A Wicked Ortega Wind

A Cloudy Ortega Highway

Dark, deceitful clouds were hanging still. The kinds of clouds that chew up a word like ‘foreboding’ and spit it out. Because it’s not mean enough. Not ominous enough. Because it’s not nasty enough to convey the dread that lies ahead…

Hesitantly, I twist the throttle back and the bike bites down.

For now there is no other option but what lies ahead…

Hours ago, I picked this path and choose to ride 18 miles out of the way, just to catch a couple of killer corners on the ‘long way home’. It was a classic moto-madness decision — The sort of choice that non-riders or drivers probably never understand, when the quality of the route supersedes the rush to get home. Efficient? Not at all. Fun? Absolutely.

At least on most days…

But today was not most days — Instead as I started climbing the canyon wall, the air-temp dropped, the background scenery dissolved into the mist, and what little ambient light was left seemed to crawl away. To vanish into the greenery and the low level clouds and anywhere it could find refuge.

But the asphalt gripped.

And the ST3 clawed away.

Suddenly the corners come – fast, fluid, fun kinks in the roadway, the kinds of bends and bits that make you hum and smirk inside. And for the briefest of moments my worries about the weather dissipate. It’s just about the ride. The moment. The contact between the rubber and the asphalt. Bends cease being individual breaks and start becoming fluid, singular lines. A left, followed by a right, then a left. A back-and-forth ballet of body steering and acceleration…

Bliss…

And then I hit the top of the mountain…

Suddenly the wind is whipping. Back and forth. Recklessly. Trees creak. Sand scurries across the road. The bushes blow over… And the bike involuntarily moves. Changing lanes with no warning. First to the left, then back to the right. Suddenly the sense of bliss and relaxation is gone — Replaced with instantly fear. Because this isn’t fun anymore. This isn’t exciting. This is just downright crazy. The full-fairing acting like sail, scooping up the wickedness in the wind and pushing against it to no avail.

And I think to myself, ‘it’s been a long time since I last rode in this kind of wind’…

A half-hour later I come to a stop at the base of the mountain and thank my lucky stars — because today I got away with one — today I survived the elements…