Something I wrote about riding (not SF specific) - The Moment
Thought I'd share this with you guys - I wrote it a dozen or so years back for a bike forum I'm involved with.
The Moment
Nirvana on a motorcycle is - like anything on a motorcycle – entirely unique to the rider. It may be related to a particular piece of tarmac, or the company he or she is keeping. It might be the motorcycle itself, if you're lucky enough to own something really special. Or, if you're anything like me, it comes down to The Moment. Not “a moment”, mind - which is a different beast altogether, and one best avoided. No, this is that too-short, blink-and-you-miss-it instant where you know exactly what it is about riding motorcycles that is so inspiring. It comes to each of us in different ways, at different times, but it has the same effect - it's moto-Nirvana, and to paraphrase a quote I once found on a pair of surf-label jeans "Only a rider knows the feeling".
Although I've spent precious few hours aboard motorcycles in recent years, I still think about the business of riding quite often, and I realised that a particular image always came to mind – of me, riding alone, undertaking the intimate business of my commitment to a single corner. It always gave me a little jolt of adrenalin, and it occurred to me that this was it - my own personal Moment. Let me describe it, and maybe you'll nod sagely - maybe you'll go and hop on your bike and go see where it is that you find yours.
It’s late in the day and I’m riding my VFR750 through a smoothly serpentine road that bends and loops through forest along a valley floor. I’m well into the ride, feeling totally ‘keyed in’ to the bike and the occasion – the pace has been steady but is gradually building up as confidence increases and my reflexes become more and more responsive. The bike responds with a will, urging me on – lean me over a little more, shift me up a little later. Give me my head…
We burst from the shadow of a quick right-hander, and the throttle is twisted to the stop. The next corner goes left and is just far enough away to allow this heady blast of acceleration, perhaps shifting up a gear, and it's a faster corner than the last, so braking isn't necessary - I just need to close the throttle at the right time, using the friction co-efficient of the tyres to wash off just enough speed as they roll over onto the edges and the suspension begins to compress. I've already started to slide off the side off the bike a little, with my knee and shoulder dropped and pointed into the corner. My arms are bent, my spine curved, as my upper body moves laterally and forward across the tank - keeping the bike a little upright while I search for the apex - and suddenly there it is, and now comes The Moment… when the throttle is closed, and the noise all but ceases, and suddenly we're 'coasting', and I'm feeling so relaxed on the bike it's as though I've gone weightless.
I have barely an instant to take in all the different sensations during The Moment. The sudden eerie silence after the noise and fury of my eruption from the last corner, the anticipation of slamming the bike down onto its side, the imminent return of the rauccous howl from the shrieking V-Four underneath me... then I do open the throttle and push the left bar away hard, and the Moment dissolves in the roar from the airbox as the bank of carbs scream furiously for air. The exhaust barks its raspy bellow as the bike swoops over onto its side, and I wonder whether to touch the peg down or just hold it a threatening inch from the road, while the rear end squats and the bike begins its scything arc through the corner. The revs are rising again and I feel my bodyweight return as my muscles tense up, followed by the compression of my spine and the push back into the seat as the tyre hooks up, driving the bike out of the corner.
The Moment is over almost before it begins - but there’s already another corner in sight…
M H Duncan
August 2004
