I’ve been meaning to write this for quite some time now. It was going to be a “Part 2” to an essay about a ride I took a few weeks back. Some back story: There’s a canyon on Hwy 62 just before the last six-ish mile straight away before you hit the I-10. On this particular day I decided to see just how far I could push the limits of my bike as well as my limits of control on said bike. Dive in…

    I pulled off to the side of road, by a Circle K, at the edge of Morongo Valley to check my gear. I adjust my goggles, tighten my chin-strap, check my gloves. I test the clutch, it’s smooth. I test my breaks, at a reasonable speed I could stop on a dime. I check myself, psych myself up.

    You got this. You know this road, you know this bike. Remember how she feels. Meld with her. Stay low.

    I wonder if the people driving by have any idea what I’m about to do or that they’ll be seeing me pass by them in a minute, maybe less. Probably not. Time to go. I pull onto the road and take a deep breath. Stay low, I remind myself.

    I quickly max out the throttle, gliding through gears as though they never existed. Soon, I’m topped out and breaking 100. I pass the a car just before the first bend. I’m drifting to far over.

    Pull right! Get back on the road! I’m screaming at myself. I’m riding the small gap of asphalt between the cement barrier and the solid strip of paint letting me know I’m not on any official driving lane anymore. I can hear the weeds slapping against my fender and feel the heat of the divider on my left calf. I’m about an inch away from losing my leg, if that. I don’t know if I can get myself out of this. I panic. I’m drifting closer to that grey wall that I take for granted and I can’t do anything about it.

    Get low. Hug the bike.

    I have to force my body against the 100+ mile per hour winds I’m generating to get closer to my gas tank. Fighting gravity, inertia, maybe even fate, I get back into the road just in time to make the next bend.

    “Right, stay low.” I say this out loud, but, I can’t hear it. A sudden fit of laughter over takes me. I’m cheering as I zoom by the other drivers. Now I know I can do this. The cars have become part of a mobile obstacle course. I hug the tank for the remainder of the winding road, looking, I imagine, like the most ridiculous racer anyone has ever seen.

    “What the hell is that guy doing? That’s a cruiser, not a crotch rocket.”

   Finally, I get to the last bend. I take it nice and easy, slowing up for the traffic light I know is only a few hundred feet ahead. I slow down, get into the turn lane and head back through the canyon, determined to go faster.