Weird shit in my head..!
I often muse the question of what the process of planning roads is all about and why our roads were made the way they are and who determined their course and direction. A straight line would be the most obvious choice for an expeditious highway system though I suspect the earthworks required to achieve such a feat would, thankfully, be too costly. Thanks to the folly of Maui’s brothers our current roading system climbs, descends curves, doubles back and spirals in all directions to allow New Zealanders to connect with each other via the medium of the motor vehicle.
When using a public road it is usually perceived that the destination is the ultimate goal however those in the motorcycle world see it differently. Riders view the journey as the goal and the destination as only a stop to reflect and share their own personal experience. Across the Australian desert the road is straight which offers little stimulation and motorway riding is also rather mundane so thankfully, due to NZ’s unique terrain, we live in motorcycle Mecca. So what is it about the curves that make it so interesting?
The rider is on SH 16 traveling north towards Wellsford. Wellsford is a small rural town that once existed only to service a wider farming community. It is now showing signs of a changing economy due to a sprawling Auckland and is now sporting a newly acquired “Café Row” with assorted trendy restaurants and bars. SH 16 vaguely follows the Kaipara harbour offering a pleasant scenic alternative to the traffic bound SH 1 further to the east. To the rider Wellsford is nothing more than just a suitable destination and, thanks to Auckland, a quiet coffee break. With the more immediate and current task of highway 16 unfolding beneath a narrow windshield he is not intending a scenic journey today and is mainly interested in the challenges that the curvaceous black strip of tar in front of him promises to offer.
A long straight has seen the speed build up to that of an instant jail term and the rider is now crouched low over the tank, even under the “air bubble” from the windshield there is considerable buffeting and whistling within the helmet environment. The noise is deafening with twin pipes snarling in the apparent distant past and the screech of air at 280KPH. The air parting on the front fairing is reacting like many small strong hands momentarily placed upon the bike, caressing it and guiding it in the same way that air reacts over an aeroplane wing. The rider, ever aware of such powerful aerodynamic forces, is continually adjusting the machines course in response to the winds eddying motion. The road now appears extremely narrow with the centerline markings blurring into one continuous line. The rider’s attention is becoming increasingly focused on a rapidly approaching bend in the road, a left hand bend. Keeping an eye on the corner’s diminishing point provides information to initially compute, braking area, corner speed and line. Shifting to the right edge of the lane and into the braking area the rider sits up straight into the full airflow to advantage aerodynamic braking. Many strong hands are now wearing boxer’s gloves, battering the rider’s chest and helmet and straining back and neck muscles as the rider keeps his head looking in the direction of focus, gathering information. The “Air scream” is starting to diminish, the riders right hand has closed the throttle to idle and through an aluminum brake lever the rider’s, leather clad, hand and fingers are now exerting hydraulic advantage upon 12 brake caliper pistons that are starting the process of transferring high speed into heat.
The machine rocks forward under deceleration in the tradeoff of reducing stability and the increased braking effect of front tire loading. The rider welcomes and compensates for this familiar, unstable squirrelly effect, and continues to increase brake pressure. Sintered metal pads hiss against already blued brake rotors as the bike plunges deep into the corner at speed well in excess of double the posted recommendation.
As speed continues to wash off the rider is shifting down through a selection of 6 gears to maintain the ideal RPM in anticipation of the corner exit. This is like the compressing of spring coils to store energy in anticipation of a later release. Eyes are still following the corners diminishing point searching for the perfect apex whilst peripheral vision is in auto self preservation mode like a sentry looking for gravel, wet spots, dead animals and cars or anything else that may harm him.
The apex is cemented and lines are finally drawn, a drop of the left shoulder and change of weight on the foot pegs as the front wheel brake is eased off. A barely perceptible push on the left handlebar counter-steers the bike into a left bank angle onto the chosen line towards the rapidly approaching Apex. Further automatic shoulder and hip adjustment coordinated with tiny counter-steer make fine adjustments to maintain line and speed. A swiveling of the head keeps the riders natural horizon and a lingering pressure on the rear brake serves to desperately scrub off a few k’s of excess speed whilst augmenting stability as the whole human machine assembly is now leaned well over. The Sentry warns of rear tire stress, forcing a part of the rider’s brain to project thought, through the frame & flesh interface of machine and man, to the soft sticky tyres, which, under increasing gravity force are heating up and peeling off excess layers of rubber into the chipseal.
All riders must have a Sentry, the Sentry lives in the many dark recesses of the riders mind and is totally devoid of any emotion or thrill that the ride may provoke. The Sentry, armed with his repertoire of images of grotesque, dismembered bodies and grieving friends and family is the rider’s dull companion and savior.
The rider finally satisfies the alert condition by easing off the rear brake at a precise moment of speed and time allowing the sentry to suspiciously retreat to the rear of conscious thought and carefully watch the remainder of the ride whilst contemplating the merits of step through scooters. The lean angle is now at an extreme and the “G” multiplied weight of the rider and his bike is pressing down onto the roads surface through front and rear tire contacts points of no bigger than those of a small child’s hands. The hot tyres are well earning their keep by biting into the chipseal and laying a barely visible trail of strained rubber into the road surface. This subtle trail of rubber from a lineage with such exotic names as Pirelli and Bridgestone is all that will remain, once the bend is completed, to testify the personal achievement of such a private and alive moment.
The fraction of a second of time that the motorcycle spends at the apex of the corner distorts within the riders mind and seconds become minutes as more visual information is gathered and processed to finalize how the corner will be exited. The bikes position in the corner now reveals a slight uphill exit. The worried Sentry is already up front again, knowing the riders pleasures all too well and is sending a loud and clear warning about the limits of tyre performance when subjected to 175 horse power on an up hill corner exit.
Gently rolling on the twist grip throttle with the right hand allows, through cables and sector cranks, induction air butterflies to flick open as computerized fuel injection nozzles begin spraying fuel into the engines intake system. The RPM is perfect, the waiting engine is coming alive again and the spring is uncoiling. The rider is now sensing the surge of power as the motorcycle begins to propel itself out of the corner and muscles knot in anticipation. Rocking back on its suspension under acceleration conveniently begins straightening the bike out of the corner requiring more adjustment of the riders body and countersteer to meet the changing dynamic and keep the machine on line. Rolling on more throttle, and up shifting, 3rd Instant loss of licence, 4th jail term, 5th crouching low to avoid the Mohammad Ali, 6th Shit.!! The deep growl of induction air 20 cm below the riders chest and firm kick on his tailbone from the rear fairing coupled with the audible and visual cues of rapid acceleration provoke an intoxicating cocktail of adrenaline and hormones. This rush of chemicals instantly solicits a series of nervous accusations from the ever wary Sentry. Warnings noted and events stored for future dreaming the rider now projects thought ahead preparing to repeat the whole corner, straight, corner, hill process over again knowing that each future corner will be different offering new challenges and pleasures before his day is over.
The coffee is rich and creamy and has a fancy name that arrived with Wellsfords new vocabulary. The rider, partially de-leathered with loops of sweat under each arm and a helmet hairstyle is sitting on the outside pavement recounting recent exhilarating events. The machine is on its side-stand with benign and lifeless appearance, its head is resting loosely to the left. Heat shimmering up from its twin pipes is the only clue to the hissing and roaring monster that has just torn up SH 16. The caffeine is taking effect, the rider and his companions begin excitedly discussing the next leg of their adventure. The Sentry, cursing the day he met his alter ego, is busy shuffling through his assortment of scary images of crashes and red and blue flashing lights in preparation for the next onslaught knowing that his day is to be a long one.
The answer to any question about the methodology behind road construction though a perfectly logical one to ask is, as all true motorcyclists know, may only be answered after all roads have been ridden. And Oooooh the curves..! The curves are JUST a mandatory ingredient for any days riding..
If you love it, let it go. If it comes back to you, you've just high-sided!
مافي مشكلة
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Originally Posted by The_Dover
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