On the Road
A Sunday Morning Thearpy Session
Sunday 10 March 2002
by Phil Floria
I managed to slip off Sunday morning, no going to
work or working around the house, moving furniture, and all the other things
which have eaten up my time, to get in some therapeutic riding time. I was gone
before anyone could make a demand for my attention. I intended to make it to
breakfast with Rich and the boys over at Kristy's, but getting up late didn't
allow that. I was off for a run into the countryside alone.
The last
time I was able to ride the little bike, I discovered it very badly needed a
new clutch, and some new rubber.
Well today was the day to test the new chain, clutch and just scrubbed in the new Dunlop Sportmaxs I just put on. I had been riding on the new tires back and forth to work for about two weeks; I figured they were ready now for a full test.
I rolled out through the neighborhood slowly and
quietly so as not to disturb none of my new neighbors. I couldn't help myself
once I made the right on to Harpersville Road. I twisted the throttle up to
about 7 or 8 grand on the tach and put the neighborhood behind me rather fast.
Jefferson Ave was busy for a Sunday morning, but the traffic was still
light. I managed to get to the James River Bridge with out attracting the
attention of Newport News' finest. I don't know how.
Once past the bridge and on the causeway to Isle of
Wight; I wasn't aware my speed had picked up to the 90 mark. The little 600
feels the same at 45 as it does at 90; only the wind rush in my helmet and the
sound from the exhaust change. The performance exhaust gets louder the harder
the little engine runs, but most of this was drowned out in my helmet by the
music from Areosmith playing in my walkmans headset.
I slowed down to
the 55 as I came off the bridge causeway in case one of the troopers might be
hanging around the old tollbooth. Once on 17 I rolled on to 10/32 and made my
way to 10 heading toward Chuckatuck.
A quick shift and a little
throttle, a zig and a zag got me around the offending slow traffic in front of
me and opened a clear road ahead. The tach needle kept a steady upward movement
until I looked down at the Speedo and saw the 105 mark disappearing under the
needle. Before I could slow down a little old lady in a big black American car
blew past me like I was standing still, remember I was still doing
105….
I slowed down to the double nickel and down shifted and
braked for a right hand turn, which took me to some of the best backcountry
roads to ride on.
I came through a neighborhood of new houses at 40
mph; this leads to the farms and forest areas. This is where the road starts to
snake its way along. Turns, twists and switchbacks galore, I was in motorcycle
heaven. I am learning the feel of the new bike and I haven't been this way for
several months keeping the speeds down was prudent as I made my way to Burnt
Mills Lake.
The grass areas around the launch ramp at Burnt Mills were
full of pickup trucks with empty boat trailers; it seemed like everyone except
me was fishing today. I made a mental note to dust off my fishing tackle and go
fishing this summer.
I turned right on Everets Road crossed the bridge
separating Burnt Mills from Western Branch Lake.
I noticed the spill
way was running heavy as it always does at this time of year. No shortage of
water in Burnt Mills.
Up the hill and left hand high-speed turn, which
becomes a right hand turn fast, then the road straightens out and comes to a
tee intersection farm fields on all sides with clear view of oncoming traffic.
A down shift and touch of front brake another down shift and then a push in the
left handle bar and I am headed on to another road.
This road was
widened and banked a few years ago, a good straight away then a drop down into
a nice right hand turn, a left and then another right. I down shifted to 5th
gear, pushed the right bar, slid over to the right on the seat and enjoyed the
grip of the Sportmaxs and the pull of the engine at 8 grand; only fighter
planes could match the thrill of a good running sport bike.
An
intersection comes up fast and a populated area; I slow down to 45 and sit up
with a big grin on my face, oh how I love to ride this little bike.
A
quick right then a quick left down hill banked turn, the little bike is
laughing through the corners, everything is running perfect, I run over the
bridge at Lake Prince and slow for the up hill left right switchback turn.
I pulled into the Lake Prince entrance. Here I stop for cigarette and
chance to absorb the day, the lake and fresh air. My favorite trees are in
bloom, Dogwoods showing their snow-white flowers. Here too, all the trucks are
parked with empty boat trailers, the parking area isn't full but it's far from
empty. Everyone is fishing on this sunny day.
With no one to talk to,
the stop is short, one butt and I am off again. I make another mental note not
to leave home with just one tape for my Walkman. Out the gate, I turn
right.
I have never brought the tach to redline, so I figure this is as
good a place to try it, the road is straight for a mile or so. A smooth quick
shift out of first, second gear to redline, another quick shift and to my
surprise I feel my arms take a small jolt, the front wheel is airborne. The
little bike carries it's front wheel for about a hundred yards before I roll
off the throttle just a touch to set her down and then stab the shift lever
down twice and brake for the next turn.
A hard left and some quick
acceleration to the first bend, but here you have to have big steelies, the
road surface is rough very rough. The little bike's suspension is eating it up
and I don't seem to feel out of control as I do on my other bikes. Still my
speed and the rough road induce some unsettling real wheel hop in that first
bend. Coming out of the bend I roll off the throttle a little to lose some of
the speed and once again the little bike settles down.
I pasted the
Girl Scout camp, then down the hill past the pumping station and across the
spill way, I let the bike slow down. I have Lake Prince to my left and Western
Branch on my right, I didn't see anyone fishing, they must all be working the
shallow wind protected coves.
The entrance to Western Branch Lake is
coming up and I can see the sand spilling on to the roadway. I pass the
entrance and turn left and up the hill, I slow down for the bicycle riders give
them plenty of room and as I pass in front of them a quick downshift and
wide-open throttle to red line again; this time no wheelie but an E ticket in
anyone's park.
A very fast right hand turn and then it's on the brakes
for the stop sign. I pull up and wait for two pickup trucks to pass and make a
right. I am now headed back the same way I came on the new widen road. I slow
down to let the trucks get well ahead of me; but by the time I clean the two
switch back turns I am right up on them once again.
Both trucks turn
left and I go right, the exhaust note is a scream now as I shift up and set up
for the next series of switchback turns down hill once again and across the
bridge my speed settles down and I pass by Owens Market. Two young guys are
standing out front and stop their conversation and watch me go by at 105.
I slow down now and pass the church at a moderate 40 keeping the
exhaust song from intruding on the service. I come back to ten and make a left
and head back to downtown Chuckatuk.
An old slow moving, oil-burning
pickup is in front of me and he turns right as I do. We pass through the 35-mph
zone at 25, past the firehouse and into a right hand turn, which is almost a
complete circle. The road opens into a short straightaway. The white lines
break into a passing zone, I down shift twice, open the throttle and pass the
pickup for some clean air and open road. He disappears in my mirrors very fast,
a few more switchbacks and then the bridge.
I pass two motorcycles
headed the other way on the bridge. Harleys, the riders surprise me with a
wave, and I wave back as we pass one another.
I set up for the slow
sweeping left hand turn, down shift and push the left bar, the little bike
leans over at will without effort, I find myself sliding on the seat to get my
knee bent and I'm banked in the turn.
Coming out of the turn I shift up
a gear at 8 grand the engine sings and the bike settles at 80. I slow down for
the residential area, cross the intersection and enter the straightaway which
has swamp on both sides, twisting the throttle up to full open and tucking in,
the little bike's exhaust note is a scream I look down and the Speedo is
reading 135. Amazingly the little bike feels the same as it did at 90. I roll
off throttle and touch the brake lever with a little pressure on the rear brake
to scrub off the speed and bring the bike to a stop at the light.
The
brakes on this bike are awesome.
Under my full-face helmet my cheeks
are pressing real hard on the helmet liner, no one could have a grin this big.
Now I pick up traffic, I fall in and cruise on to 17 and then on to 664
and head toward my sister's new house to help move the new fridge and washing
machine. Once there I can't stand still, my adrenalin is up and I want to keep
on riding, the fun is back.
I get home with 70 miles on the fresh tank
of gas. Rolling into the barn and parking I make some mental notes for next
time. I have to learn to down shift more, the little bike pulls no matter what
gear it's in, but to exit the corners quicker I have to carry more speed, I
have to move around in the saddle more to get in corners deeper, but then, I
was still happy it ran well and all the repaired parts worked perfectly. It
would have been nice to share the ride with some one, but then I just
did….
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