Woe and Alas!

Ok, maybe that's a little dramatic, but the class in NC wasn't exactly uneventful. I've now become an MSF statistic.

The day started inauspiciously enough, at 4:40 a.m. when I rolled (stumbled, staggered) out of bed to get ready. Riley was on the couch and looked at me as if I'd lost my mind for getting up that early. I couldn't really argue with him. I'd laid out everything the night before, so I didn't have to think too much when getting dressed. The only momentary question I had was whether or not to wear the quilted liners that go in my mesh riding pants. Most mornings have been cool lately, and since I was going to be gaining a few thousand feet elevation by the time I hit Franklin, I figured I'd add them. Another last minute addition to the tank bag was a light Marmot jacket. I thought that might be overkill, but I'd rather have it and not need it, than vice versa.

5:10 a.m. and I was rolling down my driveway. I had two options to take for my route. One was on a four lane, divided highway that was straightforward and boring, and one was on my typical two lane road going through the twisties. The more engaging route was estimated to take 20 minutes longer than the Plain Jane, but that's the one I'd been planning on, and the reason I left so flippin' early.

Out on 183, I went about 15 minutes before I pulled off at a gas station to add my extra layer of the Marmot jacket, thoroughly glad I'd tossed in in my tank bag. The ride was probably in the upper 50s, and it felt cold (which is great, considering I'm riding to New England in six weeks). I tried to imagine how heated grips and a heated vest would help compensate, and I think I'll need some warmer gloves, but should be good the rest of the way. I made my typical time to Walhalla, at just under an hour, and then started north on Highway 28. There was one truck in front of me, but he pulled off after a few miles, and the majority of the ride up to Highlands was just me and the road. The trees overhung the road so densely in places that the nearly full moon didn't make much of an impression, but in other places where there was a gap, the moonlight almost looked like the dim light of approaching cars.

When it comes to night riding on the roads, the SC highways get the highest marks for visibility. Georgia doesn't do too bad, but their reflective pavement markers are spaced more widely apart, and in NC, whoever designed the visibility of the road markings should be shot.

When I was nearly in Highlands, the sky was starting to lighten, and as I passed a scenic overlook, I decided to turn around and go back for a shot. Yeah...I've made better decisions in my life. I slowed, and did a u-turn on the road. The road that basically has no shoulder and a steep dropoff into the trees. I didn't keep my head turned enough, and noticed how close I was getting to that fog line. And then crossed that, getting into the grass beside the road. At this point, I just evened out the throttle, and rolled back roadwards getting back on the asphalt without any mishap. And then. The stupid scenic overlook was full of pitted gravel! I gingerly ground to a stop, and got off the bike to stretch and take some pics. The sky was dark enough that the pictures didn't turn out too well, and I've had to do some Picasa adjusting to be able to see anything more than a dark blob.

Once in Highlands, it was about 7:10, and I decided to get into Franklin before stopping for breakfast. The next 11 miles are some of the curviest I've been on, and it was nice to have an unobstructed line of travel. I pulled off at a nicely paved overlook for another set of (dark) pics and got back on the road for the final push into Franklin. Once I got to the outskirts, I pulled a classic NC (and SC) driving tactic of turning left from the right lane, after realizing I was about to miss my road. On this final stretch of road, I rolled in to a bit of a pea soup where the fog was dense enough, it condensed into droplets on my visor and jacket. When I stopped at the Burger King for breakfast, I had to brush off like I'd been in a light rain.

Now, I'll be the first to admit, being a chick on a bike garners me attention. Some of it is desirable, and some of it is not. While I was sitting in BK, eating a quick bite and trying to get some hot coffee into me, there was a guy at the table next to me who kept a running monologue (my contributions mostly 'uh huh', 'yep', and 'hmm'). He told me about a '49 Harley he'd bought in '69 for $100 and sold in '72 for $600. That particular bike had been in pieces when he bought it, (even to the point of the clutch bearings being contained in a snuff box), and he put it together only to take it apart and rebuild it. He'd had a motorcycle endorsement until his last license renewal, but decided to drop it since he'd had some dizziness. He still had his CDL, but hadn't had to take a test for that on renewal (and thinks folks should). He couldn't believe he was 65... He was one of those winking types, too. I was kind of glad I only had 10 minutes to spare in there.

I made it to the class with about five minutes to spare. We had eight students and two teachers. Interestingly enough, five of the students were also Rider Coaches for MSF, and I got the impression that the NC MSF division is a bit of a soap opera. Of the two other remaining students, one was Greg, a very cautious man in his sixties who'd only learned to ride the previous year, and had put 10,000 miles on his Wee Strom, none of those miles being on an interstate. The other was Jim, probably late 30's, whose toe sliders had seen some action in the curvier parts of the NC roads, while riding his Gixxer.

The first half of the class was inside, doing group discussion. Nothing groundbreaking really...talk about skill and risk, perception and reaction. They even had a part about the 'voices' - which tied in nicely to the video I'd linked in an early post from Captain Crash in Idaho. One of the big focuses of this course was on setting up and entering curves. They mentioned counter leaning, normal leaning, and then an exaggerated lean, hanging partly off the bike. The main benefit to the last type is increasing the ground clearance in the curve, since you can keep the bike more upright in a turn that way. We broke for lunch right at noon, planning to meet back at the riding range in an hour. I went to lunch with the coaches and got some dang good sliced pork barbecue.

Once on the range, I took off the quilted liners for my pants (or trousers, if you will), and switched out to my mesh jacket. We had eight different exercises to do, and most of them were identical or similar to the kind of tests done in the intermediate class last year. When I took the test last year, the only point I missed was for stopping in 17 feet instead of 15 feet in the emergency stop. I tend to use both brakes when stopping, and when I'm under a microscope to stop, I find myself tensing up more than I should (am I going the right speed? where are the markers? don't anticipate! keep your head up!) and often overcompensate. Well, it bit me again this year. On about the fourth iteration, and trying not to anticipate or look down, I passed the cue cones to stop, and piled on the brakes, grabbing more front brake than I'm used to. The problem is, that shifts weight off the rear, as inertia makes the bike push forward, and with less weight on the rear, it gets easier to lock up the rear brake, which is what I did. I could feel it squirreling around back there, and my brain was telling my foot not to come off that brake, because if you let off and the rear wheels starts rolling without being aligned with the front wheel, that's the recipe for a highside. I've locked up the rear on several occasions before, in a controlled manner, and this time wasn't that different, except the bike started to tip to the right, and since my foot was NOT coming off that pedal, over we went.

The coach that was nearest came over and helped me pick up Mr. Crunchy and do an inventory. The brake lever is scuffed on the end, and the right footpeg is also a bit chewed up. The saddest part is the right corner of the upper fairing...it's now got this glaring white patch of fiberglass showing through where the paint was skinned clear off. Didn't break anything (not even the mirrors, which are super lightweight plastic) and didn't bruise anything (other than pride). Ironically, before that exercise, Jim had commented how nice the color was, and said if it was ever crunched, the whole bike would have to be repainted to match that pearlized color. Don't know how accurate that is (but will probably find out), but I did find it humorous he mentioned the 'crunch' aspect. At that point, I told him Mr. Crunchy's name...and now it is fitting again. Maybe I should have changed it to Mr. Well Behaved or something...

At any rate, the rest of the exercises went off. We had some curvy courses to do, and I did have a new experience that was pretty cool. While leaned over in a left and then right-hand curve, with boots on the footpegs, I scraped the outside of both boots in the toe area. I'm sure I had the bike leaned over more in those exercises than I've done on the road, and it was good to know how much more room I've got to be able to lean. Some of the 'hang off, but keep the bike upright' exercises were a little counter intuitive to muscle memory, but on my ride home I took Warwoman Road again, on purpose, to try out some of the techniques from the class.

A little after 5:20 p.m., we left the range to go back to the classroom for a final test, do a course eval, and (for me) fill out some paperwork on my crash. By the time it was all said and done, I headed out from the classroom around 10 'til 6 and stopped at a Shell station to get gas and some caffeine. My early wakeup call was starting to talk to me, and the ride home was just going to be long. After fueling, I went into the store and bought an Oreo Good Humor bar, and a Starbucks Doubleshot with healthy crap added. I sat down on the island, leaning on one of the pillars supporting the roof, and ate the ice cream bar. At this point, the guy who'd pulled up in a pickup truck to the fuel pump on the back side of mine proceeded to ask questions about where I'd ridden, what type of bike that was (a BMW?), where I was from, and then told me what he'd done that day, where he lived and that his parents had a house in Greenville. He was a young pup and fairly innocuous. Right about the time the ice cream was done, he headed off, wishing me a good ride home.

The next order of business was to drink the Doubleshot thingy. I really like the little cans of Doubleshots that Starbucks puts out, but this thing was in a mega can, with Ginseng and stuff added, and since they didn't have the little cans, I figured I'd try it. Blech. I didn't get through the whole can, but in the time that I stood there and got through 2/3s of it, another guy who'd just pulled up on a Harley to get gas started asking questions. He wasn't really shy, but I had to laugh when he guessed my age to be somewhere between 18 and 20. He couldn't believe it when I told him how old I was...he has a daughter who's 21, and he thought I was around her age. He said he had to ask if I was married, and then he commented it was hard to find a woman who like to ride bikes like I did (I'd mentioned my road trip...). He told me he and his buddy (at the gas pump opposite and who had never acknowledged me) were heading back to their hotel after a good day's ride and going to change clothes, grab a few beers and then go look for somewhere to eat, and said I was welcome to join them. I told him I had a dog at home waiting, so I'd be going on my way. He then asked what kind of dog and mentioned he had a Bulldog and a Boxer (the Bulldog was because he was a Georgia fan, since he lives in Savannah, and all). I threw away what was left of my drink because I was ready to escape his barrage of questions. Got a wave and smile when I left and was glad to be heading back home.

The ride home was uneventful, and I finally got some good practice in on some of the curve techniques from the class. I know I got through some of the twists coming back at a faster speed than what is my normal wont, until the brake-riding car train showed up ahead of me. I left the Shell station at 6:15 and got home at 8:25, 15 hours and 15 minutes from when I'd left. Riley was asleep on the bed, the best dog in the world EVAR. Once he was fed, watered and restroomed, I went out to get a bite to eat. Hit the sack around 10:30.

Sunday morning, I noticed my neck was really sore on one side, and I thought it might have been from the ride, but upon testing the angles where it was giving me the most grief, I decided it must have been from my fall, and straining to keep my head off the pavement when I went down (didn't totally work...I've got a scuff on my helmet, too). Other than that, no bruises or soreness. Just a crunched bike.