beyond
20th November 2006, 20:46
Another day dawns and the patter of rain on the roof would
seem to suggest, that what is known amongst bikers as the Coro
GP, would probably be best left for another day.
Yet, the hunger for a decent ride with fellow bikers, has you
climbing out of bed to look at the weather forecast and wishfully
think the rain and clouds away. Despite the patchy drizzle, it
still looks like it might be a goer. You know the tyres on your bike
are crap in the wet, but the road calls and your bike sits patiently
in the garage waiting for you to enjoy it's attributes.
And so, a couple of hours later, you are well into the Coro GP
with another 40 or so machines all enjoying the feeling of freedom
and cameraderie that only those who ride would know.
You have told yourself yet again, that you will not exceed 140kmh
and that you will ride carefully and generally behave. Of course
you have already broken the first promise before getting half an hour
into the ride. All the best of intentions dissolve as the thottle hand
helps pour liquid fire into the bowels of your engine to feed the horses
that are so willing to thrust you forward and satiate that desire for
power and speed.
Another town disappears behind you and you tell yourself again, to slow
down or you'll be helping to pay for Auntie Helens next first class trip
to wherever.
Then a Yellow and Black GSXR 750 screams past, it's exhaust note mingling
with your own, producing some curious harmonics. Let the game begin.
The executives at Mobil, rub their corporate hands in glee as your throttle
is pinned. As you crest a rise above the valley, the views are sensational
but never register in your mind as your eyes are focussed on the winding
asphalt snake before you. Keeping the Gixxer in view and your 1400 on
the road is now consuming your entire concentration. Your foot executes
fluid gear changes and you are constantly scanning ahead for hazards
and choosing the best line for your bike.
On the odd straight you approach speeds that the chiefs at BMW designated
as being the safety limit for their vehicles in order to satisfy the politicians
and the politically correct.
Large insects dissipate into blobs of jelly as they end their lives on your
visor and leathers and you are now in the groove. Mentally, physically and
almost spiritually, you are now one with your machine. You flow from one
corner into the next. Braking hard, off with the brakes, maintaining corner
speed and then on with the throttle slowly to ensure the credit card sized
contact patch is kept in touch with the road. Onto the a short straights
and the throttle is pinned again with the next gear selected when torque
and horsepower hits the peak.
The scrape of metal on road lets you know that on many corners, the signs of
your passing are being recorded as fragments of Japanese alloy, paint the Kiwi
chip. You know you are riding your bike at it's limit and you also know
that their is no way you are going to catch that particular rider on that
particular bike, but it's so much fun trying and so rewarding to ride a large
sports tourer to the edge, within your known safety margin.
Your tank is refilled with Arabs delight at the next stop and a real twisty
piece of road is before you. It's always difficult to overtake in the twisties.
Extra care has to be taken and the timing has to be perfect. A moments
hesitation on the part of the other rider, a wrong line, braking slightly earlier
into a corner, throttling out a little late, all give small windows of opportunity
and choosing that moment makes it all so much fun.
Then, there are the reminders of our mortality and our fallability. The steeds
we ride will seldom let us down and they don't make mistakes, but those that
sit astride them are made of flesh and blood and fixing them is not a one day
panel and paint. Those that enjoy the thrill of the chase are still mortals
and errors are still made. Too much brake, too much throttle, too much lean,
a little gravel, a damp patch, a stopped car around the corner.....
The Coro GP has had many a casualty and in my time I have seen some bad
and some lucky and yet, we keep coming back time and time again for more.
Why? Because we all live, breathe and yes, one day we will all die. As I
and others have said before, a biker can live more in five minutes than some
people will live in a lifetime. Five minutes of full concentration and "in
the Zone" on the Coro GP is enough to make you come back again and again.
The scenery is some of the best in the world but when you are one with
your bike and moving a little quicker than the recommended limits,
you cease to be a tourist and have become a rider of the Coro GP.
seem to suggest, that what is known amongst bikers as the Coro
GP, would probably be best left for another day.
Yet, the hunger for a decent ride with fellow bikers, has you
climbing out of bed to look at the weather forecast and wishfully
think the rain and clouds away. Despite the patchy drizzle, it
still looks like it might be a goer. You know the tyres on your bike
are crap in the wet, but the road calls and your bike sits patiently
in the garage waiting for you to enjoy it's attributes.
And so, a couple of hours later, you are well into the Coro GP
with another 40 or so machines all enjoying the feeling of freedom
and cameraderie that only those who ride would know.
You have told yourself yet again, that you will not exceed 140kmh
and that you will ride carefully and generally behave. Of course
you have already broken the first promise before getting half an hour
into the ride. All the best of intentions dissolve as the thottle hand
helps pour liquid fire into the bowels of your engine to feed the horses
that are so willing to thrust you forward and satiate that desire for
power and speed.
Another town disappears behind you and you tell yourself again, to slow
down or you'll be helping to pay for Auntie Helens next first class trip
to wherever.
Then a Yellow and Black GSXR 750 screams past, it's exhaust note mingling
with your own, producing some curious harmonics. Let the game begin.
The executives at Mobil, rub their corporate hands in glee as your throttle
is pinned. As you crest a rise above the valley, the views are sensational
but never register in your mind as your eyes are focussed on the winding
asphalt snake before you. Keeping the Gixxer in view and your 1400 on
the road is now consuming your entire concentration. Your foot executes
fluid gear changes and you are constantly scanning ahead for hazards
and choosing the best line for your bike.
On the odd straight you approach speeds that the chiefs at BMW designated
as being the safety limit for their vehicles in order to satisfy the politicians
and the politically correct.
Large insects dissipate into blobs of jelly as they end their lives on your
visor and leathers and you are now in the groove. Mentally, physically and
almost spiritually, you are now one with your machine. You flow from one
corner into the next. Braking hard, off with the brakes, maintaining corner
speed and then on with the throttle slowly to ensure the credit card sized
contact patch is kept in touch with the road. Onto the a short straights
and the throttle is pinned again with the next gear selected when torque
and horsepower hits the peak.
The scrape of metal on road lets you know that on many corners, the signs of
your passing are being recorded as fragments of Japanese alloy, paint the Kiwi
chip. You know you are riding your bike at it's limit and you also know
that their is no way you are going to catch that particular rider on that
particular bike, but it's so much fun trying and so rewarding to ride a large
sports tourer to the edge, within your known safety margin.
Your tank is refilled with Arabs delight at the next stop and a real twisty
piece of road is before you. It's always difficult to overtake in the twisties.
Extra care has to be taken and the timing has to be perfect. A moments
hesitation on the part of the other rider, a wrong line, braking slightly earlier
into a corner, throttling out a little late, all give small windows of opportunity
and choosing that moment makes it all so much fun.
Then, there are the reminders of our mortality and our fallability. The steeds
we ride will seldom let us down and they don't make mistakes, but those that
sit astride them are made of flesh and blood and fixing them is not a one day
panel and paint. Those that enjoy the thrill of the chase are still mortals
and errors are still made. Too much brake, too much throttle, too much lean,
a little gravel, a damp patch, a stopped car around the corner.....
The Coro GP has had many a casualty and in my time I have seen some bad
and some lucky and yet, we keep coming back time and time again for more.
Why? Because we all live, breathe and yes, one day we will all die. As I
and others have said before, a biker can live more in five minutes than some
people will live in a lifetime. Five minutes of full concentration and "in
the Zone" on the Coro GP is enough to make you come back again and again.
The scenery is some of the best in the world but when you are one with
your bike and moving a little quicker than the recommended limits,
you cease to be a tourist and have become a rider of the Coro GP.