The Next Day Syndrome

I kept thinking about the original BMW R-32 horizontal twin today. In its era all motorcycles regardless of manufacture looked and rode very similar. They were forms of basic transportation built to get you from point A to point B. The idea that one day there would be a whole host of different motorcycle genres from which to choose from probably would seem unfathomable to it’s builders. Yet today so many different styles of motorcycles exist. On one side stand the pure cruisers and on the other the pure sportbikes. In between you’ll find standards, multipurpose, tourers, and sport-tourers just to name a few. Each of these styles offers certain advantages and disadvantages. Today I was reminded about those differences.

After yesterday’s 200+ mile mammoth ride I found myself squarely feeling the effects of the next day syndrome. I woke up hurting. My back was tight. My knees were sore. My legs ached. Had you asked I could have honestly told you that I felt like I ran a marathon yesterday. Around 7 AM I was looking for any excuse not to ride. Yet it was simply to glorious of a day not to try to ride. So MotorMilt and I headed out for a breakfast jaunt even though we weren’t 100% sold on the idea.

Heading up the coast I couldn’t help but think about the choices in bike styles that we as riders make. My pain was most certainly a derivative of the style of bike I ride. It’s really that simple. Back when I rode a BMW R1100S, a 200 mile day was nothing. Actually on long rides up the coast if MotorMilt and I didn’t get further than that I felt cheated. Towards the end of that bike’s reign I actually starting giving serious thought to trying to make an LA to SF trip in one day up the PCH. Now the idea of a 500 mile ride up the coast on the Duc sounds like the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. It most definitely has to be a multiday trip or I won’t survive and I’m not exactly physically falling apart.

For the first half of our trip up the coast I was certain that heading out today was a stupid idea. However a funny thing happened once we hit the fun part of Mullhulland. I got jazzed. All of a sudden a wave of enthusiasm came out of nowhere and suddenly it was just me and road doing battle. The more challenging the road became the more focused I got. Each corner was a step towards waking up.

When we hit Agoura, I felt alive. Reminded that even when you feel sore on a bike if you’re offered the opportunity to ‘get into the ride’ an amazing thing happens. The pain vanishes and at least for awhile life simply comes down to riding. Enjoying the moment as it unfolds and ultimately isn’t that why we all ride? To lose ourselves and find that inner peace?

Here’s a couple picts of the day…