Private Canyon

Sweat is beading up. Bits of perspiration grow unchecked. First there’s one. Then two. Now, three. Until the moment comes when the collection of water hits its critical mass and the weight exceeds the liquid’s suction power.

A second later, I feel the momentum of the bead as it rolls down my back and the cool-yet-warm-yet-idyllically perfect SoCal wind buffets the side of my helmet and exposed parts of my neck and I have to smile.

It’s November and at last I’m riding again.

How perfect.

Cresting the canyon, I wring back the throttle as the bike launches forward. The gauges go up, the gears spin faster, the exhaust audibly rises and the road bends – oh, boy, does it bend…

Going back and forth left and right and up and down, in equal measure and in all directions, before it suddenly shouts out straight ahead. Slowing rising, as if the road is just biding its time… Just sneaking a peek at what comes next. Just letting you catch your breath. Never fully giving itself away, never quite letting you know its intentions. And then there’s a kink.

A little jut that shoots you straight out under the trees. The shadows overwhelming your senses… It’s just darkness and a prayer.

You gulp for air and wonder what might lie on the road surface – but just then the sunlight comes back. Casting its watchful eye on your adventure once again… Right before the road rolls over itself, and you gasp… The jarring 180º up-hill assault brings the tarmac back on to itself and as you gaze at it, you too return to earth.

A second later, the bike dives-in. Leans left. In your mind, you think about traction and forces, and science and force, and all kinds of madness… And in a heartbeat it’s over…. Before I know it I’m hanging above the coast and the canyon, peering out at an endless expanse of nothingness. Clouds that cover all and yet offer no definition between sky or ground or even horizon. It’s just one big bland colored canvas that’s wrapped around everything that I can see.

Yet even though it seems colorless there’s vibrancy.

And lots of it.

Hitting the stop sign, I pause for a second and tell myself — no, remind myself — I should breath.

My head feels like its spinning so fast, I’m shocked… Can’t remember the last time I felt this way…

My heart races… And I smile…

I’m alone – completely alone – And in my very own private canyon.

*****

Minutes later, the road barks. The 1098S vibrates with an urgency I haven’t felt in quite awhile – the windscreen shakes wildly, the seat wiggles up and down, there’s a beat to the moment. A sense of booming and bamming…

The engine hurls itself forward with such vigor that I almost feel powerless to stop it by myself. There’s a third-person video-game quality to it all. The ride surrounding my outlook on life so fully and in such a dedicated manor that there’s seemingly little left to do. I feel lost. Out of control. Out of touch.

However I’m there… I’m in the moment…

With each new kink in the asphalt, the road openly communicates. The handlebars scream instructions as the Tires dip and dive and avoid conflict-riddled patches. I feel engaged. I feel in touch. I feel in control.

The engine rumbles and howls and screams… Rapidly increasing and decreasing the bellowing exhaust notes, each flick of the wrist echoing through-out the canyons and right off of the rocky walls.

Coming up to the top of Saddlepeak Road, I my eyes fixate on the width and breath of the San Fernando Valley. It’s clearer than the Coastline, but not by much. I can see birds fluttering, other traffic, hikers, bicyclists… Yet all I can hear is the soundtrack of my own private canyon. The Rattle and Hum of the Individual Experience as it was meant to be had… Solitude in Speed… Gød how I have missed this…