No it's not breaking the 100 mile an hour barrier, simply topping over 100 miles on the Ducati 695. Somewhere between mile 90 and mile 130 I became a true rider.
As I seem to be posting every other time I'll take you back just a bit.
I was on a quick jaunt to the local Peet's again and something happened. Everything fell into place. All the thinking, the training and accumulated miles just flowed through me into the bike and stuck to the road. I was one with my surroundings, the cars, the trees, sky and my shifting leg were in an unspoken unison of speed and movement.
Everything that I had thought riding would be fell into place in those few miles. I knew what I had seen and heard as Motorcyclists road by - I was now experiencing as it is - as it should be.
The ride was short sweet and to the point and proved an great appetizer to what would be this weeks Saturday 37 Mile ride.
I had been working up North and had no chance to ride for a week and I couldn't wait for today.
I felt great and did a quick jaunt again in the morning, surprised to find out nothing had been lost since the day I became a true rider. I skipped out of the sun for a few hours and then headed back into the streets in the afternoon hours.
The sweet spot was back as I headed through a dozen stop signs and worked my way across the quiet part of town. I had told myself, if all felt well I would finally attempt a ride to the neighboring city to yet another cafe-bakery. along out with all the espresso, cake cookies deli and the best Armenian coffee in Los Angeles.
I felt mentally alert, nothing cloudy I knew I was ready as I would ever be. I headed "out of town" across the old bridge with it's own easy "S" turn. I stopped just short of a crested plateau. I was behind about 5 cars in single line of traffic. I was so happy to be headed to "new" territory that the realization I was on a slight slope came a bit late. When I came to I realized my acceleration would have to be swift and smooth. No time for stalling on this one. I rocked back as I released the brake, clutch engaging, I was off. Smooth and cool.
I took up space and was cruising about 38 MPH. I descended into the neighboring city down a steep wide street that was now turning into a boulevard. I got into the right lane and let the cars blur by. As I entered the green light intersection my antenna was way up. Opposing me was a car ready to tun left I slowed a bit engaging in a lower gear but still keeping pace. He saw me and accelerated out of the intersection and into a long right banking turn.
I made my way across this smaller city down the boulevard keeping pace and making sure every one around could see me. This felt like a true adventure with new happenings and new biking territory opening up my world.
As I reached the 3rd city border I pulled into "you guessed it" a cafe's parking lot. I was in such a good zone, I just needed to pull over and pinch myself to see if I wasn't dreaming! After a 2 minute break I was back in action passing a few Police cars "representing" for the sane biker crowd.
The biggest treat was the final open, tree-lined boulevard on my way to the cafe. I led the pack of cars, setting pace and keeping a good rhythm in my shifting. It felt great to be out there and riding naturally.
As I approached the cafe, many cars were parked in front. I saw no spots and opted to go around the block,as to not hold up traffic. As I came around I found the sweet spot just at the end of the line up with a driveway entrance bordering the other end. The car in front was older model Camry and was low enough to have my bike in full view if he/she should back out of his space. If it had been a SUV with tinted windows I would have opted for another spot.
I got my Armenian coffee and treats and grabbed a seat in the air conditioned bliss. An older Armenian woman, one of the bakers at the cafe tuned from talking with her friend smiled, did a once over of my gear and said, "Superman". I replied, "...more like Batman". It is beautiful she said. I thanked her and was beaming as I recalled my great ride.
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