6K, Baby, 6K! And 1K in Busa Miles.Posted: May 25, 2009
It was starting to dribble water from above again, and since I was still in my funk, I decided that I’m going to go follow my hubby 30-some miles to his work, and maybe make frivolous use of that sweet little corner again. I’ve never done that one wet before, anyway. I gear up, throw a leg over the Fat Lady and listen to her sweet little purr (she’s still half asleep, too) and marvel at how docile she actually sounds while I’m waiting patiently in the drizzle for hubby to make his exit and get into the Prius. Like I said, I had given up on good riding weather, and it seems to fit the mood I’m stuck in lately. I follow him to work. No, he tries to keep up with me going to work. The idiots are out again. I sing a little well-known number by the Rolling Stones while going through the construction zone to keep myself from getting road rage, I guess. I don’t know, but I sing into my helmet when I feel like I need to be at the top of my game: “Oh doctor, please. Some more of these… outside the door, she took four more… what a drag it is getting old….lalala…lalala…so go running for the shelter of a mother’s little helper….” I finally notice that it actually never really started raining for real. Cool. I better enjoy this while it lasts. There’s an idiot in a Monte Carlo (instant replay?), this one’s silver and he is heavy on the gas. The kind of person who speeds up, then hits the skids when he’s about to shove his front bumper into the tailpipe of the car in front of him. Then switches lanes, if the intimidation process doesn’t seem to phase the person he’s hassling with this BS. I find myself riding next to him more often than I’d like. I think to myself during my mental guitar solo of the Valium song that this moron is one of the dangerous kind. I need to get the heck away from him. Slowing down would probably do it, but I’m not in the mood and I feel my Miss Squidly personality fighting for supremacy of my right wrist. Ah what the heck, I dial some in. The Fat Lady aka Aquakitten (due to her affinity for heavenly water and her docile purr) responds with a soft almost inaudible growl and quickly picks up the pace. I pass another two cars and decide that I had enough, do my lane change (between the white lines, because we don’t step on the cracks) and let her decelerate back to the speed limit +9. The standard cruising speed on the Interstate as of late. There are coppers everywhere. But I’ve met with about seven of them (two of which I passed), who could have probably pulled my butt on three occasions, but they must be after the drunks today and are giving the speed demons +9 a break. We’re not going to talk about what happens between the hills. Because what happens between the hills, stays between the hills. More on that later (maybe). Anyway, the Silver Bullet with the asshat pilot at the helm passes me going about 95 or so. Good riddance! Another ‘tard right on his tail, probably figures the guy’s got a jammer or something. Funny, because I’ve noticed that behavior several times already myself. Never happened on the Hog. But on the Busa, the few times I really was above and beyond, the cage that was behind me also speeds up and keeps up. What’s up with that? Maybe they figure that I have a fuzzbuster or jammer. Heck, they probably come standard on ‘them there crotch rockets.’ It’s a most annoying tendency though. Anyway, I make use of the corner, but it’s lost its luster for me, for some reason, probably because the next step would be actually putting a knee down and I am so not gonna do that, not on the street. I want to, but I know better. So, I decided I’m not getting any pucks, so I don’t succumb to the temptation. I know myself. I couldn’t resist. Miss Squidly would see to that. It’s just too perfect. So the corner’s an old hat, but still kinda fun to do, however the road now serves as my practice range for high performance up-shifts, and I am getting better at those. Just embarrassing when ya miss one… but it’s not like anybody would know. Much to the chagrin of my husband. Riiiing. Riiiiing. Hello? – I was standing in front of my truck and saw you leaving. What’s up with that? I’m gonna take your key away from you. – What? – You know what. – I was practicing my high performance up-shifts, just like Lee Parks told me to do. – Uh-huh. – Yeah, I was only going like 40 (when you saw me). – I need to get you to the track! – Uh-huh. Yeah. Kk. Love ya. Buh-bye. So, it’s not really as bad as it seems. I think he has a problem with me poking and prodding at my boundaries. But how else are we gonna learn? Learn. Apply. Learn More. Apply. Rinse. Repeat. I think it makes one a better rider. Of course, there’s a fine line between prodding and punching at it. I’m no idiot, he knows that. I think he’s just giving me crap to keep Miss Squidly in check, but he brags to his friends. So I know it’s all good. ☺ Anyway, I do some number crunching on the way back and notice that I can do two milestones today: Roll 6K and put 1K on the Busa. I’m going with it. Back down I-20. Uneventful ride. I pass another truckload of bikers and they’re hauling Busas. Bunch of Trailer Queens. They’re apparently coming back from Myrtle Beach’s bike week. I slow and pace them just to check out the hardware. Damn! Custom airbrushed paint job, chromed out, the works. Not my bag, but nicely done. A blue one and an orange one. White is the fastest color, and I show them after I had enough of their goofy grins. They approve. Good. I’m outta here. Beam me up, Scottie. I can’t resist, I have to make a befitting exit. I can’t mess it up for all the biker chicas in the State of Georgia and South Carolina. I’m showboating. Yeah. Little girls can handle Big Boy Toys…. Now, I’m grinning from ear to ear, am cruising along and am amazed it still hasn’t rained yet. My mood’s improved 100% too. I decide to go to the Dam. I heard that bikers meet up there on the weekends to go ride. Like a PUG in an MMORPG. Highly disorganized but better than going the mission alone. I want to check it out. Not to hook up for a ride, I’m a loner. I take henchies into missions, because it’s easier to get the objective done with NPCs than with human players. Yeah, what can I say. I don’t like to run the same dang thing over and over seven times. I got places to go, people to kill, loot to farm. Oh, sorry. I’m back. Where was I? Oh, the Dam. I roll into the visitor center’s parking lot (never been here, I always go down below to the power plant) and there’s more bikes parked in the lot than cages. So, the rumors were true. I troll the lot in first and check things out, then decide to park on the far end by my lonesome self. I’m shy. I’m here to do recon and stretch my back and maybe take a pic or two and make a phone call and send an SMS. I have barely put the kickstand down when a formation of three people approaches. Damn! Two dudes and a chick. One of them yells at me as he approaches: “Hey! You mind if I check out your ‘busa?” I yell back: “No. But I just got her and I haven’t done anything to her yet.” – “Bone stock, huh?” – “Yeah.” He checks out mine. I walk back with them and check out his. We are comparing sizes. Mine’s bigger than his. Not fair because he’s got an ’05. But I still giggle to myself on the inside. He’s wrecked his. And what does he do after the wreck? He gets his bike fixed and then gets a full exhaust, a Power Commander 3 and some other thing installed that enhances get-up and go (torque and top speed), but I forgot what he said. I can’t follow the reasoning. I ask him how he wrecked. He says he went wide in a turn. Of course. I think to myself, you early-apexed it and freaked out, did a mid-corner correction, lost traction and whammo! But I don’t say anything, I have no room to talk after the ‘Quesadilla Incident’. Besides, I’m glad he’s ok and his bike’s in pretty good condition, all things considered. The other guy just started riding a month ago. He has a beautiful green Kawi Vulcan 900. The girl doesn’t ride her own, she’s with ‘Busa Dude. She strikes me as either drunk or high, can’t decide which. He asked me how fast I’ve ridden her. I politely decline to answer, due to not wanting to incriminate myself. He laughs. We talk roads. We talk twisties. Then they go. I’m not going to ride with them. For obvious reasons. The new guy, Mr. Vulcan, probably. Maybe he hasn’t been corrupted yet by ‘Busa Dude. I watch them take off. It is as I suspected. But she sure does sound sweet, even if the aftermarket exhaust has changed her note somewhat. I like mine quiet and purry. I stretch out on the cement wall that separates the two rows of angled parking spaces and make my phone call laying flat on my back with my arm shielding my eyes from the sun. I hear three more bikers approaching, they must be heading to the two bikes parked directly behind me. I think they talk about me, apparently they do NOT approve. I pretend not to hear them. Something about crotch rockets and what’s that girl doing lying around on the ground talking to herself… who knows… I can’t make it all out. I do want to sit up and let them know that “MY OTHER BIKE IS A HOG!”, but I let it slide. What’s up with this, anyway? We all ride, that’s what matters. Who cares what we decide to throw our legs over. Oh, I didn’t buy American. Well, yes, I did. I also bought Japanese, because Americans don’t make any sport bike I want to ride. And I watch anime with English sub-titles. So there…. Ah…. I decide I had enough and better get to work on my last 100 miles. It’s turning out to be a beautiful day and I am getting my much deserved and much needed two-wheeled therapy. I ease on out of the parking lot and practice my up-shifting again, in honor of ‘Busa Dude. Exit Stage Right. It was an awesome ride, and I have recharged my spirits. I think I am ready to start my work week at my crappy job at the crappy company that doesn’t pay me what they had promised with the crappy lead tech who cherry picks the schedule and gives me all the crap hours. Did I mention, it was HER Monte Carlo the Boss Woman flogged during the ‘Quesadilla Incident’? I laugh every time I think about that. Life is Good. And I have a 1K certified BusaButt with 1142 miles on the clock (and I did it in 14 mostly rainy days, with an average of 81.57miles/day). And I rolled 6039 ‘career miles’ today, which averages to 25.05 miles/day. I have been riding 241 days total. And I’m still a n00b. Life is indeed GOOD.
P.S. I don’t think I’m going to talk about the hill incident here. That might be better left for one of my blog entries. Let’s suffice it to say it involved a BMW K1200 (I think), a ‘Smiling Bob’ type dude at the Beemer’s controls, and a chick on a ‘busa. Oh, and a copper. 🙂