Quitting Street Sport Riding (expounding)

Fitting track tires tot he R1 for the last time, indefinitely.

Following one of my latest entries when I wrote about hanging up street sport riding on my R1, I thought I’d just expound on that decision since writing it over a week ago. Understandably, one could think that I may have acted (or reacted) rather cavalier over something that has been a very integral part of my life – enjoying spirited sport riding in some of Northern California’s best motorcycle roads – that maybe I should’ve given myself a day or two after the incident before I decided on how the experience should’ve impacted me. Admittedly, the next few days after the incident, I was extremely distracted, finding myself going by my day-to-day tasks like a functioning junkie – I was present, but not really.

But to be honest, a week later and I’m still at peace with the decision that I made.

Those that know me know that I’ve always intended to “ride my R1 to the ground.” Even for all the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve put to turn my R1 into the bike that I would gladly retire in my living room, I never did have the heart to not ride it, so I decided that the only way I would retire it was if something so catastrophic happened to it, that I would be better off turning it into my living room trophy. It just so happens that no matter how many times the bike and I have hit the deck – and there have been quite a few – the bike just keeps getting back up with me, ready for more.

But what if I never get to ride the R1 to the ground? What if I end up riding myself to the ground first?

It was a profound experience to have looked over a fallen rider, myself standing over them in my own riding gear. It was a snapshot, a reflection of what could be the only thing left for me if I continued on with what I was doing. Because for all the experience, abilities, and skills I have in operating my sport machine on the street, and even if my spirited pace on public roads isn’t even half of what I do on a racetrack, the fact that I have been able to ride away and come home from the accidents I’ve had can only be pinned down to one resounding fact:

Luck.

That’s all I’ve been – lucky.

Everybody has made and will make mistakes on a motorcycle. But on the street, it isn’t necessarily the mistake that can hurt you – it’s what could be out there waiting for your mistake. If it isn’t an oncoming vehicle, perhaps it’s a guard-rail. If it’s not a guard-rail, then it could be a tree. If it’s not a tree, it could very well be a steep ravine to fall into. And believe me, I’ve known of riders passing away due to every one of those things I’ve written.

I’ve even known of riders who got killed for NOT making a mistake – they were simply a victim of someone else’s mistake.

At Sonoma Raceway on the 20th; if not out on a racetrack, the R1 will be garaged.

By all means, I’m not trying to discourage anyone from riding the street, spirited or otherwise, and even I’m not swearing off street riding entirely, just on this R1. This is a personal decision that only I will live with, and it may not even be something I can live with for long.

Either way, I’m at peace now.

Quitting Street Sport Riding

It’s Sunday night, 8:30PM at the time of starting this entry. About twelve hours ago, I rode to meet with my friend Jenn. She had previously asked me if I wanted to ride today. I hadn’t planned on it, but Jenn wanted to join a group ride, but not by herself, so I agreed to join the ride as well.

She and I arrive at the group meet spot just before 10AM, and the rest of the attendees started to filter in not long after. This group ride is effectively the only group ride I ever attend, so it was good to catch up with familiar friends and faces, and see the new crop of regulars and attendees. My interest may have been waning as of late over street sport riding, but having a laugh with friends never really gets old.

Kickstands were up at 10:30AM, with the riders divided in two groups – spirited and mellow – as is customary to this type of ride. I stayed with my friend Jenn in the mellow group. Thirty minutes later, we came upon a scene that I never want to see again.

The aftermath of a head-on collision, in the first group ahead of us.

The rider failed to negotiate a corner at speed, going too wide and colliding with an oncoming car in the opposite lane. Another rider – a friend of mine – was also involved, as the bike pictured above slid back into the lane after impact, right in the path of the second rider. My friend suffered serious injuries, but he will be fine.

The first rider did not make it, seven days until his 30th birthday.

When our group got there, I tried to do what I could to help contain the scene and clear up the road. I’ve done it before, more times than I care to count. But I’ve never seen a rider motionless, with pools of blood under them. I’ve never seen emergency personnel take turns to do CPR on someone for what seemed like forever. I’ve never seen a tarp go over a rider lying on the side of the road.

The same road that’s one of many I have frequented for my own riding pleasure.

Once law enforcement and medical personnel were able to contain the scene, we were all given the go ahead to vacate the area. Jenn and I rode together on our way home. We said our goodbyes, and I’m sure she was as glad as I was that it wasn’t one of us involved.

I got home, and I renewed the registration for my R1 that is to expire next month.

My days of suiting up for sport riding in the canyon and mountain roads are done. For how long, I don’t know, but it’s done as of now. What I saw today did not scare me, but rather gave me clarity. I’ve done these roads enough to last me two lifetimes, and it’s clear to me now that there remains nothing for me to gain by continuing to ride them the way I’ve been.

There is more riding to be done in various disciplines, and I’ll continue to ride my NT650 to and from work, while my R1 will only be ridden at the track now.

I mentioned that my interest in street sport riding had been waning as of late, but I never could quite put my finger on exactly why. Well maybe it wasn’t something for me to figure out, rather, something I needed to see.

Even if just once.

1988 Honda NT650 Hawk GT

Yup, the cult classic.

We don’t need to have me write the how’s or what’s and why’s of its cult status, just simply Google “Honda NT650” to get your primer. Rather, I just want to recount how exactly I came to ownership of what is effectively my very first Honda motorcycle, fourteen bikes owned later:

It was just a regular Wednesday, right in the middle of a work week. The day before, in wanting to try a very different kind of motorcycle that I’ve never had, I contacted a seller after coming across his ad in the local Craigslist. Ultimately, we agreed for me to see the bike that Friday, which would’ve been my next immediate day off from work. I typically don’t like waiting that long to see a bike in person that I have even just a bit of interest in (because I would be so fixated in the mean time!), but the seller assured me he hadn’t really had much interest in the bike since he posted it for sale fourteen days ago. I felt a little better about waiting then, but that really only lasted a day.

The next day while at work, I asked the seller if he had time that afternoon to show it. He did. I have a perfectly fine helmet I’ve retired sitting on my desk at work, so I thought, “hell, why not?” I made the arrangements to leave work early, taking my retired helmet with me, and headed to meet the seller and the bike. I even brought the cash for the seller’s asking price. The seller and I met, talked over and around the bike, then I handed him the envelope of cash to hold while I rode the bike.

All I knew before I got on the bike was this was a motorcycle first made 26 years ago in 1988 (I was only six years old!), with a production run of only four years after Honda pulled the plug from weak sales. I’m not going into the logistics of why they did, but suffice it to say that regardless, the NT650 was simply a bike that was made before it needed to be. The common consensus is – and I believe it be true before even riding one – it was simply ahead of its time. Way ahead. So then, what was it like to ride an old bike that was made too soon?

Well...

Neither old nor young, but stands the test of time.

When I was working for Monterey County in my late teens to early 20's, I remember working with a woman who was easily 30 years my senior, at least. Despite her age, she kept herself to a form that rivaled any young woman between her age and mine. And I'm not talking about the plastics, paint, or silver and gold women adorn themselves with – just naturally beautiful, and whether by diligent work or good genes, her body just defied its age. I always wondered what it would be like to spend time with a woman like her.

But now, I imagine it'd be just as much of a good time as I had riding a well-kept, 26-year old motorcycle that somebody built just right at their first try. And I would probably be right about this too – a first date just wouldn’t be enough. I would want to take her home.

So I did. The question now is this:

Will this be just an affair of infatuation, or can this be long-term?

Let’s find out.