A Longer than Average Commute.

First it was optional. Then it became mandatory. Okay by me. I was looking for a place to go for Ride to Work Day. The Seattle area was as good a place as any. My commute to work would end up being a bit longer than average, though.

The optional part was a sort of going away gathering for Erick. He had been a Regional Director forever before moving up the ladder a bit. Corporate rewarded him for his years of hard work by giving him a cushy position from which to wait until retirement. That time had come. Also had come the time to say farewell. Since most of us were planning on attending the social event the Boss decided it would be a good time to get everybody together for a company meeting. Thus entered the mandatory part.

With the meeting scheduled to start around 1:30 PM Elivra and I rolled out about 8. I know, nothing like getting started promptly at the crack of noon. Who says adventures need to start before dawn? Most of mine do, but that's beside the point. There is nothing in the official Guide to Having a Motorcycle Adventure that specifies a start time. On the other hand, the official Guide to Being a Grandpa specfically states that you spend time with the little one(s) while you can.

I tend to ride in 150 mile or so stretches. Somewhere around 175 miles Elvira's looking for fuel, anyway. The plan is tempered by the ease and convenience of certain stops. Like fuel, Starbucks, and a Subway sandwich shop in the same place. Woodland, Washington is only about 110 miles for me but qualifies as a good place to stop on several counts. Including the Starbucks and Subway thing. The bonus is the Safeway fuel station with 24 hour availability as long as you have a credit card.



Since I only needed fuel and a pit stop we moved next door to the McDonald's. I can't understand why this chain is spending so much on rennovations. Seems like their name would draw people no matter what. My only goal here today was to go in the side door and relieve some pressure without having to take my helmet off. A bit easier here than walking all the way to the back of Safeway drawing attention.

North of Centralia is the Scatter Creek rest area. It's not all that much farther North from Woodland. It is, however, the last "easy" stop until I get to the office.



Since I'd be pressing through for the rest of the journey I decided to grab a table and enjoy my lunch feast.



A peanut butter and jelly sandwich takes center stage. I made the sandwich and wrapped it myself. Can't you tell by the way the plastic wrap is so tidy? Fig Newtons, pretzels, and ice water round out the offerings. The sumptious meal is set off by table decorations specially picked for a motorcyclist on the road. As you can see, there is even a table cloth color matched to the helmet. No need for a napkin. If your hands get messy merely insert them into the gloves and nobody will see the food stuck to your fingers.

Unfortunately, due to extensive road construction projects and heavy traffic I was running a bit short on time. I snarfed the sandwich, took a swig of water, threw everything else back on the bike and rolled.

I really love the 70 mph speed limit in Washington. Elvira's speedo is a bit optimistic. Her needle is buried at 80, the GPS indicates 75, and the speed limit is 70. I get to feel like I'm running at a brisk pace while still being mostly legal. Good stuff.

We arrived at the Mothership with 10 minutes to spare.



I do want to share a visual snapshot from the trip up before we go on. It's about a guy on a small scooter.

Here's the setting. North end of the Olympia / Lacy area. Interstate 5 around exit 109 where the big Cabela's store is located. I'm rolling along in the hammer lane but there's a bit of traffic keeping us somewhat slowed. Up ahead in the middle lane I spot a small blue scooter. Little by little Elvira and I gain on the rider. As luck would have it, we end up side by side for a while. Vagaries of traffic and all. The situation allows me plenty of time to look the scooter and rider over.

I'm no scooter expert but I can see it's an Aprilia Scarabeo. Mostly because "Scarabeo" is written in large silver letters across the side panel just under the seat. Plus I know that Aprilia makes the Scarabeo so it's pretty easy to deduce it's an Aprilia Scarabeo. Other than that, I'm guessing. I figure it's about 200cc or so. Maybe 250. I know there's a 500 but it looks big and plush. This thing was small.

Riding the scooter is a thin guy about my height. Short, in other words. The scooter has a temporary permit taped where the license plate would go. The rider has a shiny new full face helmet, a black Joe Rocket jacket with matching pants, and office type shoes below light brown socks. I guess after paying for the rest the boots will have to wait.

Anyway, there we are riding side by side for a while. I look over at him trying to make eye contact. I wave. I wait. He gives me a quick sideways glance but immediately turns his head forward again. Both hands stay on the grips. Unlike me with my cool black Rayban sunglasses, this guy is seeing the world through just a clear visor. Which means I can see enough of his face to figure out what's going on.

He's hanging on for dear life. Freeway speeds. Heavy traffic. 15 or 16 inch wheels on a small scooter with sensitive handling. I wonder if he's a non-rider who's decided to try scootering as a fuel saving measure. I hope it all goes well for this guy. Above all I hope he gets to the point where he starts to have fun.

The vehicle on the left in the photo above is the Boss' fancy SUV. Here he is checking out Elvira and the famous Aerostich Roadcrafter.



I always enjoy celebrity status when I ride up. I'm the "bike" guy. Although the images tend to get a bit mixed up. The Boss calls me Easy Rider which I'm sure he means as a compliment. Although I'm not sure about the birthday card he gave me. A few old geezers on choppers inviting me to join the Older than Hell Angels. Oh, well. Small price to pay for being able to ride for work as much as I'm able.

By 3:30 our meeting was over and we headed to the Lucky 7 Sports Bar for libations and farewells.

You thought there'd be a picture of Elvira in front of the place, didn't you? It would be the one and only, I'll tell you that. Truth be told, I seriously thought about posting one. On the other hand, my last name isn't Weiner or Favre. Nor is my first name Arnold. That's a photo that I just wouldn't want out there no matter the explanation. My bike is kind of unique with the personalized plate and TEAM OREGON Motorcycle Safety program stickers on the back. With my standing in the motorcycle training community I know better than to post a photo that could damage my reputation. Unlike the first two guys I mentioned. Unlike the third guy, I know when to keep things in my pocket, so to speak.

Fortunately the Lucky 7 is in a strip mall so I parked far away. This is all you'll get to see.

I've seen bikes in front of bars and made a snide comment on what they're drinking.

"Sure, they're in there drinking iced tea, right?" Snide wink to follow.

In this case I really was drinking iced tea.

Here's the guest of honor.



The G11 does pretty good inside with a high ISO and slow shutter speed. As you know, the interior of these kinds of places are not brightly lit. The only things "lit" are usually the patrons and the restrooms. Restrooms, of course, need brighter lighting so the lit patrons don't miss.

Seven o'clock had come and gone by the time things broke up. I was amped from drinking iced tea on an empty stomach. Time to head home. For the record, I did have a Plan B which consisted of an overnight kit and a credit card. Just in case.

I have to say I was really disappointed with the HOV lanes this time. On the trip up you know which lane I chose. Unfortunately, it wasn't a rush hour. Still, though, I somehow had the idea that HOV is some sort of secret acronym for a mysterious term that loosely translates to "go fast". Not the case this time. People get into the commuter lane and drive at exactly the speed limt. Don't you hate being passed by someone in the regular freeway lane when you're in the go fast lane? What is it with these people? Self-righteousness? Entitlement?

HOV hours are something like three in the morning until seven at night. Since it was after 7 and the rush hour had pretty much subsided, this lane didn't do me much good. However, I used the lane anyway. After all, riding a motorcycle entitles me, right? I was cruising along enjoying the elbow room. Until I nearly got my ass run over by a guy in a tiny white Honda car. Holy crap! It was surely a go fast lane now but I just didn't have the guts to run 90 in a 60 zone.



What I did have a stomach for was food. It had been over nine hours since I'd shoved any groceries down my throat. By 9 PM it was time. The sun was going down and gave things a golden glow. This is South of Chahalis at exit 72. Just so you know, Mike, there's a Subway at this exit.

It was dark for the rest of the ride. Which adds its own interesting element to the ride. For instance, there's this stretch of freeway below the Kelso / Longview area where a train track runs between the two sides of the freeway. It was really weird to look ahead of me and see locomotive lights headed right at me!

Elvira and I rolled into Portland around 10:30. On the South side of the city we promptly encountered more road construction. Crews are repaving the southbound lanes through the Terwilliger Curves. Three lanes narrowed to two which, in turn, narrowed to one. Who would have thought so much traffic would be out at this time of night?

Stop and go traffic would have been a blessing. Instead, we were treated to crawling along at about three miles per hour. In preparation for paving the existing roadway had been heavily ground and grooved. After working out the throttle hand all day the clutch hand would get a chance to catch up. Tired muscles wanted to tense up. Eyes up. Relax. Let the bike move around on the rough pavement. Just what I needed at the end of a long day. The clutch was never at rest during my constant balancing act. A couple of times I actually stopped and kept the clutch in for a very brief time. Sorry to the person in back who had to wait a few seconds. This is a lot of work. This is where I expect to hear from the scooter riders about not having a clutch lever!

I found myself thinking that a rider without a lot of experience would have dropped the bike by now. Think about it. Riding at a pace that's too slow for the bike to balance itself while being fast enough you can't really stop and get stable. Add in being tired at the end of a long riding day. Fortunately, after a couple of miles, we started heading uphill. I was finally able to let the clutch out all the way and modulate the throttle for speed control. Easier said than done with fuel injection.

After a total of six and a half miles we cleared the construction. This weird thought crossed my mind. Who the heck has to set out all those cones? I will never complain about the cones we set out during a motorcycle class again!



We rolled home at a quarter to midnight after a round trip commute of a bit over 500 miles. The temperature was actually about ten degrees lower. By the time I got the G11 out of my jacket pocket engine heat had begun to seep upwards.

Katie was already in bed when I crawled in an hour later. She immediately rolled over and embraced me. I could feel her relax with relief knowing that I'm home safely. She worries about me but accepts my need to ride. God has indeed blessed me with her.

Thus ended Ride to Work Day. Coming up I'll share something I saw in Salem last night. It caused me some dismay and really shows why we need Andy's Ride to Work Day and other attention to motorcycle commuters. We also need more folks to use their bikes more and be visible. There's a lot of perceptions to correct out there.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

ART and Art ( sort of )

I taught an ART ( Advanced Rider Training ) course this week. This class was organized for a HOG chapter. Their Safety Officer also happens to be one of our instructors. She put the whole thing together and recruited students. A tip of the helmet to her. A double tip to the members who signed up. One or two had been through ART previously. Some had taken basic training when they got their endorsements. Riding time varied between a couple of years and three decades. What was really interesting is that, for some of the long time riders, this was their first formal training session.

Classroom was fun. What a great group of folks! They were obviously there to learn. Egos got put aside in the interest of skill development. As you can imagine all the bikes but one were Harleys. We had 17 Harleys and 1 Goldwing.



I had stashed a camera on the bike as I always do. For some reason I think I'm going to have time to make all these cool photos. What happens in reality is that we're so darn busy there's barely time for a snapshot. Like this one. Oh, well.

Dean W was also teaching. There were four of us on duty. While I taught classroom the other three were busy playing outside with a group of instructors participating in a cornering clinic. Since we have the track for the day we offer our instructors a chance to come brush up on skills.


Please don't tell Dean this, but I really value working with him. ( Don't want to make him have to buy a bigger helmet ) Many of us make it our goal to strive for excellence. I like to think I'm pretty sharp but Dean can sometimes out think me. I tend to make intuitive leaps while it seems to me that Dean is more methodical in his approach. It's a blessing to work with someone who can help me grow and also hold me accountable. Ok, you can tell Dean. If you value someone you should really let them know while you can.

Dean shared with me something one of our students had written about an ART class he attended. I thought it was worth sharing. Especially since some of you will know exactly what he's writing about, having been there yourself. Dean and I were both teaching this one.

Before I do, though, I wanted to make a quick mention of the other "Art" in the post title. Or temporary lack thereof. I'm playing with the backgrounds color and stuff. The goal is to find a combination that will help showcase the photos better. Since I don't seem to have time all at once to see it through, it has to be a work in progress. Bear with me. Suggestions are even welcomed.

Anyway, here is what the student wrote.

Team Oregon's Advanced Rider Training

Team Oregon's Advanced Rider Training (ART) is held on a go-kart track, with dedicated classroom sessions in the morning and riding drills in the afternoon. The ART is held at Pat’s Acres in Canby, Oregon (and a location in Medford, Southern Oregon) and is a 2nd to 3rd (touched 4th once, but only with a clear straight in front of me) gear challenging and technical little circuit. The ART’s syllabus is designed after mishap studies of Oregon motorcyclists; they found that crashes were not on the first, but the second or third corner. A training plan was formulated to link corners while giving a little bit of risk in the form of if you get the corner wrong, you get to play in the grass! With no speed limits, no left-turning cars, and a lot of really great technically challenging corners and professional instructors, this was the perfect place to learn how to link corners, and then polish those new found skills. The bike is not required to be track-prepped (tape off lights, pull fuses, remove mirrors, etc.), and the rider is required to wear armored jacket and boots.

The classroom sessions in the morning covered the basics of what motorcycle mishaps have in common: lack of cornering effectiveness. The instructors are straightforward, and relate how the material in the classroom can combat those trends. Delivery method is very professional and straightforward, with each subject clearly defined and how it impacted those in attendance. The material covered was applicable to on-street riding awareness, and the classic quote before breaking for lunch set the tone for the remainder of the day, “We want to drive the road; not the let the road, drive us.”

The track allowed different circuits for each drill, this way one could not get too comfortable with a layout, and have to really work the skills being taught to stay off the grass! The drills allowed for emergency skill polishing in a real environment, with real grass and trees, and the resulting risks associated with a real environment. Ever try maximum braking on a cambered curve staring at a three-foot diameter Douglas Fir tree? Hopefully you never will, but doing it during the ART sure makes the skill set that much more important. Throughout the day, the instructors offered ride-along’s where they’d point out when and where to look, when and where to be on and off the brakes, all while you’re sitting on the pillion!

The culminating exercise was an instructor follow-behind. An instructor would ride behind and critique you for two laps. This gives me the ultimate respect for the instructors, I’ve done this before and it is harder then you’d think, but the TO instructors handled this extreme multi-tasking job with professionalism and knowledge.

I found the ART to be everything it advertised itself to be, and more, the more being the environment of a closed-course, street-based curriculum.


You can find the website this came from here.

It's pretty cool to be involved in this kind of training. Right now, though, the sun is out and I have work to do. Get ready, Elvira, 'cause we're headed out!

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Ready for Duty



I was wandering about in downtown Portland on a grey and hazy morning recently. It was early even for the Big City. My immediate goal was warm coffee after a chilly ride up. Tucking the G11 into the big pocket on the front of the 'Stich has become a habit. I saw these bikes lined up down the street and was compelled to make a detour. A large number of motor officers from this department regularly attend our training sessions. I've probably chased one of these very bikes on a track.

One of the things I've finally learned to do with photography is to find different angles. In this case I tried several of them. This building is also the Multnomah County Courthouse. A couple of times I was under the watchful eyes of a deputy. Offering a wave and holding the camera up seemed to put them at ease. Although one looked a bit unsure when I wandered into the traffic lane to get this shot.

If you look closely or blow the picture up you'll see another bike at the end of the row of cars. Sort of a punction mark at the end of the sentence.

I struggled with the shot as a color photo. Suddenly it hit me that this would be a great black and white picture. Rather than just desaturate it I spent some time playing with levels and curves. I wanted to bring out the high contrast look fitting for urban photography. I think the angle of the bikes along with the various triangles really draws the eyes down the line.

It seems fitting this way, too. The bikes are beautiful, graceful machines. That facet seems to be symbolized by the light colors. These same bikes are called upon to do duty in not so beautiful tasks. The darker colors point to this side of things.

This is what I was trying to call attention to in the photo. Isn't it interesting how something we just happen upon can turn into something deeper?

Miles and smiles,

Dan

A Street Food and Photo Adventure.

By the mostly thundering silence from the last post it seems we're all a bit worn out with reading about the technical side of riding. I concede that reading about building skills can seem like work. Guess it's time to take a break and think about stuff that's more fun. Things like street life, food, and photography. Sometimes you just need to park the bike and wander around. I'm finding that candid people shots and street photography are the real draws for me. I just need to get faster with recognizing good composition and dialing in the camera.

In pursuit of those goals I've been taking some online photography classes. Somewhere in the process I became a member of the International Travel Writers and Photographer's Alliance. Those good folks sent me an official ID badge to wear proudly around my neck. It's even more impressive with half of it written in a foreign language. French, I presume. Of course, not speaking French, I don't know what it says. For all I know it's telling everyone that the wearer of the badge is a dufous. I'm not really sure what all this membership means or how I should take it. To quote Groucho Marx, "I wouldn't belong to a club that would have me as a member!"

A couple of things happened in near coincidence to each other that inspired this post. Firstly, being a person who really likes to eat these days, I was watching the Cooking Channel. There's a program called "Eat Street" ( or something like that, I think ) that spotlights food carts all over the country. This particular show featured a food cart from Portland. Which just happens to be about an hour and half north of me. Secondly, I just happened to have a service call scheduled the next morning at the U.S. Bank Tower, a 39 story building three blocks from this food cart.

The beginning of a rather obvious plan took shape.





Wearing my ID badge over my pride swelled chest ( ok, not really, but it makes good story fodder, doesn't it?) I set out on my mission. I'd check this place out, eat one of their outrageous burgers, take some photos, and write about it. That's what travel writers do, isn't it?

The name of this place is the Brunch Box. It's one of several food carts living in this particular block. A young couple living slightly outside the mainstream of life run the place. The big draw is their imaginative burgers. I imagine the health insurance industry hates them. The Final Resting Place people probably love them. Oh, the food won't kill you on the spot. It's actually quite good. At least the beastly burger I ate was. If a person is a regular customer, though, better eat fast. One could drop dead at any time from clogged arteries.

Interestingly enough, the place has its own website. You can see it and the menu here.



The menu includes such monstrosities as the Youcanhascheeseburger. Or the Redonkadonk burger. The two have slightly different ingredients. For example, the Redonkadonk is an Oh My God Burger with a twist while the Youcanhascheeseburger is more like a traditional cheeseburger with a twist. What they both have in common, though, is the "twist:. The "buns" are actually made of two Texas grilled cheese sandwiches. That's right. Picture two grilled cheese sandwiches acting as bookends to other cholesterol laden ingredients. I'll tell you more about the Oh My God burger in a bit.

According to the owners the reason they picked the name "Redonkadonk" for the one burger is that it eating very many will give a person a big bedonkadonk. This term came from a song on the country charts. I believe it refers to the back side of a person. Particularly that section between the top of the thighs and the back of the belly button. In plain english, eating very many of these burgers will cause a person to grow a Giant Ass.

I bravely took my place in line and ordered an OMG burger from this guy. He's not the owner, just his loyal minion. This guy was pretty good natured for somebody serving death disguised as greasy delights. I explained why I was there and asked if I could take some photos of him. That's the second part of being a travel writer, isn't it? First you travel. Then you have to do something to write about and then take pictures to prove you did it.



I was prepared to wait for a while but the sandwich was served up quite quickly. Perhaps the burger was left by a previous customer who chickened out at the last minute. The burger felt hot in my hand which was good enough for me. I clutched my prize and went to find a place to eat it.


There's this ornamental fountain a couple of blocks away from the food carts. I had previously cased out the place and had a reasonable assurance that the fountain didn't actually spout water. Had that happened I can assure you that it would really have brought the enthusiasm level down.



Secure on a dry concrete step I savored my impending feast. The burger looks pretty innocent just sitting there in its yellow wrapper. With saliva flowing in culinary anticipation I began to unwrap my treat.






There are two regular hamburger buns marking the boundaries for the greasy goodness. The layers of flavor reveal themselves as I run my eyes over this creation. A gentle start is made with lettuce topped by a fresh slice of tomato. A hamburger patty acts as a stage for the other players to cavort upon. A layer of melted American cheese serves as a secure resting place for two pieces of crispy bacon. To bring a layer of softness as a perfect counterpoint to the boldness of the bacon some ham is added. Just to make sure the two differing porcine personalities get along some pieces of fried spam cover the bacon and ham. The spam brings its own character to the mix along as working as a catalyst. As a final touch in rounding out all the flavors a fried egg sits on top like a crispy crown. It actually makes sense. When I think of ham and bacon there is always a fried egg hovering around the edges.

I took a bite and pronounced it good. With a sense of quiet rapture I did utter the phrase "Oh my God" to myself. A bite and a photo wasn't enough. I felt this overwhelming urge to go to the next level. A simple photo was not enough. This creation called for some up-close and revealing food porn. Which proved to be easier said than done.



Grease is slippery as you may have noticed in your travels. The lense on my camera was a 70-200mm. Not an easy situation to work with. First I had to put the burger down. Then I cleaned the grease off my right hand with a napkin and some water from my bottle. Picking up a huge burger like this with one hand and holding it at arm's length without having the burger fall apart is a struggle, to put it mildly. While that is going on the right hand needs to hold the camera close to my chest after approximating a field of view. The final result is neither a technical or artistic masterpiece. I assure you, dear reader, that I did put my very best heartfelt effort into the venture.

The burger went down very well. I did, however, found myself with the urge to promise not to eat for the next two days. I sat in stuporous contentment for a solid twenty minutes afterwards. Culinary afterglow minus the cigarette.

Finally bestirring myself, I headed back towards the bike. Along the way I made some photos of the side dishes to street food.

One thing I have always enjoyed about Portland is the diversity among people. Like this couple.



This young woman had such colorful pink hair. I waited until she walked into a patch of sunshine then snapped the photo. I wanted to do justice to the brilliance of her hair coloring efforts.



There are times when a woman just can't decide which color she prefers. Pick some favorites and enjoy them all.



I met this young woman as she came out of a building. The contrast between the sexy way she was dressed and the utility of pulling this awkward hand truck intrigued me. I watched as the load tipped over on its side twice. By the second time I had caught up with her. Being every bit the gentleman I righted the load. Then I showed her how making sure the cargo was more balanced would really help her cause. They are hard to see in the photos but there are a couple of small elastic bands holding the load onto the cart. The young lady was impressed by my intelligence and manliness. At least I think so judging by the way she kept staring at my extended zoom lense. Being thus impressed she allowed me to adjust her bungies.

You can see that she still doesn't quite trust it all to work as she steps off the curb.



Reassured that my fix can be trusted she confidently heads across the street. I swear I only took this photo as a way to test my mastery of shutter speeds.



It's amazing to see how many people come out to obtain lunch from the food carts. There's a whole block of carts, each with their own cuisine. There's an equal abundance of willing customers.



There's more than one way to make an income from a row of food carts. This enterprising guy was offering music to eat by. A generous tip would not be discouraged, mind you. The woman looked like she was either going to make a personal request or show him how to finger a certain chord.



Something I find really interesting is that people always seem to notice the camera. The D7000 with the larger lense looks like a professional camera. I tried to keep some distance while using the zoom lense for my shots. For more personal photos I like to get close. For street scenes the zoom works well. Somebody's always staring at me, though. Like this guy.



Check out the guy with glasses to the left of the flag.



Also, this guy in the blue shirt. I don't know if it's simple curiosity, mistrust, or the hope of getting "discovered".



Not to be forgotten are two places around the corner. Got a hankering for Creole or Cajun? Check out the Swamp Shack. That's my idea of a food cart. Honest, I'm not lazy. The lack of exterior upkeep is simply a purposeful part of my decor! I didn't have the polarizer filter with me so I apologize for the glaring spot of sunshine. I'm actually just dang thankful there was some sun in the first place so I didn't want to do anything to insult it and make it go away.

Next to the Swamp Shack is a pizza place. Must be a hard choice. Hmmm, do I eat pizza or get some boiled crawdads? Chew through cheezy crust or pinch the tail and suck the head?

This is a Czech place, I think. Either way, I'm a firm believer in the "If you can't pronounce it you shouldn't be eating it" theory.



By the way, I'm now a professional photographer. I made a bit over thirty dollars for some downloads of photos I had uploaded to a stock agency. I expect the respect level from you all to go up accordingly. Notice how I used the word "up".

Hope you enjoyed my first travelogue and food review as an official member of the International Travel Writers and Photographer's Alliance!

Time to go ride some more. Maybe I should push the bike to burn off all these calories.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Step 4 Muscle Memory

This is the step we're aiming for when learning something involving physical movements. Which, coincidentally, we're required to do a lot of when riding a motorcycle. We want these physical actions to take a background role as far as the amount of concentration required to perform them. This is true of any of the physical skills involved. What we're really concentrating on, though, are the skills specific to accident avoidance. These include, but are not limited to, braking and swerving. If we want to be a bit more technical about the matter, we could include proper cornering technique and head turns.

In an interesting contradiction you could call this level of performance unconscious competence. We do the right thing without having to think about it on a conscious level. The movements required become automatic reflexes. Another way to look at it is to say they happen on autopilot. We should just automatically do the right thing. I'm sure you get the gist of what I'm trying to put across by now.

I remember Gramps teasing me at the supper table. He'd watch me eat for a while and then give me a big grin. Gramp would remark on one of my autopilot reflexes.

"You know, it's so interesting watching you. Whenever your elbow bends your mouth flies open!"

What he didn't specifically say was that the reason this happened was because I was getting ready to shove another forkful of food that I'd just liberated from my plate into my mouth.

An example from the world of motorcycling is in properly using head turns. Whenever we're preparing to change the direction of our motorcycle our unconscious reaction should be to automatically point our nose at the new target. Whenever we're faced with the need to apply maximum braking our autopilot response should be to apply both brakes smoothly with the proper modulation of front and rear brake. Believe me, this isn't the normal reaction. We have to work to get there.



So how does this happen? We talk about building the mind-muscle connection. We give it the fancy name of Muscle Memory. How many times have we heard that term? What does it really mean to develop muscle memory? How does it happen? What does it do for us?

Muscles themselves have no actual memory. The concepts of "brain" and "brawn" are always used to convey separate images. We talk about people blessed with one or the other. If we're really lucky we're blessed with both. Once upon a time I was one of those lucky ones. These days I look like a blocky desktop computer. Not much to look at but the processor and memory still work. Either way, you never hear somebody being referred to as having "brainy brawn". Which is a long ways to come back to saying that our muscles themselves have no actual memory.

So what's involved in this muscle memory thing? Think of it as taking a series of still life photographs and turning them into a movie. Individual actions are blended into one smooth movement. The actions are actually stored in our brains. Specifically in the cerebellum. I never even knew I had one of those things in my head before! I may have to explore getting a bigger helmet.

Here's an example from our basic classes. It's the process for upshifting. First we have the students sit on a non-running motorcycle. We break the process down into individual steps. We first practice each step by itself. As we move through the practice we have the students start blending the steps into one smooth series of motions called "upshift".

Here's how it goes. Roll off the throttle. Squeeze the clutch lever. Lift up on the shift lever. Ease out the clutch lever. Roll on the throttle.

Of course, that takes forever. We need to speed it up a little. So now we condense the process into buzz words. Roll. Squeeze. Lift. Ease. Roll. A bit faster but still not the automatic smooth response we're after.

Thus the time spent on the exercise where students actually practice upshifting while riding. For a while it can take nearly the whole length of the range to get into second gear. Pretty soon we start to see the individual steps merge into one smooth and fluid process. That's muscle memory being formed in the cerebellum. It's forming the individual memory of each step into a movie. Each memory is still stored as its own photo but the cerebellum creates the pathways that link the steps into one process.

Thus we get a couple of valuable clues on how to properly form these movies. Firstly, each individual step needs to be firmly and correctly imprinted into its storage space. Secondly, the making of the movie requires a lot of repetitions. The more we correctly repeat the drill the stronger the pathways linking the individual steps become. The goal is to create a near automatic playback of the stored memory of the required movements.

I've written this before but it's really appropriate for this discussion.

Amateurs practice until they get it right. Professionals practice until they can't get it wrong.

Did you get the idea that a LOT of practice is required? There's another saying that practice makes perfect. What should really be expressed is that PERFECT practice makes perfect. This is another value of professional training. Most training sessions don't allow enough time to perfect each skill. What the sessions do accomplish, however, is to show the student what each skill SHOULD look like. This provides the mental picture of the finished product. It's our target, if you will.

I think one of the reasons riders hold back from more intense skill practice is that it can be slightly intimidating. Thinking of the whole process involved in maximum braking, for example, can be overwhelming. When there's a number of different movements involved it can also be hard to self evaluate where the process is good and where it can use some help.



Knowing that the longest journey begins with the first step ( don't know why I'm spouting sayings today but there it is ) why not just take a step? We also now know that our brains still store the individual steps and links these together. Our brain doesn't store "upshift". It stores ROLL-SQUEEZE-LIFT-EASE-ROLL. Why not take advantage of that process and separate our practice into individual steps?

Here's how it can work. Pick a day that we're riding. To work, for work, for recreation, whatever. For that day focus on smooth braking. Just that step. It's simple and effective. It's easy to get feedback on how our brake application is because that's all we're working on. Smooth or not? Simple. Work on cementing the single photo of smooth braking. One correct memory stored.

Pick another ride and concentrate on putting your knees against the gas tank ( or fake plastic thingy up there ). Take the next ride and concentrate on the fine feel possible on the rear brake lever by using the smaller muscles of the lower leg and foot. The next ride can be dedicated to keeping our eyes up and looking well ahead while braking. After that concentrate on a progressive squeeze of the front brake lever.



This may all sound over simplified but it's exactly what our brains need. Remember that the overall movement is a movie made up of individual photos. The key is to make sure that each photo is correct for the movie theme. Once that's accomplished we then work on the whole. Ultimately it's going to require practicing the whole sequence together many times to establish the pathways. You'll find it much more effective and less intimidating having practiced each step individually.

Our goal is actually two-fold. Yes, we want the right movements to automatically be there, as it were, when needed. That's a very valuable component, to be sure. There's an even more compelling reason to get to this point. It's something we've probably thought about but never really delved into. That's the subject for an upcoming post.

Here's a hint: Action is always better than reaction.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Friday the 13th Special

I'm working to finish the last post in the series of gaining new skills. This will be the very important Step 4. In the meantime I came across this. I had posted it with permission in 2006. Some of you have seen this before but I'm sure you'll laugh again. If you haven't seen it, prepare to enjoy. For some reason it just seems fitting for Friday the 13th! This, by the way, is not of my originality.

Written by Daniel Meyer, author of a book called "Life is a Road, the Soul is a Motorcycle".

DISCLAIMER: If you're drinking something, put it down for the duration.

You've been warned. All punctuation errors, format, etc. are as I found 'em.



-------------------------------------------------



I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighbourhood could be so incredibly dangerous!

Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more

decisions per second, and more sheer data processing

than nearly any other common activity or sport. The

reactions and accurate decision making abilities

needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter

pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor

situational awareness are pretty much the same for

both groups too.


Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting

to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight

training, my instructors called this being "behind the

power curve". It is a mark of experience that when

this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the

situation, and more importantly, does something about

it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set

things right again as it gives the brain a chance to

catch up.


Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential

when riding a motorcycle, at least if you want to

remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to

keep up with the machine.


I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and

as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very

heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally,

this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions

daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage

that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This

is not normally a big deal either, as it happens

around here often, but usually I can accurately

predict which drivers are not paying attention and

avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed

seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took

evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I

was not even aware was there!


Two bad decisions and insufficient situational

awareness, all within seconds. I was behind the power

curve. Time to get off the freeway.

I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew

pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighbourhoods as a new route

home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face

helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface

streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that "edge" so frequently

required when riding.


Little did I suspect.


As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile

shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop

immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and

must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really

was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it-it was that

close.


I hate to run over animals.and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel

should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.


Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!


Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his

feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the

oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little

beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible

second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the

scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!"

as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely

in the chest.


Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I

would have sworn he brought twenty of his little

buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and

tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As

I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding

gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for

concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome

cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather

gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street.and in the fight of his

life with a squirrel. And losing.


I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to

snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil

rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into

the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended

right there. It really should have. The squirrel could

have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and

gone on about his business, and I could have headed

home. No one would have been the wiser.


But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even

an ordinary pissed-off squirrel.

This was an evil attack squirrel of death!


Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his

little hands, and with the force of the throw swung

around and with a resounding thump and an amazing

impact he landed square on my back and resumed his

rather anti-social and extremely distracting

activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!

The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.


His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him.


I was startled to say the least. The combination of

the force of the throw, only having one hand (the

throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy

twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle

of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made

for, and she is very, very good at it.


The engine roared as the front wheel left the

pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie

screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in, well, I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome

cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn

t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe

70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet

residential street.on one wheel and with a demonic

squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are

both screaming bloody murder.


With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my

other hand back on the handlebars and try to get

control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant

squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want

to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car.

Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the

throttle, my brain was just simply overloaded. I did

manage to mash the back brake, but it had little

affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.



About this time the squirrel decided that I was not

paying sufficient attention to this very serious

battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of

death), and he came around my neck and got IN my

full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed

partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite

sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It

seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.



The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned

about shifting at the moment) and her front end

started to drop.



Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome

cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt,

and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably

80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy

squirrel's tail sticking out his mostly closed

full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably

getting a little hoarse.



Finally I got the upper hand. I managed to grab his

tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him

to the left as hard as I could. This time it

worked, sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.


Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome

cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in

the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at

probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody

murder roars by and with all his strength throws a

live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.


I heard screams. They weren't mine...


I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional

control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I

then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a

cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.



I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove

back). I really would have. Really. But for two

things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about

me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they

had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol

car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the

police cruiser.


So the cops were not interested in me. They often

insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway.


That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could

see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the

patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam

and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I

think he was shooting me the finger.

That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a

patrol car.



I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made

an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.


As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced

with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers,

or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I'll

take my chances with the freeway. Every time.

And I'll buy myself a new pair of gloves. ___________________________




Miles and smiles,

Dan

It's Great to Know for Sure!

I want to make one more comment on Step 3 of gaining new skills before I finish off with the oh-so critical importance of Step 4.

Since it's been so long between posts let's take just a moment to re-establish continuity.

I've been posting about the four steps I've discovered happen when a person is learning a new skill. In this series these are skills related to riding a motorcycle successfully. I believe the same steps happen in other contexts but this is a blog about motorcycle riding. So we go with our strengths and interests.

Briefly, the first step is what I call finding out what we didn't know. Something new catches our eye and we want to try it. At this point we don't know what we don't know. Training and self discovery tell us what's lacking.

Step 2 is when we discover where we are in gaining these new skills. Mostly it consists of realizing that we really need some more work and practice!

Step 3 ( which is where we've gotten to in this blog ) is when we realize that we're actually starting to see improvement in our application of these new skills. It's perfectly natural and wonderul to do a little celebrating over our newfound competence. Which is what the last post was about.

Besides the joy of accomplishment there's another aspect to reaching Step 3 that I feel we should think about for a bit. It's a precursor to what happens in Step 4.

Ok. Enough Step 2, Step 3, Step 4, and big words. Here's the deal, plain and simple.

Wouldn't you like to know for sure that you can do something rather than just thinking you can?

Let me bring it home and lay it on the doorstep, so to speak. I'll use Katie and I as an example.

Katie is often on the back of my bike. She loves to ride. Sometimes I'll be sitting around the house on a Saturday. On those rare weekends when I'm not teaching, that is. I may have ridden a thousand miles during the week. I wouldn't feel deprived by not riding on a Saturday. Katie will suggest a ride. She's more tied down during the week and so weekends are her free time. Katie's a great passenger and I love having her with me and experiencing riding adventures together.

My lovely bride has an endorsement of her own. She took a class, passed the skills test, and got endorsed. We bought a bike for her. The vast majority of the time, though, Katie wants to be my passenger. Like I say, she's a great passenger and I love having her close. Katie, being an endorsed rider, is well aware of the risks. As am I. She's a great passenger because she understands what's happening as we ride. One time we were out on some country roads and riding Sophie. On a particular corner one day I gently, and on purpose, touched my right foot peg onto the pavement and held it there during the entire time the bike was leaned. Instead of feeling somebody frantically beating on my back, I heard:

"Man, that was soooo smooth!"

It's time to bring this thing home. Katie is excited about riding with me. Despite having a rider's awareness of the risk. Why? One, because it's extremely enjoyable. Secondly, she can relax and enjoy because she trusts my judgement and riding skills.

Here's my big question to myself: Am I worthy of that trust? Not just because I think I might be if the time came. That's conjecture. Conjecture may or may not save our bacon.

At the risk of sounding overly romantic, this woman is my best buddy. She's given me the precious gift of her love, friendship, and loyalty. Her being in my life has made it so much more awesome than it would have been otherwise. This is a woman whom I fiercely love and really love spending time with. Do you start to see the importance this girl has in my life?

I don't take this at all lightly. I don't want to just think I could do the right thing competently if I had to while we were riding. Conjecture isn't nearly good enough compared to the precious passenger blessing my bike seat. I want to know for sure. I know that time and unseen occurrence befall all of us. There are no magic bullets or protective force fields. On the other hand, I want to know that I have whatever skills may be required to stack the odds in our favor as much as humanly possible. If there is a failure somewhere I don't want it to be mine.

And I do know. I have actually done these maneuvers under real world conditions. I don't have to wonder if I can successfully swerve at highway speeds. Been there, done that. It takes a very firm press on the handgrip to make a bike move off line at speed. I know how much because I've done it at over 70 miles per hour. Two up, by the way. I don't have to wonder if doing a maximum braking stop at 35 miles per hour will mean I can still do it successfully at 65 or 70 mph. Hey, things happen at this speed. I've done it repeatedly at those speeds and higher. ( more on that part in just a bit )

Having ACTUALLY DONE IT, repeatedly and successfully, is a source of great comfort and satisfaction. Sure, I scared myself in the process. Yes, it was hard. But this is Katie I'm talking about. You get the picture.

How about you? Would you rather wonder or really know? I don't really mean it to sound like a challenge but then again I do. Sometimes it takes a challenge to get us out of our comfort zones. That's a nice place to be but it stifles growth.



I've been blessed with readers who have been regular here for years. Thank you so much for your support. Those who've been around awhile may recognize the photo above. It's a very long skid mark laid down by a front tire during a maximum braking stop at 100 miles per hour. Yes, this was me. Some of you may find this a little over the top. I wouldn't blame you. I don't have much to offer as an excuse save for the power of the moment.

The only thing I can say is that I now know I can do it. I will also add that I now know I really don't ever want to have to do it again. If you care to read about this adventure you can find the post here.

Stay tuned for Step 4. It's way more critical than we might realize.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Impossible? Check this out!

"It's impossible to do that on our kind of bikes!" he proclaimed from on high to his wife. His arms were folded across his chest. He'd drawn up to his full height. Taller than me. Of course, almost everybody is. There was no hint of a question in his words. The delivery was that of a pronouncement from Zeus thundered down from Mt. Olympus. I could almost smell the sizzle of hot electricity from the lightning bolts.

"That" was the infamous offset cone weave dreaded by most motorcyclists hoping to pass a skills test. "Our kind of bikes" was a pair of Yamaha YZF R1 sport bikes. Not only did his wife hear his proclamation, but it was made in front of Katie, Clinton, and I. And I was about to do a little miracle working to make the impossible possible. Right in front of his very eyes. Before the session was done not only me, but his wife would be doing the impossible. Actually, I never thought it was impossible. The wife, however, wasn't sure. By the time the next couple of hours passed she was going to seriously rock Mt. Olympus.

In the last post I wrote about reaching the third step in gaining proficiency. That wonderful moment when we realize that we have conquered. You know the feeling. Working on our cornering skills. One day we carve a corner with a perfect "Whoosh!" No more slice and dice. Now we're carving. A smooth and efficient quick stop. Discovering that the bike really does go where we look. Not only that, but we're using the head turns deliberately, amazed by the amount of directional control we now have.

In one way I'm sorry because the last post got more technical than I meant it to. In another, it was interesting that the part about squeezing our knees against the tank while braking got so much attention. So I'm glad that part was there. The thing that got overlooked in the post was just how stinkin' much fun it is to gain new skills. Then there's the incredibly good feeling and amazement that comes from being able to say,

"Did you see that? That was me. Yep, I OWN that now!!"

To me this story perfectly illustrates the fun and satisfaction of conquering. First, just a tiny bit of setting the stage.

I'll call the wife Jen for this story. Our paths have since diverged as often happens in life. At the time, though, I counted Jen as a friend and fellow instructor. I still count her as a friend. Jen's no longer teaching and I don't see her much these days. A career move and a development with her husband took away most of her time. Jen was fairly new to riding and an even newer instructor. A number of folks learn to ride a motorcycle in a class. They're then so enthused about the whole thing that they want to become instructors themselves so they can pass it along. Jen was such a one.

I'd had a hand in mentoring Jen both as a riding student and as a new instructor. I have such a soft spot for people who have the desire and the potential but simply lack confidence. I knew Jen could do this but she didn't. As a result, she was ready to quit after trying her hand at a few classes. Long story short, I invited her to come shadow me in a class. She'd stand beside me for a while then step in and coach. The beauty was that it wasn't "her" class so there was less pressure. She was simply working with me. After doing this for a couple of classes Jen realized that she really could do this. It was so cool to see her flame grow stronger and her smile wider. From there it was history, as they say.

Jen acted like I was some sort of miracle worker. I assured her that it wasn't me. She had the fire all on her own. I simply sheltered the flame a bit until it got stronger and burned brighter. In the process Jen's trust in me was further reinforced. Which is what makes the rest of the story so cool. She'd be doing some miracle working of her own with a little help from a friend.

One Saturday evening I was relaxing at home when the phone rang.

"Hi, it's Jen. I taught my first IRT today!"

"Good for you!", I replied.

For the record, the IRT ( Intermediate Rider Training ) is the second half of the Basic Course. It's a one day class designed for those who know the mechanics of riding but are unendorsed. The students get some valuable training and, if they pass our skills test, get the waiver from taking the riding test when they apply for their endorsement.

I was glad that Jen had reached out to teach at a slightly more advanced level. Not all went smoothly, however. Instructors are highly encouraged to ride their own bikes for the riding demonstrations. Credibility, and all. One of those demonstrations was the offset cone weave.

(They look so harmless and innocent in that little pile, don't they?)

"I blew the cone weave big time", Jen said. " I didn't drop the bike but it was REALLY ugly. Can you help me?"

Always willing to help a damsel in distress ( thank you Gramps for teaching me the chivalry displayed by knights and cowboys ) I immediately accepted. We made arrangements to meet the following weekend at the local college where our range is located. We'd practice while the range was coned off from that week's class but after the students and other instructors had all gone home.

Jen's husband also showed up. Mostly to tell us how it couldn't be done. Katie and Clinton were out and about and decided to stop by, as well.

A quick word about Jen's husband. He's the typical Ricky Racer. Not a lot of skill. His need to show off and be admired by equally unskilled peers outweighs all else. Thus the liter sized full-on sport bikes. Jen had followed her husband's lead in bike choice. I guess if someone were to offer to buy me an R1 I wouldn't turn it down. In the years since a degenerative muscle disease has kept the guy from killing himself on the road. Sort of the blessing in the curse, if you will. That would be in the future. For this session he'd be in full voice that a rider couldn't possibly do the cone weave on the R1.

At that time we were using cone weaves of two different sizes. On one side of the range was the standard weave we're all familiar with. Cones set fifteen feet apart with each side being set a foot and a half off from center line. A rider moves fifteen feet ahead while moving three or so feet side to side. On the other side of the range was a larger offset weave. Cones were twenty feet apart and three feet off center. Which meant moving side to side six feet instead of three. Confused? Doesn't matter. There's no written test at the end. Or riding test, for that matter.

I'd ridden a Honda VFR to the range. It was the closest to a sport bike I had at the time, being in between CBR's. Seems there's always been a VFR hanging around our family somewhere. As I write this there's one parked in Clinton's garage. I rode a couple of laps, talking it through to Jen as I did so. For the record, Ricky Racer never volunteered to even try the weave.

Since this was about helping Jen succeed and students learn by doing, I parked the bike and concentrated on coaching her. Ricky said the bikes had too little handlebar movement and too much power for this kind of thing. He thought he was vindicated when Jen struggled for lap after lap. She was fighting the bike. As well as being a little scared. Nothing like thinking the front wheel is going to tuck under any time to raise the stress level. When she got stressed she'd look down at the cones and the front of the bike. Yes, the bike goes where you look.

( Put them out in that dreaded pattern and they turn in molten cones of terror and stress! )

It was time for a break to let the frustration and a bit of fear dissipate. I asked Jen to trust me when I told her that if she used the clutch correctly she could control the lean of the bike. Keep it in the friction zone. Hold the throttle steady. It's too abrupt for good control Squeeze the clutch just a little to start the bike leaning, then ease it out just a little to pick the bike back up. No matter how worried you are about what's happening at the front of the bike keep your eyes up and looking well ahead. If you look up the bike will follow. Trust me, follow my coaching, and the bike won't fall down. Start your inputs a bit sooner. As soon as you begin to round a cone on the small weave set up for the next one. On the large weave think two cones ahead. It will seem strange but will work.

"Trust me" I repeated. I tried to be as calm and soothing as possible with my voice.

Jen looked me in the eyes for a long time. I could see her mulling my words over in her mind. I tried to beam some of my confidence and strength across the gap between us. I could see Jen shudder slightly as if shrugging off a weighted cloak.

"All right", she sighed. " I'll trust you."

For several laps I jogged alongside the R1, coaching her with a running commentary. Did you get the pun? Coaching while literally running. Oh, never mind. Think about it for a while and come back later.



Within three or four laps Jen got it. She rode several more consecutive successful laps. However, she was still having trouble being totally smooth. There's a lot of torque in first gear. Especially with a thousand cc's and over a hundred ponies waiting to get loose.

I now told Jen to try the cone weave in second gear. Ricky had been pretty quiet up until now. I guess I would have, too. Seeing my wife, a new rider, doing what I had just declared impossible would have a tendency to deflate my balloons a little. Now, however, he thought he had me for sure.

"There's no way it will work in second gear! You can't even shift on the roads until you hit 60. How can you do it in a parking lot? The motor is going to lug like crazy."

I know it's evil but I was really looking forward to this next part.

By now Jen had tuned him out. Her trust in me had been hugely rewarded. Jen was actually doing the impossible. At least according to Ricky.

Jen popped the tranny up into second. After a few minutes I could see the amazement on her face. Not amazement that I was right. The source of wonder was how her inputs on the bike immediately smoothed out. No lugging, either. I'd coached Jen to hold just a little more throttle. She wanted a few more revs. Not a lot, just enough to make sure the bike had power when she let the clutch out. Using the friction zone correctly was a bit more critical but that she still had plenty of control over the bike's speed.

Not only was Jen totally amazed, but now she felt the need to share that amazement with somebody. Making a pass on the short side of the range near her husband Jen blurted out to him,

"It works even better in second, Rick!"

I'm sure I heard a bit of gloating in her voice by this time. Naughty girl!

Ego would bite Rick one more time. This time it would come from me. I'm sorry, but there are some things people just beg for and I'm all about customer service.

It was a warm summer afternoon. My riding jacket was my trusty old 'Stich. Which was admittedly warm at slow speeds, even with the large side vents open. Rick had purchased a new mesh riding jacket. He urged me to take his bike and try his jacket. It was almost like he was trying to show me pity with the grandiose act of lending me his jacket and bike. Hey, as Bolty says the proper answer when someone offers to let you ride their bike is to just say yes.

Rick's bike and I went out to Hwy 34 and back. Probably six miles or so. I'd never ridden his bike before. Evil lurks deep in my brain. When I got back to the range I veered off and rode the R1 through the cone weave twice. Even though the key had been in the bike when I started, I parked in front of Rick, handed back the key in a symbolic gesture, and said,

"Wow! Thanks for letting me ride such a great bike. It's balanced so well that it was effortless to lean it side to side in the cone weave."

My happy smile was met with a glare. What could he say? In front of his very eyes several buckets of cold water had been poured on the fire of his lightning bolt declarations.

Jen and Rick mounted up and fired off their matching bikes. Jen gave me a happy wave. Nothing from Rick except for a few harsh throttle blips. Just to show us he was still a stud despite it all, I guess. Pretty much a useless gesture by now, though.

One can only imagine their conversation at home. Jen was pretty darn proud of herself. As well she should be. You might even say she was a miracle worker. After all, she'd just pulled off what her much more "experienced" husband had declared was impossible!!

Gaining a new skill doesn't get much better than that, does it?

MIles and smiles,

Dan