YZF
I had a very hard time waking up this morning. My mind was in some kind of heavy fog. Maybe it was my allergies. Maybe it was the daylight saving shift. Maybe it was my 02 lights out. I had been reading Roadshow…
Up, showered, dressed and rolling. I was headed down to my Mom’s to install a new railing. She fell last week, when the dogs tripped her up . I surveyed the situation, went to Lowe’s for parts, and off to the races. $300 later, I had installed a stable, 2 post railing for the 2 step drop. The posts had to be bolted directly to the patio. That was a big part of the total cost, a hammer drill.
When I got back home, I immediately saddled up on the YZF. I rode over to Tony/Chris’s to drop off a couple parts, then I departed into the darkness. At 60th and Lombard, I turned west, heading toward the St John’s Bridge. For some unknown reason I was in sync. A sports car pulled up next to me as I was playing around. Green and I rolled it up. The front end started to climb. Humph. I haven’t done that in a long while. I realized what was happening and instead of chopping the throttle to drop the wheel, I simply relaxed and rolled off just a touch. The wheel gently touched down. During this interlude, I started making all of the lights. Green, green, red, slow, green, roll it back on, left, green, right, green, left and out onto the bridge… Coming off the bridge, the light turned yellow when I was maybe 30 yards from it, being a downhill, I kept going, flick right, then left, slow for the creeping auto in front of me, swing it out to the right into my own lane and roll up to 7 over the legal limit.
All night long, I was trying to be ‘good.’ I would stay within 5 or 10 of the limit. Sure, I blew past the limit when I was lofting the front wheel, but I tried… Riding up 30 I got pasted repeatedly in the slower, in town sections. When I got on to the bridge at Longview, I couldn’t go slowly. I ripped up the ramp, gentle lean, 15 over. Onto the bridge, 20 over. Off the bridge, I tapped the brakes to drop down to the 35 mph limit. Green light and a 90 degree right. I prefer the truck route when I’m passing through Longview. Straight, left, hard right and ramp up to the connector to I-5.
I-5 in Washington is an interesting road. The speed limit is 70 and there is always someone doing 85 to 90. I merged in and the itch hit me. I sliced through a couple rows of trucks and SUVs. Then I rolled it up. I was flying. I glanced down as I shifted from 3rd to 4th. Amazingly, I was at the correct point in the torque curve. 13,000 rpm. 4th… 5th… 120mph and climbing… The road was empty for over a mile… I could see a truck and a single car… Faster? No. 120 is enough. Hold it and enjoy the moment… In less than a minute, I was closing on traffic. I rolled off. Back down to 85.
Eventually a Ford Explorer passed me. It was cruising at 90. I stayed about 150’ off its right corner. Tucked behind was uncomfortable. Too much wind. I would surge ahead, then wait for a catch-up, then surge, then wait. By the time we reached Vancouver I lost it in traffic. I pulled off at the second exit and rolled on to Marine Drive. I caught a couple of cars doing 5 under the limit. Still… it was a beautiful night.
My mind was wandering all night. I kept going back in forth between actively working to roll my wrists up and forward to relieve the pain. My MiniDisc player kept cycling through older songs—songs that make me think about my past. Why did things fall apart with my girlfriend after I got divorced? It was complicated, but still if… if… then we should have found a way through the difficulties. I know we had moments of friction, moments of miscommunication, moments of no communication, but if we truly… then… But those days are gone. We split up and I moved on. I was with my last girlfriend for about 9 months before I had my psychotic break. I just couldn’t handle everything, work, the loss of control, my bikes sitting in the rain, work, the loss of control, work, no drums, no guitars, no ability to control my own destiny… I know it isn’t fair or a complete view of my situation, but I just couldn’t handle everything that was flooding my brain. I had to withdraw. I couldn’t communicate. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. I went numb and another part of me died…
I’m thinking about all of this stuff when I was riding tonight. I wasn’t thinking about code. I was remembering. Doing a 120 is calming. The bike flowed. Nothing went wrong. It was 63 degrees. The sky was clearing. I didn’t see a single cop until I got into Vancouver and s/he was on the other side of the concrete median, heading north.
And I remembered why I love that bike. When I throw my leg over my YZF I don’t want to stop. I just want to ride mile after mile after mile after mile.
I rolled 26,000 miles as I was heading out. When I got that bike it had 6,500 miles on it. I have almost put 20,000 miles on that bike in how many years? 5k+ on the 2006 FJR. 11k+ on the 2005 DL. 19k+ on the 2001 YZF, which I bought in the spring of 2003. I rolled over 120 miles tonight.
I love to ride.
