The Need For Speed: A Girl On A Mission

I have been quiet for a few months. Too quiet. Partially that was due to working way too much, not having the brain for writing because other things were preoccupying and distracting me. Then there is life. It happens. Always does. But if it were easy to follow your dream, it wouldn’t be a dream by definition. It takes hard work. Can’t just sit around and wait for a knock on your door. You have to get off your bum and reach for it. Give chase. Be tenacious. Be persistent. Be it. And not take no for an answer. Ever. If discouragement rears its ugly head in whatever form it choses, give it the finger, push it aside and refocus your efforts. It’s hard. It’ll throw you off your path. It will detour you. No matter. Take the detour and find your way again. If one door closes, another is surely to open. But those freshly unlocked doors are hard to find because most of the time one is too disappointed to even pay attention. It’s just easier that way. At least it is for me. So convenient to fall back into the old routine (because it isn’t really all that bad) and forget what really drives your passion. What really feeds your soul. In my case, as many of you already know, it’s racing. What kind you ask? Simple. Whatever. As long as it’s two wheels on asphalt. LOL I like pavement. I feel at home there. Dirt is a foreign entity to me. Besides, I hate getting filthy. Can’t stand it. No. As fun as that is to watch, not my bag. No ma’am. Give me drag, road, and land speed racing. That’s where it’s at for me. =D I have a love for the rush that is hard acceleration and flying down a straight stretch of road as fast as you dare. I’m addicted to acceleration.The arm-stretching torque, the slight lift of the front wheel as the weight shifts rear, the approaching red line as is evident by the engine’s overwhelmingly loud roar, the upshift, the way the motorcycle reacts to your inputs, then settles in, does its thing. One with the machine. Nothing else matters; at that moment the world stands still. Something about pure straight-line speed. The violence of the air rushing past, the roar of the turbulence, the tunnel vision, the thought (stuffed way back in the corner of your mind) that one little mistake could probably be the end of life as you know it. The danger zone. I have said it best the first time I dared it on the Hayabusa: “At 147 one is closer to God.” I also like to lean. I like curves. More so, I like a succession of them. The dance that is when you find the road’s song, hear its music through the sound of your bike’s engine as you flow through the turns as one. The unfamiliar road, not knowing what will await you around the next apex. Being ready for anything; anticipating, realizing, deciding, executing. The exhilaration that is honing your skills in the relative safety that is the race track. Memorizing the layout, studying turn geometry, prepping your bike, the nervousness you can feel as butterflies in your belly when you first get there; finding your line, gently pushing your limit, practicing, experimenting, learning. The after-action review. The mental processes required to observe while executing, then evaluating and applying the result appropriately in your next session. The constant drive to do better. The focus required to do well consistently. The measure of your success by the clock, the feeling that you could have gone faster, braked later, leaned harder, accelerated earlier. It should be frustrating, but to me it is not. Maybe it is the “one thing at a time” mentality you get to embrace on the race track, but is eschewed in our daily working lives of hectic stressfulness in favor of the much-overvalued and mythical ability of the human brain to multitask. No wonder so many of us do track days to relax. ;P It never seems to get old, there’s always something else to reach for. Something else to work on, either on yourself or your machine. Prepping your bike, wrenching on it. Changing it, fixing it, making it truly yours by tweaking it to compliment your own riding style (and of course to go faster.)

There is so much work to be done before next season. Learning. Riding. Writing. Racing. And my favorite: Fundraising. Not necessarily in that order, but one way or another I need to do all of them to varying degrees. Looking at this almost insurmountable mountain of tasks and subtasks, I want to tuck tail and run. Who needs this? Some of this is way out of my comfort zone. I’m shy. I’m an introvert and a tad bit of a loner. Well, girl, it’s your dream. The answer then is: You do. I have goals I want to reach. In the great scheme of things, they barely even matter, but accomplishing them would mean the world to me. They stand as a test(ament) of my strength as a woman, my propensity towards mastery of a subject, my journey as a survivor. I am emPOWERed (by 999cc and 193 horses =D)!

Do or die trying. Because a life not lived to its fullest is no life at all.

I think I just gave myself a pep-talk… Huah! But so it goes when you sit down to do something without a concrete plan nor discrete preparation. The fingers interpret what is on the not-so-conscious mind. And there you have it.

3 Comments on “The Need For Speed: A Girl On A Mission”

  1. Judy LaParne says:

    I think you just gave me a pep talk, as well…… Thanks!!
    Cant wait to take the journey with you.

    • MissBusa says:

      I would say strap yourself in it’s gonna be a bumpy ride, but that’s really not a good idea on a motorcycle. So, I say this: Sit down, shut up and hold on. 🙂 Oh, and if I pepped you up in some way, too, that’s even better. I’m happy that some of my ramblings are being put to good use. *smiles* Ride, girl, riiiide!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s