mcatrophy
Privileged to ride a 2018 FJR1300AS
Imagine - a beautiful sunny Sunday morning. You've got up early, SWMBO got you to take the stump of a tree out of the garden, you've managed it by 10:30.
Imagine - she says "It's too hot to do any more work in the garden, why don't you go out for a ride before lunch? Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. One o'clock."
Imagine - you get your suit and boots on, start the bike. You put in your ear plugs and on with your helmet. As if that could hide the sound of your bike's impatient burble.
Imagine - as you set off down the road, you can feel that the vents in your new, very expensive C3 helmet are allowing airflow to cool your head, better than any helmet you've had before (you're still hot from playing with tree-stumps)..
Imagine - as you set out on a loop through Derbyshire that you've done many times before, the traffic is much lighter than you'd expected for a sunny Sunday, the temperature shows as 25C (77F).
Imagine - you come up behind a line of Harleys. As the road and traffic permit, you pick them off in ones and twos, then the embarrassment of being stuck behind the second in line as you enter a village, all that noise of blatting pipes, no real possibility of overtaking.
Imagine - the two at the front realise you are there (don't know how, perhaps it's something to do with your headlights blinding them from the reflection in the chrome?). They pull in almost to the curb, as if frightened! WTF? OK, give them as much space as possible and get by them, you're actually worried that they'll hit the curb as they wobble in true ape-hanger fashion.
Imagine - as you continue through Matlock, hundreds of shiny motorcycles parked, gleaming in the bright sunshine. Why aren't they out riding on a day like this?
Imagine - on a winding country lane, coming up behind a BMW, its rider in shiny BMW leathers, not able or not willing to get past the meandering Sunday-driven car in front. You wait until you can see far enough. Making sure he's not going to pull out, you drop a gear and nip past bike and car, an unobstructed road ahead.
Imagine - riding through Chatsworth park, sheep with lambs on the grass either side of the road. Luckily, none run across in front of you. They're as unpredictable as anything. At least you can (usually) see them.
Imagine - almost forgetting you're driving a machine, you feel so at one with you motorcycle. It's an extension of your mind whisking your body over hills, through valleys, past woods and fields, round bends, over little hump-backed bridges over streams, through sleepy villages (trying not to annoy the locals), overtaking anything in your path with consummate ease - cyclists, cars, tractors, buses (they're not quite so easy on these narrow, winding roads), and, yes, other motorcycles.
Imagine - an 'A' road that's been spoilt (from a motorcyclists point of view) with a 50 limit and overtaking prohibited. And signs saying "Motorcycle Crash Zone". Hey, if I want to crash, I'll choose my own site, thank you. But, the sky is blue, just a few wisps of cloud, the view over the green Derbyshire valleys and hills is breathtaking, you don't want to go any faster, you are happy to cruise along and admire the scenery.
Imagine - having seen five or six FJRs during the run, more than you've ever seen before in one day.
Imagine - only 65 miles, but an absolute dream of a ride.
Imagine - finally arriving home, the front of your bike and helmet covered in kamikaze insects. You take off your kit, and sit down to a perfectly cooked roast beef Sunday lunch.
Imagine - in the afternoon she's got you to do more stuff in the garden, but you don't care. You're still smiling
, reliving this morning's run.
Well, I didn't imagine it, I did it.
Oh, I did imagine the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. It was actually steak and onions. Man, she's a good cook.
Imagine - she says "It's too hot to do any more work in the garden, why don't you go out for a ride before lunch? Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. One o'clock."
Imagine - you get your suit and boots on, start the bike. You put in your ear plugs and on with your helmet. As if that could hide the sound of your bike's impatient burble.
Imagine - as you set off down the road, you can feel that the vents in your new, very expensive C3 helmet are allowing airflow to cool your head, better than any helmet you've had before (you're still hot from playing with tree-stumps)..
Imagine - as you set out on a loop through Derbyshire that you've done many times before, the traffic is much lighter than you'd expected for a sunny Sunday, the temperature shows as 25C (77F).
Imagine - you come up behind a line of Harleys. As the road and traffic permit, you pick them off in ones and twos, then the embarrassment of being stuck behind the second in line as you enter a village, all that noise of blatting pipes, no real possibility of overtaking.
Imagine - the two at the front realise you are there (don't know how, perhaps it's something to do with your headlights blinding them from the reflection in the chrome?). They pull in almost to the curb, as if frightened! WTF? OK, give them as much space as possible and get by them, you're actually worried that they'll hit the curb as they wobble in true ape-hanger fashion.
Imagine - as you continue through Matlock, hundreds of shiny motorcycles parked, gleaming in the bright sunshine. Why aren't they out riding on a day like this?
Imagine - on a winding country lane, coming up behind a BMW, its rider in shiny BMW leathers, not able or not willing to get past the meandering Sunday-driven car in front. You wait until you can see far enough. Making sure he's not going to pull out, you drop a gear and nip past bike and car, an unobstructed road ahead.
Imagine - riding through Chatsworth park, sheep with lambs on the grass either side of the road. Luckily, none run across in front of you. They're as unpredictable as anything. At least you can (usually) see them.
Imagine - almost forgetting you're driving a machine, you feel so at one with you motorcycle. It's an extension of your mind whisking your body over hills, through valleys, past woods and fields, round bends, over little hump-backed bridges over streams, through sleepy villages (trying not to annoy the locals), overtaking anything in your path with consummate ease - cyclists, cars, tractors, buses (they're not quite so easy on these narrow, winding roads), and, yes, other motorcycles.
Imagine - an 'A' road that's been spoilt (from a motorcyclists point of view) with a 50 limit and overtaking prohibited. And signs saying "Motorcycle Crash Zone". Hey, if I want to crash, I'll choose my own site, thank you. But, the sky is blue, just a few wisps of cloud, the view over the green Derbyshire valleys and hills is breathtaking, you don't want to go any faster, you are happy to cruise along and admire the scenery.
Imagine - having seen five or six FJRs during the run, more than you've ever seen before in one day.
Imagine - only 65 miles, but an absolute dream of a ride.
Imagine - finally arriving home, the front of your bike and helmet covered in kamikaze insects. You take off your kit, and sit down to a perfectly cooked roast beef Sunday lunch.
Imagine - in the afternoon she's got you to do more stuff in the garden, but you don't care. You're still smiling
Well, I didn't imagine it, I did it.
Oh, I did imagine the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. It was actually steak and onions. Man, she's a good cook.
hno-smiley02: It was Funny as Hell Though! :lol: 
