Front wheel skid, or Things I really don't want to do again!

Like I mentioned earlier, we conducted a motor cop training class yesterday. I managed to borrow our program's ST1100. It's a 2003 model but it only has about 7600 miles on it. Originally the bike was set up as a police bike. Most of the fun stuff has been stripped off of it. We're using it for the Eye Tracker project I wrote about previously. I can't tell you how good it felt to be back in the saddle of a bike like Sophie! It felt like coming home after a long journey.

This post isn't about the police training per se. I'll probably catch up on that down the road a bit. This is a story about what happens when you have a bike, the opportunity, and too much time on your hands.

We all met up at the track while the cops were in the classroom. From there we split into two groups of four. That would give each group somewhere around 14 or 15 cops. Jeff Earls of IronButt fame, Dan Batz the ultimate sportbike guy, Ray our training manager, and Dean W ( who reads and comments here ) were to be one group. Dean was FJR mounted. He's one of the few I've seen who can really get the most out of the FJR's sporting side. You know how some riders are all elbows and knees? They look like they're doing a lot but it's all flailing about. Dean's just the opposite. He's deceptively smooth. Also wickedly fast!

Scott, a state cop and former motor officer himself, went to help The Director with paperwork in the classroom. That left Laurie and I to meander over to the airport. The plan was to have half the motor officers start at the airport while the other half would start at the track. At lunchtime our groups would switch venues.

At the airport we use a taxiway that we block off. Since we do maximum braking and swerving drills at speeds up to 70 mph, we need a lot of straight line room. So there you have the background. Laurie and I were with the group starting at the airport and were hanging around waiting for the other two instructors to arrive with our half of the motor cops.

We were told to be ready for this arrival at about 10 AM. As it turns out, it would be about 40 minutes later than that when everyone else showed up. Hmmm. Time to kill. As much as we enjoy each other's company, time started to drag. We have all this space and two perfectly capable bikes just sitting there begging to play.

Laurie's ZX-12 is an awesome bike. However, in the right hands, the ST is no slouch, either!

I know. Let's practice our high speed braking and swerving demonstrations. Soon there's two bikes zooming up and down the pavement. Riding certainly makes the time pass much more enjoyably than standing around waiting!

When the motor officers run the braking drills, they start at 45 mph. Then we move to 60 mph. Then we do it at 70 mph. I use the word "we" on purpose. In our program, you're not allowed to teach motors unless you can prove to The Director that you actually have the physical and coaching skills required. That's why there's only about 8 of us certified for this course. You can't effectively coach unless you've personally experienced it. Over and over. Then there's the credibility thing. Cops can smell incompetency a mile away. They're not going to respect an instructor's coaching if they feel the instructor doesn't have the skills themselves. Being conscientious folks, we take advantages of opportunities to run the maximum braking drills at high speeds. Over and over. You need to know how the bike reacts and how it feels. You need to be able to watch a bike coming at you and see what's really happening. Then describe to the officer how to fine tune their technique. And, we have to do demonstrations at the start of each exercise. Any one of us who's handy.

With me so far?

Laurie decides to park her bike and get some water. Then I have this idea. It's either really brave or really, really stupid. Maybe I should have just taken a water break, too.

I remember when I first started training motor cops. The idea of doing a maximum braking stop from 70 mph kind of freaked me out. I've written about this before. Riders always think they can do whatever even though they've never actually done it. I had stopped quickly from about 40 to 45 mph before. I figured I could do it from 70 if I had to. Or could I? Now that I've actually done it, I know for sure, There's no guessing. That's a value of training, by the way. I know for sure that I can stop a bike quickly and safely from very high speeds because I did it just yesterday. How many can say that?

But I'm rambling, again.

Sometimes during the runs, I'll let the speeds creep up. A few stops were at 80 mph. So far so good. That's when I had my brain flash, if you will.

What about a hundred miles per hour? Isn't that a magical number? Say it with me. A hundred miles per hour. The magical "ton". Not that I'd ever ride that fast on the streets, mind you. Well, there's always the chance that I'd be passing somebody and roll a little more throttle than I intended. You know how some of these bikes respond so quickly. However, if I WERE to suddenly find myself at that speed, could I execute a maximum straight line braking maneuver without crashing?

Come on, don't tell me you never wondered about it. I mean, wouldn't you just like to know? I suddenly had this powerful urge to find out. Did I mention that this ST doesn't have ABS?

Let's find out. I start my run. Normally, on a straight piece of pavement like this, a hundred miles per hour would seem like a whole bunch of fun. I'm getting a little uneasy for some reason. There's a bit of burning in my cheeks. My stomach knots up some. I take a deep breath and try to relax. No guts, no glory, I shout in my helmet. A hundred isn't much more than 80. The speedo needle doesn't even move very far.

The cue cones are coming up fast. It's time. I tell myself "shake the hand". In case that doesn't mean to you what it means to me, I'll tell you. That's how I describe to students how they should apply the front brake. It's like a handshake. You grasp their hand then firmly, but smoothly, apply pressure. I squeeze and press while tap dancing on the shift lever. Speed's scrubbing off nicely when I suddenly feel the bars start their own dance. They're dancing to a song with a funny sounding squeal to it. The front tire is sliding.

Here's a picture of the skid mark.

I'll show you another angle in a bit. As we've been trained and train others, I instantly recognize it and let go. Then reapply. The bike and I come to a stop upright. The skid mark is about 35 feet long. That seems like a long ways. I guess it is, but there's another way to look at it.

Here's the other angle.

You can see the mark right down the middle of the photo.

I really can't say how fast the bike was going when the skid started. I was at a hundred when I started braking. The skid happened shortly after I applied the brakes. About 25 feet after the start cone. You can just see the bottom of the cue cone at the top of the photo. I'd estimate the speed to be around 60 or 65. Maybe a little faster. At 60 mph the bike is covering 88 feet per second. The length of the skid mark gives me a reaction time of just under a half second. Remember, I knew ahead of time where and when I would start braking. You can also bet I was VERY tuned into the front tire. So I was ready to react as instantly as possible. We don't have that luxury on the streets when we're surprised, obviously. And, too, this was just an estimate on speed. My eyes were locked onto the horizon. Staring at the speedometer while doing a quick stop like this is pretty poor technique!

I'd like to point out that skidding the front tire was not a failure. Sure, the best technique is to achieve the shortest stop possible without sliding either tire. Life on the streets on a bike is not perfect, by any means. There are just too many variables. Knowing what to do is important. Knowing what to do if the first plan goes awry is just as important. The ability to recognize and properly react to a front wheel skid is vital. A successful rider needs to be rigidly flexible when it comes to reacting to changing circumstances. At the end, the bike and I still achieved a quick stop in an upright position from a hundred miles per hour. I sort of consider that a success!

The upshot? Now I know for sure. I've been there and peered over that edge. Some may call it brave. Some may call it foolish. Before anyone reaches a verdict, though, please remember this. We are professional riders and trainers. I speak for all of us when I say we've all paid our dues. We pretty much live on bikes. We've spent countless hours training and honing skills. We've all seen thousands of students, from beginners to those who ride for a living. We're intimately familiar with how bikes react in all kinds of situations.

For me this was just another step forward from a place I'd been many times before. So the skid mark on the pavement was the only skid mark on the scene, if you know what I mean. This would be a good time to issue the standard warning not to try this at home.

Still, though, every rider should ask themselves the same question.

"Wouldn't I just like to know for sure?"

It doesn't have to be ( and shouldn't be ) at the same level. What about lower speeds? Wouldn't you like to know you could actually swerve, brake, or otherwise properly execute an emergency maneuver at actual riding speeds? The only way to know is to actually do it. So go to professional training or practice prudently on your own. Some day you'll be really thankful you did! Because then you can say,

"I know".

Miles and smiles,

Dan