James Deuce
26th October 2005, 11:20
New Zealand. I know I’ve been waxing lyrical lately but even re-treading old stomping grounds doesn’t lose its appeal. The weather on Sunday in the Wairarapa was stunning. Puffy clouds, bright blue sky, and a bit of a crisp chill to the air. I prefer that to full on summer heat. Being a bit "wide" means I sweat more than is polite in the warmest months. It’s actually my main reason for buying waterproof boots. That way people who sit to have a coffee with me don’t have to put up with my stinky spreading puddle of glandular effluvium, and I get to fill my boots. Literally.
I went for what was supposed to be a solo "cruise" round the lake and up to Martinborough. Sometimes the weather, the smells, the little trickles of water over the road spark memories that were long forgotten, or in my case had been buried under a rock labelled, "Head Injury caused by Drunk Driver". This is scary, because I completely forgotten a mate that I used to go riding with, play Tennis with, and sometimes even get drunk with. We let people steal health, mobility, and sometimes lives from us on the road and we call them accidents and apportion no blame to the perpetrator BECAUSE it was a motor vehicle accident. There is no such thing as an MVA, there are just incompetent human drivers and riders.
Ha! But anyway, motorcycling can sometimes give things back. What sparked the memory of AJ was the little twitch I got running over a little rivulet of water trickling across the road. 15 years ago AJ and I were doing the Lake Wairarapa loop at a "stimulating" rate of knots. He had an RD500LC and I had my RC30. AJ could RIDE, and he was one of the few guys then who made me work to stay in front. We had fanged our way down the long straights on the Rimutaka side of the lake and we were then dragging undercarriage through the fiddly little tight bit, with its overhanging trees, poor drainage, and gravel and cow poop all over the road when we both almost did the choreographed slide, high-side, crash thing that Mick Doohan and Franky Chili did in, 1990 I think it was. One of the rivulets was in fact a small stream and we aquaplaned through, hung the rear out opposite to the direction of travel thanks to lean we had cranked on, and then gripped and started to get spat over the other way. We were quite close and AJ was following so he could see my path to destruction while his bike mimicked every move mine made. What saved us were the big, wet, steaming globs of cow dung spread across the road. Just as I felt buttocks leaving seat the bike slid the other way, straightened up and carried on like nothing had happened. This process has taken much longer to describe than it actually took to happen. We shot round the last corner, stopped, turned the bikes off, sat down in the long grass and pissed ourselves laughing for about 10 minutes. That was a totally hysterical reaction of course, but still funny when I think about it all these years later.
The first picture shown below is the Western end of the East-West access road that is used for the Wairarapa Sprints. Not only is the scenery breathtaking, and the grass a lush green, but the road is spectacular too. Ridden at the speed limit it is a relatively unchallenging drone. But taken at, "Full speed ahead Mr Sulu, and damn the Romulan Disruptors" speed, it grows tight corners, narrow fields of view, and a tunnel vision rush that is hard to describe if you haven’t experienced it. This last Sunday past, the rush of old memories turned to a rush of blood to the head, and hammering over the diversion bridge, I spotted a late model car parked on the side of the road, in the lay by just over the bridge. By the time my brain had processed the make and model of the car (Nissan Maxima) I’d almost parked the bike in the middle of the road. Then it occurred to me that "Nissan Maxima" was probably unlikely to equate to "Constable Maximus". However, I then remembered the goal for the day of a quiet cruise, and went back to wafting through the greenery.
The reason I bring up the picture is because the third power pole off in the distance used to be a wooden one, and it used to have a hell of a lean on it. It used to be my braking marker in the olden days (yes I know, nearly as stupid as using the guy in the red jacket in the stands for a braking marker at a Central Districts club meeting on my VFR400) and it was quite important to heed the warning because the road ends in a "T" junction. 15 years ago I comfortably led to the finish line, err, "T" junction, turned the bike off and waited for AJ. It then occurred to me that as he wasn’t native to the area, he may not know about the "T" junction. He left the biggest freaking front wheel darkie I’ve ever seen. He also stopped alongside me at the "T" junction. At the velocity he was travelling I have no idea how he did that. I would have sailed through the big black and white sign with the reflective arrows pointing at 90 degrees to the current direction of travel, and ended up in pieces in the paddock on the other side. I also found out how reflexive the "punch the bastard who nearly killed me in the head" impulse is. Good thing I had a helmet on. After he calmed down we walked back around the corner, and he had stopped in about 70 metres, reacting to the dead end ahead as soon as it came into view. Oddly the near misses did nothing to calm us down. The second picture sticks in my mind because it was the first corner on which I got my knee down. I wasn’t trying to get my knee down either, but AJ was leading and there was no way he was getting to Martinborough last. That corner is bit technical. The road camber is flat on entry and goes negative part way through and is followed by an uphill left. There’s a wire netting fence about 20 feet tall right next to the road and nowhere to go if it goes wrong. Talk about testosterone fuelled heroics. I’m always surprised now by how short that corner feels, but that day it seemed to last for ever and ever as we heeled in at lightspeed and my knee and peg touched at the same time.
I have no idea where AJ went. We lost touch when I decided along with Heather and a bunch of physical therapists that my body and head wasn’t in good enough shape to ride bikes after my spinal and head injuries. He was pretty disappointed in me I think, but also a bit baffled by my strange reactions to innocuous comments. I’m a bit sad that happened, but life goes on and days like last Sunday remind you that it moves forward too, that the experiences of the past can be built on and improved.
I went for what was supposed to be a solo "cruise" round the lake and up to Martinborough. Sometimes the weather, the smells, the little trickles of water over the road spark memories that were long forgotten, or in my case had been buried under a rock labelled, "Head Injury caused by Drunk Driver". This is scary, because I completely forgotten a mate that I used to go riding with, play Tennis with, and sometimes even get drunk with. We let people steal health, mobility, and sometimes lives from us on the road and we call them accidents and apportion no blame to the perpetrator BECAUSE it was a motor vehicle accident. There is no such thing as an MVA, there are just incompetent human drivers and riders.
Ha! But anyway, motorcycling can sometimes give things back. What sparked the memory of AJ was the little twitch I got running over a little rivulet of water trickling across the road. 15 years ago AJ and I were doing the Lake Wairarapa loop at a "stimulating" rate of knots. He had an RD500LC and I had my RC30. AJ could RIDE, and he was one of the few guys then who made me work to stay in front. We had fanged our way down the long straights on the Rimutaka side of the lake and we were then dragging undercarriage through the fiddly little tight bit, with its overhanging trees, poor drainage, and gravel and cow poop all over the road when we both almost did the choreographed slide, high-side, crash thing that Mick Doohan and Franky Chili did in, 1990 I think it was. One of the rivulets was in fact a small stream and we aquaplaned through, hung the rear out opposite to the direction of travel thanks to lean we had cranked on, and then gripped and started to get spat over the other way. We were quite close and AJ was following so he could see my path to destruction while his bike mimicked every move mine made. What saved us were the big, wet, steaming globs of cow dung spread across the road. Just as I felt buttocks leaving seat the bike slid the other way, straightened up and carried on like nothing had happened. This process has taken much longer to describe than it actually took to happen. We shot round the last corner, stopped, turned the bikes off, sat down in the long grass and pissed ourselves laughing for about 10 minutes. That was a totally hysterical reaction of course, but still funny when I think about it all these years later.
The first picture shown below is the Western end of the East-West access road that is used for the Wairarapa Sprints. Not only is the scenery breathtaking, and the grass a lush green, but the road is spectacular too. Ridden at the speed limit it is a relatively unchallenging drone. But taken at, "Full speed ahead Mr Sulu, and damn the Romulan Disruptors" speed, it grows tight corners, narrow fields of view, and a tunnel vision rush that is hard to describe if you haven’t experienced it. This last Sunday past, the rush of old memories turned to a rush of blood to the head, and hammering over the diversion bridge, I spotted a late model car parked on the side of the road, in the lay by just over the bridge. By the time my brain had processed the make and model of the car (Nissan Maxima) I’d almost parked the bike in the middle of the road. Then it occurred to me that "Nissan Maxima" was probably unlikely to equate to "Constable Maximus". However, I then remembered the goal for the day of a quiet cruise, and went back to wafting through the greenery.
The reason I bring up the picture is because the third power pole off in the distance used to be a wooden one, and it used to have a hell of a lean on it. It used to be my braking marker in the olden days (yes I know, nearly as stupid as using the guy in the red jacket in the stands for a braking marker at a Central Districts club meeting on my VFR400) and it was quite important to heed the warning because the road ends in a "T" junction. 15 years ago I comfortably led to the finish line, err, "T" junction, turned the bike off and waited for AJ. It then occurred to me that as he wasn’t native to the area, he may not know about the "T" junction. He left the biggest freaking front wheel darkie I’ve ever seen. He also stopped alongside me at the "T" junction. At the velocity he was travelling I have no idea how he did that. I would have sailed through the big black and white sign with the reflective arrows pointing at 90 degrees to the current direction of travel, and ended up in pieces in the paddock on the other side. I also found out how reflexive the "punch the bastard who nearly killed me in the head" impulse is. Good thing I had a helmet on. After he calmed down we walked back around the corner, and he had stopped in about 70 metres, reacting to the dead end ahead as soon as it came into view. Oddly the near misses did nothing to calm us down. The second picture sticks in my mind because it was the first corner on which I got my knee down. I wasn’t trying to get my knee down either, but AJ was leading and there was no way he was getting to Martinborough last. That corner is bit technical. The road camber is flat on entry and goes negative part way through and is followed by an uphill left. There’s a wire netting fence about 20 feet tall right next to the road and nowhere to go if it goes wrong. Talk about testosterone fuelled heroics. I’m always surprised now by how short that corner feels, but that day it seemed to last for ever and ever as we heeled in at lightspeed and my knee and peg touched at the same time.
I have no idea where AJ went. We lost touch when I decided along with Heather and a bunch of physical therapists that my body and head wasn’t in good enough shape to ride bikes after my spinal and head injuries. He was pretty disappointed in me I think, but also a bit baffled by my strange reactions to innocuous comments. I’m a bit sad that happened, but life goes on and days like last Sunday remind you that it moves forward too, that the experiences of the past can be built on and improved.