The bike is running at a wicked pace through a pristine slice of California Wine Country, which sits on the edge of a desert that’s exploding with change, when all the pieces start to finally connect again. Suddenly. Effortlessly. Easily. It all makes sense, as if that much desired and somewhat foreign ‘see no evil, do no evil’ reality has once again been reborn.

What an incredible difference just a few days can make…

Gunning the engine, there’s a wail of interaction, an everlasting echo running through the canyon walls, and a touch of excitement as the bike downshifts and I begin a symbiotic dance through the turns. Bits of breaking meet a touch of front-end dive and a long, low, lasting tilt. It’s a much-needed change, especially after a few rides that bordered on the dysfunctional, or at least the emotionally downtrodden.

By the time the road begins to truly tighten and constrict the very civilization I’m escaping, everything feels ideal – and nothing it seems is going to be able to upset either the bike or myself today. Absolutely nothing… What a wondrous feeling…

Even the mix-media road surface, which is part winter solace and part summer tarmac glue, can’t unsettle the security of the rush. The speed. The fluidity. The thirst for adventure. Even the effervescent nature of just leaning it over again and feeling secure in your choices.

As the ride continues, pockets of society crop up and then disappear intermittently. The pace of the day follows suit, running hot and cold between excessive speed in situations of true isolation and a more temperate climate while amidst the touch-and-go light traffic. Eventually the landscape completely gives way to the foundations of the modern world. Society returns. But the sensation remains. Ingredients which imprint a genuinely glorious and haunting sense of invulnerability…

It’s a feeling that I haven’t felt in quite awhile — that sense of true connection with the machine. When you and the bike interact instantly and without hesitation or concern, motivated simply by the lust in your heart and the freedom of the moment — in a space that seems completely protected from everything else in life.

[Photo by Rick Clemson]

The sun is well past its prime and I’m feeling unbelievably angry — angry at the motorcycle, angry at the mountain, angry at myself, even angry at the new CRG levers…

Because I waited to long to get on the bike and just go…

I let the day slip past me under the false pretenses of a cloud-covered disguise and a morning filled with wasted time. Now halfway through the ride, my penance seems to be a road that’s permeated by an apprehensive collection of near constant tension.

It’s the kind of strain I try to avoid by going for a ride in the first place – but today it lurks under the asphalt like a hunter stalking its prey. Holding low, hiding out, just waiting to see your weaknesses. Waiting for that one single mistake when it capitalize and take charge for the foreseeable future.

And I can feel it bearing down… With each flick of the front end…

The strain of its eyes. The heat from its breath. The emotional turmoil it creates within. It’s the kind of foreboding thought-process that somehow ensnares you - traps you in a self-fulfilling circular prophecy written in your own continual failure.

Worst of all, you witness at each bend in the road; within a missed mark or an overtly loose line or that one stone that somehow stand tall right at the apex… And right now I find myself feeling this amazingly powerful sense of internal rage – the kind of raw, bitter, unrelenting anger that I haven’t felt in ages – because I can’t shake this feeling, I can’t just enjoy the ride, and perhaps most importantly because I – and I alone - created it in the first place…

I decided far to late in the day to go for a ride when I clearly lacked the mental space to enjoy it, and now I’m paying the price, one corner at a time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=–LcHYQqdD4

Earlier this week MCN, which is one of my favorite moto-mags, ran a bit about Twist The Throttle! I haven’t seen a copy of the article yet, but because the gang at MCN is so web literate, they asked us to cut a new promotional trailer for the series… Enjoy

It’s been a rock’n few weeks for riding — With the weather turning, the skies clearing (relatively speaking) and a bit more free time then usual, I’ve some how managed to rack up just over a 1,000 miles thus far this month. While that’s just a drop in the bucket for the high mileage crowd, for me it’s historically quite good. Also probably explains why I’ve felt rather relaxed - even on days when the weather went to hell and the bike got tossed about, because there was always ‘tomorrow’ or the ‘next ride’… There’s simply something quite comforting about knowing that you’re actively - and perhaps excessively - engaging in the sport of riding and doing it with a regular consistency… Of course from my perspective, the best part is that there’s still thirteen days left on the calendar So a really good month might become a really great one rather quickly…

As some of you might have noticed, while I’ve been racking up the miles, they’ve been almost exclusively on the ST3. There’s a good reason for that - The 1098S had it’s first real mechanical mishap since I got it last year. Air managed to seep into the clutch line and while I’m mechanically inclined, it seemed like a better use of time to let the boys at Pro Italia deal with it while I got some much needed riding in. I suppose that’s one the strange contradictions of owning multiple bikes, if it’s a beautiful day and one of the bikes is down for whatever reason, I’m much more apt to get out and ride the other one then fret over what’s wrong with the bike in question… And while the 1098S was in the shop, I had the PI boys install some new bling that MotorMilt (aka the old man) had picked up for me over the holidays; a pair of brilliantly gold ’shorty’ CRG levers. While I totally dig the ‘look’ thus far I’m not sure if I’m sold on them or not - perhaps it’s just that I’ve gotten used to the standard Ducati lever set and they feel ‘comfortable’ to me. Time will tell I guess… I figure I’ve got thirteen days to see how they get going

Sliding over the saddle, I duck to the inside. Bask in the sunshine and feel the harmony of the bike, the road and the reason come together. The tires grab the chunky asphalt and tilt to the match the moment. It’s fast and swift and marvelous.

All the ingredients of perfection.

Twisting my neck, I stare down the edge of a peripheral vision. Try to connect with what’s remotely perceptible. Watch the yellow lines comfortably contort around the side of the mountain before they disappear behind the next jutting collection of rocks and weeds. An L-Twin revolution later and I’m aiming for the apex as the bike begins to hit its marks… When I feel violence descend…

A ferociously evil, nasty gust of wind rushes down the face of the mountain. With an instant and unrelenting velocity that’s impossible to ignore or avoid.

The bike stands straight up. With deathly immediacy. The tires get tossed. Wickedly. The moment turns awkward and uncontrollable. A sense of helplessness drowns out the whirl of the engine and any remnants of joy. I feel my heart rate skyrocket while it jackhammers away at my chest. Then there’s an instant sensation of dread. A moment of panic. And a half a second later, a day which seemed destined for the divine suddenly becomes nothing but chaos as the bike simply floats three-feet towards the edge of the outside of the corner… All by itself.

Straight away I feather the brakes. Try to remain calm. Try to regain a sense of composure. And then I look up… At oblivion… And watch the last vestiges of my confidence swirl away into a rising spiral of ether in a completely unbeknownst manor. I’m alleviated of any illusions that I’m the one that’s in charge.

The sand kicks up. The rocks on the side of the road jingle. Debris soars as I continue to veer off course. The brightly shinning guardrail radiating with a sense of destiny – and beyond that lies mortal disaster. Hundreds and hundreds of feet of falling.

Quickly I force myself to snap out of it - or at least try to - and ignore the target-fixation that’s crimping my mind. Squinting at the apex while trying to look through the dust, I find myself thinking, “You’ve got to do something – Now!”

It’s an immediate and omnipresent thought. Instinctually I start pushing on the inside handlebars — and praying. To whom I have no idea, but as the bike begins to battle the atmospheric pressure it seems like a damn good idea. At a moment like this, what’s there to lose anyway?

Of course this theological indecision is nothing new, even the Greeks couldn’t quite figure out who ruled the wind. At various points in their mythological history they believed that one of seven different deities controlled the flow of air. And the confusion didn’t stop there - Most scholars believe that Aeolus was the most famous of the wind gods and there were merely three different variants of him throughout the ages. Apparently humanity has always held a certain kind of indecisiveness when it comes to convection currents.

Of course that debate, along with any other, is rather meaningless when you’re staring down your own destruction while thinking it’s a somewhat trivial foregone conclusion to the task at hand… But then, just as quickly as it cropped up, the wind hushes backs down. Or perhaps the change of angle redistributes its piloting contribution. Who knows? Either way the tires begin to bite again. The bike follows their lead. And you thank your lucky stars that today was not your day to find out what a catastrophic moment of concern actually physically feels like…

A half-dozen more moments of concern later – and that’s just on the way up - and I’m standing at the top of Palomar Mountain, listening to the bellows of the mountain as they shake the trees and bristle over the asphalt. Wondering if today is the day I finally get my comeuppance and pay for my past public roadracing sins? Is this the moment when the egregious acts of my past on this very route come back to haunt me?

Just an hour and a half ago this sort of thought process would have never crossed my mind. From all outer appearances today was a day full of potential. Full of perfection. With rich temperatures and completely clear skies, mentally I felt free from the work week and ready to exploit a solitary form of relaxation. But Aeolus, and the Mountain itself, clearly had other plans. Their collective breath seems hell-bent on destruction…

On the way back down the South side of the Mountain, the wind only gets worse as the moments of concern grow. From minor annoyance to outright damnation.

And of course that’s when our next great American roadracing superstar in training comes roaring up on my six and decides that right here and right now, in the middle of a blind corner on a completely uncontrollable day, is the perfect moment to emulate a RossiHaydenStoner maneuver and duck underneath me. I catch a glimpse of his (or her) brilliance start as they flash in the mirrors before crossing the double yellow and screaming their inline-four for all to hear. The sound lashing out at the mountain face like a whining middle child whose in desperate need of attention.

Rolling off the throttle, I brush off to the side and let our future GP promise take the corner – not that he or she really needs the lane since they’re so far off to the inside that all it would take is a mere bicycle coming around the bend and we’ll be needing the medics.

Eventually I get ‘chumpped’ twice more on the way home, once while patiently waiting behind a row of cars on CA-76 (a sweeping road that always has traffic) and the second time while slowing down for a 25 mph zone – All of which makes me wonder when humanity will wake up and stop taking their personal freedoms for granted?

The tapestry of California is littered with a bountiful supply of rich, majestic, sweeping asphalt routes that are tempered by normally brilliant weather – Yet after watching some firsthand ineptness this morning, and to be fair this has been a growing thought process the more I’ve ridden Palomar on the weekends, I can’t help but feel as if there’s a siege being waged on our marvelous public playground.

Let’s face it; The motorcycling public is at war with the preconceived notions of the vast majority of the road going public. When it comes to two-wheeled vehicles the more chances we collectively take, the more idiocy that’s put out on display, the more inherent danger we propagate right before the very eyes of the majority opinion, the more likely it is that we will lose our right to gloriously enjoy the open road.

Statistically speaking the US is comprised of just over three-hundred million individuals – the ones that ride or fantasize about riding comprise a numerically impressive yet statistically small percentage of that number. The last study I read suggested there were somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty million Americans that ride a motorcycle and/or want to ride one – so realistically it’s a niche market. The majority of the population wants nothing to do with two-wheeled products and a good portion of that group already holds sportbikes and cruisers in a certain disdain.

I’m not suggesting that I’ve never made a boneheaded maneuver before – we all do, particularly when we’re starting out – but these days I take a certain amount of pride in walking that fine line between enjoying a ride and upholding a relatively high level of public awareness and safety. Particularly on a day where there are already so many cards stacked against you.

If I’m going to open it up on a public road, I damn sure going to find a place that’s traffic free. God forbid I lay the bike down or bin it up and hurt myself that’s one thing and I can accept it. The second I put another human in danger because I can’t control my throttle habits that’s entirely different beast.

I only truly ride ragged on the track – and even that’s not all that ragged. With the growing number of trackdays, track schools, etc. there’s absolutely no reason for speed jockeys not to take their ‘need for speed’ somewhere it’s controllable and safe.

Yet going to the track only solves a part of the problem – while it puts you in an environment created for pushing limits, it’s also quite costly and doesn’t answer that basic human desire to taste, smell and see new scenery while you’re riding or passionately driving. For that you need fun public roads. The kind of roads we’re going to lose if people keep making blatantly stupid maneuvers in places they shouldn’t.

As a society, perhaps, we need to duplicate part of the German motor-going philosophy – not only did the Germans invent the first motorcycle but their culture seems to greatly understand and appreciate the need for public spaces built specifically for speed. The Nurburgring is their most famous public sport route, but they have other roadways created specifically for folks who want to push their machines. These are not exactly tracks and they’re definitely not canyon roads – rather they’re places that offer changing scenery and curvy asphalt with no cross traffic and no non-road going members of society. Roads where you pay a fee to run as fast as you want and everyone who enters acknowledges the same set of basic rules. If you want to put your knee down – that’s fine. You want to pop wheelies – that’s fine. You want to duck to the inside and cut folks off – that’s fine… But if you wreck, it costs you. If you stop traffic, it costs you. If you close the ‘route’ or track, it costs you. So there are rewards and benefits but also a system of regulations to keep folks in check.

It seems to me there is a certain moral obligation to respect the very community you become part of when you purchase a motorcycle – regardless of its horsepower or genre or marque. In a place like Palomar – where the non-motor public already is greatly opposed to the sights and sounds of motorcycling and the general roaring thunder that endlessly tolls on any given weekend - that obligation becomes paramount to the very survival of the sport of riding. It needs to be revered and respected and put on display so as to assuage the fears of those who champion a much more draconian outlook at our sport and our community.  All of us who ride hold the power to preserve the ‘natural resource’ that is riding and if we don’t, it simply will not matter how technological advanced modern motorcycles become nor whether they ship with two-hundred horsepower or just two; There won’t be anywhere fun to ride in public and the motorcycle community will lose the its free will, its inalienable rights to public spaces and the joy of a weekend ride, no matter how windy it is…

Darks clouds hang overhead with a clinical like mortality that seems to last forever. It’s a void of color floating with soulless conviction and it somehow seems capable of penetrating even the most hopeful thoughts and feelings. And there’s no escape. No relief. No sunshine to save the day. Nothing but doom and gloom and uneasiness to shadow your every action. The kind of internal turmoil, which got me on the bike in the first place.

Consciously I try to ignore the apprehension and quell the internal shuffling of the deck as I charge up the face of the mountain. But the hills, which are normally inviting, docile creatures, seem shallower and more confined. They spread their brash pessimism over the open road. Covering the correct ‘lines’ with doubt and confusion while leading you astray. They gnaw away at your sense of conviction. Hunting down that elusive sense of release and relaxation bit by bit. Instead offering nothing but a platter full of antagonism.

When the backend steps out for the third time, it’s clear that the dark, dangerous, forbidding clouds are signaling their dominance over the day at hand. The more you push, the more they tighten their grip, until eventually you come to realize that no matter what you do, the fate of the ride rests in their hands. They are the ones that are in control.

And yet there’s an odd harmony to the day.

Once you make the jump and stand back, it becomes obvious that while it’s not an optimal day for a ride, you’re still directly connected to the surroundings. You’re feeling their emotions, capturing their glances, chuckling at their misfortune and still availing yourself of a sensory experience. It’s not the affair you’d hoped for or even the one you planned, but it’s still real and truthful and uncompromised nonetheless. A slice of life that’s far from perfection but still contains the tenants of breaking away from the ‘norm’ and perhaps on a day like today, that’s just good enough to live with, because let’s face it, you really don’t have a choice. It’s up to the clouds.

I’ve been dancing and dodging with butterflies all afternoon when I finally come face to face with a one-hundred-and-eighty degree mind-bender of a corner. The kind of curve that shakes the numbers straight off of a civil engineer’s calculator. Makes you as a rider do a double take. Because the arc seems to go on forever. And in the split-second before the bike enters full attack mode and starts to dive for the apex, I find myself thinking that this just might be a touch to much for today’s pace…

But before the thought can take a revolution ’round the carousel and work its way down the synaptic pathways to my limbs, the bike hikes ahead, seemingly unaware of the consequences for an ill-fated assault. Quickly I start modulating the front brake, trying my damnedest to sheer off some speed. I drop the bike down a gear. The tach rockets. The bike churns. Continues on. The L-Twin howling with a ferocious sense of anticipation. The sound running straight up the mountain’s wall before dissipating into the dark, gray skies that are hanging as close as your girlfriend’s breath the morning after… And then something strange happens, admits the dire sense to get the hell out of dodge, I find myself ignoring the inclination to duck out the door… Then the bike matches the heartbeats and almost instantly the clouds part and within their greyness I finally see a bit of hope spread its wings as the light pours on to the proceedings with a flicker of luck.

[Photo by Rick Clemson]

Several corners later, I’m taking a break and lighting up another drag as I listen to the sound of silence that’s rushing through the mountain’s crevasses when it dawns on me that this has been quite an unexpected adventure. Historically I’ve always found gray colored days hard to ride. They have a cold personality and they’re rife with uneasiness. A negative tension huddles close and whispers in your ear almost always at the most inappropriate moments. The whole deal feels well past solemn and often portends to a downtrodden riding experience - at least for me - and yet today, unlike so many previous journeys through the mist, the greyness was a mere prelude to surprise.

After Friday’s magical ride, I woke up this morning feeling a certain sense of excitement and oddly enough it was because of a road sign. While flying around the desert two days ago, I happened to notice a rogue road on the way back home. Like many before me, it was a sign I’ve glanced at from the corner of my eye a hundred times before but never actually seen. A metal post teetering on the edge of a forgotten glimpse. One that’s never made much of a lasting impression nor seemed remotely interesting. A name that never held much value from a word that seemed so foreign that to think it might be of interest seemed doubtful at best. And yet here we are, today, where for whatever reason the very sound of the word illuminates the mind and launches the imagination in a hundred different directions. Inspiring a whole new train of thought, as you quizzically check and recheck your mental image. You picture the sign, then the beginning of the road, and then finally the hill top beyond and wonder, as if for the very first time, ‘what lies over that ridge?’ And like our forefathers before us, with our curiosity peeked, the gauntlet lays itself out before our very eyes and the question is no longer if we will traverse the landscape, but when.

With the waters in the cauldron of an asphalt exploration now boiling, it only seemed right to return to the cookbook of riding and take my cue. Thus began an early morning game of Google Maps seek and destroy, where the I stumbled back to the route, which on paper not only looked nice and squiggly but appeared to connect to another nicely squiggly line. And that line appeared connected to yet another and soon I was making mental reservations for a journey intent on discovering fun roads in another part of the world. Thus began a trip through Temecula Valley Wine Country, where besides the aforementioned wine there seems to be molecular predisposition for horse breeding, orange grooves, and curvy picturesque asphalt.

A mere five minutes after turning off of CA Route 76, if I hadn’t known better I would have sworn I was straddling the yellow line in the middle of the Central Coast of California. White farm fences lined the road and the hills offered that unique California Ranchero aesthetic with minimal fuss. New vistas and experiences abounded. And the roads, ahhh the roads, while not exactly a sportbikers paradise they were sufficiently screwy enough to keep the day-to-day dwellers to a minimum and the curve-to-grin ratio high enough to allow one to bask in the best parts of the ride and savor their remains. Each corner imprinting bits and pieces of themselves until the residual afterglow burned so bright that you began to remember the joy that’s involved in discovering new unique riding experiences. And in the end, perhaps that’s the best part of sport-touring, even if it’s in your backyard - the sense that through your connection with the machine, you can explore, discover and conquer parts of the world that would never blip on your daily radar. That you can in a sense turn back the clocks of time and feel, if only briefly, that same sense of astonishment as you turn the corner and see something new in the same vein and through the same eyes as the very first adventurers who set foot on this great continent.

More picts in the Gallery.

The helmet visor has been faux painted with enough insect innards to keep an entomologist busy for weeks. The leather jacket desperately need an extra long deep-tissue massage session. And the bike… ahhhh, the beauty of the bike… It looks, and smells, worse then a survivalist student after six weeks in the outback without running water… Yet all of that brings a smirk and a smile to my face… Because I was there. I saw it. I savored it.

Looking at the screen while pondering the next words to choose, there’s a residual sense of ‘peace’ that’s so blatant, and so calming, and so carefree right now that it’s scary just how relaxing it feels. Every ride ought to end this way. Shivering somewhere between the reward for an I-can’t-believe-I-just-experienced-that mecca moment and the long, slow burn of a lengthy workout that leaves you feeling completely spent but smiling.

Glancing at the clock, it’s somewhat stunning, perhaps even startling, just how fast the hours can pass when you’re enjoying jockeying in the saddle amongst the grandeur of a vibrantly living, breathing and blooming desert.

I have to admit that I had no concept of how fantastical this part of the world could be during this time of the year. Twelve months ago we were running around the globe shooting Twist The Throttle and I completely missed the spring season in the Southern part of Southern California. Yet after today’s ride it’s clear to me, that was a scheduling mistake to the nth degree.

Because I missed out on a masterpiece of living artwork.

There is something surreal and yet quite riveting about blasting through an endlessly scenic sketch where the landscape looks as if someone has painted directly onto nature itself. From the kaleidoscope of flowers that are roaring to life to the brilliant depth in the greenery, there’s a remarkable image at work here - a picture that captures so much of California - and it’s begging to be seen, asking to be cherished, and perhaps wondering if you’ll remember it because of its limited shelf-life.

In a month or two around this part of the world it’ll be a hundred degrees outside and what looks like it’s living today will surely perish - at least visually. Yet this feeling, this moment of imagery needs to remain. I have to remember it. Because it’s so remarkably luminous, so immense, and so meaningful in all its glory that to forget it would be to lose something truly special. A part of the greatness of California.

More Picts after the jump…

More Photos in the Gallery…

Hot, scorching steam is finally starting to enter the pores as the last drops a beautifully aged single malt linger and yet all I can taste — all I can feel — is the long over due magic that still hangs in the air…

As the hammering water continues to fall, it’s hard to comprehend that just a few hours ago I was sitting in a booth, inside Mother’s Kitchen on the top of Palomar Mountain, staring out the window as I soaked in the magnificence of one hell of a marvelous day. The kind of day that I’ve so badly craved and so eagerly anticipated.

The return of riding if you will…

Two days ago this feeling seemed damn near implausible. Even though I valiantly climbed aboard the ST3 and headed out into the wild, something kept holding me back. Something seemed amiss. Something was on my mind.

Today that changed… Dramatically… Like a timelapse sequence for the soul that reveals true sunshine…

It was one of those rare moments when the deck finally feels completely clear, the plate seems crisply cleaned and you’re able to witness the concept of potential transform into the practicality of actual promise. When what had previously been mediocre suddenly comes alive and avails itself of awe and moto-virtue.

On a day when I set out just to be ‘mellow’ - just to get a ride in no matter how slow or patience it ultimately ended up being - the exact and total opposite occurred. A kind of ‘tunnel vision for life’, at least as I know it — The kinks in the road coalesced into one well-worn solemn course, as the tach kept rapidly rising and falling and dancing. The revs stayed fully charged and the speedo took up permanent residence well above where one would think it probably ought to hover. As the road repeatedly ducked and darted and the vistas expanded in a near sensory overload experience, the ST3 brilliantly hummed with a passion that I’ve so missed - not because of the bike, but because of me… And between the blossoming spring flora, the ultra-light weekday traffic and an unshakable premonition that I knew this road - that I finally knew it - I couldn’t shake the feeling that Palomar had never been better then it was today.

Somewhere between the beginning and the end of the ride a total confluence of remote variables connected so clearly, and so obviously, and so cleanly, that I couldn’t help but stop treating corners as static objects that stand alone but rather as single flowing entities that craft and pen a completely nimble journey in their own voice. And it’s a novella that I can’t wait to immerse myself in again. To call it anything less then ‘pure magic’ would strip it of meaning and devalue to moment… And what a moment… What a magnificent moment indeed…

The bike is bending in the corner as I fight an awkward mental state that stands somewhere in-between both today and tomorrow. So much seems perfect; The roads are relatively clear, the traffic is amazingly light, and the bike seems be to revealing in the fact that it’s out for a joyride. Yet I still can’t seem to allow myself to let go. I can’t disengage. After years of riding, one would think that by now I would have learned how to set aside the mental energy to simply enjoy the ride. For the first time in weeks there’s no pressing deadline, no heavy lifting to be done, nothing looming over my head. And yet I still can’t allow myself the freedom to be me. Or more to the point, the ability to enjoy the moment for what it is and not what it isn’t.

Coming around the next bend, I find myself wondering if I’ll ever master the skills involved in compartmentalizing the various facets of life. Will I ever be able to both consistently carve out the time to ride and the time to enjoy the moment? Today is the type of afternoon where I should be deriving a great deal of pleasure from the bike — A certain moto-satisfaction — however it seems damn near impossible to just ‘let go’ and enjoy the empty space between Point A and Point B because my mind seems to be traveling well outside the boundaries of my soul. Focused on the possibilities and not the practicality of the here and the now.

Part of this mental conundrum no doubt stems from the fact that at the moment I find myself in-between projects, a vast wasteland of wonder that seems rife with options but also filled with little to no certainty. After eleven broadcast spec projects one would think I would have come to grips with this sensation by now - of course it’s part of the intrinsic deal you pen when you sign up for this sort of life and lifestyle - and while I certainly deal with it better then I used to, I still can’t seem to escape the emotional turmoil it creates nor the sense that there’s something else out there that I ought to be doing at the moment…

Webisdoe #1: The 1098

Webisdoe #2: The Birth of Ducati

Webisdoe #3: Factory Tour

Webisode #4: The Hypermotard

And my favorite, Webisode #5: Mad for Moto

and…

To be completely honest this has blown everyone involved with the project away — I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we’re extremely thankful and quite excited that folks are digging the work this much. More to the point, we truly appreciate that folks have found enough valve in the project to continue to spread the word on to their friends and acquaintances.

As anyone in the documentary industry will tell you, that is both a rare commodity and quite a special one. When I take a step back to analyze it, I think one has to acknowledge not only the power and the potential of the web as modern distribution platform given its speed and efficiency, but more importantly I think you’ve got to acknowledge the influence of the motorcycle community as a whole.

In a broader context, the motorcycle community is clearly an extremely diverse group, but it is also far larger then I believe anyone realizes in terms of audience, or to put it in business terms, market share. I don’t believe that you can simply look at the sales figures for the major brands to get an indication of its size or potential. For every individual who owns a motorcycle, there are clearly far more who fantasize about owning one. This is important and worth acknowledging because in the world of television, the decisions whether to move forward with a project or not almost always ultimately rest on how large or committed the audience is — and I would submit based on the reactions to Twist that there is a sizable chunk or portion of the motorcycle audience that has clearly been underserved over the past several years.

Of course it would be awfully presumptuous of me to claim to fully understand the dynamics or tastes of every individual within this community – it is after all quite large - but like all documentary filmmakers, we went into Twist with several assumptions. Some appear to have been on target, some changed while we were in the field due to circumstance, and yet others missed the mark entirely.

What We Thought Going Into Production

We genuinely believed that the motorcycle community would greatly respond to the ‘sport’ side of riding – and I use that term loosely to encompass; the bikes and companies that push technology forward - because let’s face it, there’s quite a bit more to motorcycles then just choppers or Harleys, which is an area that has been well covered over the past half a decade or so on TV.

We also believed that people who enjoy using or looking at sporty motorcycles would be fascinated to learn about the quirks of fate and generally surprising histories of the major motorcycle manufacturers. Almost all of the companies we covered never set out to build a motorcycle – that’s fairly amazing if you think about it… And while none of what we covered is ‘new’ or impossible to find elsewhere (on the ‘net or in a book for instance), it is from a perspective rarely seen or discussed in the visual medium.

Not to sound overly scientific, but another hypothesis we held was that anyone who owned a bike built by these eight companies would be interested in seeing where their bike was born – both in terms of the factories and the locations. The corollary to this is that we believed each bike to be a direct product of its environment. It’s a belief that we came to while shooting our previous Discovery Turbo project, ‘Top Marques’ (only 4 of the eleven brands we featured ended up on the Turbo website, but hopefully that will change shortly). While bouncing around Western Europe and visiting the major supersports car manufacturers we began to notice that each marque seemed directly influenced by the area surrounding it.

Finally, we also felt that a sense for ‘the experience’ trumped any detailed discussion on the ‘technical data’ involved. This was partially based on who historically watches Discovery programming – regardless of its distribution platform or channel. By and large this portion of the general TV audience wants to know ‘how something works’ but they don’t want to feel like they’re watching a scientific dissertation either. So we intentionally avoided any talk of Newton meters or 2 millimeter changes to the fly valve. That was from our perspective to “inside baseball”..

I think this sense of ‘experience’ can best be visually articulated in the riding films that are online. They were never intended to replicate or replace motor-mag shoot outs – if you want to watch that sort of content there are already a host of places, such as MCN that already produce it and they do a damn fine job at that sort of content. We were interested in seeing and talking about the bikes in unique environments (some were more unique then others, but I’ll get to that later).

More analysis after the jump…

And The Reaction…

Unlike the birth of television when producers were basically making it up as they went along or even the ‘golden age of TV’ when they relied on rather ineffective statistical Nielson surveys, today thankfully there are message boards, blogs and other genres of websites that offer filmmakers, such as myself, a way to at least garnish a gleam for what folks enjoy or don’t enjoy.

That’s a really wordy way of saying that we’re trying our best to read every message board we can find or that gets passed along to us, because at least from my personal perspective that is the only way as we can try to understand what the audience really enjoys.

As of writing this post, we’ve either discovered or have had passed on to us 98 99 different websites that mention various view points on Twist The Throttle. Based on what we’ve read, I’d estimate that ninety percent of the posts spread across the net indicate that folks have greatly enjoyed what they’ve seen thus far — which I would submit means we at least came close to the mark on many of our original assumptions.

Of course there have also been some more critical reactions as well — Frankly that’s to be expected with any publicly distributed work and it’s the nature of the beast in Television.

So I thought that tonight I’d take some time to address some of the questions and criticisms that we’ve seen pop up… Not because I feel that I have to, or because I’m trying to be defensive, but rather to give all of you a sense for why certain decisions were made and also because I believe we now live in an era where you simply can no longer exist in a vacuum but rather should try and engage in a two-way conversation with the audience if at all possible.

Questions and Criticisms…

By far the greatest complaint at the moment seems to be the repeated ‘Twist The Throttle’ narration at the open and close of each film.

Clearly we missed the mark here. Our intention wasn’t to hammer anyone over the head with the title; rather the supposition at the time was that statistically speaking very few people watch multiple short form films on the internet in one sitting – especially once you get past the tweeners watching dogs skateboarding on YouTube. We simply had no way of anticipating that folks would be watching multiple brands at one time. We’ve even read posts on forums where people watched multiple hours – clearly no one expected that to happen. So clearly as we move forward – in whatever way, shape or form that is – we will not repeat the title in an episode. As an audience you’ve made it perfectly clear that you do not like that and we’re listening.

This leads directly into another frequently posted topic – length.

Unlike contemporary television where there is a rigid clock for programming – changing on the half hour or hour mark – the web is a brave new frontier and honestly I don’t think anyone has any idea yet how it will evolve as a medium. General industry wisdom held that four minutes was just about tops for how long a Webisode film could run and we tried our best to stick to that format. Of course we did violate it considerably on the history and manufacturing films – and trust me that doing so was an on-going debate – it’s just extremely difficult to tell the stories of these magnificent brands in four minutes while giving the audience any meaningful insight. If I had to do it over today, after reading the posts you’ve written, I’d push to extend the films as much as possible. It’s obvious now that folks in the motorcycle community will watch a web video of any length as long as they are ‘hooked’ or interested in it. Again, that’s a lessoned learned – though to be fair I also have to point out that the four minute mark might still hold true for a non-riding audience. Since those folks don’t post on motorcycle forums I’ve got no idea what they think.

Another hot topic – though considerably less so then either the title narration or the length of clips – has been the depth in the technical focus, or for some folks the lack thereof.

Above I’ve already highlighted our general theory that ‘experience’ trumps ‘tech talk’ and I feel no compunction in saying that I think we were correct about that for a few reasons. First given the Discovery brand we have to assume that there will be far more viewers that come from a general audience then viewers from the riding audience overtime. Secondly, these films will be staying online for a while yet the technical side of motorcycling – especially in sportbikes – changes quickly. Very, very quickly. So to get into tremendous depth ultimately hurts the shelf-life of the films, which in turn hurts the success of the series online. Finally, as I’ve mentioned previously, if you really want hardcore tech talk there are a vast number of places where you can find it in far greater detail then you could possibly provide in a four-minute film.

One of the bigger questions is about, ‘The Missing Brands’ – such as Aprilia, Triumph, Moto Guzzi, KTM, and Buell…

Like all documentary productions there’s only so much time you can spend in the field, so many subjects you can cover and realistically only so far you can stretch the budget. In addition, with a project like this until there’s a way to verify the demand, the network is only going to commit to so much content on a particular project. They run a business after all, which while glossy and somewhat glamorous because it shows up on television, runs exactly like any other brick and mortar establishment. That is to say, they are in the business of selling goods (commercials) and until they know there’s enough of an audience to support more product (the docs), then they have no reason to fund it. Our hope is that if the response to Twist continues, we might be able to find a way to delve into how these other brands tick as well…

It’s worth mentioning that our intention all along was to hit Triumph – and to their credit they were really into the project and willing to make it work. What didn’t were two things; Time and Budget. Coordinating the nine companies involved (8 marques and Alpinestars) was a considerable jigsaw-puzzle to say the least. Imagine all of the headaches involved with moving into a new house and then multiply it by ten but compress the time you have to do it by half and you only scratch the surface of the scheduling that was involved and the conflicts that had to be worked around. Then add in an incredibly weak dollar when stacked against foreign currency and things get real tight, real fast. This unfortunately meant that Triumph ended up on the cutting room floor before we ever rolled a single frame.

Another question I’ve personally received quite a few times through email, IM or private message on forums, has revolved around certain riding films looking different (or shall we say less dynamic) then others.

Every riding film was shot in just one day — with the exception of two brands, where our time with the bikes fell over a weekend. In most cases we were able to shoot the bikes as long as there was daylight - but in two cases we had just a few hours to get what we could. In that respect, shooting video is a drastically different animal then still photography. It just takes more time, no two ways about it. To be politically correct I’m not going mention brands or bikes, I’ll leave that up to your imagination and/or viewing habits, but given the extremely tight shooting schedule, I think it’s pretty clear that the guys behind the lens — our immensely talented Director of Photography Andrew Warsuzki and 2nd Unit Shooter (and Jack of All Trades) Andrew Cochrane — both did fantastic jobs capturing some truly brilliant looking footage and a tremendous amount of multiple angles.

Final Thoughts & A Contest!

Another thought that we’ve seen repeatedly posted is a clearly articulated desire for more content like Twist The Throttle on the brands you care about – we absolutely hear’ya and we couldn’t agree more. We’re currently trying our best to convince the powers that be that you are not alone and that there is in fact not only a dedicated moto-audience, but a thirsty one as well.

With this is in mind I thought perhaps now might be a good time for the first Twisting Asphalt Contest — because to be frank we need your help in order to communicate just how broad the audience for this sort of moto-programming actually is.

To be perfectly transparent and up-front about it, we simply cannot keep tabs on all the forum activity surrounding Twist The Throttle. Google and Yahoo no longer seem to search forums very well nor do they index quickly and since I think it’s fairly safe to assume that anyone reading this site also hangs out in various motorcycle forums on the ‘net, I thought it might be a win-win to offer some free DVDs of our past sportbike programs — and perhaps a mystery set of moto DVDs for whomever can suggest the most threads about Twist The Throttle in forums other then the ones we’ve already either found or which were passed on to us, which are listed below…

Please note: I’m not asking nor suggesting that anyone spam forums – we’re looking for threads that users have created on their own and have grown organically.

Finally I wanted to say thank to everyone who has watched the films. All of us hope you continue to enjoy them.

Cheers,

Dylan

Mainstream (6):
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Sites Picking Up The Autobog Feed (4):
nJection, SBPcar.ru, uClue, varoomroom,

After months of hard work I’m excited to finally be able to announce that next week our latest Sportbike project, “Twist The Throttle“, will premiere online on Discovery Turbo (Update: The direct link to the content is http://turbo.discovery.com/twist-the-throttle/twist-the-throttle.html). Shot entirely in High-Definition because of the multi-platform nature of the project, ‘Twist The Throttle’ is an inside and behind-the-scenes look at eight of the major and/or most storied motorcycle manufacturers in the world, including; Honda, Yamaha, Kawasaki, Suzuki, BMW, Ducati, MV Agusta and Bimota.

Segments showcase the remarkable histories of these brands, their manufacturing process, their R&D and of course their latest, greatest sportbikes. There’s also a cracking stop at Alpinestars, which sheads a bit of light on what goes into creating a state-of-the-art set of riding leathers. And just in case you’re curious there are some short behind-the-scenes films as well. All told over 4 hours content will be available and the best part is that it’s 100% free and no sign-up of any kind is required to watch it!

It’s been quite an adventure getting to this point and while this wasn’t the easiest production to shoot, coordinate or, well, live through, but it was however one of the most satisfying. To say that working on this has been a labor of love would be a tremendous understatement - I know I always tend to say that when I mention new projects on Twisting Asphalt, but in this case, this particular production has unequivocally been the best project I’ve ever been associated with and I truly hope viewers enjoy the end result.

There are a host of folks who deserve considerable appreciation for helping to make this project come to fruition, but two folks who I’d be remiss in not publicly acknowledging are our immensely talented Director of Photography Andrew Warsuzki and 2nd Unit Shooter (and Jack of All Trades) Andrew Cochrane. Both poured their hearts and souls into ‘the work’ and the finished project shows it.

A few useless factoids from the trip that might be of interest:

• We traveled over 36,000 miles to 4 countries on 3 continents over six weeks during production.
• We ended up shooting over 120 hours of tape.
• Traveled with over 1,000 pounds of luggage on 9 planes.
• Captured and logged over 20 additional hours of Historical Archival film and video (plus more still images then I can count).
• Ended up interviewing over 40 people spread across 9 brands.
• Ended up riding over 20 different sportbikes (unfortunately not all of them made the final cut).
• Shot and rode on 4 tracks, 3 of which are not open to the public (very cool), and 2 of which took place after 30+ hour travel days (not so cool). Also got the chance to ride many of the bikes on their home turf, including the Futa Pass in Northern Italy and the incredible Bavarian Alps (I’d gladly go back to either locale to ride tomorrow - it was that good).
• As a group received just 1 speeding ticket (thank you Austria), inadvertently damaged 1 press fleet car and broke 1 field production monitor, but otherwise escaped unscathed.