twowheelnut
R.I.P. Our Motorcycling Friend
Such a lovely day for the club ride; 400 miles through Ventura, Los Angeles and Kern counties. Miles of scrumptious, squiggly macadam and scenery to die for. Plenty of stops for obligatory photos and re-hydration (some of smaller bladder would say de-hydration!), the faster group racing ahead and waiting for the slower bikes to catch up. Good lunch, better friends. Getting late, dinners are getting cold. Let's spool it up and get on over the mountain to home.
As leader of the 'to home group', I checked my six for my fellow FJR rider who's been my shadow almost all day long - still there matching my moves and speed - almost a dance, as it were. The '*****' is nearing. Tight right hander, off camber, decreasing radius always throws me a bit off. Push the bar, push the bar! Through! Ha! Take that, ******! Hard on the throttle, pushing slightly out of the apex and onto the next straight that leads into a couple of quick, tight left/right combination corners.
Check my mirrors - hey, where's my shadow? Slow up. Slow up more. Stop and wait. Damn. Bad juju setting in. Nope, too much time has elapsed and the other three riders haven't caught up, either. Spin around back down the mountainside to that ***** of a right hander. Everyone is standing. No bikes down. This is good, yes? ****. No, it ain't. Shadow is dust covered. A mirror lies here, a scrap of side case plastic lies there, other bits are strewn about the dusty, gravel run off.
Shadow is okay. ATGATT. Just a little nick on his shin above the boot line, tight back getting tighter. Gear intact. He's shaky after being tossed down a 30 foot embankment, saved by the base of a scrub. Shadow's cussing up a storm. Yup. He's good. Shaken, not stirred. Holy crap, look at the bike! Left side's a mess. Front and rear sub frames sustain maximum toastage. Windscreen and arms are scrap. Front and side fairings are no longer fair. Bent and cocked downward, limiting the motion of the forks to the right. Left bag and can look sad. Very sad. Foot peg bent south. TOG no longer able to guard. Damn. She's a mess.
I took the battered Feej for a short test ride. Left handle bar took a huge hit, bending it southward to mimic the peg. Fires right up. Clutch works, first gear is balking - click - in it goes. Bike feels straight, though it looks bent. Front brake, check. Rear brake, check. Run it up and down the gears, check. Steering feels okay except for a slight push back turning right.
It's a slow ride home.
How and Why? Simple. Shield up, flying roach into the face at the wrong time. Corner snuck up and bit him. Hard. Nailed the brakes, dirt tracked it for a bit until she caught the berm of the run off. Tires dug in, throwing Shadow off and down the hill, while flipping hard onto her left side and grinding to a Tupperware life's end.
Shadow's immediate, post offing thoughts: "****! I'm not dead!" Followed by: "Oh ****! MY BIKE!!!!!" Man, we take these machines too damned serious. It's a machine, not a being. Or, is it?
Shadow is twice the rider I am. I'm gonna take it down a notch from here on in or at least until my yin and yang get back into balance. Mrs. Shadow didn't buy the 'puppy dog ran into the street followed by the tot evasive action' story either. Didn't think she would. Gonna help him put that bike back together again, too. Word.
Edit Update: 8 x 10 Glossies...
There's more, but you get the idea...
As leader of the 'to home group', I checked my six for my fellow FJR rider who's been my shadow almost all day long - still there matching my moves and speed - almost a dance, as it were. The '*****' is nearing. Tight right hander, off camber, decreasing radius always throws me a bit off. Push the bar, push the bar! Through! Ha! Take that, ******! Hard on the throttle, pushing slightly out of the apex and onto the next straight that leads into a couple of quick, tight left/right combination corners.
Check my mirrors - hey, where's my shadow? Slow up. Slow up more. Stop and wait. Damn. Bad juju setting in. Nope, too much time has elapsed and the other three riders haven't caught up, either. Spin around back down the mountainside to that ***** of a right hander. Everyone is standing. No bikes down. This is good, yes? ****. No, it ain't. Shadow is dust covered. A mirror lies here, a scrap of side case plastic lies there, other bits are strewn about the dusty, gravel run off.
Shadow is okay. ATGATT. Just a little nick on his shin above the boot line, tight back getting tighter. Gear intact. He's shaky after being tossed down a 30 foot embankment, saved by the base of a scrub. Shadow's cussing up a storm. Yup. He's good. Shaken, not stirred. Holy crap, look at the bike! Left side's a mess. Front and rear sub frames sustain maximum toastage. Windscreen and arms are scrap. Front and side fairings are no longer fair. Bent and cocked downward, limiting the motion of the forks to the right. Left bag and can look sad. Very sad. Foot peg bent south. TOG no longer able to guard. Damn. She's a mess.
I took the battered Feej for a short test ride. Left handle bar took a huge hit, bending it southward to mimic the peg. Fires right up. Clutch works, first gear is balking - click - in it goes. Bike feels straight, though it looks bent. Front brake, check. Rear brake, check. Run it up and down the gears, check. Steering feels okay except for a slight push back turning right.
It's a slow ride home.
How and Why? Simple. Shield up, flying roach into the face at the wrong time. Corner snuck up and bit him. Hard. Nailed the brakes, dirt tracked it for a bit until she caught the berm of the run off. Tires dug in, throwing Shadow off and down the hill, while flipping hard onto her left side and grinding to a Tupperware life's end.
Shadow's immediate, post offing thoughts: "****! I'm not dead!" Followed by: "Oh ****! MY BIKE!!!!!" Man, we take these machines too damned serious. It's a machine, not a being. Or, is it?
Shadow is twice the rider I am. I'm gonna take it down a notch from here on in or at least until my yin and yang get back into balance. Mrs. Shadow didn't buy the 'puppy dog ran into the street followed by the tot evasive action' story either. Didn't think she would. Gonna help him put that bike back together again, too. Word.
Edit Update: 8 x 10 Glossies...
There's more, but you get the idea...
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