Missives Part IV. 5/28/2007
We finished up breakfast, and mounted up. The group was breaking, with a bunch of riders wanting to head on further north, and making a whole day ride of it, and another group having to head back to the city by lunchtime. I asked Kala what she preferred, and she said it was up to me. I looked up at the sky, and the sun was coming out. I told her we’d go with the second group, and try to get back to town before the sun really hit with a vengeance.
A word about riding where I am. Tropical countries give you year round riding weather. Even in the rain, because the rain never gets to the point where you freeze. You get cold, and your testicles may shrivel up, but you won’t get frostbite. But, the tropical heat and humidity also means that wearing riding gear gets to be a lot like sitting in your own portable sauna. When the pace starts heating up, or even just riding at a fast clip under the noonday sun, you literally cook inside your leathers. Sweaty crotch is not a nice thing, trust me on that one.
A small group headed off, and I decided to join them. 7 bikes in all, and the leader said we’d be heading up the hill, and back through the canyons. I told Kala that this would be a fast 30 minute sprint up the hill, to the cable car station, and then an even faster downhill run, bringing us to the canyons. I told her the pace would pick up after that, and the final end run, into the last set of uphill/ downhill corners, would impress her. I reminded Kala to hold on, and to lean into the turns with me. She asked how fast we were going now, and I told her, “sorry, my speedometer isn’t working.”
She laughed, and asked how would I know how fast I was going.
I replied, “when the cops stop me, or the engine explodes, whichever comes first.”
We zoomed up the hill, taking the switchbacks and curves in a fast seamless line of motorcycles. I was running about mid pack, with the lead being taken by a madman riding a Kawasaki Voyager 1200. I was a little amazed at the road manners shown by the lead bike, in spite of the fact that it must have weighed close to half a ton, with the combined weight of bike, rider and passenger. It was magic that morning. The sun had come out long enough to take the morning dew off the road, without it being too hot to be uncomfortable. I sensed Kala settling into a more comfortable position behind me, snuggling close, and keeping her eye over my shoulder, looking into the corner I was leaning into.
The machine responded to my every input on the handlebars and throttle. The lead rider knew what he was doing, and was smooth doing it. I didn’t touch the brakes at all, letting the bike do the work, trusting the tyres and suspension to do their thing. I glanced over my shoulder at the bikes behind me, and I could see them doing the drop in and lean ballet, echoing the moves I had just executed. This was Nick Ienatsch’s “The Pace”, brought to life.
And over the mechanical noise of the engine, and the howl of the Yoshimura, and the wind blast over my helmet, I could hear Kala laughing with delight.
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