Happy Cows

I had the privilege of getting away for the weekend to do a little hiking in the mountains east of town with some gal-pals of mine.  A friend has a quaint little house perched on the side of a mountain and we made our way up there on Saturday, did some hiking to catch the sunset, then did some more hiking on Sunday before coming back to town.  It was a refreshing change of pace... literally... since every other time that I am in that area I am usually passing through, rather quickly on two wheels and thinking about how I need to make time to do some exploration on foot.  I won't spend a lot of time delving into how out of shape I am, or the fact that for the first 2 days of this week, my legs and butt were so sore that I could hardly throw a leg over a motorcycle without cringing. You would think I would be in better shape... but no.

We trudged up a steep, grassy hill-side, walking among a few free-range cows that grazed lazily under the shade trees.  They (the marketing folks with the California Dairy Industry) say happy cows come from California and I have to say that they must be right.  I mean, I know that if it were me, I'd much rather graze freely on a lush mountainside than spend my days locked up in my own feces with 500 other cows. Yes, for that visual, you are welcome.  Remember folks,  "Beef: it's what's for dinner." 

God, at least there's beer.  Thank Gods for beer. Craft beer even.  Not any of that mainstream chemical-plant shit.  Only the real deal for me!

But I digress...

So there we were, hiking along and I was draggin' ass but trying to do so gracefully and inconspicuously. My gal pals were a few steps ahead chatting about something that I was only partially invested in.  My thoughts were in other places: how peaceful it was, what the history of this area is, how one poorly chosen step would result in a tumble down the side of a mountain as the cows would watch me topple ass-over-head to my doom.

Before I knew it we were at the top looking out over a vast valley.  Beneath us, the green rolling fields of farm land. It was really quite a refreshing sight.  I really enjoy the way the world opens up the more you explore it from different perspectives and even though this was essentially my back yard, it was still a fresh perspective.  It also helped that there was a nice breeze. 

A lot of people have asked me why I choose to stay in a town where the ratings indexes all point toward it being one of the worst places to live in California; poverty, teen pregnancy, low education, high unemployment and all of that jazz.  But what most people don't understand, or what the media doesn't tell them is that those problems are everywhere.  America has some of the poorest academic performance of any developed nation.  All over America the economy is struggling and people are desperate. I also feel like we live in a world where everyone is always looking for the next best thing without really taking the time to get to know or appreciate what is right in front of them.  It's a side effect of the residual illusion of the so-called American Dream and the epidemic of consumerism.  We are led to believe that the more we buy, the more we own, the more power we have in money, the happier we will be. We are left feeling empty; mindlessly reaching for things that we don't even know if we really care about because we never really thought about it.  We are also the most medicated.

Every day Americans walk into a doctors office and complain of sleeplessness, depression, anxiety, restlessness, hopelessness... They have questions... inquiries but no way of reconciling them on their own because they've never been taught to think, so they seek the next best thing: medicate it, take it all away, medicate it, "let me escape to the next best thing as I think it should be." People everywhere live their entire lives never knowing what lies just beyond their doorstep.  Instead, spending countless hours in front of the television absorbing illusions of far off lands and manufactured imagery. We are, in so many ironic ways, artificially inseminated with ideas, values and other influences that dictate the course of our lives before we even have a chance to think about it, let alone consent to it. Do I love where I live?  In some ways. In most others I know that I may not belong here and that there is also a huge world out there that I want to experience as much of as possible before I die; a world full of answers to enduring inquiries that I have of my own existence. I long to pursue them and I am alone in my journey... as we all are.  The answers will come to us and us alone, and they can only come from us and us alone in our own realizations as we inquire, experience, and learn.  

Home is where heart is.

I realize that way of life takes courage and volition, and sometimes I wonder if we aren't anything more than cattle grazing in a pasture.  Free-range as we believe, but to some extent protected by the cattleguards and easily herded into containment by the sorrows and suffering of our life experiences and the promise of shallow appeasement for those who don't inquire... those who don't want for something greater.

Track Day Report: Bumpy-Willow and a Little Turbulence Part 2

As the day wore on, I went out for session after session.  My friend kept time and did a damn fine job of throwing out some healthy mockery of my hangups.  "You could be carrying a lot more speed through that section," he would say, gesturing out toward the bus stop.  "You probably would have shaved some time off back there if you didn't get held up by that guy."  I took note of his observations and went back out time and time again, experimenting, picking up speed and improving corner entry in some areas and dragging ass in others.  By around lunch time I came in to resolve a nut that came loose on my clutch cable where it adjusts at the motor and since it was 5 minutes to grid for the next group, I just sat out the rest of the session and plopped down in my chair, resting my head and feeling the cool breeze on my face.

Out of nowhere, from behind me there was a ruckus in the pit next to ours, "This is bullshit!" a guy yelled out. I lazily rolled my head over in the direction of the commotion,  "I'm not riding on this shit, it's just all off!"  He had a sweet setup: a tractor trailer with a shop in the back end of it where racks of tires sat neatly above a workbench with a laptop (they even had their own wi-fi I was... jealous). A group of 3 guys tended to the bike as the rider made his way into the trailer.  I let out a chuckle, both at how silly the whole thing seemed and also how much I sympathized with... well having a bike that doesn't quite operate up to par.  I rolled my head back over in the direction of my friend who was still looking toward the trailer, "I promise never to be like that," he declared nonchalantly.  I laughed again, "Track Day Problems... it could be a reality TV show if it was marketed right," I added mockingly.  "Really though, maybe I should offer to let him take the R6 out," I said with a sly grin.  We both laughed and I suited up for my next session.

My afternoon sessions were where I felt the most comfortable.  Right before lunch things felt clearer and I could somewhat bring myself into the zone.  I had wiggled the brake lever around enough to squeeze an extra few millimeters of leverage in my favor and it seemed better than nothing.  The clutch was... well the clutch and I managed to find a sweet spot that sorta worked out. I was enjoying the day in spite of the obstacles (there's a reason my nickname is Murphy).  My friend was an excellent pit chief, time keeper, and coach. As the day wore on, I came to really appreciate the weight of being able to share a track day with someone who understands, who appreciates the quest for self improvement, and who has the technical and riding knowledge to give good relevant constructive feedback; and someone who knows you well enough to crack jokes at your expense to keep things fun.  

There weren't any earth-shattering records broken that day.  Sometimes it's good to just get out there and ride to keep the muscle memory fresh and the reflexes keen. As I reviewed some of the track photos, I decided that I probably wouldn't buy any this time around but that's not to say that it wasn't a damn fine day.

It was a damn fine day, indeed.    

Track Day Report: Bumpy-Willow and a Little Turbulence Part 1

It's amazing what a few weeks of inactivity will do to you as a rider.  It felt like ages ago that I did the season-opener and as time rattled on slowly, it felt like an eternity before the next track day would come.  Finally it did, and as much as I was eager, optimistic, and motivated after the last date, I found myself sputtering on fumes.  In the time that had passed I had worked a little on getting the DRZ back together, and bought some new tires and levers for the R6 in hopes that the clutch issue would be resolved with aftermarket levers that might offset the leverage. Once I installed the levers, I found that everything changed and suddenly I had no clutch disengagement whatsoever, even with the lever pulled all the way in the rear wheel wasn't budging. Add to it that I had acquired a head cold last week and it wasn't quite as heel-clicks-and-badassery as it had been in the days immediately following that incredibly inspiring track day.  Luckily, at the last minute, things started clearing up.  One of my closest friends and trusted technical expert had made his way up from LA to help me get to the track day.  We spent the evening before working on bikes and trying to sort the issue (which even left him scratching his head).  There was some improvement and some was better than none so we went with it.

  I knew that if I didn't get any sleep on the night before this track day, I'd be seriously hurtin'. Since it had been 36 hours hours since I slept (damn insomnia), I threw some burgers on the grill, had a couple of beers with my friend and we went to bed early.  I almost immediately fell asleep but then woke up an hour later when the dog had to go out.  Then again an hour after that... and again... When the alarm went off at 5:45 I grimaced.  My eyes were dry and my brain was groggy.  It had been almost 6 hours since I last looked at the clock and I figured that with a good shower and an energy drink, I might be able to snap out of it. I drank the energy drink, we hit the road, and once at the track I prepped for my first session.  It was sunny, beautiful, and forecast to be in the 70s: perfect.

My enthusiasm and eagerness to get on on the track wasn't quite enough to pull my head out of the clouds.  I drank a RedBull and sat through the riders meeting trying to wake up by doing mental exercises in my head;  focusing on as many different factors of my immediate environment as possible - both peripheral and focal.  By the time the first session rolled around, I was actually pretty glad that it was mostly a sighting session.  The slow pace would give me some time to wake up the muscles and hopefully get the senses and processor into the groove. We went out, and I realized that the new brake lever was designed poorly.  Even at full adjustment it was still a good 3 inches from the clip-on which had my wrist cramping by the 3rd lap.  I shrugged it off, and started taking an inventory of things to adjust when I came back in.

Second session was a little better. The clutch was still weird as hell but I was more concerned about my focus. In my tired state, things felt so much more high-def than they usually do.Everything was brighter, louder, and more intense.  I was having trouble keeping my attention flowing smoothly and instead of scanning through corners, I found myself getting caught up in what seemed like a slow sequence of frames.  I felt tenser than usual so I tried to relax, smooth steady breathing, "meditate and find the flow."  The faster I went, the harder it was for my brain to keep up and when I came back in I was feeling discouraged at about a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10.

The next few sessions went a little better. Finding the sweet spot of the clutch and inputting my controls smoothly became my primary focus, followed by maintaining good body position and processing the feedback of the bike. Even in my tired state, I was still keeping pace with the fastest lap times of my last track day so it wasn't bad.

Wide awake in dreamland...

As the day went on and I cared less and less about whether or not I was destroying my clutch, I came to accept the fact that even in my abandon, I was learning some pretty key lessons...