81forest
Here in Seattle, we have legalized recreational marijuana but cocaine is still outlawed, so a twelve-hour ride must begin with the next best alternative: strong espresso.
We planned to do a nice 500 miles of epic mountain back roads. This was my first big ride on the SD, and my riding buddy brought his spotless 848, one of those few bikes that gets more looks than the KTM. She is a beauty, if you're into that red color.
Our route took us past the smoldering remains of Mt. St. Helens, who blew her top awhile back.
These remote forest service roads get pretty beat up and the riding becomes very technical with all the frost heave and uneven pavement. It's the perfect proving ground for the Super Duke (Doug Fir knows what I'm talking about.) If you aren't careful, the bike will become airborne on some parts of this road, and there are many, many bike crashes here every summer.
I didn't mind stopping to wait every twenty minutes for my riding buddy to catch up, because I knew he was safely riding at his own pace. I'd rather ride with a friend who is a bit slower than with a hotheaded friend who has something to prove. Plus I like to think of myself as the fast one, amiright?
Anyway, at some point I am waiting for riding buddy to catch up and I see another bike in my rearview. He has just passed my riding buddy, and I (stupidly) think to myself, "oh here we go, let's play a bit." I let him pass me too, and think of what fun it will be (stupid!) to catch him and pass him. I follow him for a few turns, he's a good rider. Good form. But what gets me is the fact that he's wearing sneakers. I mean, I'm in full leathers on a fooking KTM Super Duke, and this guy is riding a Yamaha FZ1 in jeans. Seriously? There is no way you are not getting passed, duder, I think to myself. I start to push the pace a bit, thinking I will easily out-corner him and blow past, but this guy is holding his ground. In fact, soon we are both riding at 130+ in the straights, and my safety margin is getting smaller and smaller in the corners.
I should have thought to myself, "this guy might be a better rider than me, and we are not on the track, and I have nothing to prove," etc. But I didn't. All I thought was, "this motherfucker is wearing sneakers. SNEAKERS!"
It was on. I couldn't quite pass him safely, but I was riding his ass like a creditor, for no good reason except my ego. I knew I was riding beyond my comfortable limit, but I had become drunk on power .
We were hauling the mail on a twisty section of bad road with flat light, wet spots and moss when I entered a corner way too hot. Going balls out at about 75mph in a 30mph-rated sketchy corner. Right at the moment that I realised I had picked a bad line and really couldn't see the pavement well, a logging truck came into view in the oncoming lane. I know enough to not touch the brakes in a corner, but for a second I wanted to panic and it was close. Way too close. I have been riding sport bikes for many years and I knew just how pointless that fatal crash would have been. It shook me up and I still think about that moment.
When my easy-ridin' friend caught up, he was calm and relaxed, while I had just had a near-death experience. He was riding his own ride, at his own pace. He did not mind being "the slower guy" (and he is not slow.) Lesson learned!
We enjoyed a nice pace for the rest of the day, looking at the mountains and smelling the air. Can't wait to get back out on the SD.
We planned to do a nice 500 miles of epic mountain back roads. This was my first big ride on the SD, and my riding buddy brought his spotless 848, one of those few bikes that gets more looks than the KTM. She is a beauty, if you're into that red color.
Our route took us past the smoldering remains of Mt. St. Helens, who blew her top awhile back.
These remote forest service roads get pretty beat up and the riding becomes very technical with all the frost heave and uneven pavement. It's the perfect proving ground for the Super Duke (Doug Fir knows what I'm talking about.) If you aren't careful, the bike will become airborne on some parts of this road, and there are many, many bike crashes here every summer.
I didn't mind stopping to wait every twenty minutes for my riding buddy to catch up, because I knew he was safely riding at his own pace. I'd rather ride with a friend who is a bit slower than with a hotheaded friend who has something to prove. Plus I like to think of myself as the fast one, amiright?
Anyway, at some point I am waiting for riding buddy to catch up and I see another bike in my rearview. He has just passed my riding buddy, and I (stupidly) think to myself, "oh here we go, let's play a bit." I let him pass me too, and think of what fun it will be (stupid!) to catch him and pass him. I follow him for a few turns, he's a good rider. Good form. But what gets me is the fact that he's wearing sneakers. I mean, I'm in full leathers on a fooking KTM Super Duke, and this guy is riding a Yamaha FZ1 in jeans. Seriously? There is no way you are not getting passed, duder, I think to myself. I start to push the pace a bit, thinking I will easily out-corner him and blow past, but this guy is holding his ground. In fact, soon we are both riding at 130+ in the straights, and my safety margin is getting smaller and smaller in the corners.
I should have thought to myself, "this guy might be a better rider than me, and we are not on the track, and I have nothing to prove," etc. But I didn't. All I thought was, "this motherfucker is wearing sneakers. SNEAKERS!"
It was on. I couldn't quite pass him safely, but I was riding his ass like a creditor, for no good reason except my ego. I knew I was riding beyond my comfortable limit, but I had become drunk on power .
We were hauling the mail on a twisty section of bad road with flat light, wet spots and moss when I entered a corner way too hot. Going balls out at about 75mph in a 30mph-rated sketchy corner. Right at the moment that I realised I had picked a bad line and really couldn't see the pavement well, a logging truck came into view in the oncoming lane. I know enough to not touch the brakes in a corner, but for a second I wanted to panic and it was close. Way too close. I have been riding sport bikes for many years and I knew just how pointless that fatal crash would have been. It shook me up and I still think about that moment.
When my easy-ridin' friend caught up, he was calm and relaxed, while I had just had a near-death experience. He was riding his own ride, at his own pace. He did not mind being "the slower guy" (and he is not slow.) Lesson learned!
We enjoyed a nice pace for the rest of the day, looking at the mountains and smelling the air. Can't wait to get back out on the SD.
