Cold and wet.
Not quite the forecast we wanted, and a far cry from what we had been led to believe would greet our first big trip.
With tanks full and confidence on empty, we left town early, numb hands white-knuckled as they worked with a mind of their own to keep the rubber on the road.
An inauspicious start, to say the least...
Big red. The 500lb VFR took the lead. Not that there had ever been any question of it doing so. Solidly planted, the viffer bent reality to it’s will, supremely capable even in hands that were anything but. The sheer gravity of the bike straightened out approaching corners, hairpin throttle tore holes into a future 100 meters away, shoving you through with reckless abandon.
Little red. The 400cc ninja happy to nip away at the leader’s heel. Short of stature, a nimbleness capable of cutting through the mid-morning air like a scalpel.
FLICK.
Apex grazed with the precision of a surgeon.
FLICK.
Like a pendulum, weight transfered to the other side.
FLICK.
Receding into the distance... A long trail of corners too slow to comprehend what had just occurred, not sensative enough to feel the Kawasaki’s soft stride.
Together they rode across the mountain side. Big red and little red, an unlikely kinship coalescing with each hard-fought mile.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Gravel. Sand. Rain showers.
They persevered.
With time comes familiarity...
Tunnel.
9000.
10,000.
11,000 rpm.
The Honda screamed as it plowed through the darkness with the fury of a billion bottlerockets shot down an empty well. Not far behind, the Ninja lived up to it’s namesake, silently picking a line through the pock-marked asphalt.
Deciduous trees came to the fore as the tunnel opened up. Breath of fresh air, then another. A brief respite, nothing more. The riders burst out into the open, accelerating hard. Rain drops biting into exposed flesh, a constant barrage of pellets peppered them both as skilled hands expertly guided their respective machines.
Focused completely on miles of uphill sweepers dead ahead, they dropped gears—braking hard—and committed to the lines they’d chosen.
Bike following body, the leader hung off the side off the viffer, ear to the road, but eyes only ahead. As the radius tightened, he countersteered into the turn, throttle steady. Smooth.
Smooth.
Smooth....
NOW!
He gunned it, acceleration pulling him upright as the road straightened out. But only for a second. Shifting weight, he leaned into the next curve, weight shifted off the bike, tires biting hard. Hundreds of miles of winding mountain road in the rearview, and hundreds more to come, he had but one thought.
“Bring it on”
To everyone who gave me advice on the last few posts, I really appreciate it. Today was spent trying to internalize your instructions. Each corner taken with intent.
Looking further ahead was the biggest help. Hanging off the bike—leading with my head—was also a huge help. I feel like I’ve improved more in one day of riding than I have since getting my endorsement.