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tugrikRider down! Rider down!
Dusty heard my call on the radio, and immediately echoed it back. I confirmed, and he gunned the throttle, in a nearly vain attempt to catch the leader and stop him. Hard braking accompanied my call, the GS squatting its front forks as forward velocity was converted into heat by the calipers.
The bike in front of me had slipped out sideways, as if it were a toy swept aside by the hand of some child bored with it.
Tuesday began a little later than the day before. We'd been told the night before that the passes were all closed, and that the planned route would be a no-go. The day would most likely end up being a shorter ride with much less to see, and as a result we weren't in any rush. An extra half-hour of sleep, and a real breakfast for a change... then we hooked up with the SacBORG guys.
A new Fearless Leader had emerged. I don't know his real name, but everybody called him by his online moniker, Ferris Buhler (yes, like the movie). I don't know if he's an actual racer or not, but he had the skills of one. He was also evidently good at the leadership role, as he did a remarkable job of gathering folks and getting information settled. First off, we were told that we're just plain throwing out the original route, and following him. Okay, no problem there. This was followed with an overview of possible routes and decision points that would map out our day, most of them dependant on what passes were closed and where. He summed up his meeting with a quick little paragraph -- I don't remember the exact words -- something like this:
"Okay, we're going to roll into this nice and easy. We've got a good 10-15 miles to warm up bikes and tires... and for you guys to all get your ya-ya's on. It won't be long before we're blasting into the tight stuff, and you're gonna need to have warm rubber and sharp minds. Don't just putter along back there... use the start up to Get Ready. Let's go... 2 minutes!"
Now, I was worried.
I hang out with sportbikers, sure. Some are even pretty good, though most that I know are either new riders, low-experience riders, or even outright posers (who look good on a bike but don't really ride well at all). There's a few exceptions, and those are the ones that I've not followed. I'll keep up with your average squid while on my GL1800, or at least only fall back far enough that I'm back up to them by the time they're getting off the bike at the pitstop. The few that ARE good I've always been uneasy about following. I will fall back and some non-fun will result. This can include me being left behind, confusion as to planned routes when an unpredicted 'Y' in the road shows up, or the faster folks waiting for the slower ones (like me), and thus not really enjoying their ride as they wish they could have. I feel bad when my lack of ability causes others to have less fun.
The speech he gave was scarily familar to the ones I've heard before actual racing was to occur. Warming up your tires before 'getting serious' was, to me, a level of performance that was something one either joked about, or talked about when trying to BS that one had skills. Sure, the racers did it... but just for street-riding? My internal response hovered between "Sure, right, yeah... let's all talk like bad-ass racers, uh-huh", and "oh, man, they're serious". I figured the best thing I could do was to just try to keep up, and keep the maps handy (as always) so I could find my way to the next stop if/when they left me in their exhaust trails.
That first "nice and easy" 12 miles was faster than anything I'd done the previous day. Luckily, it was also pretty easy... big wide turns, with open straightaways, and long visibility downroad. Little cupping valleys that let you see 2 or more miles of what you'll be dealing with far before you got there. I found it to be quite a challenge, but soon I was grooving with it, and keeping right up. The turns weren't sharp enough for me to have any issues, and as long as I could keep momentum, the big 1150 engine could keep up on the straights with any normal sportbike.
We'd just pulled off into some harder twisties, when it started to rain slightly again. The last clinging fingers of the big storm were holding the edge of the Sierra Nevada range, reluctant to let go and drift east. Each time we dipped towards the hills, we'd find some damp pavement and just little touches of rain. We ended up dancing this line most of the day, in fact, weather-wise. As a result, some of our roads were getting kind of dirty; not enough water to wash the road off, but just enough so that vehicles could track grit all over it. We pulled over at a Y in the road to let the tail catch up, and just as I was noticing that I actually wasn't last, Ferris came over to give us another quick update. He told us to take it back a notch, and stay calm for a bit; this next chunk of road was really ugly and probably slippery as heck, and we just needed to get through it before we found the Real Challenge.
Moving again, it was just as he said; uneven surface, grit, grime, a little mud, a few raindrops. Ugly little road, that felt just like home. My GS was eating it up, as it was built for such things, while the sportbikers picked their way along at a decent pace. The group started to form two distinct lobes... a 'fast group' of the first 8-10 riders, and the 'catch up's of the rest... about another 8. The two groups were never too far apart; often there was no split. But now and then a good bit of dry road would appear, and the front half would get a bit farther on. This had just happened again, with me the 3rd in line of the catch-ups, when we crested a small rise and dipped into a low left bend shaded by trees.
The catch-up leader, who was the 2nd bike ahead of me, gunned it as he crested the hill. I could see his bike's front suspention unload as he headed for the corner, and then the sudden drop of noise as he cut the throttle back down to prep for the turn. He was going in way too hot, though... and as he leaned hard, both wheels tagged a big ol' stripe of mud. Dusty's voice was in my helmet saying 'yo! mud on the hard left!', his group only 15 seconds ahead, as I saw the fellow succumb to physics and slide towards the side of the road. Nobody's quite sure what he did in that next moment -- not even him -- but whatever the reaction was, it was the wrong one. The tires quickly slid out to the side, dumping him onto the pavement instantly, one leg under the bike. This is called a 'low side', and of the two major types of one-vehicle crashes, it's the less-harmful one. He and his bike slid to the outside of the corner, where the machine thudded into the ditch full of mud. With an odd 'glunch' type of sound, the bike stood up abruptly, then sank back down into the mud, everything coming to a halt. The whole accident was probably under 25mph.
As dusty went to chase down the leaders to get them to turn back, all of the slow group stopped safely. The 2nd in line was already getting off his bike to check the rider, as were the folks behind me. I've had to do accident management before, and the quick mental checklist showed that nobody was handling traffic management. I went around the accident, turned the bike, shouted to the folks behind me to go ahead a few hundred feet and watch for cars... and I made tracks for the rear of the line. I got about 1/4-mi back down the way we had came, and sat there on the median, all lights and flashers going. It was now my job to stop any cars coming this way and advise them there was an accident-recovery in progress, and to please go very slow; bikes and people would be all over that corner. I felt glad that I had a helpful function I could do well -- as I have very little EMT-style training or other skills that would have been useful just then.
In the end, Dusty got the fast-group back, and the rider was A-OK. Only thing wounded was his pride. There was so much mud that his bike took only the tiniest of scratches, sliding nicely through the safely cushioning stuff. Dusty and Ferris had to help the fellow pull the bike out of the sucking dirt and get enough out of the vital parts that he could shift and use breaks again... a quick mechanical check up, and he was good to ride. They told him to hold back into the 'slow group' for a bit, while he got his head straight. We re-assembled, and moved on.
For the next 45 minutes or so, the fellow was a bit shaken; it showed in his riding style. Being back on the bike seemed to do him good. Over time, he got back to pace, and actually started taking corners properly again. By the time we'd stopped at the base of King's Canyon, he was back in a decent groove, and ready to resume his old spot farther up the line.
The pass between Kings Canyon and Sequoia was closed, as we knew. Still hopeful, we drove right up to the base entry before getting to the closed-off area, and then calling in to see if/when it might open. On the way there we were on a rather major highway, and some 'questionable passing' occurred in order to get the mob of bikes around a few gawking tourist-types who were doing 50 in a 60 zone. Evidently one of them didn't like being passed en masse by a mob of roaring motorcycles, and pulled over to call the cops. As we pulled in to a gas station to call about the pass closure, a sherrif pulled in with us. Ferris went up to mediate.
A few words were exchanged, and then the fellow drove off. Ferris explained that one of the cars we passed had called in, and quoted the sherrif as saying "Please, just behave in the park, that's all I ask. That lady said you were kinda psycho." I think he knew we were going to take that as a compliment, as he was grinning as he said it. I couldn't hear the actual sherrif-convo myself, but I did see the facial expressions, and it was definately a bit jovial. I think he just liked the fact that we were a decently organized bunch riding smaller bikes (except me, of course)... and not a bunch of Harley Biker Badasses with ZZ-top beards that looked like we were rolling in with the intent of burning down their little town.
Then, again with the speech. The phrase came back up... "get rolling, get your ya-ya's on." I could only assume this meant to 'get your game on' or similar sporty terms. I once again just decided to go with the flow and see what happened. We turned back the way we came, and in only another mile turned off on what looked like an oversized driveway. We followed this up a few miles over crappy asphalt until suddenly it smoothed out... and the folks in front of me started to become much farther ahead at a rapid rate.
The road had no lines; neither whites on the side nor yellow in the middle. It was wide enough to be a two lane... usually. It wound up and down rolling hills, and had just about zero traffic. I was seriously starting to be left behind. I did not want to be the leader of the slow group; I was determined to catch the guy right in front of me, and stick to his tail as best I could. I don't know exactly how or why, but my mind shifted gears smoothly: I went from worrying about the corners, to worrying about matching the bike ahead of me. This was not some foolhardy if he can do it, I can do it nonsesense... this was just a new way of looking at the problem that I'd not tried. Instead of seeing the road and trying to figure out where to hit the breaks and where to shift gears, I watched the human atop the machine directly ahead. When he slowed with no breaklight, I downshifted and let my engine slow me down too. When he pulled forwards... my right hand went down; WFO. (Another squidly term... wide 'freaking' *cough* open, as in turning the throttle to max smoothly. This as compared to 'whacking', which is going WFO instantly.) If I saw a flicker of red on his tail-light, I would tap my brakes too. If he kept pulling ahead of me in the corners, I'd make it up in the straights, pushing my bigger engine hard to make up time where he couldn't.
About the 10th curve, this tactic started to work. Following my unknowing teacher's lead, my throttle management started to fall in line. About the 20th curve, and I was right on his tail, keeping time.
About the 25th, I had an epiphany.
I really don't know how to describe this in a way to give it the impact it had on me. The full feeling of what had happened took most of the rest of the day to soak through my brain and get properly processed. Can you remember how you first learned to whistle, as a kid? Some folks always could, sure, but others never could... just blowing air silly-like, while others try in vain to tell you how. There's just no real way to show another human how to move things inside their mouth to make air vibrate out a tone; you can only vaguely describe it and make silly faces at them. The would-be whistler will just keep make breathy sounds, sometimes nearing a whistle... almost keeping up... until at some point the actual whistle just happens. Then, just like that, it all makes sense. Oh. THAT'S what the air is doing. Now that you've felt it that one time, you can repeat it. Once you can repeat it, you can practice it. Once you're practicing... you might get good.
Performance cornering is like that. You can hear racers talk about it in great detail. You can read about it in a book. You can even be shown it on a street-course by your motorcycle safety instructor, at lower speeds. Still, it's all just only-slightly-helpful words, until you finally pull through and actually feel your first, true performance corners 'just happen'. Then, just like that, the feeling registers in your brain. It all makes sense.
As I've just admitted, any attempt for me to tell you exactly what it is I discovered will not be of much use. This isn't going to stop me from trying, though. It has to do mostly with two major things: For one, the physics of doign it right are directly contrary to a normal human's assumptions about how the physics SHOULD work. For two, it's all about forcing one's bike to live in the 'sweet spot' of its power production, and using that to reinforce the stability of the bike. Let me jot this down as two quick lists to see if it makes any sense once typed.
What I was doing before, based on spoken instructions and my own learning-to-ride behaviors:
1. Slow down before a turn, not in the turn.
2. A little acceleration should stabilize the bike.
3. Use the brakes to slow down to a proper corner-entry speed
4. Keep the RPM's/gear into the same ratios as you would any other time... maybe a tad bit more agressive (shift a little later). Still, keep them modest, to avoid pushing the engine too hard.
5. As using the brakes while in a turn is bad, if you're too fast, clutch in and just 'drift through' so you won't brake and you won't accelerate too much either, and just hope you can hold on if you went in too hot (too fast)
This would result in me slowing way down, then rolling through the turn at even speed or at zero power (clutch in)... and if I went in too fast, I'd panic-brake at the last minute before the turn, making for very slow corners. Additionally, I'd be in the same gear/speed ratio as I would for any other other part of the road, so when I'd accelerate it'd lug a little, and I would never have to worry about 'over accelerating' and causing myself problems. This was almost all wrong.
What I figured out and started doing:
1. As before, using the brakes while actually in the turn is bad.
2. A LOT of acceleration stabilizes the bike VERY well.
3. Use the ENGINE to slow down.
4. Having to use the brakes means you didn't do #3 as good as you could have, with the exception of super-super-tight turns.
5. Keep the RPMs high. Live in the sweet spot of your engine. Do not be so damn afraid of the redline, darnit. Flog it!
6. When in doubt about corner entry... downshift.
What happens as a result of thinking in this new way is impressive. Instead of the brake-and-lug through a turn... I'd downshift. The engine would get rudely shoved into high RPMs, where the best engine braking occurs. If it's a tighter turn, do it twice. This is why racebikes do that high-to-low rapid set of pitches as they approach corners... NEEEeeen/clik/NEEEEEEEEeeeeenn... (yes, it types stupid; it has to be done as a sound effect). Use this hard engine braking to set up the speed into the corner. Pick your line, and dive in hard. Countersteer to lean over and shove it right on in.
Now, the neat part: Because you're in lower gears, and your RPMs are way up high... you're at the part of the powerband where your engine has the most pull. As you lean into the turn and hit apex... NAIL IT. Roll on that throttle like your life depended on it, against all your gut reactions not to. What happens feels so good it's addictive: the suspention squats down into the turn, and the acceleration sticks you to the line like glue. The bike became many times more stable than I'd ever felt. If you stop and think about it, your mind is screaming for you to slow the hell down; how in the world can it be a good thing to try and go faster when all your life driving cars you know you need to slow down so you won't fly sideways off the curve? Instead it's the opposite, and the more you try to slow, the more unstable you become.
From here, it's now all throttle management. Predict entry speed; downshift and make the engine scream. Lean. Roll-on, and CHARGE through. Come flying out the exit of the corner like a jet with afterburners on. If it's straight... up-shift, and get moving. If not... let up on the throttle and prepare for the next line.
I'll stop trying to explain it now. I lack the external context to know how well this is or is not making sense. I'll just leave it to say that if you're a new motorcycler... when you figure this out and feel it for the first time, you'll find it stunning.
I caught up to the fast group, and I stuck on them like glue. When they saw me at the tail of the group when they pulled over to rest, they were both pleased and surprised. The grins and congrats they shared felt like a kind of graduation. Welcome to performance motorcycling.
The rest of the day, while great, was a blur. I spent most all of it deep in thought, picking my lines. The world turns into a series of quick physical puzzles to fit in and blast through. The tail-light of your buddy ahead gently pulls closer or squeezes away as the terrain plays squash/stretch with the interbike gap. I know we went many cool places. I know we saw many cool things, as a few of the images still linger strongly when I close my eyes. The real mileage was covered in my mind, as I soaked up all the new control I had on the bike and went about exploring it. I now understand our leader's words. "Getting your ya-yas on", "getting into the zone", "getting into the groove." It isn't instant. Like stretching and doing a light jog before running a sprint, you have to work up to it. You have to concentrate. Talk about pitching all my previous assumptions about music and other on-ride distractions to the side! Eesh... I'm now going to have to redefine how I prepare for performance riding, if I pursue this.
Do not get me wrong here: it was not all speeding illegally. When you're on tight switchbacks, you may be only going 12-24 MPH... but you're still in the zone. Sure, some spots let us go speeds that I won't put numbers to (insert innocent whistling here), but it's all about the turn-and-charge, not the overall velocity. Someday I will go back there in non-performance mode, and get more pictures. There's this golden-flanked valley that felt like a home planet I've never lived on, yet I belonged to... those and other spots need to be stopped in and appreciated.
We pulled into Fresno into the evening, a little late for the dealer party there. Travelling the straight streets of the city-grid felt like landing back on Earth after a wicked rocket-ride. The last few miles in were actually quite perfect for calming back down, putting us all into a more mellow state of mind before dismounting and going in to get our dinner of various mexican and BBQ foods. Dusty pointed out to me that I don't have chicken strips anymore... well, maybe a tiny 1/8th of an inch, here and there. Since I couldn't quite put all this in words just yet, I logged in and jotted the short list you saw before this message. It took me all of our mellow touristy day today to think through it before I could write it down.
It's now 2am, and I must rest or I'll be worthless tomrrow. I'm a day behind in the journaling, but I'll be making it back up tomorrow while spending one evening on home turf. I'm glad a few of you seem to be enjoying these. Please, both to those who've posted replies and those who haven't: let me know what you think of the writing style? I'm trying to get feelings across along with events, and it'd be nice to know if it's working. I've got a lot to learn about travel-writing, and I know it. Pardon the handful of typos and grammatical errors. It's hard to proofread from a motel bed over a modem connection. I'll to go back through these once the trip is over and do the little technical corrections.
Maybe I just need to follow in the footsteps of an experienced travel-journalist. In trying to keep pace and not be left behind, I might similarly stumble into a grand self-discovery and become the writer I've always wanted to be. It seems to be working for my motorcycling.
Dusty heard my call on the radio, and immediately echoed it back. I confirmed, and he gunned the throttle, in a nearly vain attempt to catch the leader and stop him. Hard braking accompanied my call, the GS squatting its front forks as forward velocity was converted into heat by the calipers.
The bike in front of me had slipped out sideways, as if it were a toy swept aside by the hand of some child bored with it.
Tuesday began a little later than the day before. We'd been told the night before that the passes were all closed, and that the planned route would be a no-go. The day would most likely end up being a shorter ride with much less to see, and as a result we weren't in any rush. An extra half-hour of sleep, and a real breakfast for a change... then we hooked up with the SacBORG guys.
A new Fearless Leader had emerged. I don't know his real name, but everybody called him by his online moniker, Ferris Buhler (yes, like the movie). I don't know if he's an actual racer or not, but he had the skills of one. He was also evidently good at the leadership role, as he did a remarkable job of gathering folks and getting information settled. First off, we were told that we're just plain throwing out the original route, and following him. Okay, no problem there. This was followed with an overview of possible routes and decision points that would map out our day, most of them dependant on what passes were closed and where. He summed up his meeting with a quick little paragraph -- I don't remember the exact words -- something like this:
"Okay, we're going to roll into this nice and easy. We've got a good 10-15 miles to warm up bikes and tires... and for you guys to all get your ya-ya's on. It won't be long before we're blasting into the tight stuff, and you're gonna need to have warm rubber and sharp minds. Don't just putter along back there... use the start up to Get Ready. Let's go... 2 minutes!"
Now, I was worried.
I hang out with sportbikers, sure. Some are even pretty good, though most that I know are either new riders, low-experience riders, or even outright posers (who look good on a bike but don't really ride well at all). There's a few exceptions, and those are the ones that I've not followed. I'll keep up with your average squid while on my GL1800, or at least only fall back far enough that I'm back up to them by the time they're getting off the bike at the pitstop. The few that ARE good I've always been uneasy about following. I will fall back and some non-fun will result. This can include me being left behind, confusion as to planned routes when an unpredicted 'Y' in the road shows up, or the faster folks waiting for the slower ones (like me), and thus not really enjoying their ride as they wish they could have. I feel bad when my lack of ability causes others to have less fun.
The speech he gave was scarily familar to the ones I've heard before actual racing was to occur. Warming up your tires before 'getting serious' was, to me, a level of performance that was something one either joked about, or talked about when trying to BS that one had skills. Sure, the racers did it... but just for street-riding? My internal response hovered between "Sure, right, yeah... let's all talk like bad-ass racers, uh-huh", and "oh, man, they're serious". I figured the best thing I could do was to just try to keep up, and keep the maps handy (as always) so I could find my way to the next stop if/when they left me in their exhaust trails.
That first "nice and easy" 12 miles was faster than anything I'd done the previous day. Luckily, it was also pretty easy... big wide turns, with open straightaways, and long visibility downroad. Little cupping valleys that let you see 2 or more miles of what you'll be dealing with far before you got there. I found it to be quite a challenge, but soon I was grooving with it, and keeping right up. The turns weren't sharp enough for me to have any issues, and as long as I could keep momentum, the big 1150 engine could keep up on the straights with any normal sportbike.
We'd just pulled off into some harder twisties, when it started to rain slightly again. The last clinging fingers of the big storm were holding the edge of the Sierra Nevada range, reluctant to let go and drift east. Each time we dipped towards the hills, we'd find some damp pavement and just little touches of rain. We ended up dancing this line most of the day, in fact, weather-wise. As a result, some of our roads were getting kind of dirty; not enough water to wash the road off, but just enough so that vehicles could track grit all over it. We pulled over at a Y in the road to let the tail catch up, and just as I was noticing that I actually wasn't last, Ferris came over to give us another quick update. He told us to take it back a notch, and stay calm for a bit; this next chunk of road was really ugly and probably slippery as heck, and we just needed to get through it before we found the Real Challenge.
Moving again, it was just as he said; uneven surface, grit, grime, a little mud, a few raindrops. Ugly little road, that felt just like home. My GS was eating it up, as it was built for such things, while the sportbikers picked their way along at a decent pace. The group started to form two distinct lobes... a 'fast group' of the first 8-10 riders, and the 'catch up's of the rest... about another 8. The two groups were never too far apart; often there was no split. But now and then a good bit of dry road would appear, and the front half would get a bit farther on. This had just happened again, with me the 3rd in line of the catch-ups, when we crested a small rise and dipped into a low left bend shaded by trees.
The catch-up leader, who was the 2nd bike ahead of me, gunned it as he crested the hill. I could see his bike's front suspention unload as he headed for the corner, and then the sudden drop of noise as he cut the throttle back down to prep for the turn. He was going in way too hot, though... and as he leaned hard, both wheels tagged a big ol' stripe of mud. Dusty's voice was in my helmet saying 'yo! mud on the hard left!', his group only 15 seconds ahead, as I saw the fellow succumb to physics and slide towards the side of the road. Nobody's quite sure what he did in that next moment -- not even him -- but whatever the reaction was, it was the wrong one. The tires quickly slid out to the side, dumping him onto the pavement instantly, one leg under the bike. This is called a 'low side', and of the two major types of one-vehicle crashes, it's the less-harmful one. He and his bike slid to the outside of the corner, where the machine thudded into the ditch full of mud. With an odd 'glunch' type of sound, the bike stood up abruptly, then sank back down into the mud, everything coming to a halt. The whole accident was probably under 25mph.
As dusty went to chase down the leaders to get them to turn back, all of the slow group stopped safely. The 2nd in line was already getting off his bike to check the rider, as were the folks behind me. I've had to do accident management before, and the quick mental checklist showed that nobody was handling traffic management. I went around the accident, turned the bike, shouted to the folks behind me to go ahead a few hundred feet and watch for cars... and I made tracks for the rear of the line. I got about 1/4-mi back down the way we had came, and sat there on the median, all lights and flashers going. It was now my job to stop any cars coming this way and advise them there was an accident-recovery in progress, and to please go very slow; bikes and people would be all over that corner. I felt glad that I had a helpful function I could do well -- as I have very little EMT-style training or other skills that would have been useful just then.
In the end, Dusty got the fast-group back, and the rider was A-OK. Only thing wounded was his pride. There was so much mud that his bike took only the tiniest of scratches, sliding nicely through the safely cushioning stuff. Dusty and Ferris had to help the fellow pull the bike out of the sucking dirt and get enough out of the vital parts that he could shift and use breaks again... a quick mechanical check up, and he was good to ride. They told him to hold back into the 'slow group' for a bit, while he got his head straight. We re-assembled, and moved on.
For the next 45 minutes or so, the fellow was a bit shaken; it showed in his riding style. Being back on the bike seemed to do him good. Over time, he got back to pace, and actually started taking corners properly again. By the time we'd stopped at the base of King's Canyon, he was back in a decent groove, and ready to resume his old spot farther up the line.
The pass between Kings Canyon and Sequoia was closed, as we knew. Still hopeful, we drove right up to the base entry before getting to the closed-off area, and then calling in to see if/when it might open. On the way there we were on a rather major highway, and some 'questionable passing' occurred in order to get the mob of bikes around a few gawking tourist-types who were doing 50 in a 60 zone. Evidently one of them didn't like being passed en masse by a mob of roaring motorcycles, and pulled over to call the cops. As we pulled in to a gas station to call about the pass closure, a sherrif pulled in with us. Ferris went up to mediate.
A few words were exchanged, and then the fellow drove off. Ferris explained that one of the cars we passed had called in, and quoted the sherrif as saying "Please, just behave in the park, that's all I ask. That lady said you were kinda psycho." I think he knew we were going to take that as a compliment, as he was grinning as he said it. I couldn't hear the actual sherrif-convo myself, but I did see the facial expressions, and it was definately a bit jovial. I think he just liked the fact that we were a decently organized bunch riding smaller bikes (except me, of course)... and not a bunch of Harley Biker Badasses with ZZ-top beards that looked like we were rolling in with the intent of burning down their little town.
Then, again with the speech. The phrase came back up... "get rolling, get your ya-ya's on." I could only assume this meant to 'get your game on' or similar sporty terms. I once again just decided to go with the flow and see what happened. We turned back the way we came, and in only another mile turned off on what looked like an oversized driveway. We followed this up a few miles over crappy asphalt until suddenly it smoothed out... and the folks in front of me started to become much farther ahead at a rapid rate.
The road had no lines; neither whites on the side nor yellow in the middle. It was wide enough to be a two lane... usually. It wound up and down rolling hills, and had just about zero traffic. I was seriously starting to be left behind. I did not want to be the leader of the slow group; I was determined to catch the guy right in front of me, and stick to his tail as best I could. I don't know exactly how or why, but my mind shifted gears smoothly: I went from worrying about the corners, to worrying about matching the bike ahead of me. This was not some foolhardy if he can do it, I can do it nonsesense... this was just a new way of looking at the problem that I'd not tried. Instead of seeing the road and trying to figure out where to hit the breaks and where to shift gears, I watched the human atop the machine directly ahead. When he slowed with no breaklight, I downshifted and let my engine slow me down too. When he pulled forwards... my right hand went down; WFO. (Another squidly term... wide 'freaking' *cough* open, as in turning the throttle to max smoothly. This as compared to 'whacking', which is going WFO instantly.) If I saw a flicker of red on his tail-light, I would tap my brakes too. If he kept pulling ahead of me in the corners, I'd make it up in the straights, pushing my bigger engine hard to make up time where he couldn't.
About the 10th curve, this tactic started to work. Following my unknowing teacher's lead, my throttle management started to fall in line. About the 20th curve, and I was right on his tail, keeping time.
About the 25th, I had an epiphany.
I really don't know how to describe this in a way to give it the impact it had on me. The full feeling of what had happened took most of the rest of the day to soak through my brain and get properly processed. Can you remember how you first learned to whistle, as a kid? Some folks always could, sure, but others never could... just blowing air silly-like, while others try in vain to tell you how. There's just no real way to show another human how to move things inside their mouth to make air vibrate out a tone; you can only vaguely describe it and make silly faces at them. The would-be whistler will just keep make breathy sounds, sometimes nearing a whistle... almost keeping up... until at some point the actual whistle just happens. Then, just like that, it all makes sense. Oh. THAT'S what the air is doing. Now that you've felt it that one time, you can repeat it. Once you can repeat it, you can practice it. Once you're practicing... you might get good.
Performance cornering is like that. You can hear racers talk about it in great detail. You can read about it in a book. You can even be shown it on a street-course by your motorcycle safety instructor, at lower speeds. Still, it's all just only-slightly-helpful words, until you finally pull through and actually feel your first, true performance corners 'just happen'. Then, just like that, the feeling registers in your brain. It all makes sense.
As I've just admitted, any attempt for me to tell you exactly what it is I discovered will not be of much use. This isn't going to stop me from trying, though. It has to do mostly with two major things: For one, the physics of doign it right are directly contrary to a normal human's assumptions about how the physics SHOULD work. For two, it's all about forcing one's bike to live in the 'sweet spot' of its power production, and using that to reinforce the stability of the bike. Let me jot this down as two quick lists to see if it makes any sense once typed.
What I was doing before, based on spoken instructions and my own learning-to-ride behaviors:
1. Slow down before a turn, not in the turn.
2. A little acceleration should stabilize the bike.
3. Use the brakes to slow down to a proper corner-entry speed
4. Keep the RPM's/gear into the same ratios as you would any other time... maybe a tad bit more agressive (shift a little later). Still, keep them modest, to avoid pushing the engine too hard.
5. As using the brakes while in a turn is bad, if you're too fast, clutch in and just 'drift through' so you won't brake and you won't accelerate too much either, and just hope you can hold on if you went in too hot (too fast)
This would result in me slowing way down, then rolling through the turn at even speed or at zero power (clutch in)... and if I went in too fast, I'd panic-brake at the last minute before the turn, making for very slow corners. Additionally, I'd be in the same gear/speed ratio as I would for any other other part of the road, so when I'd accelerate it'd lug a little, and I would never have to worry about 'over accelerating' and causing myself problems. This was almost all wrong.
What I figured out and started doing:
1. As before, using the brakes while actually in the turn is bad.
2. A LOT of acceleration stabilizes the bike VERY well.
3. Use the ENGINE to slow down.
4. Having to use the brakes means you didn't do #3 as good as you could have, with the exception of super-super-tight turns.
5. Keep the RPMs high. Live in the sweet spot of your engine. Do not be so damn afraid of the redline, darnit. Flog it!
6. When in doubt about corner entry... downshift.
What happens as a result of thinking in this new way is impressive. Instead of the brake-and-lug through a turn... I'd downshift. The engine would get rudely shoved into high RPMs, where the best engine braking occurs. If it's a tighter turn, do it twice. This is why racebikes do that high-to-low rapid set of pitches as they approach corners... NEEEeeen/clik/NEEEEEEEEeeeeenn... (yes, it types stupid; it has to be done as a sound effect). Use this hard engine braking to set up the speed into the corner. Pick your line, and dive in hard. Countersteer to lean over and shove it right on in.
Now, the neat part: Because you're in lower gears, and your RPMs are way up high... you're at the part of the powerband where your engine has the most pull. As you lean into the turn and hit apex... NAIL IT. Roll on that throttle like your life depended on it, against all your gut reactions not to. What happens feels so good it's addictive: the suspention squats down into the turn, and the acceleration sticks you to the line like glue. The bike became many times more stable than I'd ever felt. If you stop and think about it, your mind is screaming for you to slow the hell down; how in the world can it be a good thing to try and go faster when all your life driving cars you know you need to slow down so you won't fly sideways off the curve? Instead it's the opposite, and the more you try to slow, the more unstable you become.
From here, it's now all throttle management. Predict entry speed; downshift and make the engine scream. Lean. Roll-on, and CHARGE through. Come flying out the exit of the corner like a jet with afterburners on. If it's straight... up-shift, and get moving. If not... let up on the throttle and prepare for the next line.
I'll stop trying to explain it now. I lack the external context to know how well this is or is not making sense. I'll just leave it to say that if you're a new motorcycler... when you figure this out and feel it for the first time, you'll find it stunning.
I caught up to the fast group, and I stuck on them like glue. When they saw me at the tail of the group when they pulled over to rest, they were both pleased and surprised. The grins and congrats they shared felt like a kind of graduation. Welcome to performance motorcycling.
The rest of the day, while great, was a blur. I spent most all of it deep in thought, picking my lines. The world turns into a series of quick physical puzzles to fit in and blast through. The tail-light of your buddy ahead gently pulls closer or squeezes away as the terrain plays squash/stretch with the interbike gap. I know we went many cool places. I know we saw many cool things, as a few of the images still linger strongly when I close my eyes. The real mileage was covered in my mind, as I soaked up all the new control I had on the bike and went about exploring it. I now understand our leader's words. "Getting your ya-yas on", "getting into the zone", "getting into the groove." It isn't instant. Like stretching and doing a light jog before running a sprint, you have to work up to it. You have to concentrate. Talk about pitching all my previous assumptions about music and other on-ride distractions to the side! Eesh... I'm now going to have to redefine how I prepare for performance riding, if I pursue this.
Do not get me wrong here: it was not all speeding illegally. When you're on tight switchbacks, you may be only going 12-24 MPH... but you're still in the zone. Sure, some spots let us go speeds that I won't put numbers to (insert innocent whistling here), but it's all about the turn-and-charge, not the overall velocity. Someday I will go back there in non-performance mode, and get more pictures. There's this golden-flanked valley that felt like a home planet I've never lived on, yet I belonged to... those and other spots need to be stopped in and appreciated.
We pulled into Fresno into the evening, a little late for the dealer party there. Travelling the straight streets of the city-grid felt like landing back on Earth after a wicked rocket-ride. The last few miles in were actually quite perfect for calming back down, putting us all into a more mellow state of mind before dismounting and going in to get our dinner of various mexican and BBQ foods. Dusty pointed out to me that I don't have chicken strips anymore... well, maybe a tiny 1/8th of an inch, here and there. Since I couldn't quite put all this in words just yet, I logged in and jotted the short list you saw before this message. It took me all of our mellow touristy day today to think through it before I could write it down.
It's now 2am, and I must rest or I'll be worthless tomrrow. I'm a day behind in the journaling, but I'll be making it back up tomorrow while spending one evening on home turf. I'm glad a few of you seem to be enjoying these. Please, both to those who've posted replies and those who haven't: let me know what you think of the writing style? I'm trying to get feelings across along with events, and it'd be nice to know if it's working. I've got a lot to learn about travel-writing, and I know it. Pardon the handful of typos and grammatical errors. It's hard to proofread from a motel bed over a modem connection. I'll to go back through these once the trip is over and do the little technical corrections.
Maybe I just need to follow in the footsteps of an experienced travel-journalist. In trying to keep pace and not be left behind, I might similarly stumble into a grand self-discovery and become the writer I've always wanted to be. It seems to be working for my motorcycling.
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Date: 2002-05-24 06:17 am (UTC)I was telling your tales to my brother, he thought it was cool, too. He's not on LJ, so I think that's something, that your stories are interesting enough to repeat to someone totally out of the loop, much like you would tell someone about a book or movie or tv show. . .