Fluidity

I woke up Sunday in a bit of a haze which oddly was exactly how I felt on Saturday morning. Emotionally I have felt drained lately. Given everything that’s been going on, it’s little wonder that my batteries need a fair amount of re-charging these days. If I was living in fantasy land I’d head up the coast on a long, twisting voyage for weeks on end – but life isn’t a fantasy, it’s a reality and these days that means something rather divergent than my mental dreamland. So when the alarm went off at 7:30 Sunday morning I slowly rolled out of bed and found a cup of coffee before making my way towards a ride.

Originally when I had made plans to meet up with Lowell, Stazz and David for a Sunday ride it had never occured to me that I might be so whipped that I wouldn’t have the energy to make it. But while sipping my first cup of coffee I felt this strange sense of obligation. Even though my mind and body didn’t feel like riding I felt like I had made a committment. Giving your word to your ridding buddies is a hard thing to break, so off I went.

It didn’t take long as MotorMilt and I made our way up the coast to realize that I wasn’t the only one who seemed to feel like they were sleepwalking. The early morning fog was holding it’s own against the scattered rays of sunlight and the entire beach community scene appeared to be moving in slow motion. The birds weren’t really flying around, the early morning joggers were hanging out in record numbers, the light was misty and the surf sounds were mellow at best. It was just a slow, slow morning in all respects.

But then we hit the Chevron at Sunset and the PCH and I realized that there were dozens of different biker groups meeting up for morning jaunts through the canyons. It was an amazing cross-section of cultures and leathers hidden amongst a plethera of people who weren’t in any rush to get anywhere. Within that moment things took a swing and suddenly I felt at ease. It was my space. My time. Moments later we hit the road and even though there was still a thick coastal mist hanging around the day sure seemed a lot brighter.

Coming around the fifth turn in an endless chain of corners it was obvious that there was something particularly fluid about how this morning unfolded. It was fast and it was easy – two things that aren’t always in agreement even though I wish they were. From entrance to exit was not the normally segmented series of adventures or movements but rather one continuous subconscious event that just kept going, corner after corner. An endless stream of micro-events that played out on a macro stage. While there are countless things that I normally find myself pondering while riding, today was just about letting it rip when you don’t feel like you have anything left to lose. I suppose that’s ultimately what seperates us mere mortals from racing legends. They let it rip all the time and those of us who are more human in nature ultimately get held back countless times in a given morning or afternoon by the mere thought of ‘what if’.

Today however was strange in that while it wasn’t my fastest day ever, it was perhaps my most focused. I found myself locked into seeing all those little details that you normally miss; The changes in the asphalt from where they recently repaved it, the morphing colors of the canyons, the dents in the side rails that run along the cliffs, the hawks flying above the roads, the assortment of other bikers heading in the opposite direction, the direction of the breeze, the canyon light, the changes between the scattered spots of sunshine and the packs of mist, and the sounds of the bike as it started each movement. Normally I tend to try and witness the world through a wide-angle lens while I’m on the bike – I try to take it all in and visualize it – but today was very, very condensed in comparison. It was just me attacking the road as it came and there’s something spectacular about how that feels when you can get your head into such a defined place. Such a targeted moment amongst movements.

The ride was also slightly unusual because I was riding in a group of five, which is the largest group I’ve ever ridden with. Yet that too was extremely fluid. Amongst the five of us we had a cross section of motorcycles and riding styles, yet none of that really mattered. The only thing that did was the actual ride and it was just wonderful. Partly because of the space I was in, but perhaps more importantly because of the company I was with. Eveyone who came along for the ride is an unabashed gearhead and even though there could or should have been a million other things running through my head, today’s conversation was purely based in motoroil.

Months ago I probably would have cringed at the thought of a large group ride – well, relatively large for me anyway – yet today was so smooth and so easy it makes it hard for me to justify my previous riding sensibility. Everyone found their own groove and their own speed. Their own pace. There was no sense of ego or a need to push it to prove it. The day just flowed from one canyon road to another one and that strikes me as somewhat special – because the thing that always held me back from group riding was the guy in the second or third spot who pulls out to make the pass because he has to be known as the fast guy. This group doesn’t have that guy. At it’s core it’s just a good group of gearheads hanging out on a Sunday who are there for the journey.

I’m whipped right now, so I think that’s it for now, perhaps I’ll add some more later….Here are some picts from latigo canyon.