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I did this ride on my Aprilia but still thought I would share. It's also posted at midliferider
You take what the road gives you. You take what the weather gives you. You take what the ride gives you. That’s the zen of riding.
Riding any sort of distance has the tendency to bring out the philosopher in me. The philosopher, the dreamer, the schemer, the blogger, the critic . . . The opportunity for day dreaming and conjuring just seems endless. Which runs counter to my desires for riding which are to do none of that. I do that nearly every waking hour of my life. When I ride, I just want to BE. You know, just let the road wind underneath my tires and take it all in.
I set out today with that notion in mind. I’d been to an Ekhart Tolle seminar yesterday and the notion of staying in the now, vs. mentally wandering back and forth through time, figures prominently in what he teaches. It’s exactly the same idea behind Keith Code’s “ten dollars of attention.” So I set out with the idea in mind that I’ll just pay attention to whatever it is I see, feel, hear, or smell.
My ride takes me North on the big slab to Arlington, Washington and from there, up Hwy 9 towards Sedro Woolley. I always smile as I approach that town, sometimes humming “woolly bully” inside my helmet, sometimes just wondering how the town wound up with such an entertaining name.
From Arlington to SW, the road starts acting like a proper motorcycle byway. This is why we ride. Prior to this, I’ve had ample opportunity to watch my thoughts and keep my attention on riding vs all the other alternatives. Pounding the slab isn’t that engaging. The mind wants to wander. Come back! 70 mph in traffic is no time to be musing.
I’m riding my new Aprilia RSV. The first few miles are always just torture. The bike wants you forward and ready to move around. My right wrist, arm, and shoulder have plenty to say about this. But bit by bit, I loosen up, my body readjusts to what is otherwise an unnatural pose, and my shoulders relax. The pressure of the airflow actually seems to perform a sort of high-speed acupuncture.
As the roads get twistier, the ‘priller gets happier. It is a stunning bike to look at and ride. So capable in the curves. So strong throughout the rev range. An absolutely absurd appliance on public roads. At 143 hp at the crank, it’s over-powered by twice, yet a good 20+ hp down from the current crop of liter bikes that any yahoo with a license and a checkbook can gun on down and buy from Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki, and Kawasaki.
But it is balls to ride. You can do pretty much whatever silliness you’re up for and the bike will shrug and go.
The heart of the ride is the run along first the Skagit and then the Sauk rivers. There’s never much traffic, and there’s less today. Something to do with it being February, gray, and cold.
The pavement is solid but rough. It just pounds back at you for a good 70 miles or so. I imagine it would halve the life of your tires if you spent much time on this road.
But we’re not here to inspect the civil engineering. We’re here to ride. I say we’re, because I am occasionally conscious of the fact that there’s me on the bike and me in my helmet. We seem to be focusing on different things. Not as much as some other rides, but I do find myself alternating between just taking it all in . . . and there’s lots to take in . . . and thinking about what I’m taking in.
Stop paying attention and just ride!
The ‘priller works up and down through the gears with studied indifference. The transmission is perfect, and the bike only has 500 miles on it. Snick. Snick. The engine gargles away underneath me, not working very hard not being asked to. Another 100 miles or so and we’ll be cleared to explore the upper rev range, but for now, it’s all leisurely roll-ons and short shifting at 6000 rpm.
From time to time the road tightens shows some teeth. Linked turns posted at 35 beckon between long lazy straights under the trees. I set up to the outside, shift my weight, and flop in as late as I dare. The priller dives across the apex, begging for more throttle than I’m willing to give it. I’ve been on this road too many times and the memory of random gravel and detritus keeps my speed in hand as I search the road ahead for the best line.
@#$&^, move your ***! The road has just dropped out from under me to the right and the line I’m on runs right through a newly opened pothole. No question about being in the now, now. Weight off the bike, pick a new exit point NOW, and ride the bike. The priller jukes and jives and dives out of the turn round and past the hole in the road. There’s zen, and then there’s finding something unexpected round a corner.
Back on the slab heading home. I find myself thinking about a cup of hot soup and a shower. I’ve left the moment and I’m now somewhere else. Except me and my bike sill have 40 miles to go and there are all these large metal objects hurtling along next to me at 70 mph. Stop paying attention and ride.
I did this ride on my Aprilia but still thought I would share. It's also posted at midliferider
You take what the road gives you. You take what the weather gives you. You take what the ride gives you. That’s the zen of riding.
Riding any sort of distance has the tendency to bring out the philosopher in me. The philosopher, the dreamer, the schemer, the blogger, the critic . . . The opportunity for day dreaming and conjuring just seems endless. Which runs counter to my desires for riding which are to do none of that. I do that nearly every waking hour of my life. When I ride, I just want to BE. You know, just let the road wind underneath my tires and take it all in.
I set out today with that notion in mind. I’d been to an Ekhart Tolle seminar yesterday and the notion of staying in the now, vs. mentally wandering back and forth through time, figures prominently in what he teaches. It’s exactly the same idea behind Keith Code’s “ten dollars of attention.” So I set out with the idea in mind that I’ll just pay attention to whatever it is I see, feel, hear, or smell.
My ride takes me North on the big slab to Arlington, Washington and from there, up Hwy 9 towards Sedro Woolley. I always smile as I approach that town, sometimes humming “woolly bully” inside my helmet, sometimes just wondering how the town wound up with such an entertaining name.
From Arlington to SW, the road starts acting like a proper motorcycle byway. This is why we ride. Prior to this, I’ve had ample opportunity to watch my thoughts and keep my attention on riding vs all the other alternatives. Pounding the slab isn’t that engaging. The mind wants to wander. Come back! 70 mph in traffic is no time to be musing.
I’m riding my new Aprilia RSV. The first few miles are always just torture. The bike wants you forward and ready to move around. My right wrist, arm, and shoulder have plenty to say about this. But bit by bit, I loosen up, my body readjusts to what is otherwise an unnatural pose, and my shoulders relax. The pressure of the airflow actually seems to perform a sort of high-speed acupuncture.
As the roads get twistier, the ‘priller gets happier. It is a stunning bike to look at and ride. So capable in the curves. So strong throughout the rev range. An absolutely absurd appliance on public roads. At 143 hp at the crank, it’s over-powered by twice, yet a good 20+ hp down from the current crop of liter bikes that any yahoo with a license and a checkbook can gun on down and buy from Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki, and Kawasaki.
But it is balls to ride. You can do pretty much whatever silliness you’re up for and the bike will shrug and go.
The heart of the ride is the run along first the Skagit and then the Sauk rivers. There’s never much traffic, and there’s less today. Something to do with it being February, gray, and cold.
The pavement is solid but rough. It just pounds back at you for a good 70 miles or so. I imagine it would halve the life of your tires if you spent much time on this road.
But we’re not here to inspect the civil engineering. We’re here to ride. I say we’re, because I am occasionally conscious of the fact that there’s me on the bike and me in my helmet. We seem to be focusing on different things. Not as much as some other rides, but I do find myself alternating between just taking it all in . . . and there’s lots to take in . . . and thinking about what I’m taking in.
Stop paying attention and just ride!
The ‘priller works up and down through the gears with studied indifference. The transmission is perfect, and the bike only has 500 miles on it. Snick. Snick. The engine gargles away underneath me, not working very hard not being asked to. Another 100 miles or so and we’ll be cleared to explore the upper rev range, but for now, it’s all leisurely roll-ons and short shifting at 6000 rpm.
From time to time the road tightens shows some teeth. Linked turns posted at 35 beckon between long lazy straights under the trees. I set up to the outside, shift my weight, and flop in as late as I dare. The priller dives across the apex, begging for more throttle than I’m willing to give it. I’ve been on this road too many times and the memory of random gravel and detritus keeps my speed in hand as I search the road ahead for the best line.
@#$&^, move your ***! The road has just dropped out from under me to the right and the line I’m on runs right through a newly opened pothole. No question about being in the now, now. Weight off the bike, pick a new exit point NOW, and ride the bike. The priller jukes and jives and dives out of the turn round and past the hole in the road. There’s zen, and then there’s finding something unexpected round a corner.
Back on the slab heading home. I find myself thinking about a cup of hot soup and a shower. I’ve left the moment and I’m now somewhere else. Except me and my bike sill have 40 miles to go and there are all these large metal objects hurtling along next to me at 70 mph. Stop paying attention and ride.
