Benchracing: Degrees of Control

[zireous]

Πηγή: www.sportrider.com




Why is it that he seems content to just roll along, playing those
curves in the road like so many riffs drifting easily from a well-worn guitar?

By Jeff Hughes
Photography: Fran Kuhn



You slide in behind him-or maybe he glides smoothly around in front
of you-and within a handful of corners you know there's something
special here. It's not his hardware, which might be anything from an
ancient BMW Airhead to a years-old Japanese Standard to the latest
race-replica tackle. Nor is it his clothing, which, if anything,
probably carries a patina of age-the leather or nylon faded from long
miles in the sun and spotted from uncounted bug-cleanings. Nor is it
just that he's fast, though he probably carries a pretty crisp pace.
No, what instantly gets your attention is the utter casualness-the
sheer effortlessness-with which he rides along the road, dispatching
the curves like so many pieces of candy. There's a relaxed assurance
in his demeanor, a perfect confidence in his swift cadence, which
gives rise to a certainty of what the next miles will bring. His
speed is just-so. We watch for a while-assuming we're able to stay
with him-and in our heart of hearts, where our desires stir and our
egos live, we couch what we're seeing in the same way we always do.
We know some guy, maybe we know lots of guys, buddies who are surely
faster than Mr. Smooth and Effortless. Hell, maybe we're faster. But
even as we think these things, salve for the ego, we can't escape the
growing suspicion that this rider in front of us is just playing. Not
with us, but with the road-probably the merest touch of a smile
tugging at his lips as he glides through the corners-even as our own
heart hammers a staccato beat as we're carried along in the rush
behind him. Maybe it dawns on us, in a moment of honesty, that he
could just walk away if he wanted. One of those things you just know.
So why doesn't he? Why is it that he seems content to just roll along,
playing those curves in the road like so many riffs drifting easily
from a well-worn guitar? We all talk about being good, about being
smooth. Well, there he is, right in front of you. The poster child.

In a sport whose very appeal is built around the merits of speed-a
sport where our greatest heroes are those who go the fastest, a sport
where even the most mundane machinery comes dripping with performance,
where even the clothes we wear are based upon the need to attenuate
the risk we perceive attendant to that speed-it's hard not to get
caught up in the notion that speed is the thing. It's both the
yardstick by which we measure ourselves and the mantle in which we
wish to be draped. Hell, who doesn't want to be fast?

The corollary, an article of faith repeated so often that it seems
to beg any argument, is that speed-too much of it at least -is a bad
thing. It's the bogeyman waiting to catch us out any time we cross
the imaginary line of too much. Most of us nod our heads when we hear
that.

The thing is, that doesn't always jive with our experience. We see
guys all the time who manage to crash at quite modest speeds. And we
know some-admittedly a much smaller number-who ride really fast, and
have for a long time, but who never seem to crash. Not as in they
don't crash very often. As in they never crash.

We all undertake a modicum of risk every time we thumb the
starter-it's just inherent to the sport. But those of us who choose
to adopt a faster pace deliberately assume more of that danger. We
knowingly engage the laws of probability in a game of chicken. You
play it long enough and you lose. That's what we've always been told,
right?

Why is it, then, that such a select group of riders manages to ride
at an elevated pace over many miles, weekend after weekend, trip
after trip, year after year, with little in the way of mishap? Why
are these riders seemingly held apart, aloof, from the carnage which
too-often otherwise afflicts our sport? And how is it that so many
other riders, traveling at much lesser speeds, still manage to toss
away their bikes with such depressing frequency?

Well, maybe we've been looking in the wrong place all along. Maybe,
just maybe, it's not about speed after all-at least not in the way we
usually think of it. Maybe it's about something else, something as
simple as the degree of control we exercise over a span of road.

It might happen on any ride, on any Sunday. We head out with some
buddies, or maybe we hook up with that group of guys we were talking
to down at the gas station, or maybe that devil on our shoulder is
simply a little more vigorous in his exhortations this day. However
it happens, we soon get to the road. The good one. The one that
brought us out here in the first place. And there, in that mix of
camaraderie and good tarmac and adrenaline-laced delight, we find
ourselves giving away that which we had sworn to hold tight to-our
judgment. It doesn't happen all at once. We give it away a little
click here, a little click there, like a ratcheting cord. Soon,
rolling through the curves faster and faster and laughing under our
helmets all the while, we enter a new realm.

We've all been there. We instantly know we're in a new place because
it's suddenly different. Our lines are no longer quite so clean.
We're on the brakes more, and we're making little mistakes in our
timing. And instead of that Zen-like rush through the corners we
enjoyed just moments ago-the state of grace that is the prize of this
sport-we're now caught up in the brief slivers of time between
corners trying to fix those mistakes. They seem to be coming faster
now-both the corners and the mistakes-and there doesn't seem to be
quite enough time to do what we need to do, the errors piling up in
an increasingly dissonant heap. Our normally smooth riding is
suddenly ragged, with an edgy and anxious quality. Inside our helmets
the laughter mutes and then is gone altogether, replaced by a grim
determination to stay on pace. We start to mutter little
self-reproaches with each newborn error.

Soon enough we'll blow it. We'll get into one particular corner too
hot-realization and regret crystallizing in a single hot moment-and
from that instant until whatever's going to happen does, we're just
along for the ride. It will be what it will be. With a touch of luck
we'll come away with nothing more than a nervous laugh and a promise
to ourselves not to do that again. That and maybe one more little
debt to pay. You know, the one we just made to God-if he would please
just get us out of this mess we'd gotten ourselves into. Just this
one last time, promise.

Just one of those moments, huh?

[zireous]

It has to do with choices. When we ride a challenging road-at
whatever speed-there is an observable, knowable degree of control
that we exhibit. Not just over one corner. Not even over just one
section. But over the entire road. On some days our mastery is
complete-we've chosen to stay well within our own personal skill
envelope. On other days-well, on other days maybe we choose to push
toward the edge of that envelope. To a place where our mastery begins
to diminish. To a place where the degree of control we exhibit
gradually decreases. Ultimately, to the tipping point-where all our
skills seem to go to hell and gone in one big hurry.

There's a predictability to it. A good rider, riding within his
proper envelope, will have none of those moments. There will be no
spikes in his heart rate. No sudden bursts of adrenaline. Nothing but
a smooth, flowing movement across the road. He will be this side of
the tipping point-the tipping point for him. It'll be different for
each of us. And it'll vary from day to day, maybe even hour to hour,
depending upon how we feel. Sometimes we're in the groove and
sometimes we're not. But I think the key is that as long as the rider
stays this side of the tipping point, he can probably ride a
surprisingly long time without ill effect.

And that's the message. The predictor of bad stuff, the closest
thing we have to a crystal ball, are those moments. They are part of
the landscape, part of the sport. And they happen to all of us. But
for any given rider, they need to be very rare. If they happen with
any frequency at all, I'd say the tipping point is at hand. And if
that's a place you choose to hang around much, there's probably
something very ugly waiting for you not too far down the road.

Think about all those riders who've ever impressed us, like our
rider at the beginning of this story. They all seem to have a smooth,
fluid, easy quality about them, an assurance which belies any stress
or fear. They're always balanced, always in control. I suspect
somewhere along the line they've acquired a germ of wisdom, hard-won
over many miles, which has given them an appreciation of their own
limits. They know where that tipping point is-where their mastery of
their bike, the road and the environment begins to slip away-and they
long ago made the decision to stay this side of it.

When you do find them testing their limits-surely there's an
argument to be made for exploring the edges of one's ability-it's
likely to be at a time and place of very careful choosing, and it
probably involves a racetrack. Much of wisdom involves simply knowing
when and where to lose those impulses that we all carry.

So maybe it's never been about speed after all. Maybe that's why
such a small, select group of people are able to ride for years and
years without crashing-the fact that they ride fast is secondary to
the fact that they're always in control. They know their own limits.

And that's the lesson for the rest of us-at least for those of us
who wish to enjoy this sport for a long, long time. There's a choice
to be made, every time we thumb the starter.

Not that it's easy. If it were, we wouldn't see the carnage among
our ranks that we do every weekend. But for those who manage it, for
those who bring restraint and discipline to mix with their skill and
daring, there's an upside, even beyond the satisfaction of bringing
one's bike and body back unscathed after an afternoon's ride. There's
something to be said for gathering up one's powers, like the magician
that motorcycle makes us feel like, and wielding them well along a
good road. There's art to be found there.

Art and magic.

This article originally appeared in the October, 2003 issue of Sport
Rider

[zireous]

pic

[Nikoskazer2000]

Ωραία η φωτογραφία αλλα το κείμενο δεν το διάβασα γιατί ηταν πολύ μεγάλο+αγγλικά=κουραστικό.

:smilea:

[gcrook]

Αρχικά δημιουργήθηκε από zireous
pic

Ρε δε μας χεζεις βραδυατικα λεω γω με ΤΙΣ στροφουμπες;
Φυλαξτε μου εκει δυο οικοπεδα με φυστικιες.
Καποτε θα ριξω μπετα εκει να γουσταρω.....

[Ταξιδευτής]

Αρχικά δημιουργήθηκε από gcrook

Ρε δε μας χεζεις βραδυατικα λεω γω με ΤΙΣ στροφουμπες;
Φυλαξτε μου εκει δυο οικοπεδα με φυστικιες.
Καποτε θα ριξω μπετα εκει να γουσταρω.....

Εεεεετσι λεμε!!!

Γιωργο ...... !!

[zireous]

Άμα πάτε στο υπουργείο, τις μεταφράσεις (του πώλου) τις χρεώνανε (πολύ) παλιά γύρω στα 5 ευρά τη σελίδα (2.000 drachmas).

Εγώ παίρνω τα διπλάσια + τις ανατιμήσεις δύο δεκαετιών, άσε που αργώ να μεταφράσω (η καλή δουλειά αργεί να γίνει).


Όποιος ενδιαφέρεται, να του στείλω το paypal account μου να τα σκάσει -δουλειά δεν είχε ο διάολος.


Πλάκα πλάκα, στο ίντερνετ είσαστε που τα λεξικά είναι τσάμπα και ακόμα και τσάμπα μέθοδοι Αγγλικών παίζουνε, δεν έχετε καμμία δικαιολογία να μή προσπαθήσετε να διαβάσετε κάτι ενδιαφέρον που ίσως είναι και λιγάκι πιο βασικό από το να μάθετε να μπαίνετε με όσα -και να βγαίνετε χεσμένοι.

(άμα πατήσεις το λινκ πάνω πάνω, σε πάει κατευθείαν στο ορίτζιναλ κείμενο)


Παλιοκουλάντζες (αυτό πάει στο φυστικά). :rotflmao:

[fantacid]

κανε εσυ τη μεταφραση μπας κ το διαβασω.....κ ΑΝ μΕ αρεσει η μεταφραση σου θα σε στειλω κ με paypal κ με ταχυδρομικο περιστερη 2 (ΔΥΟ) ολοκληρα ?!!!

ή κερναω καφε κ μου δινεις πισω 1 (ΕΝΑ)!

[fantacid]

Αρχικά δημιουργήθηκε από zireous
Το βιβλίο του αφτάρ σου στα ελληνικά το διάβασες;

ναι!!!

[stratosZX10]

ΣΥΜΦΩΝΩ ΑΠΟΛΥΤΑ ΜΕ ΤΟΝ ΑΓΓΛΟ ΦΙΛΟ ΜΑΣ.....
ΔΕΝ ΤΟ ΔΙΑΒΑΣΑ ΟΛΟ ΑΛΛΑ ΤΟ ΠΕΡΙΣΣΟΤΕΡΟ ΚΑΙ ΣΥΜΦΩΝΩ ΟΤΙ Ο ΚΑΘΕΝΑΣ ΜΑΣ ΕΧΕΙ ΤΑ ΟΡΙΑ ΤΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΠΡΕΠΕΙ ΝΑ ΤΑ ΑΝΑΚΑΛΥΨΕΙ ΠΡΟΤΟΥ ΚΑΝΕΙ ΟΤΙΔΗΠΟΤΕ ΠΑΡΑΚΙΝΔΥΝΕΥΜΕΝΟ....
ΞΕΡΕΤΕ ΕΣΕΙΣ ΓΙΑ ΤΙ ΜΙΛΑΩ.....
ΠΑΝΤΑ ΠΡΟΣΕΚΤΙΚΑ ΠΑΙΔΙΑ ΓΙΑ ΝΑ ΧΑΙΡΟΜΑΣΤΕ ΤΙΣ ΜΗΧΑΝΕΣ ΚΑΙ ΤΙΣ ΒΟΛΤΕΣ ΜΑΣ

[johnpan]

πολύ ωραίο και ουσιαστικό κείμενο - μάθημα... Διαβάστε το