As the sun pops over the horizon, the forecast has taken a nose dive. It’s the coldest of the three mornings. While the parking lot of the Econolodge is filled with hustle and bustle, the energy is diverted from readying the sleds, to instead packing up.

We pass Bike128Pedal, the lucky duck whom won the REVIT jacket during last night’s raffle, in the breezeway. While he has dutifully submitted his preferred jacket size, he is also taking the George Costanza (Seinfield) approach--Leave on the high note! So he’s going to pack up for home, and apparently he’s not alone in that thought. Meanwhile, Blaster and I ready ourselves for the Sunday Morning sermon, in the good Lord JackSplash’s House of Motorcycles. The sermon is much you would expect from any Sunday morning sermon. Be kind to others, no good deed goes unpunished, the devil lays in wait and food…there is always food!

The rider meeting was lightly attended. And there were even fewer folks on the trails today. But those that were out, certainly felt invincible. We play leap frog groups of riders most of the morning, as the faster riders overtake us, only to realize that their navigation skills have miserably failed them. Meanwhile, Blaster and I plug along with our mantra---Slow is smooth and smooth is fast as we wave to them overtaking yet again.

There was one section, maybe ¼ mile long of deep sand. Blaster is having a better ride and gets out in front of me. Meanwhile, I think it’s time to look for some pennies, and again. At one point, a fellow that I had helped out during the morning meeting with how to “show tracks” his Montana, was going to return the favor. (Remember, no good deed goes unpunished) Being a bonafide shortypants, when the WR250 gets a bit off vertical I hardly ever prevent it from falling. He pulls up parallel to me, and was just going to give me a slight tug right. Except, we are both in the same soft sand. With that we become a Anaconda breeding ball, the KTM tangled on the WR, the KTM rider on the WR and the WR giggling as I snorkel all that sandy goodness up my helmet and sleeves.

A bit later in the day, my smoothness was further rewarded when I got perhaps a bit too close to lower branch. I was gobsmacked when the tree stopped me dead in my tracks. It was my good fortune of the rider behind me, as somehow the tree had entangled me preventing me from moving in a sensible direction. We arrive at lunch in excellent time, and bid our farewells. We need to be heading for home around 1400, and in another 1.5 hours, the sand dunes will be traded for high-speed tarmac.

Luck was a lady indeed, by the time we decided to turn for home, the track was completed! Nearly 460 miles of sandy goodness done. No sooner do the bikes get secured for transport and the truck drops into gear, the riders are flowing in and trotting over to the truck with delight. David is ecstatic to report his KLR completed the entire track today! He’s got such an amazingly bright outlook on the past few days, however, his helmet does appear to a bit worse for wear in the last 100 miles. Another rider we’d met today is a bit worse for the wear, but also enthusiastic that Christmas is only 42 days away and now he can justify what a good boy he’s been. His ulterior motive is to snooker the wife into some snazzy new riding kit.

The Pine Barrens is in the books, and with it the last official event of the season is over. I am plum tuckered out. Riding the sand for 460 miles really opens your eyes a bit. Yesterday, I owned slightly more sand...today the sand conquered most...meh.

Now, to get on getting the winter upgrade/fix list and to start wonderlusting the 2017 lineup....

It’s November on the 39th parallel. And Miss November has elected to have a little bit of fun at the expense of the 200+ registered riders on Day 2 of the Pine Barrens event. The thermometer halved itself in the wee hours of the night, as the riders were slumbering off the weak shoulders and exhausted core muscles from yesterday’s deep sand whoops. However, today is greeted with great anticipation. Anticipation that while yesterday’s track was unrelenting much like the mechanical process of separating wheat from chaff, it was reported that today should be ”more inviting”. I imagine that our Rally’s master’s vision of “more inviting” to be something like Andromeda feels as the Kraken is released in the Clash of Titans movie.

We head out and the morning rush quickly subsides. Blaster and I are left to our own accord for most of the ride. Does anybody remember the Dakar promo video where the helo flys over as the competitors were gracefully playing in the sand dunes?

Well, that is certainly not Blaster and I, but we are getting cheeky in the sand today. While it is certainly not pretty to watch yet, we are getting damned effective. And for non-sand riders, I think we had some really good riding! The hero section located near Lucille's restaurant is even accomplished with nary a belly flop.

After lunch, we somehow meet up with our Canadian brethren. We dance our sleds among the blueberry bushes for most of the afternoon until…..

...You see the borrowed KLR on the team will have none of our shenanigans. Somewhere in the middle of the whooped out section, the KLR started shedding parts like a crab molting. I felt like a mouse again to know that David can pilot his KLR through the end of the whoops riding aside with his “extra” foot on the KLR saddle. Yes, that man can ride whoops with just one foot! Soon enough, it’s clear that they need to boogie back to HQ and get this sorted. Blaster and I continue the trek and finished well before sweep DNF time. It seems the KLR is across the street getting the foot peg mount welded back on. As the sun sets, Blaster and I partake in master planning with Rodriguez from Epico MotoADV. We have all but sold an unborn first born child for a chance to ride Columbia. We are eagerly awaiting the grand prize drawing tonight. But then reality sets in, we’ve never won anything big, and this will be no exception. However, the loot was large and the winners were frequent.

So the rider meeting ends with some very unhappy faces. It seems that hat Big Bike track for the day lost nearly 100 miles. Meanwhile, the little bikes will traverse 140 Miles of Cranberry Country. The reason for the disparity is much of the DNR land was not approved on their permit. This left the organizers to scramble for a new route.

Right out of the gate this AM, the track is no joke. Deep Whoops on single track. After a grueling 7 miles of that, I was happy to make a turn. A turn onto any surface but the one I am on. Boy, if I could turn back the clock on that thought. Next up is a 2 lane forest road which is 12 inches of deep, loose sand. As I peer down the trail, it appears we are having a yard sale. Left, right and center there are bikes which make beached whales look at home. The balls-to-the-wall motto ain’t going to get anyone out of this stretch. It’s too long and too deep

After a nice nap myself, I finally rendezvous with Blaster. Does anyone remember the child’s book about the turtle and the hare? Or how about the 1960s Buggs Bunny cartoons with the same theme.

If there is one thing that Blaster and I have learned, the day is long and just keep chipping away. We never get a first place into home, but the strategy has always gotten us back in fine time. It seems the hares fly down the trail wildly out of control, even crashing into others at times, then proceed to take a 30 minute break to catch their breath.

Before lunch, we were feeling cheeky and took the hero option. Blaster was owning the track, and I thought I should inspect it a bit closer. Maybe look for lost pennies too. So after getting myself scooped back up, we are at lunch. It was interesting that for 200 riders at the Pine Barren event, we rode the 45 minutes before lunch completely alone. On the afternoon trek, we pass very few riders (maybe a handful?) and get past by even fewer

Up until a few years ago, New Jersey was the top producer of Cranberries. We rode among the bogs, and the bushes appear to be ready for harvest. We have never seen the harvest, which purportedly is just like the Oceanspray commercial.

Hammonton is home to quite a big Italian enclave. Boy, the restaurant just south of the Econolodge advertising the 'worlds best spaghetti' was actually spot on! The service and food are delicious! It been good seeing some familiar faces such as Opey, 70East, Biker128, Juames representing our Canadian Brethren, and others.