Riding the Perfect Road

by Phill Floria

The day was perfect for riding, the sun was hiding in the clouds the air temperature was in the 60s; and it wasn't raining. The roads were clear and clean and just waiting for the bite of rubber to caress their surface.

The R1 was running perfectly with all of its moving parts synchronized just like the designers had intended. My ears were filled with the sounds of air being sucked through the four 40mm throttle bodies and exiting out of the carbon fiber wrapped exhaust can turning into horsepower.

The more I ride the R1 the more impressed I am with its power and agility; where was this machine when I was younger. On second thought, I am glad I didn't make its acquaintance until now. When I was younger I wouldn't have been mature or skilled enough to control it. At times I wonder if I am now.

Today it was just me and the R1 heading out to enjoy some sport riding.

The road I was on (was just to get me to the perfect road) was a good challenge for a motorcycle. I have found some of the best back roads to ride a sportbike on, and some of them are more challenging than even I want to play on. But none of them are perfect, either the road surface is to rough, to sandy, too much traffic or they pass through to many residential areas. The best ones go through farm country or forested areas with out any civilization along their sides.

The perfect road, yes it does exist and I was headed there to enjoy it even if it was just one pass up and back.

I practiced my turn-ins and forced myself to look through each turn as far down the road as I could see and set them up as if I was at higher speeds. All of this was done at a moderate speed to force myself to be smoother on the brakes, positive about turn points, feeling for the rear tire to hook up and smoothly accelerating out of the turn; it was to get it right for later. With each turn I got better, the smoothness required was coming, and with each turn I carried more throttle for more drive out of the corner's exit.

I learned allot about sport riding last year riding the little Honda (CBR 600 F3). I developed the sense of timing and smoothness to make the bike corner at some pretty hair razing speeds. At least it seemed that way, I was never able to look at the speedo in a corner or even at the entrance or exit; and you just feel it. Your sense of speed comes from what scenery passes through your side vision; you rely on your sense of motion.

But, there is a big difference between a 600 and a full liter bike. The little CBR was running at red line most of the time and it lacked the pure horsepower and torque of the liter class R1. With a clean 140 horsepower at the rear wheel this was not a motorcycle to take lightly. It has a well-earned reputation for lifting the front wheel in the air at any time you foolishly slammed the throttle wide open. It also weighted in a tad less than the smaller 600.

The sign I just passed said I was leaving Virginia. Amazing how the road surface just changed and got so much better. Not too long now and I would be there. The bike picks up speed with my growing anticipation. I am rushing to finish the last few miles as quickly as possible.

I see the stop sign which marks the beginning of the run on the perfect road. Two fingers on the brake lever, a slight pull it pitches the bike slightly forward while it slows, the howl of the air box dies away, my right foot is busy down shifting the transmission as we slow to a stop.

I come to a complete stop, take a breath and in my head I quickly review all the points I read over the night before in Keith Codes' "Twist of the Wrist". I adjust myself on the bike check my pockets to make sure they are closed. Why, I don't know it must be an unconscious thing, because you don't know what else to do when the excitement wells up to a peak. Are you trying to prolong the feeling or just trying to maintain some control over your emotions?

Rolling on the throttle, letting the clutch out and turning right the ride begins. How quick this bike is, before hitting second gear I am in the first left hand turn, I've already missed my turn in point and now the corner is blown, we still make it just not on our intended line.

Coming out of the left-hander we go into a right hand turn, our speed is way down because of our poor exit from the last turn, but this one is almost perfect. It leads us to a short straight down hill, we pick up enough speed to shift up to third and set up for the next right hand turn.

I pick my turn in point, push the right bar and slide over to the right side of the tank keeping the throttle set. The R1 goes into the corner and out smoothly our speed is now rapidly picking up.

We move from one side of the lane to the other going from one turn to the next. With each turn you can feel the bike set the big 190 back tire as it rolls through the turn as if it were on rails, never losing speed.

Up a rise and quick left turn down into a dip; the road goes on. Its surface is perfect; it's clean no holes, no oil and no distractions; seven to eight miles of road without houses, traffic or side roads to contend with (No civilization).

We come up on one of my favorite parts; the chicane. Ten or so small sweepers; you can see all of them and miles ahead of you. Speed here picks up into the big numbers those with three digits in them. A quick glance at my speedo shows 14, I glance once more 140. But, then the white lines become mesmerizing as they flick from one side of the bike to the other as I straighten out the road.

The countryside is a blur. I was becoming fixed on the double lines whipping from one side of my view to the other when a winged creature met his demise by hitting the upper part of my helmet, with what sounded like a gun shot. It woke me, and I returned my attention back to the job at hand.

I see the next turn coming up it's a right hander, on the front brakes and down shift twice we shed speed very quickly, set up and turn in, keeping the throttle open. I am pretty far off the right side of the bike my knee is out, our set up was perfect. The big 190 bit down and we finish the turn without losing to much speed, another left and another right down the hill.

The landscape now changes, the trees are bigger and closer to the road, and the next turn is half a mile away. I tuck in, trying to get as aerodynamic as possible; 14, 15 show up on the speedo's big window. I back off the throttle the half-mile is gone and we are now trying to set up and brake for the next right-hander.

I'm at the extreme right side of my lane on the centerlines; this always bothers me. I wonder if the tires will hold on the paint. Braking and down shifting quickly slows the bike for the turn in.

This bike has an amazing amount of engine brake, let the throttle go off and it will pitch you against the tank, apply the front binders and you are slowing almost as fast as it's capable of accelerating, maybe not that fast.

The turn is a decreasing radius, I push the right grip some more and come out of the corner fast with good drive, the front end is light, and the shift light is flashing. It's set to flash at eight grand and will continue to flash until I up shift or roll off the throttle or the rpms drop below the eight grand mark.

(Snick)I up shift very quickly without losing any rpms, the R1 now shows its very ugly side it's now the "Beast". The front wheel lifts off the road surface; you don't notice it's a foot off the road until it touches down. If it's straight you may not ever know it, but if the front wheel is turned slightly to one side or the other the bike will shake when it comes down. Eventually the head shaking will stop, but not before your cardiac condition is tested.

A small bend onto another straightaway, at this point never having the R1 visit redline, I am curious to know what it feels like. I twist the throttle to the stops, and the air box is now howling so loud I can't hear the wind rush or the exhaust note; the shift light is flashing from the corner of my eye it see the tack needle is in touch with the red pie shape on the tack's face.

The road is disappearing faster than I have ever seen before. Fear settles down over me. I can feel the small hairs on my spine standing up under my clothes. And still the shift light is flashing, (snick) I up shift, and then back off the throttle and let the engine brake us to a long slow stop. I have reached speeds, which will put you in jail for life in a matter of milliseconds. I have no idea just how fast, but it has to be a new personal record for me.

I'm excited, scared, my heart is pounding, and I have to visit one of the trees alongside this perfect road for some relief. Coming out of the woods I am searching my pockets for a cigarette; I fumble with it and get it lit. All I can think about is how awesome it is to be alive and riding on this perfect road.

As I calm down from all the excitement, I start to think of the ride and critique it in my head. We were good here and bad there, should have done this or that, and vow the ride back will be much different and slower. Now that the thrill and excitement is settling down we mentally note to work on the smoothness once again. Real corner speed comes with smoothness.

The return run is slower the speeds are still enough to get you arrested in any state, but a lot slower than our first run. Trying to hold my excitement in check, and now feeling the strain from the physical and mental intensity I try to keep myself focused and relaxed.

I figure I was lucky today not to run into anything or missing a corner.

If we keep coming out here we will eventually attract attention from the local law. Going through the sections where there are homes I slow to legal speeds. I am glad my new performance exhaust is quite, I really wouldn't want to upset the folks enough to make them complain.

The ride home seems to take less time then it did to get there, but then I think that's true of all trips you take. The return ride is calmer; the excitement is much less as are the speeds. I'm starting to feel tired and hungry. How I wish I were ten years younger, but then don't we all. Once home, after cleaning the bike and putting my riding gear up I settle in front of the TV. I guess a nap wouldn't be a bad thing…..

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