Photo taken Saturday evening – many attendees left early due to weather conditions
After nine years of attending Tame the Dragon, it’s safe to say this event has become more than a ride—it’s a reunion. Some of our strongest friendships have been forged on these backroads and back porches. This year was no different: most of our regular crew made it, a few faces were missed, and we even met Allen—a guy who lives twenty minutes from us and somehow dodged our radar until now.
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Sharpback Hollow – wonder how deep it is?
After two days of cruising gravel like dual-sport royalty, Day 3 showed up with different energy. Gone were the sweeping fire roads and misty autumn vibes. This was the technical chapter — a choose-your-own-adventure of expert sections, mountain climbs, rocky descents, and more mud than should legally fit in central Pennsylvania.
We topped off Guy’s oil, and we were ready. Mostly.
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Matt the Center Stand
Day 2 started slow — not from hangovers this time, but because Guy’s Honda was still dripping oil like it had unresolved trauma. Morning shop talk focused on the leak origin while we poked around for a fix that didn’t involve calling for extraction. The diagnosis? Maybe the countershaft seal. The treatment? Drain the oil, refill, and top off as needed. Field medicine at its finest.
Once we were confident the bike would hold together — or at least bleed out slowly — we rolled east toward elk country under gray skies and more of that fast Pennsylvania gravel.
Somewhere outside Benezette, we rolled through Elk Country, where the leaves were perfect but the wildlife was conspicuously absent. Mid-October is usually prime time for bugling, big bulls, and tourists with expensive cameras. We got none of it. Apparently, the elk had somewhere better to be. No harm, though — the riding was smooth, the scenery delivered, and the miles clicked by effortlessly.
Come see the elk at the designated elk viewing area in the Elk Capital of Pennsylvania, they said, there are over 1400 of them, they said…
By 4 pm, we were starving, cold, and just starting to get that “we’ve been in our helmets too long” silence. Cue We Are Inn in Philipsburg, which doesn’t sound like a place that serves the best Italian comfort food this side of your grandmother’s house… but it is.
The Sunday gravy was legendary. Rich, slow-cooked, and worth the wait. I hadn’t had red sauce that good since college, and the whole table went quiet after the first bite — which is saying something for this crew.
Rolling out fat and happy, we detoured just long enough to gawk at the Penn State football stadium, which, even empty, felt like it might judge us for riding muddy dual sports in its shadow.
We skipped the Rothrock section — daylight was running out and our stomachs were full. Slabbing it to Milroy, we stopped to stock up on snacks and breakfast supplies. That night’s lodging? Hartman Cabins, tucked into the woods with rustic charm and actual kitchens.
Matt and Brian somehow scored the bridal suite, which came complete with a heart-shaped tub and just enough awkwardness to fuel the group text for years. Guy and I took the normal rooms, but the banter was already dialed in for the morning.
Day 2 Tally:
Rolling On Two 