Twigg
Just an old, bald man!
As riding season gets into full swing, thoughts turn to fun, long days and lazy summers. Along with that we get the inevitable spills that go with the thrill, some of which have tragic consequences. I have been riding motorcycles for a long, long time. "Surely not Twigg", I hear you say. "You don't look old enough!".
Sadly though, I am old enough to have spent forty years on two wheels, and I've enjoyed every damned one of them.
We all take a different approach to our riding. Mine is really quite conservative. A couple of years ago when talk turned to "performance", I jotted down a few thoughts and I'd like to share them here. This is not a prescription. I am not your Dad, nor your nanny. You do whatever you want and I'll cheer on your exploits as you relate them.
This is just me ....
With the current vogue for discussing "competence" I would like to share a few thoughts that may amuse some, entertain a few more, but hopefully resonate.
My motorcycle license plate backer declares that the rider of this machine is one of "The Worlds Toughest Riders". It is, not to put too fine a point on it, complete bollocks.
I am not tough, not in flesh nor attitude. I am a slightly prickly, a bit anal, but soft-centered, 54 year old husband and father. I bruise when I fall and cry when emotionally distressed. I am typical of my breed.
If I have what could be described as "a quiet determination", then generally I keep it to myself. No one but me knows what resources I bring to bear to stay on a motorcycle for hour after hour. You probably do it too if you are reading this, but what you do is personal to your own circumstances, and no one else knows what they are. Sure we get together occasionally to tell lies, drink beer and generally behave like teens at Prom Night, but we all live in our personal spaces, and the lies are the lies, and the Prom Queen is the Rally Master!
I have ridden motorcycles since I was 16 years old, legally, and a bit before that without telling my Dad. As a teen and young man I admired my friends, who lied about "getting their knee down", pulling wheelies and other feats of daring-do that I never quite managed to master; and never really tried that hard. Have I ever sullied a knee-slider? Well yes, several times, including a couple of occasions where it wasn't actually planned.
There was a time when I believed it reasonable to occasionally do stuff like that on the public highway. Indeed, if you ask Troy Martin he will tell you that I can still get the devil in me, if traffic on a Dallas freeway is deliberately trying to keep me from a timely rally finish! But a ten mile sprint, while it can be fun, is not the way I approach the tricky business of keeping out of trouble on modern, cellphone plagued, roads.
Approach the corner still accelerating on wide open throttle. Pick you braking point, move to the outside then brake on the limit of adhesion. Nail the apex, straighten up then hard back on the gas. Rinse and repeat.
This will get you around the track pretty quickly. If you do it better than the others, for twenty laps, then you will win a Moto-GP. If you do it on the road, you will likely die. So if you want a Track Day, then book one and go play. It's fun.
On the road my only ambition is to get to my destination in one piece, and in a timely manner. If I can do that without incident then I am happy. We talk sometimes about speed, about techniques and styles, and those conversations inform us all. We each bring what we can to make the next journey, one of five miles or five thousand miles, as safe for our friends as shared information can make it.
So on the road I go slow into corners, wait until I can see the exit, straighten up and fast out. It reduces lean angles which, if you have seen my bike, is a good thing. The dynamics of riding tell me that I could go round faster, and do so easily. I could carry a little more speed in, lean quite a lot further and the forces involved would take me through quite safely until .....
Until my back, or heaven forbid, front wheel hits the patch of diesel, thoughtfully left there by the last 18-wheeler with an over-filled tank went around the bend before me ... or until I hit the patch of gravel washed to the outside of the bend ... or until I get to the apex of a tight turn then spot the stationary vehicle, cyclist, or deer and have completely run out of safety margin. Well you get the drift.
Two weeks ago I left home for a two day ride that was scheduled to be just short of two thousand miles. Not a particularly remarkable ride in this company, but we should always keep a sense of perspective. That ride, to everyone outwith our small group, is insane! Really? Two thousand miles on a motorcycle in 42 hours? Are you fucking nuts??
I probably am nuts. We might all be nuts. Yet I am also a nut who is painfully aware of his own mortality. That we do a dangerous thing, even if the risks are calculated, is not lost on me. There is always a small part of me that is a bit scared of the ride, at least beforehand. Those butterflies of anticipation as you are about to embark upon an extraordinary (at least to others) task.
Before every Long Distance Ride, a small part of me doesn't want to go.
It's that part, I believe, that brings me safely back to my family. It's the collective and personal knowledge of the dangers and the risks that ultimately means that I only use one of the dual compounds engineered into my tires. I like that the softer compound is there, it's my safety margin, but if the moulding nibs remain when the tire is worn out, then I am pleased that I just rode ten thousand careful miles that mean I am still around to ride ten thousand more.
I know it's not this simple. I am aware that many of the dangers can be influenced by chance, or factors not within our direct control. But we do what we can to improve the odds, we owe that much to those who love us.
This is simply one man's approach. I don't suggest that anyone else need feel bound by it, nor even informed by it if that philosophy is not for you. Just add it to the collective, and make it to the finish, wherever you are going.
Thanks for listening.
Sadly though, I am old enough to have spent forty years on two wheels, and I've enjoyed every damned one of them.
We all take a different approach to our riding. Mine is really quite conservative. A couple of years ago when talk turned to "performance", I jotted down a few thoughts and I'd like to share them here. This is not a prescription. I am not your Dad, nor your nanny. You do whatever you want and I'll cheer on your exploits as you relate them.
This is just me ....
With the current vogue for discussing "competence" I would like to share a few thoughts that may amuse some, entertain a few more, but hopefully resonate.
My motorcycle license plate backer declares that the rider of this machine is one of "The Worlds Toughest Riders". It is, not to put too fine a point on it, complete bollocks.
I am not tough, not in flesh nor attitude. I am a slightly prickly, a bit anal, but soft-centered, 54 year old husband and father. I bruise when I fall and cry when emotionally distressed. I am typical of my breed.
If I have what could be described as "a quiet determination", then generally I keep it to myself. No one but me knows what resources I bring to bear to stay on a motorcycle for hour after hour. You probably do it too if you are reading this, but what you do is personal to your own circumstances, and no one else knows what they are. Sure we get together occasionally to tell lies, drink beer and generally behave like teens at Prom Night, but we all live in our personal spaces, and the lies are the lies, and the Prom Queen is the Rally Master!
I have ridden motorcycles since I was 16 years old, legally, and a bit before that without telling my Dad. As a teen and young man I admired my friends, who lied about "getting their knee down", pulling wheelies and other feats of daring-do that I never quite managed to master; and never really tried that hard. Have I ever sullied a knee-slider? Well yes, several times, including a couple of occasions where it wasn't actually planned.
There was a time when I believed it reasonable to occasionally do stuff like that on the public highway. Indeed, if you ask Troy Martin he will tell you that I can still get the devil in me, if traffic on a Dallas freeway is deliberately trying to keep me from a timely rally finish! But a ten mile sprint, while it can be fun, is not the way I approach the tricky business of keeping out of trouble on modern, cellphone plagued, roads.
Approach the corner still accelerating on wide open throttle. Pick you braking point, move to the outside then brake on the limit of adhesion. Nail the apex, straighten up then hard back on the gas. Rinse and repeat.
This will get you around the track pretty quickly. If you do it better than the others, for twenty laps, then you will win a Moto-GP. If you do it on the road, you will likely die. So if you want a Track Day, then book one and go play. It's fun.
On the road my only ambition is to get to my destination in one piece, and in a timely manner. If I can do that without incident then I am happy. We talk sometimes about speed, about techniques and styles, and those conversations inform us all. We each bring what we can to make the next journey, one of five miles or five thousand miles, as safe for our friends as shared information can make it.
So on the road I go slow into corners, wait until I can see the exit, straighten up and fast out. It reduces lean angles which, if you have seen my bike, is a good thing. The dynamics of riding tell me that I could go round faster, and do so easily. I could carry a little more speed in, lean quite a lot further and the forces involved would take me through quite safely until .....
Until my back, or heaven forbid, front wheel hits the patch of diesel, thoughtfully left there by the last 18-wheeler with an over-filled tank went around the bend before me ... or until I hit the patch of gravel washed to the outside of the bend ... or until I get to the apex of a tight turn then spot the stationary vehicle, cyclist, or deer and have completely run out of safety margin. Well you get the drift.
Two weeks ago I left home for a two day ride that was scheduled to be just short of two thousand miles. Not a particularly remarkable ride in this company, but we should always keep a sense of perspective. That ride, to everyone outwith our small group, is insane! Really? Two thousand miles on a motorcycle in 42 hours? Are you fucking nuts??
I probably am nuts. We might all be nuts. Yet I am also a nut who is painfully aware of his own mortality. That we do a dangerous thing, even if the risks are calculated, is not lost on me. There is always a small part of me that is a bit scared of the ride, at least beforehand. Those butterflies of anticipation as you are about to embark upon an extraordinary (at least to others) task.
Before every Long Distance Ride, a small part of me doesn't want to go.
It's that part, I believe, that brings me safely back to my family. It's the collective and personal knowledge of the dangers and the risks that ultimately means that I only use one of the dual compounds engineered into my tires. I like that the softer compound is there, it's my safety margin, but if the moulding nibs remain when the tire is worn out, then I am pleased that I just rode ten thousand careful miles that mean I am still around to ride ten thousand more.
I know it's not this simple. I am aware that many of the dangers can be influenced by chance, or factors not within our direct control. But we do what we can to improve the odds, we owe that much to those who love us.
This is simply one man's approach. I don't suggest that anyone else need feel bound by it, nor even informed by it if that philosophy is not for you. Just add it to the collective, and make it to the finish, wherever you are going.
Thanks for listening.
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