back to the states is frought with challenges: there is 1 bottle, 50 pill limit. I needed more, and I needed them Sunday.
What to do, what to do?
Good thing I was watching CMT; they were running a tv marathon that gave me an idea:
[Hint: the rest of the story works much better if you push play and listen to the soundtrack while reading]
A plan was hatched: make a dash to the border, get the stash, and make it back in time to enjoy drinks. But we needed a crew to run interference, and more important, we needed a chase bike. The route would be long and perilous, with mounties and smokies at every twisty. I went to bed hopeful but restless.
The next morning, Taff the Brit showed up with another delightful British couple. Could they be the Bandit?
We all know that Brits can't drive on the right side of the road. Too conspicuous. No dice. I'd have to wait to see who showed at the meetup:
One look at Achiu's multi-farkled heaviy laden Feejer and it was clear that he wasn't going to be the chase car. No, he'd be Snowman, responsible for getting the goods home safe.
And these guys weren't going to be of any help. Cheezus, who invited cruisers? (Oh wait, I did. I guess they would be useful in slowing down any pursuing Smokeys.)
What I needed was someone cool enough to not crack under pressure, but hooligan enough to run flat out if we got busted.
Then, the meetup place was rocked by a loud, molar-rattling rumble. We all strained our necks to see who was this Nike.
NIEHART!!! On a Ducati Monster. Hell Yeah!! Cletus, we gots us our Bandit!!
Taff handled logistics and made sure we had our story straight as we rode into Canada. If questioned about our purpose for visiting, we would all recite: "We are traveling into Canada to escape the socialist revolution being wrought by the great oppressor, Obama!"
We also practiced our "you lookin at me?" face in case the locals gave us any hassle. Crossing the border, we all made it in with no interrogations.
Then, things began to go awry. First, Niehart got confused about where the pharmacy was, and took to standing on the corner shouting out to passing motorists "Which way is the drugs?"
Dammit Niehart, focus! Eyes on the prize, Niehart, Eyes on the prize! Finally, we made it to the source of plentiful, over the counter tylenol with codeine, in super large size:
But we hadn't counted on how Canadian suburbanites would react to a gang of drug seeking motorcyclists. Things got uglier after we scored our first mega-bottle. When we got back to the parking lot, Achiu got this crazy look in eyes as he began to fully comprehend the possibilities inherent in a super size 222 stash:
Before I could stop him, he had pried off the child proof cap, made it through the cotton ball, and was chugging them painkillers like they was gummi bears:
[In best slow motion voice] : NOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH.
We ran back into Costco and restocked with fresh loot, and made a mad dash through to the border.
Taff had the bright idea to come back into the States through the ferry. They'd be too busy looking for dark skinned guys with funny names to notice a few bikers flashing crazy gang signs:
Thanks to fancy drivin by Niehart, and quick thinking by Taff, we made it home and none of the stash was lost or spoiled. As the ferry pulled into the dock, I sat around looking at the guys, taking in the day's accomplishment, and thinking "We got us a pretty damn good crew."
Next time, 333's, double or nothing.
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Niehart and the Bandit
It started with a simple problem: my stash of 222's ran out, and with CFR around the corner, I needed to stock up. But bringing over-the-counter pain medication from Canada back to the states is frought with challenges: there is 1 bottle, 50 pill limit. I needed more, and I needed them Sunday.
What to do, what to do?
Good thing I was watching CMT; they were running a tv marathon that gave me an idea:
[Hint: the rest of the story works much better if you push play and listen to the soundtrack while reading]
A plan was hatched: make a dash to the border, get the stash, and make it back in time to enjoy drinks. But we needed a crew to run interference, and more important, we needed a chase bike. The route would be long and perilous, with mounties and smokies at every twisty. I went to bed hopeful but restless.
The next morning, Taff the Brit showed up with another delightful British couple. Could they be the Bandit?
We all know that Brits can't drive on the right side of the road. Too conspicuous. No dice. I'd have to wait to see who showed at the meetup:
One look at Achiu's multi-farkled heaviy laden Feejer and it was clear that he wasn't going to be the chase car. No, he'd be Snowman, responsible for getting the goods home safe.
And these guys weren't going to be of any help. Cheezus, who invited cruisers? (Oh wait, I did. I guess they would be useful in slowing down any pursuing Smokeys.)
What I needed was someone cool enough to not crack under pressure, but hooligan enough to run flat out if we got busted.
Then, the meetup place was rocked by a loud, molar-rattling rumble. We all strained our necks to see who was this Nike.
NIEHART!!! On a Ducati Monster. Hell Yeah!! Cletus, we gots us our Bandit!!
Taff handled logistics and made sure we had our story straight as we rode into Canada. If questioned about our purpose for visiting, we would all recite: "We are traveling into Canada to escape the socialist revolution being wrought by the great oppressor, Obama!"
We also practiced our "you lookin at me?" face in case the locals gave us any hassle. Crossing the border, we all made it in with no interrogations.
Then, things began to go awry. First, Niehart got confused about where the pharmacy was, and took to standing on the corner shouting out to passing motorists "Which way is the drugs?"
Dammit Niehart, focus! Eyes on the prize, Niehart, Eyes on the prize! Finally, we made it to the source of plentiful, over the counter tylenol with codeine, in super large size:
But we hadn't counted on how Canadian suburbanites would react to a gang of drug seeking motorcyclists. Things got uglier after we scored our first mega-bottle. When we got back to the parking lot, Achiu got this crazy look in eyes as he began to fully comprehend the possibilities inherent in a super size 222 stash:
Before I could stop him, he had pried off the child proof cap, made it through the cotton ball, and was chugging them painkillers like they was gummi bears:
[In best slow motion voice] : NOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH.
We ran back into Costco and restocked with fresh loot, and made a mad dash through to the border.
Taff had the bright idea to come back into the States through the ferry. They'd be too busy looking for dark skinned guys with funny names to notice a few bikers flashing crazy gang signs:
Thanks to fancy drivin by Niehart, and quick thinking by Taff, we made it home and none of the stash was lost or spoiled. As the ferry pulled into the dock, I sat around looking at the guys, taking in the day's accomplishment, and thinking "We got us a pretty damn good crew."
Next time, 333's, double or nothing.