In my mind there's nothing worse than having someone grease up their hands, use your oars (or tiller handle), then turn it back to you. As Kelly says, it's like trying to control your boat holding onto a fish. I had to banish one of my motor swampers in Grand Canyon from driving without gloves, and she was forever slathering lotion on, and it made it impossible for me to drive afterward. I digress--what I meant to say was, BAG BALM ON OARS???? GOOD GOD.
There is something undefinably cool about sitting in my 1972 Briggs dory, clutching those even-older Harley grips. Something about old classics, accentuated by the radical distance between an old wooden rowboat and an old roaring, throbbing monsterhog. It adds something to the feathering process. Heading down Grand Canyon Wednesday to do that very thing. Pictured: 1940 Knucklehead, with grips: