Homage to the day I got an insurance quote on a Hayabusa

So, I’m at the dam again. It’s Sunday. I’m stretched out on the wall after a tedious search for my dropped iPod. Holy crap! Luckily, my BT was still connected and streaming music, so I found it by relative sound quality. I was bent on staying there and listen to my Hayabusa playlist until the batteries died, if I couldn’t find it. Teach me to stick the thing into the elastics that keep my riding pants from flapping in the breeze. Lesson learned. So anyway, I was stretched out on the wall, bathing in the sun light and all happy because I had my tune box back and I was out riding solo and enjoying the peace that only the Fat Lady can instill in me. The Fat Lady and I, we are tight. We speak the same language, we get each other in trouble more often than not lately, or so it seems. I blame her. Not my fault she’s all that. =D I’m the only crotch rocket out here today. Lots of cruisers, even two lady riders, both of which were a bit on the squidly side. But, we are in South Carolina, they don’t have a mandatory lid law. I came in behind Lady Biker #1. I had to do the slow race to keep from having to put my foot down, she was going very slow, but seemed comfortable enough until we got to the end of the parking lot where you have to basically make a u-turn to get to the outgoing side. She was looking down, and here comes her inside foot … stab…stab…shake of her head… she was disappointed in herself, I could tell. I almost felt bad coming in behind her like I’ve been doing this for years. I feel for a fellow newbie. She wasn’t wearing a lid, was dressed in a t-shirt, fingerless gloves, jeans and boots. I was amazed that people would actually feel safe riding like that. I did it once (well, I was wearing my full-face helmet) and felt like I was naked and vulnerable. Not for me. Anyway, Lady Biker #2 was wearing a fake DOT brain bucket, shorts, t-shirt and sandals that weren’t too far removed from flip-flops. Wow. But to each their own. I’m not one to pass judgment… if you are aware of the risks and are willing to accept them, more power to you. I’m not going to ride with you, but I’m not going to look down at you and lecture you either. Oh well… I dress for the crash, not the ride. And I was still cooling my jets stretched out and sweaty from wearing my Stella armored vest (yeah, I look like a Gladiator heading for the arena in that thing) and probably smelling of chain lube and high-octane gasoline, you know, like a real biker. I need some fake beer smell in a bottle. Or Insta Manly-Man (the stuff they sell on Aerostitch’s web site). Ha! After watching two dudes get suited up in SCUBA gear and heading for the dam the underwater route, I decided I had enough of sitting around and got going. Since none of the cruisers wanted to be social with me anyway. I’m a geek, what can I say, I don’t get out to socialize much. Out of the parking lot, riding the rear brake and the clutch in the friction zone, because I got stuck behind the dude with the dune buggy… I made my exit stage right. Across the dam. I couldn’t help myself, I had to try and beat my 0-60 record, just because. I’m addicted to acceleration. You can get your rush while not bending any posted speed limits too much or for too long. I meandered across the dam, behind a slow moving car and passed them as soon as the double yellow ended. On the other side there were a ton of bikes parked in the picnic area’s parking lot. Later on I realized that was the Augusta chapter of the Southern Cruisers. Dang, I just joined that bunch with my hubby. I could have said hi, but wouldn’t have. I’m too shy. Maybe when Joe’s with me. I don’t even know why I joined… other than their prez getting his pills from the pharmacy I worked at and inviting me to join and to bring the hubby. And he didn’t judge me when I told him that I got a ‘busa as my second bike after only riding for 7 months. Maybe that’s what it was. They don’t care what you ride or who you are, as long as you’re safe, responsible and respectful of yourself, your fellow members and your fellow motorists. And they have no dues. Free is always good. But I digress. Here is that stretch of road again. I almost got busted here twice already. But that doesn’t come to mind at this moment. There’s a curve up ahead with my name on it. And I get up to speed, I take the corner going close to ummm… well… give me a minute. Confessions take time. Ok. Well. 95. Indicated. I was doing 90 in a 55. And at that speed that corner is just awesome, and in a whole new level of difficulty. I have to watch my knee-to-ground clearance, but other than that it’s all good. I’m grinning like an idiot and I’m feeling the rush. Then I get another brain-farted idea. The passenger pegs. The other day hubby was riding in front of me, and I see him reaching back with his hands, doing something. First on the right, then on the left. I’m thinking to myself, what is he doing? Mechanical issues? Good gawd, dude! Moving parts! HELLO!!!! When he puts his feet on the rear pegs and leans forward it dawns on me. The a-hole’s making fun of me. Great. I still couldn’t help myself and had to giggle. But I gave him an earful at the next red light. Cagers already think we’re nucking futs when we’re riding together. Yeah, we’re clowns. We have a ball. ☺ Anyhoo, so this gives me an idea. Now I find myself reaching back and putting my pegs down. It takes me awhile to get my feet hiked up that far, but eventually I catch my heels and I’m in position. Well, this is awkward. I feel like a drag racer… oh yeah… weight distro… they do this partially to keep the front wheel down, so if I stood up… hmmmm….. up the butt goes, shift weight rear…. Downshift… one two….throttle…. yup, the front end is getting light. So this is how you could pop a wheelie…. I sit back down, contemplate for awhile then with one smooth movement, hike my butt rear stand up and at the same time rip on the throttle. 120 pounds on the rear pegs and still nothing… Hmmm… more gas then… I try it again, this time a little more aggressive on the throttle, or so I think…. Rrriiiiip….. shift weight rear… bouncy bounce…oh oh…. My right hand is overriding my brain (or is it the other way around?) I can’t do it. I finally found the ‘ninny that lives within the chicken strips of my soul’ to quote Fiddler. What the hell am I doing anyway? I must be out of my mind. I finally realize what it is that I’m attempting to do, it feels like I’m coming out of some sort of trance… realization strikes as I’m cresting the hill and what do I see about a quarter mile up ahead, sitting in the gas station? A copper. Damn! I’m laying into the front brake, since I can’t reach the rear brake pedal at this moment, my foot his not at home where it should be. My ass is still breathing thin air and I’m trying to slow from 125 indicated to an acceptable hassle-free speed. Holy shit. I let my body plop into the seat, sit up straight, tap, tap… looking SLOW! Looking sloooooow! I was breaking out in a sweat as I closed the distance. I dared not turn my head and look at him, but cut my eyes to see what he was going to do. He gave me the stink eye, of that I’m sure, but he never moved. I came to a civilized, left-foot down stop, totally MSF textbook, at the 4-way Stop. And took off like granny in her station wagon. I motored unmolested up the road creeping along at a nice 60 indicated, and behaved myself for about the next two miles. Then the road got curvy….

What the hell has gotten into me lately??? Didn’t I, not too long ago, rip on the wheelie-ing crotch rocket jockeys whose antics (and resulting crashes) make it difficult for anybody to get a decent insurance rate on a so called ‘high performance hypersport’ (to quote my Allstate agent, yet again: ‘That is what we in the business call a ‘crotch rocket’)? Am I slowly being corrupted into becoming a full-time squid? Is it time for me to buy a Corona tank top? I think I’m bored. There’s not really much else I can do to get to the next level of my riding on the street. Yes, I keep practicing all my everyday skills, but there’s gotta be more. Unfortunately, that requires other measures and/or tighter corners. So, how do I get myself back under control? It’s either Twist ‘N Shout time or Adaptiv TPX time, to at least wake my dreamy speed-demon ass up when the going gets ummm…. a little too enthusiastic. Are people calling me in on their cell phones when they see me ummm… being weird? Like practicing hanging off on straights or doing lane weaves. Look Mom, no hands! Are they jealous because I don’t have to get stuck behind that slow moving RV, I can go around, and to be ‘holes, they call 911? “There’s this motorcycle that just passed me doing probably 350mph and she needs to be stopped! She also crossed a double yellow, nicked my mirror, and flew me the bird as she blew past. And almost ran me off the road. And she was on her cell phone chatting and getting change out for the toll.” Because I swear, I’ve NEVER seen this many cops in all my motorized life! Something’s up here.

I was being a squid again. Not for doing what I did, but WHERE I did it. There’s a time and a place. This was mayhap the time, it was, however, definitely NOT the place. I gotta get this under control. I can’t afford a High Performance Award. I need frame sliders and knee pucks, dang it. =D

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