4 Valve Victory in the Canyons
I see the corner coming — the deep bend, the strange camber, the way the road rolls against itself as it tilts right and climbs north. Part of me cringes. Feels out of sorts, as if today isn’t really my day. But the bike doesn’t flinch. It never backs down. It never echos my personal conundrum.
Instead it just settles down.
Then the tires grip. And the chain spins. And before I know it the little bit of lean angle that remains disappears as the throttle rips backwards with vengeance…
Instantly valves open, the heart flutters, and the engine revs… Wildly revs…
And for all the worry in the world, now there is nothing to do but hang on…
Effortlessly, the bike fires — forward — Imposes its own will on the asphalt. Claws its ways up the hill as it rips big, heady chunks of asphalt out of its way. The road surface has no choice but to let go. To surrender. To give in.
The push is incredible. The drive out of the turns sublime. The self-created forward momentum astounding.
Beneath me a battalion of horsepower is on the attack and I can feel its every move. The bike hunkering down, the revs increasing, the exhaust bellowing and by the time I reach the top of the lonely canyon wall, it’s clear that the roadway has been forced into a unique form of submission.
It hasn’t just been defeated, it’s been conquered.
In world where nothing seems secure, and so much suddenly seems fluid, I find myself smirking at the thought that for this one moment in time, on this one particular day, a 4-Valve L-Twin engine seems to have the power to defeat anything and everything in its path. Forward momentum never felt this good.
Curving Flashbacks
In the Canyons with Trevor
Top of Stunt during Fire Season
Few quick picts from a sweet ride through the canyons with Trevor Navarra, a rather accomplished still photographer…
Private Canyon
Sweat is beading up. Bits of perspiration grow unchecked. First there’s one. Then two. Now, three. Until the moment comes when the collection of water hits its critical mass and the weight exceeds the liquid’s suction power.
A second later, I feel the momentum of the bead as it rolls down my back and the cool-yet-warm-yet-idyllically perfect SoCal wind buffets the side of my helmet and exposed parts of my neck and I have to smile.
It’s November and at last I’m riding again.
How perfect.
Cresting the canyon, I wring back the throttle as the bike launches forward. The gauges go up, the gears spin faster, the exhaust audibly rises and the road bends – oh, boy, does it bend…
Going back and forth left and right and up and down, in equal measure and in all directions, before it suddenly shouts out straight ahead. Slowing rising, as if the road is just biding its time… Just sneaking a peek at what comes next. Just letting you catch your breath. Never fully giving itself away, never quite letting you know its intentions. And then there’s a kink.
A little jut that shoots you straight out under the trees. The shadows overwhelming your senses… It’s just darkness and a prayer.
You gulp for air and wonder what might lie on the road surface – but just then the sunlight comes back. Casting its watchful eye on your adventure once again… Right before the road rolls over itself, and you gasp… The jarring 180º up-hill assault brings the tarmac back on to itself and as you gaze at it, you too return to earth.
A second later, the bike dives-in. Leans left. In your mind, you think about traction and forces, and science and force, and all kinds of madness… And in a heartbeat it’s over…. Before I know it I’m hanging above the coast and the canyon, peering out at an endless expanse of nothingness. Clouds that cover all and yet offer no definition between sky or ground or even horizon. It’s just one big bland colored canvas that’s wrapped around everything that I can see.
Yet even though it seems colorless there’s vibrancy.
And lots of it.
Hitting the stop sign, I pause for a second and tell myself — no, remind myself — I should breath.
My head feels like its spinning so fast, I’m shocked… Can’t remember the last time I felt this way…
My heart races… And I smile…
I’m alone – completely alone – And in my very own private canyon.
*****
Minutes later, the road barks. The 1098S vibrates with an urgency I haven’t felt in quite awhile – the windscreen shakes wildly, the seat wiggles up and down, there’s a beat to the moment. A sense of booming and bamming…
The engine hurls itself forward with such vigor that I almost feel powerless to stop it by myself. There’s a third-person video-game quality to it all. The ride surrounding my outlook on life so fully and in such a dedicated manor that there’s seemingly little left to do. I feel lost. Out of control. Out of touch.
However I’m there… I’m in the moment…
With each new kink in the asphalt, the road openly communicates. The handlebars scream instructions as the Tires dip and dive and avoid conflict-riddled patches. I feel engaged. I feel in touch. I feel in control.
The engine rumbles and howls and screams… Rapidly increasing and decreasing the bellowing exhaust notes, each flick of the wrist echoing through-out the canyons and right off of the rocky walls.
Coming up to the top of Saddlepeak Road, I my eyes fixate on the width and breath of the San Fernando Valley. It’s clearer than the Coastline, but not by much. I can see birds fluttering, other traffic, hikers, bicyclists… Yet all I can hear is the soundtrack of my own private canyon. The Rattle and Hum of the Individual Experience as it was meant to be had… Solitude in Speed… Gød how I have missed this…
Long Time to Look This Good
Back at it Again...
The bike is slipping into second gear as the sunshine flickers. Bright and dark rays shutter through the weeds. Spill onto the road. Laying out a pattern of texture that’s deep with shades of gray but very little black and white…
And then the torque starts to talk…
Big hits of power slam into the road. Punch the asphalt straight in the face as the bike gnarls, and snares, and grabs hold. Wringing the last bit of grip as the power envelops not only the moment, but my mind. And it’s evil and it’s vicious and it’s just down-right mean… After three or four hits I find myself thinking the poor road didn’t even do anything to deserve this sort of punishment… And yet it’s still getting knocked silly… Rip after rip…
The top of Stunt Road
Jumping forward, the bike blasts. Begins beating up the wind as well. Nothing it seems can stand in its way… And then you realize it’s time to buckle down. Fully focus. As in 100-percent pay-attention time… No room for wandering thoughts, idle memories or business decisions that lurk ahead… No, now there is no time for anything else but moto-satisfaction…
Breaking left, the road tries to sneak one past the machine… But it doesn’t are. Just flicks in. Dives for the centerline. Acts unfazed…. Subconsciously I lean inside… Slide off the mount and towards the ground… Think to myself it wasn’t that long ago I was fighting this situation… But that was months ago and even though it’s been awhile since I was on the bike, this somehow feels more secure than it has in quite awhile… Because the bike just holds its line… Hangs on in one extended moment of solidarity with the asphalt. As if suddenly they’re best friends again… And I think what a change a six-pack of months make…
They say that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ but historically, for me anyway, that’s not always been case when it comes to bikes. The longer I’m off them, the more reasons I seem to find for putting off the first ride back. Chores, bills, parties, work, sleep, all those other things from regular life that tend to get in the way…
And it’s not because I love the machines any less, but rather, really, because the first ride back after a long lay off always seems to suck… It almost never fails that I find myself fighting something… The machine, the transmission, the road, the grip, the rusty feelings…
In truth, it’s not my favorite emotional ride…
And yet today none of that is true… The machine is matching the revs of my mind and doing exactly what I want, when I want it and it just seems easy… Remarkably easy…
Pulling off at a vista spot, the old man, pulls off his helmet and looks at me and then the machine…
“You look like you again,” he says with a smile… And I think, ‘I feel like me again’…
“It’s seems like it’s been a long time since I felt this good on a bike,” I respond and he nods…
It’s been months since I was last on the bike, thanks as usual to work - the traveling, the catching up on sleep, the deadlines, it’s the perfect cauldron for poor riding really… But somehow, for some reason, not today… How that’s remotely possible I don’t know, but I dig it… And I can’t wait to ride out the rest of Summer… Ah… It’s nice to be back…
Mellow Movements and Perspective
On The Road to Recovery
Tugging on the brake, deep in the corner, there’s a loud ‘thunk’. Then a blip. Or more appropriately a rev or two. And the bike bounces.
It stands up. Says I’m here. I’m free. I’m out to play. And then the pace picks up…
The machine basks in the glory — The sounds of an L-twin being let loose on curvy roads uninhabited by traffic …
Suddenly I feel a strange mixture of excitement and fear…
And I smile.
I think to myself, this is exactly what it’s supposed to feel like. This is in fact me…
And I smile again.
There are only so many moments one can allow to pass by - and today, of all days, it finally feels as if I’m meant to be in this bit of time, this space, this cross-section of the here and the now. Because I finally feel like I’m coming back around.
I’m returning to who I am.
It’s been a mere 56 days since I dump the 999. And they have not been easy days…
I think about what happened constantly. I analysis it. I reflect on it. I ask myself what I could have done to avoid it.
Perhaps that’s just human nature at play. Or perhaps I’m making a far bigger deal out of this than I should… I don’t know…
However to say that I’m over it is a total exaggeration. I’m not. And I’m not sure I should be. However, while the inevitable weights on my mind, there’s a certain glory, and pleasure, in being set free.
A certain sensibility in coming back around to the mindset that it’s possible to lose oneself in the uncontrollable. To lose oneself on the open road. To feel as if life is alive. That whatever organic nature there is to our being, it exists in the asphalt that gets us from the here to the there… That while none of us can ever really choose our time or place to go out, there’s something unique about feeling like you’re living in the chunk of time you’ve been granted…
I don’t mean to get all mystical here, but today I took the 1098S out and felt alive… Obstinately because the 10 needed to be run. It’s been in a track configuration for quite awhile now. But as we all know old gas in the tank is bad gas in the tank. And, more importantly it seemed like it was time… Time to take the beast out…
Of all the bikes that the old man and I share, the 1098 is undoubtedly the most twitchy. It’s the most real. The most powerful. The most alive. The one with the holier than thou brakes. The one that revs the loudest, bangs the best, and seems the most scary. It’s a machine that asks quite a bit from you — not so much physically, but rather mentally. It’s a machine that does specific tasks quite well — but to make that happen, you’ve got to on the top of your game… You’ve got to be living in the moment…
And yet today, it was perfect. It was sublime. And it was absolutely wonderful… It did everything I asked and more… Yet…
When waking up at 9am, I roll over and ask, am I awake enough to make this work? Am I where I need to be in order to take this bike out? Can I control it? Can I be what I need to be in order to make it work?
These are questions I never used to ask myself. Thoughts that I never fathomed.
I was the guy, who incorrectly thought, given enough time could learn to do just about anything on a bike. But mortality, and crashing, and reality, have a nasty way of proving their point….
I am not a god. I am not a pro racer. And I will never be.
The learning curve, while exponentially increasing over the years, quite possibly has hit its mark.
I say that not to sound defeatist, but rather because post-crash I find myself questioning the very nature of how I ride and where that riding takes place…
Up until now I’ve ridden with the sole intention of trying to getting better — to improve — each corner was challenging not because of its own virtue, but rather because of the virtue I imposed. At times I looked at a kink in the road and thought to myself, ‘this could be a knee down corner’ or ‘this is a bloody fast spot’… But post-crash it occurs to me that perhaps there is a point where the street no longer allows you to improve. Perhaps there’s a point where riding amongst everyday traffic effectively gets graded on a curve… A moment where the skill of riding and the enjoyment of riding settle their differences and diverge once and for all. Perhaps they take different paths and never look back. Never cross over again…
And tonight, I find myself wondering what it is that truly I love about riding?
Is it the speed? The adrenaline? The rush? The journey? The vistas? The thought process? The living in the moment? The ability to get lost and yet be somewhere? The imagine of the machine in its own environment? The reality that I’m controlling the uncontrollable? The excitement of the back and forth movement in a chicane? Or is it just being out there? Being alive? And being alone amongst the picturesque bits of nature?
I ask, because I’ve just spent the last four hours getting mentally lost on a road that up until now I would have told you was more or less boring, but today, post-crash, it seemed riveting. It bent and twisted and came back over itself in a way that felt entirely new. As if I it had been reborn — yet it wasn’t. I was. Instead of looking down on it, today I found myself enlightened. I looked through the visor and saw nothing but excitement and potential, and thought to myself, ‘was this here before?… Did I miss it?’.
I don’t quite understand how that’s possible… How one can look past something for so long and then wake up one morning and go ‘wow’…
It’s as if the road was the symbiotic twin of the awkward gal in high-school who blossoms later in life… The one you never saw coming… Until one day, she arrives and you wonder, why didn’t I see that before? How could I miss such potential?
Part of it, no doubt, is because I’ve tried to go back to basics, but beyond that, I find myself wondering what it is that I truly expect out of the street and what chances I’m really willing to take outside of a controlled racetrack…
What is safe? What is secure? What is acceptable? What is it that I truly love about riding on the open road? And, ultimately, what do I need to do to feel that sense of living? If 70% gets you to that feeling on the street, why go to 80% or 90%???
These are all questions that keep coming to mind… And ones, I didn’t really ask before…
And while I don’t exactly know the answers, what I do know is that it’s not the bike, nor the tires, or the road surface, but rather it’s my inability to trust myself that haunts my riding right now… The demon that haunts me isn’t based in logic, reality or the here and the now… Rather it’s the inability to let go of the past, to see through the moment of concern and the ability to forget that holds me back…
Head Games in the Canyons
The MV Agusta F4 at the top of Stunt Road
It’s bright. Blindingly bright. So bright in fact that it feels like summer and not spring… Finally… Beneath me the F4 hums. It’s four high mounted organ pipes blasting out a unique overture that seems to scream for world domination — or at least make clear its desire for conquest… Each blip, each twist, each corner exit bring its soul to life… And makes me smile… As the engine continuously itself turns over, I can feel the machines’ unquenchable thirst, no strike that, need, for more… Speed… Lean… Roar… And it feels good… Really good…
But I know it wants more… That it needs more…
Only, I’m not sure I can take it.
The continuous effects from the post moto-crash hangover, which while slowly subsiding still ache… And there’s no Advil in sight. Yet as I shoot up the canyon’s hillside, there’s a determination that’s hanging in the air. A sense of reality that suddenly doesn’t seem quite so snake bitten. For the first time in awhile I feel like I can see the glory beginning to return. That I can feel ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is, coming back.
Banging into the next bend the bike feels so damn planted. So secure. That without even thinking about it, I find myself sliding a little bit further off the saddle, sticking out my knee just a touch more and tentatively leaning into the turn one more degree at a time… ‘This is what it’s supposed to be like,’ I find myself thinking…
And then I see the thin layer of dirt hovering over the asphalt. A shot of trepidation shoots right through me. Instantly I tense up. Battle the bike. Fight the very thing I love…
But the bike never fails. Just holds its line. Stays calm. Says, ‘don’t worry about it, I’ve got you’… And a deep breath later, I try to ease up…
And so it goes, each corner a fluid interaction between where I want to be and where I am… Yet today there were more steps forward than backwards… Even if they happened only one step at a time…
Back in the Saddle, Part 2
MV Agusta F4 & Ducati ST3 in Malibu
It’s been a great day and it’s been a strange day all at the same time.
While I’d like to say that I’m over the effects of my crash, the reality is that it continues to hang over my head like a weight. It haunts me. It scares me. It continues to affect my riding…
While it was great to get up to the canyons and out on the road once more, I continue to find myself lacking the very confidence that I so desperately want to feel.
Each turn, each corner, each bend of the bike feels harder than it should. Almost destined for failure. It’s a feeling that I so, so wish would go away. Yet it doesn’t. Instead it continually permeates my mind. Perhaps that’s the prudent part hard at work. Perhaps this experience will ultimately make me a safer, better street rider…
In that respect I certainly feel as if my ’street riding’ is considerably safer at the moment then it used to be. I’m leaning less, I’m charging slower, and all in all I’m risking less. Yet it’s hard to get over the fact that what once felt easy, suddenly seems so difficult.
Yet I keep telling myself logically that this is all part of a ‘healing’ process, after all having your first crash is a bit of a traumatic event — I’m not suggesting it’s the most traumatic event ever known to a rider, but it was certainly more traumatic for me then perhaps I realized when it happened.
Taking stock, as of tonight, I find myself feeling as if I need to go backwards several steps before I can continue forward, much like the guy who slows down to get faster on the track. Because it’s not the bike or the road conditions or the weather, but rather it’s the stuff inside my head that’s holding me back — it’s the lack of confidence, the lack of trust, the inability to believe that currently is challenging my sense of security on the machine.
Group is stronger than an Individual
Unfortunately I’ve got to be a bit brief tonight as I have another bike review to tend to but it’s worth noting that today’s ride was one of the better five-hour sojourns that I’ve spent in the last several months. It’s remarkable how placid one can feel while ripping through the canyons even if it’s on a bike that you’re unaccustomed to riding. I couldn’t help but think that so often we as riders put far to much emphasis on the tangible, acting as if the actual bike that we’re riding makes all the difference in the world, when fundamentally what we ride is far less important then the actual journey we take. Today was a perfect example of this phenomenon. From the coast to the canyons and then back again, it was never about top speed or motolust, but rather the joy of feeling like you’re completely connected to the road. Not just in a physical sense but something deeper – something that lies beyond mere emotions and ultimately cuts right to the core of your soul. Flipping back and forth through the turns wasn’t about getting a knee down or making the fast lap, but rather simply experiencing what the landscape offers. I write about it all the time and sometimes feel like it’s almost preachy in a way, but I can’t help but acknowledge how special this stretch of land is on days like this. When you can get lost in your own backyard it’s a magical thing. To be teleported past the obvious and feel so vibrantly joined with everything that surrounds you isn’t mythical ideal, but rather a possible reality when you allow yourself to combine good riding skills, decent weather and a fantastic group of guys. It’s relatively remarkable combination and it’s worth nothing that for so long I’ve held off on this sort of adventure and yet now I find that this was perhaps my greatest error when it comes to riding. The group journey is far more enjoyable in just about every respect than a solo affair. To get out and transverse these twisting canyon beast as a group is far more enjoyable than doing it alone. It not only gives you a sense of pace and guidance but also allows for wonderful conversations at your various destinations. Ultimately motorcycling is no different than most athletic arenas; the team is far stronger than the individual.
The Canyon Life
Riding through the canyons this morning I was struck by the fact that it’s November 19th and in most parts of the country I’d have no business being outdoors riding a motorcycle. Swinging from corner to corner I was very aware of how fortunate I am to live in Los Angeles. In some ways this time of year is a bizarre contradiction. You get up, maybe read the paper and notice the date. You realize it’s late in the year. You go outside and quickly find your eyes adjusting to the rather harsh light and the hard shadows. You know that there’s a relatively limited amount of daylight during this time of the year. The sun will set faster and that makes you rush just a bit to get out of the door a bit faster. Yet once you get on your way some parts of the day that still feel like summer. The air feels a touch crisper, but it’s still warm. You’re still riding without thermals. The roads are still clean and clear. The vegatation still looks summertime burnt brown than rain soaked green. Yet perhaps the most striking difference is how clear the sky is during the winter months. For the first time in awhile when you get up to the canyons you can actually see. For miles really. There’s no mid morning fog or LA basin smog to cloud your vision. It’s remarkable. The vistas go on forever and very quickly you become aware of how different that feels and how special this place during this time of the year.
A few minutes later I’m flying around a blind corner on the top of Stunt when I come around and realize that I’m stuck behind a Mercedes SUV. How there happens tobe traffic up here this early in the morning baffles me, but since I’m not the type to pass in the oncoming lane of traffic unless I can squarely see a good mile down the road I start slowing down. The next several miles are scenic, but not sporty. Heading into the last corner before the large paved lookout at the very top of Stunt, I make up my mind that clearly this SUV isn’t going to pull over and let me pass, so I probably ought to just pull off at the look out and take a break. We both come around the corner and as I start pulling off I realize that not one or two, but three sets of cops are hanging out at the top of Stunt writting other riders up. Maybe it’s fate. Or luck. Or just plain timing. But I avoided a ticket today solely because of the traffic in front of me. Amazing…
Hopefully tomorrow will be a less enforced…
Here are a few more picts from the day;
Illusion vs. Ego
This afternoon I was able to steal a few of hours and get a ride in during the late afternoon and early evening. Heading up the PCH, I was only a few miles into the ride when I started to notice what a difference a few hours can make. On a normal weekend ride I tend to hit the road by 8 am at the latest, but today was unusual because I had to work for a bit during the early morning and I didn’t get to hit the road until around 3 pm.
Immediately it was apparent that the level of traffic was seriously increased at this hour of the day. With more automotive traffic of course comes more people kicking it at the beach. And more beach goers means more cops. Police seemed to be around every corner on the way up the coast. Just about every fifteen to twenty miles it felt like someone was being pulled over on one side of the road or the other. With so many extra bodies hanging around the coast and the increased police attention, it seemed like a pretty good idea to get off the main north-south traffic route and up into the canyons.
So I hit Las Floras as quickly as possible and then shot up and over the mountains on Piuma. I was going at a pretty good clip until I hit Las Virgines on the other side of the hill. Suddenly people were popping out of all sorts of usually empty driveways and just generally making rather stupid driving decisions.
Hanging a left on Mullhulland, I just got this sense that today was not the day to push it - at least at this hour. There just seemed to be to much craziness for me. It was right around then that I noticed a blue blur in my left rear view mirror. Hitting the first right hand sweeper on Mullhulland I wasn’t quite sure if the bike behind me was going that fast or my mirror was just shaking a lot. So at first I didn’t pay much attention to it figuring that if the guy really wanted to go fast he’d pass me on the short straight away before the 180º left hand radius corner that basically begins the fun part of the Mullhulland Highway ( sometimes referred to as ‘The Playground’ ). Seemed like a logical enough thought process. Only the guy didn’t pass me, he just moved into a tailgating position.
At this point the straight away was getting shorter and I just didn’t feel like having him on my rear the whole way up to The Rockstore. So I waved him along and pulled over to the extreme right hand side of the lane. Most of the time this sort of action on my part results in a rather predictable outcome, yet this particular time it seemed to illicit a rather perplexing response from the guy behind me - as if he either didn’t know what to do or he simply never expected me to do this. Perhaps he never expected some guy riding a sportbike to let him get ahead of them. After a brief hesitation and another hand guesture by me the guy finally seemed to get the message and finally, right before the corner he over took me.
When we hit the 180º bowl I watch the guy fight his way around the corner and then really let it out on the exiting straight away. I took the corner rather spirited, but really dialed it down on the exit. Figuring that I wanted to try and keep the day dialed down. Eventually he had a pretty good lead on me. Which in all honesty was just fine by me, I’ve got no ego about how fast I need to be.
A couple of corners later I caught up to the guy because he was now stuck behind an old Ford Pickup Truck that was slowly swooping it’s way through the canyons. I wasn’t very excited about this development, but whatever… We both followed the truck in tandem for about a mile before the guy ahead of me (on what appeared to be a Yamaha Sport Tourer… an FJR maybe?) tucked underneath the truck in a left hand corner with limited visibility and made the pass in the on-coming traffic lane. I held back and a couple of corners later the truck pulled over on the shoulder and let me pass. About three minutes later I pulled up at the intersection of Mullhulland and Cornell only to find bright blue Yamaha guy pulled over by the local county sheriff.
A Day of Days (& Video!)
Man it’s good to be home. That’s got to be my overriding thought for the weekend. During the past forty eight hours I’ve continually found myself thinking about how getting away sometimes is the only way to remind yourself how much you really enjoy something or in this case, somewhere. Not so much because I dislike other parts of the country, but rather because I truly enjoy the LA experience. It’s a sick satisfaction I know, but flying in to LAX I actually was happy to see traffic on the 405. Somehow that said something to me.
Of course coming home is nice, but having a free weekend to enjoy is much more exciting. Yesterday I once again woke up way to early and ended up hitting the road around 6:15 AM. Normally I’d be annoyed about the lack of sleep, but being out on the road that early turned out to be just glorious. Seldom in LA do you get the PCH all to yourself but yesterday it just opened up when I hit the Santa Monica grade and stayed that way until I hit Las Floras Canyon. Between the early morning light, the cool ocean breeze, the vibrant sea smells and the lack of traffic, there was just to much good karma going around to ignore.
Las Floras Early In The Morning
Sitting here now - about twenty four hours later - I’m still smiling about the ride. After ten straight days of working this weekend was well worth the wait. And yesterday in particular was just one of those magical days when you remember why you enjoy riding. One of those days when you hit the apex of every corner and everything feels supremely planted all the whole way through and when you get on the gas the bike just speaks to you as it stands up and rockets away.
After shooting up Las Floras, I made my way up and over the mountains on Piuma and Saddlepeak. From there I hit Las Virgines and took Mullhulland all the way back to The Rockstore. Because I had hit the road so early in the morning the parking lot was basically all beemers once again. Man those guys ride early! Of course by the time I left a good portion of the sportbike crowd had showed up and filled in the gaps.
(more…)
The First True Ride of The Year
So often the concept of time seems to escape me. Whether it’s because I’m day dreaming about the future or stuck in the past, I rarely have the ability to just buckle down and focus on the present. Perhaps thats why I so enjoy riding, because it affords you the chance to think of little else besides the journey. And today was one of those magical rides that simply didn’t allow for any thoughts that didn’t concentrate on the road or the ride.
For the first time in what feels like forever, it was sunny, warm and the roads were surprisingly clear. A great deal of debris still exists in a number of corners, but thankfully most of the roads were fairly clean. As many of you know, I’ve written about the tremendous volume of recent rain that the LA basin has received over this winter season. the destruction its caused it quite amazing. Las Floras Canyon for instance has four or five newly deployed stop signs in places where the cliff side of the roadway surface has simply vanished into the gulf below. Who knows when caltrans or the like will get around to rebuilding it, but it won’t be soon thats for sure. Certainly not with Topanga Canyon still closed most of the day. Personally, I doubt that the roads held within the Santa Monica Mountains will truly comeback to life for a good six months or so. But at least today they were mostly dry and at this point I’ll take what I can get…
It took me awhile today to get comfortable - obviously due in large part to the road conditions - thankfully at some point during the outward bound portion of the ride I was able to get past all of that and just enjoy being on the bike again. And at that point everything just seemed to turn around. I hadn’t realized just what a toll being off the bike for so long had been. Not in a physical or performance sense, I know the rust will work itself off, but rather in an emotional sense. I can’t really explain it, but when I’m regularly riding once or twice a weekend, everything just seems better. Life seems smoother. Days go by faster. I get more excited for the weekends. I even enjoy the simple parts of my day more. Way back when I first started riding I had no idea that this very singular activity would ever mean this much to me, but it does and perhaps thats why today just getting the Duc up in the rpm range and discretely pushing past the speed limit in certain places made me feel so much more alive than I’ve felt in quite sometime.
A few minor observations from the ride:
Living The Canyon Lifestyle…
It’s 3:30pm on an 80 degree Saturday in December here in Los Angeles and the ride is still echoing through me. Nothing brings out my admiration for Southern California like great weather on a winter day. After spending the past several weekends feeling semi-freezen on our various rides up and around the pacific coast, finally a SoCal Winter has hit and it feels great. On a day like today, there is truly no other place I’d rather be.
As MotorMilt & I were rolling around the canyons of the Santa Monica Mountains this morning I couldn’t help but think about what life would be like if I had to put the bike in storage for 4 or 5 or even 6 months. I know people do it, but can’t imagine how. Frankly I don’t think I could deal with it. Today was to crisp, to intense, to clear, just to damn endless that it seemed almost incomprehensible to think that it was real. Aside from some rocks sitting in the roadway, no doubt caused by the last few storms to pass through LA, it was just glorious. Obviously a great deal of my reaction to todays ride has to do with the weather - I just love life so much more when its warm - but it’s also because after spending months on end riding through musty brown colored canyons, visual color has come to LA in a big, big way. Maybe it happened months ago and I never noticed or perhaps it took the hills awhile to blossom, I don’t know. But for the first time all season the Santa Monica Mountains were green…
For those not familiar with living in Los Angeles, between the city, the beaches and the lack of water you’re simply forced to forget about lush green hills and valleys. They just don’t happen here - at least not for most of the year. You spend all summer looking at brown and tan countryside. If you are lucky one or two months out the year you’ll get a few glimpses at greenery. Of course if that’s your thing in life and you live in LA, you get used to heading north or east. It just so seldom seems to happen here. And yet today it did. Today I saw it. Today we rode through and around it and beyond it and it just felt great to see.
So there was great visual scenery, wonderful weather and basically clear roads. Once again the power of the Ducati showed up. I’m finding it more and more difficult to stay under legal speed limits. Of course that’s not really a new thing I suspect. For part of the ride I was thinking about a thread that I read on the Ducati.ms forum, where people were asking others about how to ‘blip the throttle’ when downshifting… A great number of things had been written, some of which was dead on target with some of the track days I’ve had and the sport riding books I’ve read. Other comments on the board surprised me, seemingly making things much more complex than I would normally describe them as being during a downshift. Others just seemed flat out wrong in my opinion. So I had all of this running around in my head as we were riding today and I’ve come the realization that riding has gotten to the point for me where when I think about a downshift, I muck it up. If I simply see the corner and look through the turn, my downshift just happens. It’s fast (for me anyway), smooth and it works. When I sit there and try to forceably go through every step as if riding was a university course it just doesn’t feel in sync with me. As I came to that realization, I’m both fascinated by it and unsure of it. Fascinated because as I’ve grown as a rider so much about riding has become more like second nature. Unsure because sometimes I wonder if simply gaining more confidence in one’s abilities ultimately limits your chances at growing beyond where you are. Downshifting is a perfect example. Right now, when I don’t think about it, it feels fast and it feels smooth. Two components which regardless of who you listen to seem rather important. But to get faster and smoother, do you break down your mental process and build it back up or do you simply allow yourself to assume that if you continue to react to the bike, that in and of itself will make you a better rider? I don’t know the answer, but I think I should find out…
The only downside to the day came towards the end when MotorMilt and I came up to a stop light and realized that Milt’s bike was smoking… Not a lot, but certainly a bit. We quickly pulled over at the local Agoura Chevron and checked things out. After years of BMW Motorcycles which seem to run forever, this was the first time I felt like a Harley rider. Here we were stopped, looking for oil leaks. Luckily I’ve gotten pretty adept at getting the fairing panels on and off, so I popped the side and we scoped out the scene. To make a long story short, it appeared that there was a small oil leak emanating from the new oil filter that ProItalia installed during the 600 mile service. After a few minutes we got Chris, their service manager on the phone, he quickly explained that it’s not the first time that a ‘new’ oil filter has sprung a small leak on a Ducati and if we brought the bike over he’d check it out. So some time this coming week it’s time to see the dealer again… Perhaps this is what people mean when they say that owning a Ducati isn’t just owning a bike, but a lifestyle. I have a feeling that while this isn’t a real big deal, we probably ought to get to know Chris in service pretty well. I’m sure we’ll be talking to him again… Of course the ironic part to me is that if one of our Beemers had an oil leak when we owned them, I’d be annoyed. Probably even pissed. With the Duc it just seems normal - almost rational. Like I should expect this to happen… It’s just amazing to me how an awesome riding machine can warp and twist the way your mind works. Even now as I’m thinking back on the days events, I’m smiling as if this is a fun experience. Who hell smiles at oil leaks? I must be crazy… Or just a Ducatista who’s delusional.
What’s An Extra 1,000 RPMs Worth?
When I die, I want to be reincarnated as a 999.
Just give me an open road with lots of curves and no traffic and I promise I’ll be a happy camper. The 999 is just that damn special. That amazing, really… At various parts of our ride today I not only stood in awe of what this bike can do but felt simply amazed at the opportunity to ride it. So many thoughts were running through my head while MotorMilt & I were hitting the canyons on what turned out to be a heck of a ride, thanks in no small part to the 600 mile service done at ProItalia and the ability to finally get the engine up above 6,000 RPMs.
I never would have thought that an extra 1,000 RPMs could change so much, but it did and it does. Wow is really all I can say. My bones were tingling while opening up the throttle. Certainly a ‘wow feeling’ is still lingering with me right now, hours after the ride. And in all reality it was just one of our normal length rides, but I almost feel cheated by the fact that I couldn’t rev it up this high before. The last 800+ miles were nothing compared to today. With one service the bike suddenly feels more stable, more linear, and most excitingly, so much more powerful. From 4k to 6k is a great kick, but 6k to 7k is like warp speed. I can’t wait until the entire engine is broken in and we can really crack it up to 10k. Above 6k, the Duc suddenly sounded like a Ducati. The chasis felt like it was holding back a fire breathing monster. Just 1k added 100 times to the experience. And as we were flying up our first canyon of the day, Las Flores Canyon Road, it just hit me that this felt like an entirely new bike when I caught a glance at the speedo and realized that I was in the sixties while still in first gear… That’s just not real.
And as we made our way around the Santa Monica Mountains, I was just struck by how special all of this is and how lucky I feel to be riding this bike at this time in my life. Like any other relationship, it seems that every time out I learn a little bit more about the bike - how it handles, how it feels, how it needs to be treated - and today was just the latest in a number of mind blowing experiences on this bike. At some point it struck me that if I’m going to buy into some sort of corporate branding this may as well be it. Between the history, the passion and the performance nothing else in my life seems to compare. I wish I could ride this machine every day, all day.
