Over the course of the last several weeks, I’ve definitely slowed down on the blogging front. This is partially because I’ve been pulling some long days & nights editing, partly because I’ve been slammed with a horrendous head cold and quite frankly because there hasn’t been all that much going on. It’s a quiet time of the year around the world and for some, like myself, this slowdown effect instills a rather reflective kind of sensibility.
As 2006 draws to a close, I find myself living a rather two-faced if not two-souled existence at the moment. On one hand I can’t wait to get the New Year started – primarily because I’m looking forward to taking delivery of the new 1098 – and yet on the other hand a good chunk of my mind has been squarely fixated on the year that was, recalling exactly how I ended up standing right here at this very moment. I say that not in a physical sense, but rather on a personally driven level. I’m very aware that the past twelve months have shaped who I am at this very moment in much grander way then previous years ever did.
Heading into this year had I been asked, I would have told you there are only a few truly seminal years in a persons life such as when you turn 16 and can start driving or when you turn 21 and are legally able to start drinking. Granted these are years that have significant societal issues attached to them, but you get the drift… I had no idea that turning 29 would also be one of those years, but looking back I feel fairly secure that I will always remember 2006 because it held a remarkable amount of change for me. Personally, professionally, and emotionally.
Last year at this time I wrote a post that reflected on 2005, which was titled aptly enough, Racing At Speed : The Past Year of My Life. Re-reading it tonight I can’t help but recall how at that moment it felt as if I was running as fast as I possibly could towards the future. But in reality it was just a damn good precursor for what was to come in 2006.
As often happens, whenever you think you’re moving the fastest, something or someone shoots right by and you realize in that instant that you can actually go even faster. Life it seems has a sneaky if not magical way of making you push the limits of your personal speed. In some respects that is perhaps the overarching residual feeling that 2006 has instilled. It was a year of movement and a year of change. A time when what was being said between the lines was perhaps as important as what each page contained…
The year started with little fanfare. Just over a week into the New Year I was finally able to take my First Ride of the Year and as it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as expressive of a journey as I would have hoped for…
…I finally got a ride in now that it’s 2006. I was hoping to come back and write a wonderfully witty and well though out post about how charming it was to be out riding in early January in 80º heat, but to be honest the lengthy workdays I’ve been pulling the last week and a half seem to have caught up with me on a mental level.
A few days later the California Rainy Season began in earnest and there was, A Quiet Storm.
I spent the next week traveling back to the East Coast for work and when I returned to LA, I found myself pondering what it felt like Returning to a Ride.
It’s a sensation that’s powerful in its own right, but one that only seem to get heightened when you rip through a couple of corners mere hours after arriving at LAX. Shifting side to side on the bike and feeling like you’re connected to the asphalt brings out the best in this town. It makes you aware of what you missed. And then boom, you twist the throttle one more time and hit that next turn and there it is. The whole canyon experience in a corner. The asphalt, the apex, the ocean, the hills, the brilliant blue sky, the pavement that’s laying before your eyes, and the rumbling bike beneath you. And right there in that moment you understand that somehow all of those ups and downs you’ve felt all week aren’t as important as you thought. That the mental energy you spent will come back. That life is ok. And then you realize that you believe. That everything that you’ve been building towards is worth it. That there is something out there to reach for and it is possible after all.
Towards the end of the month I was introduced to group riding for the first time. It was an activity that I previously had ignored because I enjoyed the solitude of riding with MotorMilt. However during A Canyon Quorum I came to the realization that riding with your friends - assuming no one does anything stupid - is a very different kind of motorcycling experience and one that I enjoyed.
I found myself surrounded by riders who left each other space, didn’t seem hell bent on chasing each other, and were simply out enjoying a Sunday in the canyons together. It was a marvelous experience and a real eye opener. I find myself questioning how and why one perceives the things they do when they’re on the outside looking in.
February was a tough month for a lot of personal reasons, some of these foreshadowed the change that would end up taking place later in the year and while I touched on some of this in the blog at the time, I frankly feel it isn’t worth rehashing again. Perhaps because at its core TwistingAsphalt is a motorcycling blog and not a self-help book. At the time all of this turmoil had thrown me for a particularly large loop, however by the middle of the month it was nice to finally feel like I was back to Having Some Grip on the roads and in life in general.
Of course part of today was just getting back on the bike – it had been almost three weeks since the last time I took a real ride up the coast. Since then so much seems to have gone on, both good and bad, and maybe it’s just human nature but there’s a certain amount of emotional lethargy that feels leftover. A general tiredness that I find myself battling - almost a residue if you will. Yet the beauty of riding is that even on days when you’re not sure if you have the energy to ride, for some reason once you actually get out there in the canyons the bike sort of just takes over and those sensations or thoughts that you’d been dealing with have this funny way of just sliding away. And that’s a pretty cool thing…
A week later I wrote one of the better posts of the year, The Old Man Grows Younger, when I realized that my relationship with my father, MotorMilt, had flipped when it came to riding.
Now he was asking me how to do it better. How to get faster. I’m sure there are other activities in life that offer this sort of father-son relationship reversal, but sitting in here now I can’t quite put my finger on one. That’s obviously not to say they don’t exist, I’m sure they do, but for me this was an utterly unique experience. Somewhat strange and yet also extremely special because the shared experience continues to grow.
The post concluded with a graph that partially spoke about Milt but also dealt with some of the fires that I was in the process of walking through from earlier in the month…
Riding behind him made me very aware that for all of my supposition towards my future I sometimes forget that each of us has the power to visit and revisit our lives whenever we chose and that what stops us tends to be ourselves – not our age. It’s a magical thing to see someone nearing sixty and to know that they are faster today than they ever have been in their life.
A different slice of a similar emotion was on hand the next day when I wrote Thwack Control. Looking back it seems somewhat obvious that I was working out a lot of the personal stuff while on the bike and I was also coming to grips with how to control what felt completely uncontrollable at the time…
As a general rule motorcycles make all sorts of noises. They rumble. They rev. Some even squeal. Yet there are few sounds that I’ve missed over the past few weeks quite as much as that ‘thwack’… Because it’s not just a sound but rather the beginning of a sensation of control – the word ‘solid’ comes to mind - on one hand it’s a sound that lets you know that the bike is ready to get moving yet it’s also a noise that sits on the edge of ‘feeling in control’. First you hear the bike, then you feel the bike. And feeling in control of anything, let alone a motorcycle is a great thing. A confidence inspiring emotion to say the least.
Not so surprisingly the sportier the bike, the more it reacts to you. To what’s going on inside your head. All those little things that you bring to the table that have absolutely nothing to do with riding. When I set out this morning I was convinced that all of these thoughts would co-opt the ride and yet I was one-hundred percent wrong. All it took was that ‘thwack’ on the fourth corner of the day to remind me how awe-inspiring it is to manipulate a motorcycle through twisting canyon roads when you feel so totally in control of the bike that you’re absolutely sure that you have the power to make the motorcycle do whatever you want, whenever you want.
A few posts later I penned, Junkie, a very short but still noteworthy bit that started to highlight exactly how important riding had become to me - both in terms of how I had begun to see life and what I wanted from it…
I suppose it’s one of the more quirky things that happens to all of us as riders. At some point the act of riding transforms from simply being an activity into what I can only describe as a life-force. It surrounds you, it envelops you, and it becomes you. One day you wake up and find yourself incessantly thinking about it and dreaming about it and god knows, reading about it. Constantly. Every chance you get. Always aware that there’s more knowledge out there, more information you can absorb, more roads to travel, more things to see, more places to stop and enjoy.
Eventually you find yourself living for these precious few hours during which you have the opportunity to just ride. You plan your entire week around this constantly morphing activity where no two rides are every the same and there is no perfection. Just the quest to get out there and do it.
Some days it’s magnificent and other days it’s just ordinary. And while ordinary is still better than nothing – on some level it’s not quite enough. It doesn’t quite bring you up to the same place. In a way it’s almost akin to a drug habit - only less detrimental to your physical health. Without the high that comes from a great or an amazing ride you don’t quite know what to do.
A week later I was dealing with approaching deadlines at work and just needed a frigg’n break, thus I went Riding For My Soul. It wasn’t the best ride of the year, but it definitely one of the more ‘needed’ ones…
I’m not sure where our personal character traits evolve from but over the course of my life I’ve grown to learn that somehow I got wired with a very focused and often times exclusionary field of vision. For the past nineteen days my life has revolved around work. It’s felt like one long unremitting moment where the calendar continues to change but the day never ceases. I’ve simply been ‘there’ and somehow all the other pieces of my life have been pushed to the margins. Groceries, laundry, phone calls, emails, you name it, they’ve all been put on hold. Especially riding.
As March came to a conclusion with A Red Posse ride, I was once again pontificating on the glory that is the Santa Monica Mountains. When I take the time to re-read the pages and pages of content here on the blog, it’s remarkable to see exactly how many times I’ve commented on these canyon roads. Perhaps no four paragraphs articulate the sense of awe I feel for this land like these graphs do…
This land is just as holy for me. Not because I’m some kind of spiritual wizard, but rather because in a world where the best roads continue to get straightened out for new subdivisions and supermarkets, this place is continues to exist. It’s unique and it’s immense. In LA terms these roads are rare. One day I have no doubt that we’ll call them ‘endangered’ just like some of the animals that run through the brush.
I wonder if the folks who first paved these stretches of asphalt had any idea what they were creating. The online DMV and LA transit history is a bit sketchy to say the least but at some point someone obviously had a plan. Someone thought it through. Said to themselves, hey this place needs a curvy emotionally gripping rollercoaster of a road. Right here! In the middle of a barely habitable canyon. This week I’ve wondered who that person was because it’s a legacy that ought to be recognized. It ought to be remembered. Yet all that stands these days are the roads.
Wonderfully winding, curving, soul searching routes that the legions of faux LA car aficionados surprisingly don’t pay attention to. Frankly it amazes me. This is a city of cars and car culture. The hot-rod was invented here. People drag raced up and down Ventura Boulevard in tricked out muscle cars. The tastes of this region influence automakers worldwide. Every major car company has a design studio here. Even the average garages in this city are a loaded with brand new heavy metal rides. People here treat their automobiles differently. Folks here may not own their own homes but for damn sure they’re going to travel in style everywhere they go. To some I’m sure this seems sick or twisted or maybe even quite silly, but this city forces different priorities on its inhabitants. Cars here are part style, part substance, and part livelihood. Yet for all that hype and the inevitable commercialism of the various imported rides, few folks here use their wheels. Nowhere is that more readily apparent than the Santa Monica Mountains. These canyon roads are forgotten lands. They straddle suburbia, city life and the beach scene and yet none of these groups use these roads to their fullest.
Ironically only two groups really push these asphalt raceways; cyclists and motorcyclists. Perhaps it takes a two-wheel mindset to appreciate what’s here. I don’t really know. What I do know is that Sunday was remarkable because of how empty it was. There were hundreds of two wheeled folks running around, but seldom did I see a car or truck heading the other way. On a day when all I wanted to do was lose myself in the ride, it was fantastic to find these magical roads empty and open. Ready for riding.
April began with bang in my professional life when two television shows which I directed and edited were finally ready for broadcast. The month started with Speed On Two Wheels Set To Air and a week later, Fowl Play premiered on Animal Planet.
Obviously it was a busy time of the year and a few days later when I was able to squeeze a ride in with my buddy Stazz on Molholland After The Rain, I was shocked to actually be able to get away…
Heading down the PCH and turning up Las Floras Canyon Road, I found myself feeling very aware of how special it felt to be out riding when I didn’t think I would be. It made the morning feel that much sweeter and in some respects I cherished the adventure more - because it shouldn’t have been there. It normally wouldn’t have been.
Two days after that ride Speed On Two Wheels finally premiered on The Science Channel and the reaction was immediately positive and amazingly instantaneous across the ‘net. 48 Hours of Surreal later I posted a few thoughts on the reaction to the show…
On a personal level the last 48 hours have been an incredibly gratifying experience because this was such a passion based project for me. Of course when you combine your personal passion with you work, I think you always run the risk of getting lost in the things you want to see or hear as opposed to what the viewers desire. When we headed into production I felt very strongly that this had to be a show that appealed to a very wide range of motorcycle enthusiasts but at the same time I did not want the show turn into something that talked down to the viewer or didn’t actually offer any real substance. Thankfully I think folks picked up on that.
A couple of days after SOTW premiered MotorMilt & I skipped work to allow A Moment of Passion to sink in. This resulted in two of the better bits of writing I think I had from the past year. The first commenting on my inability to sometimes enjoy the moment.
One of my greatest personal failures in life is that I rarely take the time to enjoy the moment. Somehow they have a way of whisking away before I’m ready for them to leave. My mind is somehow wired to simply move on. There’s a former Hollywood producer that once coined the phrase, ‘Win, lose, next’ and rarely have three words so aptly described my mentality. I look at some of my friends and often times admire their ability to let things sink in. It’s a gift they don’t even know they have. Yet today was different because it was sinking in.
While the second bit, touched on how intertwined riding had become with my soul…
Through the entire episode I kept thinking about the word ‘passion’.
It’s a far more unique attribute then I think people give it credit for being. In my mind it’s a wondrous and remarkable word. Passion is something that I strive for and something that I’d like to believe affects everything I do. I’d like to believe that every action or choice I make is somehow influenced by it or created from it. In many ways, I believe it’s one of the cornerstone tenants of my life and a concept from which I think one can draw inspiration, creativity and determination.
Obviously motorcycles and sportbikes have become the dominant passion in my life. I find it hard to imagine how I would exist without them and more specifically without riding them. I don’t ride because it looks cool or to get chicks. I ride because somehow it’s become the defining characteristic of my soul. It’s how I evolve and how I find peace. It’s a sport that I respect far more than a number of other things in life. Every time I get on the bike I’m keenly aware of how small the difference is between being safe and being stupid. Walking that line and juggling those choices is a thrill and it’s also a skill. Something that one has to practice and something that I’m not sure there is a way to perfect.
The next weekend a slight chill and some dark clouds couldn’t stop a Salt & Pepper Ride from taking place. All in all, it wasn’t the most remarkable of rides, but what was special was that my 999 hit 5 thousand miles with no major mechanical issues, which given my previous experience with Ducati bikes seems noteworthy to say the least…
It was oddly gray in LA today and while that affected my riding to a certain extent, it couldn’t stop the 9 from rolling over 5,000 miles. For some reason I can’t quite get over that number. The mere sum of it. As I watched the digital odometer tick over it struck me that the red 9 now has more miles then the lost to circumstance 749 and the ill-fated yellow 999 put together. This both amazes me and surprises me. Obviously I’ve read about other folks with high mileage Ducati’s (high mileage on a Duc being a relative term of course), but after the experiences with the first two bikes I somehow doubted the bike would ever get here. But the bike did. In one piece. So now it’s a mere countdown till the infamous 6,000 mile maintenance and while I’m now so excited about shelling out the cash to get it down, I’m stoked that it’s around the corner. Especially since this 9 has been so relatively trouble free. Other than a few issues with the clutch it’s been an amazingly un-Italian machine when it comes to reliability. Almost Honda-esque if that’s possible for a Duc.
On the next ride it was a slightly different Honda product that I had on my mind in Blindspots…
Sunday was one of those days when lots of little things added up to a less than stellar ride. I had hoped that the ride would be the culmination of a great weekend worth of riding. But unfortunately it wasn’t. The bad vibe started right away just a few minutes after I got up to speed on to the PCH. A gray Acura decided to do the LA lane swapping dance right ahead of me. Swinging from one lane to the next and finally coming back into my lane right as I was accelerating. In fractions of a second the Acura nearly ran me off the road and while I’ve gotten to the point where most moments of concern on a motorcycle don’t get my heat rate too elevated - this certainly did. It was one of those moments when you realize that most folks in cars (or cages) don’t take note of where a motorcycle is when they’re around.
By May things where as chaotic as ever on the professional front, which probably explains where my head was at when I wrote, Welcoming The Unexpected. At the time quite a bit was going on and amazingly enough it all started because of office rent. As someone who runs their own business, pennies add up and when the office landlord nearly doubled the rent I found myself contemplating a series of massive wholesale change. For the first time in a long time, anything and everything was on the table…
To say that it’s been rather tumultuous in my life as of late would be a massive understatement. It seems I currently reside in a state of utter extremes and daily contradictions. Climbing on to the bike Saturday morning I found myself feeling rather certain that this would be one of those rides when the daily life intercepts and supercedes my weekend life. Rather shockingly however I was wrong.
…I suppose the greatest illustration of this unexpected freedom came on the middle portion of Cornell Road, when coming into a tight right hand corner before the road begins to eventually straighten out I managed to put my knee down without even thinking about it. To be honest it was a rather shocking moment since I wasn’t expecting to do it. My sense is that it’s been a good six months since I last touched down and lately I’ve found myself feeling very concerned about road debris, traction, safety and an assortment of other random motorcycle thoughts. But Saturday, with my mind cluttered with other stuff, I simply let go and it just happened. And somehow given everything that’s going on that seems to speak to me.
A week later I was experiencing Fluidity at Speed during a small group ride through the canyons. Looking at that post now, it’s amazing to see how introspection had clearly become a cornerstone to my writing…
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 separates 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.
A few days later, the personal stuff was obviously getting to be a bit much and I had a lot of ‘change’ on my mind so I went looking for some Weekday Solitude…
Strikes me that every now and then basic humanity requires some level of personal solitude. Some sort of introspective and disengaged moment of time when you allow yourself to only think about what you’re doing at the exact moment you’re doing it. We live in a world of constant noise; TVs, Radios, Computers, The Internet, Phones, you name it, and they all complicate our lives. Sometimes you just need some space from it all. Some critical distance. A chunk of time where it’s just you, and in this case the road. I suppose at its core this is one of the many beauties of riding. It’s a unique activity that allows you to just get up and go.
By the time Memorial Day hit, I needed to get away. So I ended up headed towards what is quickly becoming my annual pilgrimage to Ojai, California and Route 33. The resulting post, Memorial Rejuvenation, was definitely one of the better - if not lengthiest - pieces I wrote during the past year. A few of the graphs particularly stand out, including the opening…
The sword, the sea and reincarnation are three fairly basic components of Celtic Mythology that Arthurian legend later weaved together into the notion of rebirth or rejuvenation. Anyone who’s ever seen a modern day retelling of King Arthur or The Knights of the Round Table has undoubtedly witnessed the rather common scene where someone does something rather noble in their last stand before their dead or dying body descends into the depths of an icy cold body of water. It’s one of the primary conventions of classic medieval story telling. For the folks who wrote these tales water held the power to not only wash away ones sins but also bring their soul back to life in its purist form. I have no idea whether these centuries old tales are true, but the idea that a journey to the edge of a body of water can actually cleanse your soul has always fascinated me. Perhaps because on a personal level I tend to believe that riding at its core is a completely rejuvenating experience and on a practical level because the vast majority of my travels happen in a relatively confined space that traverses the California coastline.
I found myself mulling this rather heady conceptual notion over while coming back down the Pacific Coast Highway this afternoon after six hours of introspective rocketship riding throughout the Los Padres National Forrest. Somehow I couldn’t shake the thought that while water might have worked well for the folks who wrote these tales, Route 33 works better.
And this bit on what Route-33 means to me…
There are few roads that I have ever ridden that hold the kind of hallowed power that lies among the 56 miles of curves that make up Route 33. Yet the road is defined by more than just merely the sum of its corners. To ride it is to experience something beyond merely entrances and apexes and gargantuan vistas. This is a road of lust. A road to witness everything that you can’t do legally. It’s a unique blend of the metaphysical and the innate human desire to push yourself and your abilities to the maximum. With few legitimate hiding spots and absolute no concrete turnoffs, this road is easy to exploit to its’ fullest. From corner to corner it’s just full out fists of throttle at a time. And unlike the tight canyon roads I normally negotiate with, most of these bends sweep rather than switchback and forth. Yet that’s part of the charm and the excitement. This journey is all about letting yourself go and letting the engine out. This road has the unique ability to both transform your place in life and transcend a single moment in time. Every second forces you to think and react. Scary fast doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that this road elicits. Riding it well is something that goes beyond a mere trackday or a thousand mile road trip. To conquer this winding, twisting, rollercoaster of an adventure isn’t about connecting dots on a map, but rather about building sequences of smooth flowing transitions from full lean to maximum power and back again.
The next day brought a few Memorial Aches and continued observations on my age and place in the world… Looking back now I suspect that most of this ‘where am I right now for my age’ thinking was predicated by the lifestyle changes that I was pondering…
Every now and then there are times when I feel haunted by the fact that for brief periods of time I can sometimes find myself feeling older than I actually am. It seems the process of aging is finally beginning to catch up with me on some level. For years I’ve actively tried to ‘grow up’ fast or perhaps faster than I should have. First it was rushing forward in order to get a license, then a race to become old enough to legally buy beer and later the quest transformed into a desire to get a move on with life. But now that all of those young adult milestones have been reached and passed, I find the craving to ‘grow up’ waning. These days I’d rather just enjoy this particular part of life.
Oddly the quest to ride a 999 seems to echo both the desire to move forward at a rapid pace and also the wish to stay right where you are once you get there. It’s a bit of a conundrum no doubt. The bike is both positively youthful when in motion and yet also accelerates the aches and pain once you’re done. Aches and pains I never thought I’d ever feel. As I’ve gotten to know the bike in and out, I’ve come to realize that the day after a long ride on the 9 is never quite as easy of a rebound as I think it should be. Last night I went to bed with visions of yet another spectacularly long adventure. Today I woke up feeling somewhere between sore and exhausted. Thankfully I suppose youthful ignorance never quite leaves you alone. Now that I’m back home again, my wrists are hurting, my knees feel weak and my lower back is definitely got some new kinks in it, but I wouldn’t trade these sensations for anything. They tell the physical tale of two blissful days of riding. Perhaps one day I’ll discover a way to mitigate these sorts of ailments - but today I’d rather bask in the glory of another perfect yet different ride.
June started with yet another redesign of the Twisting Asphalt website and the introduction of TA Gear… In retrospect it was also the calm before the storm and the beginning of a glorious chunk of the riding season, which started with The Soundtrack of Nature and continued on an Early Morning Fantasy…
Among the early morning motionless confines of these spectacular canyon walls the bike felt firmly planted in the here and the now. I wish it always felt like this. It was living for one particular moment in time. Today. And it was building it’s own foundation for my personal riding fantasyland. With clear roads and stunning skies this was the day that made up for all the extracurricular non-riding crap that walks among us on a daily basis. For the first time this year I felt in control of where I was headed and more importantly where I wanted to go.
The mention of motion was certainly one of the more topical parts of the blog this year - specific phrases such as “where I’m headed” or “where I’m going” - these kinds of thoughts routinely were popping up in my writing and while there was a tremendous amount of change that had already occurred, there was even more that lied ahead. The culmination of this uncertainty or at least the instability that comes from change seemed to infiltrate my thoughts on a regular basis and also illicted a number of graphs that spoke to trying to control the uncontrollable…
Today this glorious road was beyond magnificent. With my heart pounding and the bike built up on belief, each turn became a singular battle for supremacy. It didn’t take long to ditch the rush for speed and instead focus on finding each individual corners soul. That place hidden deep within a curve that tells you how far you can push it. How far you can lean. It’s the part of the corner that looks you in the eye and fights back. The part that so often makes you back down – because you know if you take it to defcon the corner will win and you won’t make it. Yet today normally resounding feeling was completely elusive. It was scattered among thousands of revolutions that growled back. If any one of these tiny battles had been a streetfight the 9 was acting like the guy who throws down first.
“Early Morning Fantasy” also was notable for one other reason; I snapped the picture below during the ride and consider it one of the better snap shots of the year…
The next day, I hit the other side of town with Stazz & Lowell - The ride was great, the write-up just so-so - but Product Of Your Environment did feature a nice slice of my thinking regarding “The Crest”…
The Crest is a flat-out fast piece of asphalt. Instead of being built on a collection of tight, twisting, technical turns, the Angeles Crest is made up of bends and corners that continuously sweep in almost unthinkable ways. They seldom seem to pause. Each corner flows into the next and it makes catching your breath almost impossible - not because you physically can’t do it but rather because in the time it takes you to think about doing it you’re already into the next sequence of sweeping turns. On this road one sequence begets another, and then another, and before you know it you’ve been riding for thirty miles and are still grasping for air under your face shield.
Two days after that I was in a highly reflective mood while Hunting Corners, but that reflection was soon up-ended when a few nights later I went Into The Darkness and took a nighttime ride to Newcombs for dinner for the very first time…
I’ve been wired with a strange, almost alter ego sensation of adrenaline since I got back. It’s a bizarre and yet beautiful contradiction. I can’t quite say that I understand it, but perhaps you’re not supposed to. If I had ever written down a checklist for the things I wanted to accomplish in life I never would have thought put this activity on the list – and yet right now I feel fairly certain that what I just lived through is worthy of being in the top five.
No matter how much logic I try to apply, I keep finding myself coming back to the basic thought that this was a religious experience of sorts only on a motorcycle. Sweeping through conifer-lined corners with nothing more than your headlight and the white glow of a full moon evokes such a different kind of emotional sensation. Such a different kind of feeling. It takes what normally is a fastly furious event and transforms it into something much more magical. Almost sacred. In the dark all your sense are heightened and yet it’s completely unlike riding during the daytime.
An Attempt At Finding Peace wasn’t the most remarkable trip I took during the year, however the post was definitely a whopper of a piece. Unquestionably one of my best slices of writing during ‘06, if not one of the heavier ones…
I once read an article in which the author proposed that in a time of chaos they felt it was easier to make wholesale changes that affected every aspect of your life than altering things when everything is working in perfect harmony. I’m not sure if that’s true for me personally – though on some level I think it tends to be realistic - but today was a great example of finding peace when you least expect it. A lot has been going on as of late, much of which I will save for a later date, but suffice to say it’s been a rather turbulent few weeks and I’m ready to move on.
This post also continued to showcased my interest in the concept of ‘movement’ or at least where I was headed…
When you put as much emphasis on riding as I tend to do, it can be hard at times to navigate the tricky waters that lie between what you want and where you’re going. It seems that roads and escapes have moved beyond just being a destination. They are not just conduits for transportation but rather magical avenues for enlightenment. I find myself constantly thinking about how they make me feel and how they alter my life on an almost daily basis. Especially when I’m confronted with the opportunity to change. The concept of change in and of itself is not evil nor it is inherently scary, but rather it forces you to realize that what you take for granted may not be there tomorrow. It’s then up to you to view how you’ll deal with it.
Finally, this post also contained one of the graphs that seems as pertinent today as the day I wrote it…
Today what I realized is that for the past several years while I haven’t subscribed to a particular religion, I’ve spent my weekends praying to an asphalt church. Over the course of publishing this blog I’ve tend shy away from evoking the sentiment of holy power, as it seems far to dividing in today’s society, yet I can’t help but come to the conclusion that the things that I hold dear are far outside of the normal religious arenas. I so strongly admire the landscape, the curves, the canyons and the way in which they connect. They way the mountains look and the climate changes. The feeling that riding these roads leaves you with simply means more to me than any preachers words. I’m not a naturalist by trait nor a member of Greenpeace, but the idea that these places are sacred is something that I simply cannot escape. They offer so much and they ask for so little, you’d think they would far more appreciated. It’s such a remarkable place in which to let yourself search for what you want.
Over the course of the next week I was wrote and published a Ducati ST3S ABS Review, which didn’t really shed much light into where my head was during that time, but certainly highlighted a heck of a ride… A few days later however it was clear that I wasn’t feeling very hopeful when I penned, The Sense of Optimism. The piece had a decent enough opening, but the end result of the ride was an inability to ‘get away from things’. Re-reading the piece tonight it seems clear that while I was starting to feel the pressures that come from change, I was also beginning to morn leaving the Westside of LA…
Every time I throw my leg over a bike and twist the key, I think to myself today is going to be fantastic. There’s greatness in the air and it’s easily within reach. Then a second later when I feel the engine turn over for the first time and hear the first burbled exhaust notes exit the pipes, a lightning like sense of life shoots through my body and suddenly the opportunity to go beyond mere optimism seems not only real but also possible. As if something hidden deep within the actual act of riding has the power to instantly take an average day and reshape it into an excellent one. And as I roll off into the unknown the chance for something special seems less of a question and more of a certainty.
Of course the ironic thing when you’re writing what is essentially a ride by ride journal about riding is that no matter how bad you think today’s ride might be, you’re just one ride away from enjoyment. The following day in The Names of Days life turned around in a big way…
What a difference a day can make. Yesterday I felt unable to shed the workweek, yet today it was easy to become immersed in the canyon life. While I didn’t stay out long, the fifty or so miles were easy, swooping lines of enjoyment and the sensation they’ve left behind is a definite form of relaxation. Since getting back home, I keep wondering what really separates these two days? Is it possible that over the years my mind has simply been trained to understand that there is a difference between a Friday and a Saturday? Fundamentally both words represent identical twenty-four hour periods of time – yet with one there is a mental wall, a dividing line if you will, while the other holds no such distinction. Is that why it is possible to compartmentalize outside issues on one day but not another? Does that wall allow the mind to ‘escape’ or ‘refuel’?
I would imagine much of that turn-around had to do with finally coming to grips with leaving Los Angeles. After several months of thinking about it and making calculations, I finally made the decision to just go do it. There seemed to be too much upside to ignore and frankly, after pondering something like this for such a long time, I was ready to feel some kind of certainty in my life. I wanted some kind of conclusion. That’s not to say that I had all the answers, I certainly didn’t. But it was time to just jump off the cliff and see what happened. I tried to explain the rational behind my decision making process in Going West Once More… Time For A Change.
Horace Greeley once remarked, ‘go west, young man’ and in many ways I’ve tried to live my life accordingly. It has always struck me that those four words comprise and encapsulate a rather remarkably dead-on description for the sense of optimism that exists out west and more specifically within the city of Los Angeles itself. In my mind no location in the country offers such a resounding sense of possibility - especially when it comes to sportbike riding. However after living for nearly ten years in the Los Angeles basin I’ve also come to the conclusion that its time for a change.
Another part that struck me upon re-reading the post was my very personal goodbye to the Santa Monica Mountains…
Of course any decision to uproot yourself tends to create a mixed bag of emotions. While I’m very much looking forward to exploring new roads and new destinations, I also feel a sense of sadness as I say a practical goodbye to the roads that reside here in LA and the very canyons that created them. For me these roads represent something that goes beyond a mere location. They are the roads that I learned to ride on and the area in which I found the missing part of my soul. They are a landscape, which readily allows you to explore what lies not only in front of your physical existence but also what resides deep inside of you as well. After years of sharing an intimate relationship with each curve and each corner, I can’t help but think that this is truly God’s country. For a sportbike rider can there be a better system of interlocking manmade public racetracks?
From Santa Monica to Santa Barbara there are so many glorious avenues to delve into its astounding. Each series of roads contains not only a unique set of angles and entrances but also a surprisingly diverse set of vistas to view. From road to road the scenery wrapped around the asphalt never feels exactly the same and yet in their totality all of these roads offer a remarkable presentation of various time frames in California’s history. It’s only when you step back that you can fully appreciate just how extraordinary this kind of diversity is and how special it seems. So while I’ve grown tired of the metropolis, it’s hard to ignore how much I love the fantastic roads that surround it.
While I will certainly continue to ride these roads over the course of rest of my life, on a weekend-to-weekend basis they will no longer be my personal playground.
The process of moving is a tiring, annoying, highly agitating experience for anyone - I have yet to meet someone who actually enjoys the actual packing and unpacking experience - but I made the adventure even more emotionally draining by scheduling a trackday just three days after moving in to a new house. Nothing says ‘gearhead’ like heading off to the track before you have even installed window shades.
It took me a few days to finally have the time to write something up about the experience, but the resulting piece titled, Trackday : Taking on Buttonwillow with The Track Club, had some nice sections and some great picts…
Now it doesn’t take an economist to understand that the act of riding an expensive Italian motorcycle at an excessive velocity down a straight away on a racetrack isn’t exactly the most prudent financial decision one can make. Rifling through the gears I had visions of my accountant falling out of his chair if he knew what I was doing. But then he and the millions of other non-riders in the world have absolutely no frame of reference for understanding or conceptualizing how fantastically compelling the thrill of going faster than the speed of light feels like. Shooting yourself down a racetrack on the 999 makes you believe that it’s possible to actually catch a sonic boom. When you feel the massive engine displacement hit the ground what transpires isn’t so much a ride but rather creating your own emotionally entertaining destiny that results in a cathartic release of mythical proportions. It’s the most impressive feature that a Ducati offers and perhaps the only reason to truly own one. In some respects the beauty of a trackday like this is that it separates riders - not by virtue of their skill level - but rather along the battle lines of whether or not an individual is into appearances for appearance sake or feeling the absolutely visceral sensation that can only come from attempting to explore the outer limits of the sport of riding.
The end of July was nutty, thanks in part to a work-related trip to Laguna Seca and The Moto GP…
I’m finally back home after spending the weekend in Monterey at Laguna Seca for the Moto GP race and it was an absolutely stunning event to witness in person. First of all these guys are simply amazing. What they can make a motorcycle do is beyond the realm of reason and comprehension. When you watch first hand the level of concentration, the sheer performance and the rather amazing visual and auditory sensations that unfold at this level of roadracing it’s an intense experience to say the least. From my perspective the event was a completely first class event. Granted I viewed the race from a slightly unusual venue – at least for me - an air-conditioned luxury suite on the start/finish line. So that was pretty sweet. I suspect the experience will forever ruin my sense of how one should attend a motorcycle race. It was unique environment and at times I honestly had to take a step back to allow the sheer ambience to sink in.
August start by Saying Goodbye to The FJ - a decision that I never imagined I’d ever make, but one that certainly continued the sense drastic ‘change’ that was taking place in life. For over a decade my 1973 Toyota FJ-40 had been a wonderful machine, but given where life was suddenly heading it was time to finally say goodbye. Thankfully it found a good home with another father-son pair that wanted to wrench.
A few days later, with the move finished and work slowing down a touch, I finally found some time for An Ortega Highway Introduction… It was a strange experience to say the least…
Working my way up the eastern side of the road, which seems like the curvier and more exciting side, I felt somewhat overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions – few of which had anything substantial to do with the actual road I was on. Riding for the first time in a new location, when it’s also your new port of calling, is strange beast to say the least. I guess in many respects this morning hammered home some of the ‘real’ in my new reality. I suspect saying that ( or at least typing it ) sounds rather negative. I don’t quite mean it that way, but I do find myself straddling a strange path since getting back home. On one hand I feel unaccustomed to the road and that makes me feel a bit uneasy. Not much different than the mental progression that one makes when they visit a track for the first time. On the other hand I miss the relatively substantial number of routing choices that the Santa Monica Mountains offer. The Ortega offers only one trip while the roads by Malibu offer several.
With a little bit of downtime I finally was able to write up my review of The Ducati Multistrada 620 : Commanding Confidence…
By the end of August I found myself feeling at odds with the new surroundings when it came to riding. Everything else was wonderful, but I was still searching for that perfect road. On The Palms to Pines Highway I finally was able to find something to smile about…
Rolling out of town I felt this amazing contradiction between the desire to find roads to replicate the familiar and the excitement of seeing them for the first time. It’s not everyday that you get to experience the wonderfully free-flowing conversation that comes from engaging an unknown path. Sometimes I think as a rider I’ve lost sight of how special that exchange can feel. Like many things in life, it’s easy to fall into a system of comfort. A continual rehashing of what you know as opposed to pushing yourself to experience what lies beyond the safe, familiar boundary of the known. Yet at the same time I’m not sure that as a motorcyclist you can ever truly feel settled in a new place until you build a repertoire of frequent riding destinations that you know you’re going to enjoy.
It’s much more than just a collection of asphalt that you admire. It’s something that speaks to your soul. Something that goes beyond mere words and enters the realm of near religious conformation. Perhaps that’s ultimately the power of the ride. It’s a two wheeled vehicle that majestically offers a whole other way to look at the world and in doing so allows you to find out what’s interesting and truly important to you. Today was not just an inspiring adventure, but something that seemed to connect with the person I am and the person I want to be. We live in a world where trying something new isn’t always considered virtuous and yet maybe it should be.
A few days later I returned home after a quick shoot in Napa for the introduction of The Bentley GTC…
Phew! So I just got back from a quick turn around shoot in Napa for the introduction of the Bentley Continental Convertible or as the Brits call it, simply the ‘GTC’. All in all, quite an impressive piece of automotive engineering and craftsmanship when you see it up close in person… Of course being a motorcycle nut I found it a bit strange to be standing next to a car that costs approximately $170,000 USD when that same lump sum of cash could purchase garage full of fantastic bikes. For instance you could come home with a Desmosedici, the entire Sport Classic line, an ST3S, a Multistrada and a Monster and still have cash left to burn. So nothing against the Continental, but if I had the cash I know where I’d spend it…
I suppose you know you’re a motorcyclist when you start weighting purchasing a super-exclusive exotic automobile versus a significant number of motorcycles…
The month came to a conclusion when I was finally able to announce on the blog that Speed On Two Wheels was Coming to DVD…
I started the month of September in Vegas for the introduction of the New Mercedes Bluetec Diesel. It’s an astonishing power plant not only because it’s the worlds cleanest burning diesel engine but also because it doesn’t drive like a diesel at all. Loads of torque and a ton of power when you need it. If I were in the market for a luxury sedan it would most certainly be very high on my list…
Later that month I hoped on a plane for Europe and started An Automotive Odyssey.
And so it begins, in just a few hours I embark on yet another magical fantasy adventure. It is the quest of a lifetime - or at least thus far in my lifetime. As the uncertain fate of the creative world would have it, things have come together in a beautiful way which will lead me to the doorstep of the world’s greatest automotive companies. It’s the ultimate gearhead odyssey, which will crisscross the European Continent in search of automotive excellence and ecstasy.
| Day #1 | A Journey of Exhaustion |
| Day #2 | Bentley Motors Factory |
| Day #3 | The Very Surprising Rolls Royce |
| Day #4 | A Journey At Jaguar |
| Day #5 | The Land Rover Exhibition |
| Day #6 & 7 | Downtime in Stuttgart |
| Day #8, 9 & 10 | A Trip Through History at Mercedes Benz |
| Day #11 | The Very Cool Porsche |
| Day #11 | Riding Along With Ruf |
| Day #12 | Chatting at BMW |
| Day #12 | Octoberfest |
| Day #13 | Back to Northern Italy |
| Day #14 | The Story of The Arnaldo |
| Day #15 | The Feeling at Ferrari |
| Day #16 | The Spirit Lives : A Visit to Pagani |
| Day #17 | Lamborghini : The Desire to Be Evil |
After Lamborghini I seriously slacked for the rest of the trip on the blogging front - There were a few other stops of note but the bottomline is that it was a hell of an adventure and a heck of a shoot. For a gearhead like myself it as close to heaven as you can get and I’m actually looking forward to similar adventures next year on different soil 
When I finally got back to the States Speed On Two Wheels Finally Started Shipping and a previous show that I had directed called Classic Car Hunters was put online on Discovery’s new Automotive Broadband Channel called Turbo.
Towards the end of the month I finally found sometime to hit Sandia Creek & De Luz Road, which were suggested by long time TwistingAsphalt reader Ford…
Tonight I want to throw a big thank you shot out to long time TwistingAsphalt reader Ford, who suggested I try a loop through Temecula wine country. Quite a while ago Ford left a comment offering some ‘local’ tips and passing along the Sandia Creek & De Luz Road loop. While I wish the roads were paved a bit better, this is without a doubt the closest I’ve felt to being back in the Santa Monica Mountains since departing LA.
November turned out to be a big month for the blog with twenty-six posts… The month started with a Role Reversal of sorts when I was asked to step in front of the camera for Turbo. That was quickly followed up by yet another website change - finally after two years TwistingAsphalt was Internet Explorer compliant.
That minor revelation was followed by a major one - Ducati announced the 1098 and the Ducatista inside has never been the same… (To be honest, at first I didn’t know what to think about the new bike, but after seeing it in person I can’t believe I ever questioned it… It’s stunning and I can’t wait to take delivery of one…)
A week later I needed a break. So I did what all riders do. I got on a bike and just went… It wasn’t a completely spur of the moment adventure though. MotorMilt had just traded his 2004 999 in on a 2002 BMW K1200RS and someone needed to ‘try it out’
So I took a trip up the coast and penned a lengthy bit titled, Getting Away : CA Route-1 Los Angeles to San Francisco. To be fair it was not an objective post about the road - CA-1 is one of my all-time favorite riding spot, especially in the middle of the week when there are no tourists and little to no traffic. As I recall I left on a Wednesday or maybe a Thursday. It was simply glorious. The kind of open riding that you can only dream of and while part of me wished I was riding a ‘9′, the reality was that the BMW was the right tool for the right job. The post-trip write up featured several graphs I particularly like…
Sliding towards the inside of the rapidly approaching corner, I brashly manipulate the front end, countersteering the bike back and forth in order to wiggle my way around a collection of errant rock formations before standing the bike back up as the road dives down towards sea level once again. To appreciate this kind of rollercoaster ride is to understand that this road isn’t anywhere near average. It’s the kind of place that you could spend days and nights dreaming about and still never find. Yet here it is and it’s real. It’s tangible. It’s alive with the kind of energetic pull that makes riding move beyond the merely physical adventure and instead enter the realm of spiritual prophecy come to life.
I have no doubt that evangelists from all walks of life struggle to explain the meaning that this route holds. Beyond the molecules of asphalt lies something greater then the ordinary, something much more profound which speaks on levels that mortals rarely seek and almost certainly never find. Yet if you’re into riding for the sake of the ride there’s no need to ask these kinds of heavy bothersome questions. You simply don’t have the time. After all this is a road surface that’s hell-bent on bringing the best out of you – not for a minute or sequence - but for the entire journey.
Peering over the fairing, the downhill push brings me face to face with one hundred and eighty degrees of conquest. On most occasions this would be unique, but not when it’s been going all day. As I rapidly start the process of downshifting and sliding off the saddle towards the inside of the hairpin like turn, the bike tilts its way towards a missing chunk of cliff before running right through the bend as if it were nothing more then a blip on the radar. The kind of blip that brings a gargantuan smile to your face before it’s forced to vanish in the eye of yet another twisting turn whose conclusion disappears beyond yet another jagged piece of exposed rock.
As I keep working my way up the coast, the road gets tighter and the views more magnificent. Before long the idea of any meaningful civilization is just a distant, thought at best. The kind of flashback that makes you realize just how powerful a singular journey can be – because it offers the kind of space that doesn’t exist on a two or four hour ride. There’s something about how the miles wear you away, a piece of sandpaper for your soul. They peel back the layers of life and allow you to experience things on a much more real – and perhaps raw – level. As the pieces of your normalcy crumble what’s left is just you. Nothing but you. And when you spend twelve hours inside your helmet there’s quite a bit of you to go around. In some ways perhaps that’s the part of the long journey ride that I’ve missed the most. When I’m on the 999 and moving fast all I tend to think about is the road and how the bike is operating. It’s too dangerous to think about much else. But when you dial it down a bit, on a less extreme motorcycle, in such a picturesque place, it’s hard not let you mind wander just a tad.
Pulling a final smoke out of the saddlebag, a well-worn sense of achievement and enjoyment washing over as I stand in awe of the adventure. So many divergent thoughts crash into each other that it’s hard to comprehend just how much scenery and landscape I’ve witness in the last twelve hours. Yet the one thought that I cannot escape is the most basic - While I’ve been fortunate to travel to distant locations around the globe, no road has ever held me in the kind of magical awe and wonder that the Pacific Coast Highway has the power to initiate. This road and its labyrinth of concave and convex corners offers more than merely miles to travel – it holds the key to personal sanity and forces the kind of internal reflection that rarely if ever happens in the modern day to day world. While the PCH was built by men, the road holds a unique kind of power that sparkles the imagination in ways that don’t seem mortal. This is god’s country after all and ride it offers a glimpse into the heavens.
The next time I got a chance to ride, I hit De Luz Road for The 2nd Time and the results were far less exciting than the first time through. What I wrote at the time encapsulated the wildly divergent emotions I was feeling towards my new riding surroundings at the time…
At first I dismissed this as mere lethargy relating to the recent traveling, but as the days have passed, I keep finding myself feeling this nebulous sense of uncertainty when it comes to riding. Not in terms of the desire to ride, but rather where to ride…
It was definitely an interesting experience trying a few of these roads out for the second time around – this time via a slightly different loop. I don’t quite understand it, but yesterday my reaction felt so very, very different then the first time out. Perhaps originally I was blindsided by the ‘need’ to find something, yet this time I felt so greatly at odds with what I remembered the road feeling like. Yesterday the road felt rougher, the water crossings more apparent, the gravel and sand on the surface more intense. There seemed to be so many more obstacles that presented danger that I for much of the ride it felt like I was battling the odds and not enjoying the journey. Who’s to say which reaction to the same road is correct. Maybe the first time out my senses weren’t sharp enough or perhaps this time around I was simply in a downer of mood. I really don’t know. But by the time I got home the residual feelings and emotions were a strange twist on post-riding depression. I felt so greatly disappointed and yet so curious about what the road really was like. It was as if these two diametrically opposed versions of the same reality were battling it out inside my mind. And the result was a complete inability to reconcile what I saw with what I felt on either journey.
So of course I did the obvious thing when you start feeling depressed about your ‘new local riding roads’ - I put a deposit down on a brand new Ducati 1098 S…
And wouldn’t you know it just a few days later my sense of riding depression lead to finding Palomar Mountain and that Hope Exists…
Palomar Mountain is quite a sight to see if you’re a sportbike rider. Definitely ranking in a top ten list of public roads I’ve had the pleasure of riding. The surface is generally well paved and the road curves like few others, but it’s the views that truly stand out. By the time you reach the top of this magnificently rising creature all of that baggage that you tend to carry with you on a day to day basis gets is gone. Left behind down near sea level. It’s simply a glorious chunk of carved roadway that makes you remember what it is that you enjoy about riding. After months of limited time on the bike (mainly due to work) it was somewhat mind-blowing to finally have found such a wondrous ‘new home’.
I’m not sure that I’m completely settled, but for the first time in weeks there’s a hint of promise in the air. A thread of continuity that makes me believe that while it takes a little bit longer to get to the right riding roads, there’s definitely somewhere worth venturing off into the sunset to find.
By the end of the month I took a Thanksgiving Get Away, where I snapped one of my favorite picts from 2006 and wrote a short bit that seemed to sum up so much…
For me, that inspiration is the allure of California.
There is something that lives and breaths here that I’ve never felt anywhere else in the world. Something that can be acknowledged in many places, but I personally can only feel when riding here. In just a few short enchanted hours it felt like I was everywhere at once – from incredible mountain tops with curvy roads, to flat plateaus that went on forever, to desolate and forgotten desert by-ways, to mountain lined valley roads. Sitting here now, it seems hard to believe that a two hundred mile trip could encompass so much scenery and so many monumental roads.
When December started I finally was beginning to feel connected to the new roads and at peace - but that sense of calm only last so long when the height of winter hits and you start having Rearward Reflections…
Sunday it all made sense, there was a security in not only the way the bike was handling, but in the way I was seeing the road. Suddenly what was at first unfamiliar, now seemed and felt comfortable. Truly for the first time.
If you all don’t mind I’m going to skip the rest of the posts from December - not that there are a ton, it’s been a relatively light month - but rather because in theory if you’re a regular reader of the blog you know what’s been going on over the past few weeks…
That being said it sure seems like a heck of a lot has happened this year - obviously there are folks who’ve had more happen over the course of the past twelve months and I by no means mean to dismiss that, but for me this is about as much ‘change’ as I feel like I can take for little while. It has been a year perhaps best categorized as a bizarre mixture of excitement, change and chaos all wrapped together. As I’ve looked back at what’s transpired it seems like an awful lot. More action in fact then I would have thought a single year could encompass. It’s been a uniquely up and down and somewhat all over the place kind of rollercoaster of a year, but the end result has been a very, very good year. On both the personal and professional fronts. But it’s certainly not the kind of year that I expected when it started. But then life has a surprisingly funny way of taking whatever you thought was your personal limit and ratcheting it up a few notches over the course of time.
If there’s been one tenant that has connected posts in this blog from the very beginning to present, its that over the course of the past several years I’ve been struggling with where I was headed as an individual, as a business owner and as a rider. For the first time in a long time I finally feel like I know where I’m standing. I don’t know if that’s the definition of growing up or just a function of becoming more aware of your surroundings or frankly if it’s merely the act of allowing yourself to finally feel comfortable in given situations – perhaps it’s all of those things and more. I don’t really know. What I do know is that it nice to finally feel like you’re doing alright and comfortable with where you’re at…
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