Super-Moto!

I'm interrupting the ongoing saga of my tales at The Tail, to redirected your focus in another direction.  I hope you don't mind but certainly you've realized by now that it takes me a little while to bring the blog up to speed on my goings-on.

Anyway, onward!  If you live in California, you have no doubt heard about SoCal Supermoto School. If you haven't... well you're about to.  Why? Because its one of those things you need to do in life before you die.  Why? Because if you love motorcycles, and you love riding, and you love riding in environments where you can all-out hooligan your happy ass around a track on someone else's bike, then you've probably already clicked the link before I've finished this sentence.  If you haven't and you aren't interested in doing so by the time I've finished this post, well then you're greatly missing out and, well, fuck it.  MOAR school for meeeeeeeeeeee!

I was convincing enough to persuade some friends to join me for the event, which made it a lot more exciting.  I highly encourage bringing your friends to join in the fun.  Because what's better than doing a day of havoc on wheels than to also be able to point and laugh at the destruction of dignity that unfolds as you and your friends take turns making fools of yourselves in the dirt section. Add to it that you also get a group discount and what's left to decide?!

I ventured a few hours south with the new boyfriend, my best friend, and a few other Candidates for Adventure (CFAs).  We met up at Adams Motorsports Park in Riverside promptly at 7... 08 in the morning to get started on our 7:00 a.m. date with destiny.  Brian (the dude who runs the show) was busy cracking the whip on his two small indentured servants (read also: kids... who are amazing little minions of bad-assery) to prepare for the day's event.  Roughly 9 people were in attendance and we got right to work scribbling our names on paperwork we didn't actually read in the familiar routine (to most of us track-heads) of eagerly waiving our rights or interests in filing any potential lawsuits should we be overzealous enough to catastrophically injure ourselves on the go-kart track.  "Go-Kart track?!"  You scoff.  Yes indeed.  It's a go-kart track, but most who are familiar with Supermoto already figured that would be the case.  What you may not have figured is that for the last half of the day, it is a combination of half-pavement/half-dirt, half-life/half-death-to-dignity. But before you scream the high pitched song of the siren and close this window, know this:  no matter what your skill level, as long as you are comfortable operating a motorcycle (and you ride within your limits) you will not leave this event with any less than a shit-eating-grin.

Fig 2a. Riding track on a sport bike... laying into it...

If you are an avid motorcyclist, a track day enthusiast, a canyon carver, or pretty much any other type of rider this will only make you a better stronger rider as it compels you to learn the art of riding to your traction level.  This is something that a lot of riders tend to overlook, especially those of us who primarily ride on nice sticky asphalt. It also demands that you pay attention to what the bike is telling you (which you should already be privy to as a rider anyway).

Brian covers a few universal rules of track riding during the first few sessions.  Turn in points, line selection, etc.  But he also fine-tunes it within the context of the Supermoto style of riding, which means that almost everything you learned about riding a sportbike is going to be counter-intuitive when it comes to how you sit on and ride a Supermoto bike. This was probably the biggest challenge for me: breaking the habits of sport-riding and remembering to sit forward (practically on the tank), to the outside of the turn with the bike under me, my outside elbow in the air and my inside foot out.  This is much different then hanging off to the inside of the bike with the knee out (see Fig 2a).  Needless to say, I screwed up on more than a few occasions.  Haha but even in spite of my struggles there was an incessant giggle in my helmet as I puttered around the track and attempted to get it right time and time again.

Fig 2b. Riding Supermoto... and sorta kinda doing it wrong

That's a little better, still gotta get that butt over and the elbow up a little more

I was easily the slowest rider out there but I didn't care because it was so much to work on and I was having fun. Once the dirt opened up, there was a revelation of new challenges.... err... 'opportunities for growth' that made most in our group cringe a little.  A set of doubles, a berm and couple of table tops before you emerged back onto the pavement introduced an element of physical demand that was certainly noticeable by the end of the first session out.  I was probably the only rider who didn't even try to use the berm in the dirt section because it was all I could muster just to get over the doubles without face planting.  It was enough just to try and regulate the proper speed but it isn't as hard as it seems.  It's more about reminding yourself to stay relaxed and stand up on the pegs (which I learned earlier this year when I went on my first real dirt riding adventure... stay tuned for that post).

Looking at this picture makes me smile, probably the entire time I was on this bike I was grinning and laughing.

Even in my bloopers I had a fantastic time.  I came out of the day with an increased sense of confidence in dirt and a lot of that had to do with the fact that I was just out there physically riding and practicing in that environment of traction.  I learned a tremendous amount about my own limits of confidence, how fear gets in the way of just about everything unless you confront it, and I even learned a lot more about understanding the language of bike feedback.  In all honestly, unless you're an experienced dirt rider, or you've actively done Supermoto in the past, you're not going to get it all right by the end of the first day anyway. And if you go into any of these events taking yourself too seriously or trying to be the number 1 dude the first session out, you're going to miss out on a lot of the point. The skills you develop doing one Supermoto School day will easily make you a better rider no matter what your style is.

When One Garage Door Closes: Part 6

There is no denying that America is beautiful.  Even the sticky backwoods of North Carolina boasted some of the most refreshingly beautiful scenery I've taken in.  But then again, I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder (or the beerholder, hah!). The cabins were nestled just off of the beaten path and as we made our way up the dirt-and-gravel driveway I was charmed with how quaint it was.  I do remember thinking that I was not going to enjoy riding a sportbike on that crap, though. No one else seemed to have much of an issue with it so I moved on and made myself at home, regrouping with the folks and patiently awaiting the arrival of my stuff, which had been loaded into the truck of our host and was en route to the cabins.  Others had already started making their way up and down the roads in an effort to squeeze what they could out of what daylight was left.  I was just happy chillin' out somewhere new with good folks.

The fleet is ready to roll.

Since I was on a loner bike we alternated use.  I didn't mind as I knew I would get plenty of ride time in.  My steed for this adventure was a blue Yamaha R6 which is a hybrid of an 07+ model that the owner had put together using all of the best pieces of each year.  It was a great bike and given my familiarity with the R6 I took right to it once I threw a leg over it for that first ride up and down The infamous Tail of the Dragon.

I have to say the pictures really don't do it justice.  Those of us who are blessed to live in California (and other places of similar landscape) won't be a bit surprised by the tightness of the curves, but I must confess that if it weren't for all of the traffic this would make my top 10 list of all time favorite roads.  Whatever they do with those roads back east is some kind of magic because the road is really quite a dream for those who like to lean but don't particularly ride track. I will bow my visor and declare that the Tail of the Dragon is well worth the respect and well worth the detour if you ever find yourself in the area.

My trusty steed for the weekend.

The first day of riding (which was actually day 2 of my visit) was spent making my way up and down US 129, and just enjoying the ride.  I took a break to ride two up with a fellow member who claims to have ridden The Dragon some ridiculous amount of times and I figured (well why the hell not ride it from the perspective of someone who knows it pretty well.  So off we went...

The Dragon, in all of its glory, isn't really for the faint of heart.  If you are the lightest bit skirmish on a motorcycle it will definitely bite you in the ass and I saw quite a few riders run wide or blow corners in moments of overconfidence.  What makes it that much more exciting is that almost every corner is a blind corner so you really don't know what is waiting on the other side.  Prior to my visit, I had heard and read the stories about the big rigs that mistakenly take 129 as a shortcut and wind up getting stuck or worse.  The road has since been officially closed to truckers, but not before we had our own experience with a truck coming down as we were riding up.  All I have to say is that I'm glad there was a turnout and I'm glad our friend was ahead of the truck and gave us a heads up as he came down the other way.  It was humbling watching a behemoth that large devour damn near every inch of asphalt as it slithered along.  Still... we pressed on and stopped for some photos.

When One Garage Door Closes: Part 5

The next morning was a bit slow for me.  I can't deny that I was feeling a little groggy as everyone shuffled out of their respective sleeping arrangements and a thunder of footsteps echoed through the house as the hustle and bustle ramped up and people got loaded, sorted and caffeinated for the trek to the Dragon.  My pilot and I were shuffling our backpacks and duffle bags, loose helmets and riding gear into support vehicles that would transport our goods to the final meeting spot.  The Ladybird can only support so much weight so in the best interests of maximizing efficiency, we opted to travel as lightly as possible.

We made it to the airstrip and gassed up after checking her oil and conducting other inspections.  I buckled my seat belt and arranged my headset with a nervous but eager grin on my face.  This would be a little longer of a flight and I didn't really know what to expect.  Nor did my pilot, really as he had not flown on this side of the country before.  Our flight was remarkably smooth and uneventful.  Throughout the duration of it, my pilot was giving me some basic co-pilot education in reading aviation maps and understanding airspace codes.  He explained things like IFR and VFR and the limits of what is allowable for safe air travel in an aircraft such as the Ladybird. Meanwhile, I glanced out the window at the landscape and considered possibilities of where we could possibly land if things went south. I mean, that's not all I thought about. I actually felt quite at home in the humble little Ladybird, floating along on her course over unsuspecting housing developments and commercial developments.  As I sat staring out the window, a big part of me felt free from it all, a birds eye view looking down into a world that seems so large and overwhelming at ground level.  It was refreshing, exhilerating, and spiritually liberating. I wondered how much of the world had changed in the years since her production, how much the landscape had changed form and how much of history had fallen behind as the Ladybird charted her course through time.

As we made our final approach toward a mountain range we started scanning the vicinity for the landing strip. My friend checked his map, then his GPS, and then his phone before cranking his radio on to listen to the conditions.  I immediately spotted an interstate and as we banked a slight right to align with the interstate, we noticed the airstrip situated not far from it in the same direction.  "Is that it?"  I pointed out, "Well I'll be damned, hang on to your ta-ta's buddy we're gonna have to make a sharp turn."  I had already whipped out my phone for the landing, but suddenly felt a tinge of nervous apprehension as my pilot initiated a bit more assertive of a stall than he had the day before, and then an immediate tilt to the left. At one point I looked out the side window to see a cow grazing in a grassy pit as we quickly glided overhead.  Looking forward I saw the landing strip and before I could make any sense of what to do next the Ladybird leveled out and we were suddenly lined up perfectly to touch the wheels down and falling toward the runway fast. The initial touchdown was a bit hard but quite remarkable for what my layman brain thought to be possible.  

It seems like so much distance, yet it closes in fast

"Holy shit, buddy, that was a first!"  My pilot erupted with a victory squeal.  Something about the bowl of the mountain range and the placement of the landing strip meant that the only way to successfully land was to have pulled a maneuver like that.  I don't even think I had time to be scared, if scared was the reaction.  It was more along the lines of, "holy crap! I just looked a cow in the eyes while floating sideways in a fucking airplane 200 feet above it."  It was a pivotal moment in my life and as we made our way out of the plane onto the sleepy little tarmac, I couldn't help but crack a grin. It doesn't seem like a big deal now.  In fact it seems like such a small thrill by comparison to the shenanigans that awaited us.

We had some time to kill while we waited for our transportation, so we wandered around the sleepy old airport and took in the sights.  There wasn't much but it was endearing to me and there was quite a bit to be appreciated in the dusty old hangars.

When One Garage Door Closes: Part 4

The weightlessness was a little unnerving at first, but as I looked out the windows at the patchwork landscape of what looked like trees of broccoli scattered across a hillside of green moss I reconciled my equilibrium.  My pilot was kind enough to go easy on me for the first few minutes and then as we settled into our altitude and course it seemed as though we were suspended in the air, floating lightly above the Georgia landscape.  It was, in a word: humbling.  At one point my pilot broke the ambient hum of the airplane and informed me that he would show me a couple of things. He took a few seconds to discuss some basics of what I was looking at in the gauges.  Then he announced that he was going to do a very basic "stall" which would result in the plane essentially falling a few hundred feet or so.  I took a deep breath and felt the Ladybird drop very briefly before leveling out and regaining it's course.  "I'd say we fell about a couple hundred feet or so," he pointed out.  I was surprised since it felt as though the little plane only fell about a foot or two. I remember thinking that wasn't too bad! We buzzed around for a little while longer and I looked out at a few cotton-balls that littered a beautiful blue sky before we finally decided to bring her back into the air strip and rejoin our friends for the festivities.

Aside from my obvious obsession with all things combustion-driven, I am also quite a foodie.  One of the things I was eagerly anticipating the most about my visit to the south was getting some authentic southern barbecue.  We made a few stops before our host escorted us to a rather delightful little joint that served up one hell of a platter full of flavorful goodness.  Aside from being taken aback by how amazingly polite our server was, I was in hog heaven with my platter full of ribs, pulled park, chicken, beef, fried okra, coleslaw, beans and a nice cold glass of local brew to wash it all down.  I won't lie, it was way more than I could handle and I had no idea that I would be presented with such a huge undertaking, but I was certainly not opposed to taking a stroll through the Garden-Of-Eating. 

I have to take this moment to point out that I can't thank my host enough for allowing me to invade some space in his home.  One of the most memorable parts of the trip was how hospitable everyone was and that is something that sticks with a person for a long time. What Georgia might lack in Cali weather, it more than makes up for in hospitality. Shortly after eating ourselves stupid, we returned to the house to meet up with the rest of the gang for one last night of shenanigans before making the trek to North Carolina. It wasn't long before people started arriving from all over the place with bikes and gear and beer in tow.

When One Garage Door Closes: Part 3

For the next couple of days I tried my best to keep up while trying to shake off the time difference. We had a couple of days to kill in Georgia before heading out to Deals Gap, and we spent most of it hanging out, eating amazing food, and engaging in shenanigans.  My hosts were amazing and accommodating, and it was during these two days that I took my test flight as copilot in The Ladybird.  The arrangement went something like this:  I would fly the big plane to Georgia where we would hang out, explore and then venture out to North Carolina. I would hitch a ride in the Ladybird with my friend.  We would then re-convene with our friends and spend a few days riding motorcycles and hanging out in the cabins before flying out again on Thursday to carry out the last leg of our adventure before I caught the big plane back to California.  It just made sense to go on a little test run since the smallest plane that I'd ever been in still held about 60 people.

Her Majesty, The Ladybird

Built in the 1940s, the Ladybird is a little Cessna 140 tail-dragger with a single motor that compels her lightweight body at breakneck speeds of 80-100 mph.  Yeah, you could probably get to some places by car in the same amount of time that it would take you to fly in the plane, but most motorcyclists know that life isn't so much about the destination as it is about the journey and in hindsight I can openly declare that little private airplanes are in a realm all of their own. Something about the Ladybird immediately captivated me and the grin felt permanently etched on my face, even as a butterfly or two fluttered around in my stomach.
Once our friends had taken a few turns, it was my turn to go and as I approached I immediately caught a glimpse inside the tiny cockpit.  My friend and pilot-extraordinaire was giving me the universal sign to clear our departure and I finagled my way into my seat whilst halfheartedly remarking on the coziness of the seating arrangement.

I've heard it said that people who love motorcycles tend to also fall in love with airplanes.  The relationship has always seemed obvious to me even if I had never been afforded the opportunity to intimately strike the connection for myself.  As I settled into my seat, I looked around at the instrument panels and the arrangement of the controls.  Everything looked very simple and yet at the same time very complicated and foreign. I mentally made a note to avoid touching anything that wasn't bolted and secure, lest I clumsily screw up our flight and create some catastrophic incident.  I figured that at the given point in time, it was best to leave the operations up to the captain and I sat back and waited for liftoff.

My pilot did some last minute checks and I glanced over to see red letters written inside a vacant instrument window: "Never stop flying the airplane!"  I chuckled and cracked a joke but I had immediately made note of the deeper significance of the words.  On a motorcycle, you never let your survival instincts take hold if you're going to see your way out of an incident, and I imagined much of the same to be true about flying an airplane.  My friend confirmed my theory and I silently deliberated on all of our previous conversations about his training experiences and his respect for the craft of flying.  Without a doubt in my mind I knew that I was flying with someone competent and trustworthy... and I knew that this was only a brief introduction to what was to become a very incredible adventure.

As the Ladybird sputtered to life we glided slowly toward the landing strip and made our way along until eventually we caught some air and lifted gently off the tarmac and up toward the blue sky.  I let out a stifled giggle and a nervous squeal as we sailed upward, and as I looked out over the vast landscape I was immediately captivated by this awesome little airplane and the experience of being carried away from the airfield.

When One Garage Door Closes: Part 2

The news of the house being sold couldn't have come at a more coincidental time.  I had been preparing for an epic adventure for a few months and as I packed my luggage, people were making their way through my house in viewings.  It was awkward, to say the least, but this was not an adventure that could be put on hold.  It was an adventure made solely possible by the generosity of a bunch of people that I had known for years and never really met at all.  That's the beauty of social media; forums and other social media websites provide a convenient opportunity for people to connect and forge friendships with people all over the world. This forum was no different and every year members from all over the place make a pilgrimage to North Carolina to slay the Dragon at Deals Gap. This year, I would be joining them after a few of them joined together in a charitable effort to fly me across the country. It was a realization that both humbled me, and excited me. It was the first time that I had shed tears of joy in a long time; just the thought of people who have never met me coming together to give something so generously, and there was no way that the sale of the house and impending homelessness was going to deter me from seeing it through. I had to buy some proper luggage for the occasion... as opposed to a couple of backpacks that I could would typically strap to the back of the bike.  No, this time I needed airplane luggage.  In my limited experience travelling by air, I had never really thought to invest much in more than a duffel bag, but this time I splurged on some 40 dollar Wal-Mart luggage (complete with a duffel bag) and let the sweat-shop chemicals air out for a couple of days before jamming it full of the essentials: jeans, riding gear, underwear, a flat iron, and a bottle of whiskey. On a warm August morning I grabbed my helmet and hit the road toward LAX where a giant-ass tin can with wings would be transporting me and a few hundred other people to Atlanta Georgia; the first stop in what would be many memorable stops along the way.

LA Traffic... there's no avoiding it.

A Little Backstory...

My first time flying on an airplane was at the tender age of 30.  I had my life figured out, my career was moving along with some great momentum, and I was on my way to Washington DC for a week long work conference.  I never realized how much I would actually really enjoy flying until that day when the little express jet fired up it's engines and blasted us down the runway. Of course, I had to get over the claustrophobia... and it probably wasn't wise to mutter out: "Jesus... no wonder there are never any survivors when these things crash."  But still, all of that subsided as we became weightless, hovering over the runway and lifting off.  I watched as my little town and all of my riding roads disappeared beneath me as the bigger picture unfolded. Prior to that day and afterward, I never put much thought into ever having the opportunity to forge much of a relationship with flying, but life has a funny way of keeping things interesting.

Onward... and upward...

Preparing to board the plane in LA, I felt excited at the possibilities. My life was a little less figured out and my career was questionable, but I was excited to be going somewhere new and putting faces to the screen names and posts of so many people I had come to know over the years. I was eager to ride these new roads, and take in the smells of a new environment.  But there was something else... there was also the anticipation of a break-away adventure with one of my best friends and skilled pilot as we had charted a course to fly his tiny airplane from North Carolina to a little island in South Carolina. "I want to land my plane on an freakin' island buddy, and we are going to do that when you come out!"  It was one of our late-night chats and his voice resonated with enthusiasm.  I smiled at the thought of finally getting to meet 'The Ladybird' in all of her vintage glory.  I settled into the terminal after a remarkably smooth ushering through the TSA violation procedure and ordered an overpriced beverage to pass the hour and a half I had to spare before boarding my flight.  My friend was already in the air, flying The Ladybird from his home in Kansas to our rendezvous point and posting in updates in the Facebook group chat for the occasion.  

Finally, the call was made to board the plane and an excited grin came across my face. As the jumbo jet lifted off, I felt my anxiety regarding the house, the stress of the job, and the Los Angeles landscape fade off into the distance beneath and behind me.  It was a beautiful Southern California day and the view from my window was a reassuring glimpse into the beauty that is the bigger picture...

When One Garage Door Closes... Part 1

Well this place has gotten a little dark and dusty since my last post hasn't it?  A few folks have messaged me throughout the months since my last post, wanting to know where the hell the blogs are, and I have to say that I appreciate the encouragement and I haven't blown it off.  The truth is that there has been quite a bit going on this season and I've simply been trying to keep up and keep my head in the race.

I will try to keep it brief but with this much life and mileage behind me I feel like to condense it is to do it a disservice. Truth be told there have been many significant challenges but there have been even more amazing moments... and in true fashion I look back and say: "Holy shit, now that was a ride."

First, I have to take a second to pay a little tribute to my garage.  Somewhere near the middle of last year, the house I had been renting for around 8 years had been listed for sale and sold within a couple of weeks.  The process of finding a new place made for one of the most trying and tumultuous experiences of my adult life, but after a lot of sweat, frustration and tears, I managed to successfully relocate myself and everything that is most dear to me into a tiny 1 bedroom apartment.

Any avid motorcyclist knows that the garage is where the magic happens and my garage was by far my favorite room in the house. It wasn't anything special, but it was my sanctuary.  It was where I wrenched on my bikes until the wee hours of the morning.  It was where friends came together over cold beers to pass the time between rides with barbecue and incessant conversation and debate about all things motorcycle.  It was where new friends would park as they passed through on adventures.  It was a place of refuge for friends who traveled long distances to experience California roads; a place of rest, and of rebuilding and growth.

Wrenching: circa 2008

On Any Weekend

Rides halfway across the country, ends up making repairs in the garage.

Wrenching Bitch Face: 2014

And so it is that I bid a formal farewell to the old stable. The song of motorcycle exhaust resonating off of your poorly insulated walls will forever echo fondly in my soul.

That isn't the end of the story though. I know, I know, you thought you'd get off easy with this one eh?  Well as much as I would like to keep it concise here, 2014 was a year that certainly drafted itself into the memory books and to condense it entirely would in some ways seem to do a disservice to all that has come of it. As I bid adieu to my favorite thinking place, I look forward into the unknown with anticipation of where the journey will lead. As turbulent as 2014 was, it was also a year of enlightenment.  It was a year where my passion for riding took a back seat but didn't completely fall out of the picture.  As silly as it sounds, it may very well be the most compelling case for why and how motorcycling is one of the most fulfilling and rewarding pursuits that a person could involve themselves in... or maybe it really has nothing to do with motorcycles at all and more to do entirely with human will, adaptability, and passion for life.