"Speed has never killed anyone. Suddenly becoming stationary, that's what gets you."
Jeremy Clarkson.
13 Days down, 5 days left, (give or take) to get home on schedule, such as we're on a schedule. So far this road trip has consisted of 2 distinct twisty sections separated by a flat bit in between. First there was the western portion, the California coast and the mountain states. Then a flat out high speed run across the prairies, bobbing and weaving to dodge constantly building and dissipating thunderstorms and tornadoes. And now the last sprint, through the Ozarks and into the Appalachians before turning north through the Carolina's, the Virginia's, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New York State, before finally crossing the border to home.
The bikes are holding up much better than we are, 13 days of flat out desert runs interspersed with tight twisty roads and high speed sweepers has taken a lot more out of us than it has from our machines. Our bikes are coated with half a continents worth of road grime, chain lube, and dead bugs, but despite their appearance they still fire up at the push of a button, and I almost feel like I'm holding it back when faced with a winding road.
Late this afternoon, leaning into another curve, the whole reason for this odyssey came into focus.
We were on a long, sweeping right hand corner descending through a thick forest somewhere in central Arkansas. I was about 100 feet behind Ray, taking exactly the same line through the corner, entry point, apex, looking for the exit point. My knees were gripping the tank to let me lean as far off the bike as I could, my right arm was pushing on the bar to let the bike fall into the corner, my left arm relaxed on the opposite end holding it steady. The pavement was in perfect condition, the shadows of overhanging trees flashing by. I hadn't realized how fast we were moving until Ray leaned in just a
little more to avoid a small patch of gravel lying on the road. I matched his move and also wound in just a
tiny bit more throttle, and suddenly felt a vibration running up my toes as the warning feeler on my foot peg began to scrape the road. It was a perfect moment, the shoulder of the road flashing by seemingly inches below my head while the bike was leaned over as far as it possibly could and still maintain traction. I snuck a quick glance at the speedometer and had a brief moment of confusion as I tried to interpret the number I saw. Had I somehow switched the speedo back to kilometers from miles? There was no way I could possible be going this fast in a corner without the tire losing traction to send me skidding across the road. But it was reading miles, I was going at that impossible speed, and everything became crystal clear, it was one of those perfect moments that some people never experience once in their lifetime. One instant of perfection in the middle of thousands upon thousands of corners over the last 13 days.
At that precise moment, a moth bounced off my partly opened visor, ricocheted off my chin guard, and shot into my partly open mouth. I choked/spat the thing out, it bounced off the chin guard again, and wings beating like crazy, flew back and forth in the eddy of wind behind the visor before coming to rest sitting on my left cheek. It then crawled
underneath my sunglasses,
across my rapidly blinking left eyeball, and out the top of my sunglasses onto my forehead.
All while I was leaned into that corner moving at what was suddenly a ridiculous speed. So much for my moment of perfection. I slowly backed off the throttle, the bike eased itself upright as we came out of the corner, and I reached up with my left hand to snap the visor wide open at the same time I quickly twisted my head to one side blowing the unwanted passenger off.
And that's why Ray came back down the road a few minutes later to find me standing on the shoulder, helmet off, furiously brushing my teeth and gargling with a bottle of water. he was laughing so hard he was crying even before I told him about the moth.
