Doing my corner
Posted: Fri Jun 14, 2019 7:05 am
As a young career motorcycle tech I had some testosterone-charged thinking about my riding abilities. I worked in So Cal, a part of the country steeped in performance street-riding culture, mostly at metro L.A. motorcycle shops, one them backing up to the infamous Mullholland Drive. Actually, none of the places I worked were very far from seductive asphalt.
One such shop could be accessed only by a one-way street. Every evening going home I would go all the way down the block, make the u-turn, then with that beautiful, long, underused industrial-area street in front of me, blast toward the end, flashing by the carwash and the body shop, downshifting a bit before the corner, the revs way up and the engine on its torque curve, and literally strafe the heck out of that corner, accelerating into and out of it for the short stretch to the onramp. Wonderful! Glorious! Heady. Pure moto ballet.
Every day I took this thrill ride, feeling out the optimum combination of speed, timing and dive, entering the corner eyes almost closed as body input took over and I drifted Star Trek like through the corner. Time warp. Worm hole. Another guy at the shop witnessed my love affair with my corner and proposed a match. We would race from the shop to the freeway. I agreed. But I didn't care about the race. I had my own personal race with that corner.
With that moment rehearsed so many times, our race was a blur. I absolutely owned that corner. Almost colliding with him as we challenged the same space, I really didn't care. I laughed as I realized I was out of the corner still in one piece and halfway to the onramp and he was nowhere -- several car lengths behind at least. Once on the freeway I let him pass me as I slowed to a sane pace, waving him off. Yeah, man. Just another day "doing" my corner.
One such shop could be accessed only by a one-way street. Every evening going home I would go all the way down the block, make the u-turn, then with that beautiful, long, underused industrial-area street in front of me, blast toward the end, flashing by the carwash and the body shop, downshifting a bit before the corner, the revs way up and the engine on its torque curve, and literally strafe the heck out of that corner, accelerating into and out of it for the short stretch to the onramp. Wonderful! Glorious! Heady. Pure moto ballet.
Every day I took this thrill ride, feeling out the optimum combination of speed, timing and dive, entering the corner eyes almost closed as body input took over and I drifted Star Trek like through the corner. Time warp. Worm hole. Another guy at the shop witnessed my love affair with my corner and proposed a match. We would race from the shop to the freeway. I agreed. But I didn't care about the race. I had my own personal race with that corner.
With that moment rehearsed so many times, our race was a blur. I absolutely owned that corner. Almost colliding with him as we challenged the same space, I really didn't care. I laughed as I realized I was out of the corner still in one piece and halfway to the onramp and he was nowhere -- several car lengths behind at least. Once on the freeway I let him pass me as I slowed to a sane pace, waving him off. Yeah, man. Just another day "doing" my corner.
