The nice thing about doing something really stupid and living to tell about it is cashing in the bragging rights, once the adrenalin has worn off.
Allow me to brag a little bit...
A friend of mine, Robert, invited me to participate in a couple days of brisk motorcycle riding. Robert, a retired expert class motorcycle racer, rides a Buell. This is a Harley powered sport bike that goes fast both in a straight line as well through the corners. It seems that a Buell rider's group was going to ride, briskly, though the hills of Western Maryland.
Sounds like fun!
Robert invited his cousin, Rick, along as well. Rick rides a spiffy limited edition BMW motorcycle that just loves going around curves really fast. Rick is a recent graduate of the Keith Code racing school in California. This school, as you might expect, teaches you how to safely ride a bike fast through the corners. Rick and his wonderful wife Beth have ridden a bike through Alps, just for fun. Lots of turns there.
Robert and Rick are accomplished riders able to take turns fast.
I, on the other hand, ride a 20 year old Honda Goldwing and I'm not nearly as good as Robert and Rick. If you don't know what a Goldwing is, just think of an aging Winnebago that falls over at stop signs. I have never raced motorcycles, although through the generosity of my youngest son have partaken of three track days at Summit Point race track in West Virginia. A track day basically consists of a bunch of non-racers who want to go fast on a race track, or at least would like to think of themselves as having gone fast.
So, Robert, Rick and I start our ride one beautiful fall morning. Rick is leading and Robert is trailing. I, as the truckers like to say, am in the "rockin' chair", comfortably in the middle. I am very much enjoying my ride. The fall colors are starting to come out, the road is dry and clean and we are just breezing along at about 60 miles per hour.
One of those yellow suggested speed limit signs flashes by, but it doesn't sink into my wandering mind. Why should it? My good friend Rick is in the lead and I'm just following him. Not paying attention too much to the road (duh), and forgetting that my good friend is a graduate of the Keith Code School for Errant Bikers, teaching them to drag a knee around sharp corners.
The next think I know, in the blink of an eye, Rick transitions from my left mirror to my right mirror.
Huh?
It suddenly dawns on my wandering mind that Rick, who apparently was a straight A student at Keith's school, is taking a 30 mph turn at 60 mph.
I'm in trouble.
I suddenly miss I-95. I-95 is the straight, smooth interstate highway that I ride from Virginia to Daytona for Bike Week. Very few surprise turns on old I-95.
In my present situation I suppose I could swing wide, but that would put me into oncoming traffic. I could swing way wide but that would put me into the pristine valley I was, just a lifetime ago, admiring before Rick went left to right over my mirrors.
The only real choice I have is to try to make the turn. On a 20 year old two wheeled Winnebago driven by a less than competent rider with a previously wandering but now sharply focused mind.
So, over I go. The horizon tilts at about a 45 degree angle and the road is zipping by my right knee at 60 mph. To its credit, the bike doesn't wobble and the rear tire doesn't try to pass the front tire. The bike holds the line.
At track day you are taught, through experience, to trust the bike. The bike's abilities WAY out class that of most riders. If you just stay with the bike you will most likely be buying the beer that evening. Trust the bike. Don't hit the brakes and don't chop the throttle because that irritates Newton and some of his mass/momentum/inertia laws. Plus it really upsets the bike's suspension. Trust the bike. Have courage .....
..... have courage...... courage ....
I panic and hit the brakes about 1/2 way through the turn. Newton gets ALL pissy, turns over in his grave, grabs my bike and shakes it. The Honda suspension throws a hissy fit.
The bike starts to wobble in a nasty way. When the bike started to wobble I knew I had blown an already challenging situation, so I let off the brakes.
The bike settles back down and I lean it over even more. Either I make this turn or I go out in style without the brake light showing. The pucker factor is so strong now that if I make it I'm going to make a popping noise when I get off the bike seat.
When Robert, riding behind me, sees my brake light come on he knows I'm in trouble. He slows down, I'm guessing because he didn't want to overshoot me and miss seeing a wreck like this. He watches as I lean the bike WAY over trying to stay shiny side up.
Way over.
I'm approaching the 3/4 mark in the turn, still running way to fast for the bike and the incompetent rider. It may just be my imagination, but it seems like the road turned even sharper to the right. Perhaps the dreaded "decreasing radius" turn. Sure. Why not? Just load it on, Newton.
My bike is leaned over as far as I can take it without dragging metal. The end of the turn is in sight. I'm good to go. I hit the end of the turn and straighten up the bike. Just like that. Piece of cake. I'm the man!! I (almost) meant to do that!!
At the next rest break (whew!!) Robert comes up and says "Did you almost eat it at that turn?".
Maybe I says.
Robert says "Well, you had that bike leaned so far over that I wouldn't have been able to slip a piece of paper between you and the road".
You're telling me? I was THERE!
The next time you see a parked motorcycle, look at the front tire. You will see a wear pattern starting in the middle of the tire and radiating out towards the edges. Between the wear pattern and the edge of the tire will most likely be unused area of the tire. The worn part of the tire versus the unused portion gives you an idea of how far over the bike rider leans the bike in the turns. I.E. how fast he takes the turns. The unused section of tire is called the "chicken strip". The more cautious the rider, the wider the chicken strip. Goldwings normally have really big chicken strips. We Goldwing riders like to think of that strip as the sanity check, but whatever.
My Goldwing doesn't have a chicken strip on the right side of the front tire anymore.
A bunch of guys at the fire station ride fast bikes. There are two things these bikers can measure off to the fraction of an inch with a sideways glance. The other one is the size of the chicken strip on another guy's bike. I'm looking forward to riding the bike to the fire station and casually letting the guys check it out. Notice the front tire, boys (try to just look at the right side, son).
I'm hoping that Robert invites me to another Buell ride. It is always such a pleasure to hook up with him and Rick.
I'm REALLY looking forward to riding to Bike Week in March, following that long super slab I-95 to Daytona.
No comments:
Post a Comment