Nails To Put On The Screws

Showing Team Spirit

That's right. Miss Busa is showing some Team PLD Racing Team Spirit. =D These nails apparently are good for an extra 2 foot-pounds of torque and 6 HP on the top end.

After a 90some mile ride with Mr. Slow I went to the mall, sweaty and no doubt smelling like a real biker chick, to get my hair done. On the way home I decided to stop in and get my nails done, too. Promptly was talked into a pedicure. Truth be known, my dawgs could use a little TLC; they’ve spent the better part of the past two years in motorcycle boots. Now they are all nice and soft, and sort of womanly looking. My little monkeys haven’t looked this good in a long time. Two hours after entering the salon, I was standing in the parking lot hoping I could get my race gloves over my newly acquired claws. Tight fit. I should have had her trim them shorter. Texting is a pain in the arse and so is typing. Not to mention I have to take my track tires off tomorrow and put the street rubber back on the Pirate’s feet. We shall see how strong this gelled-in acrylic-bonded stuff really is. My cats do seem to enjoy the new finger weapons. Better belly scratches. πŸ™‚

Of course, I get caught after dark on the first day I’m using my new tinted face shield. This ought to be interesting to say the least. There’s a dude across the parking lot watching me as I get my gear on and my bike warmed up. What the hell? Well, I suppose those nails and the new do, all coordinated in team colors, are already working their magic. Another dude pulls up, waiting for me to back out of my space so he can shove his car in. Uh, dude? There’s an empty one two spots down. It’s the American way, can’t risk walking an extra 12 feet and burn all those extra calories.

The dark smoke face shield isn’t all that bad at night and if it wasn’t for that huge pile of bug guts front and center I could see just fine. It’s cold again, so I cruise along tucked behind the windshield with my chin resting on my tank bag. Yeah, going 35 mph doesn’t really do anything for me. But it’s cold, the line is a double-yellow and I’m feeling a little funky about the levers. Those nails act like little tension springs every time I curl my fingers. Eh. This will take some getting used to.

A few miles down the road I make a huge error in judgment. I’m cruising along at 5 miles under the limit behind a car and finally run out of patience. These people really should know that this road has a posted speed limit of 55, but no… the majority of motorists traveling this stretch of asphalt insist on doing 45 all the way through. That’s just unreasonable. There’s gotta be some sort of electromagnetic interference in the area that short-circuits everybody’s need to go 5 over. Oh well. As I reach the start of the dashed line, I see headlights up ahead, but judge them to be of no concern, since they are still quite a distance away. Wrong! As I lay into the throttle my error in distance/speed calculation becomes quite self-evident. I give it all she’s got and get back over on my side of the road just in time, but not before I make the poor bastard I’m passing activate his brake lights. Now I’m slightly embarrassed, so I keep up my speed a while longer just to make sure the dude behind me doesn’t get another chance to read my tag. Gawd! It’s been awhile since I had a brain fart of this magnitude. I’m only human, too. I consider making an unobserved right turn and lose the guy but then decide against it. Hell with it. I screwed up. If he should catch up with me at the next red light and give me a scolding I’ll just have to apologize and tell him that’s a lonely one point for his team since I’m already two points ahead in the stealing of right-of-ways and attempted vehicular homicide by inattentive driving, in the past four days alone.

At the next intersection the light changes to green as I downshift into first gear, so I get back up to speed when a pickup truck turning right onto the street from my right decides to prematurely exit the turn lane and occupy my lane space instead. I swerve into the yellow striped no-zone that divides the two lanes of traffic and immediately get on the gas to clear the danger before I run out of space and find myself in oncoming traffic. Unfortunately, the sand that the county tossed all over the main intersections during our Annual Snow & Ice Day was still there, collecting in all the places where traffic doesn’t disturb it any further. I probably would have seen it, if it hadn’t been for that blasted tinted visor. The rear immediately stepped out, loosing traction due to me being hard on the throttle and I ended up in a violent fishtail.

All I could think of was how weird it felt; as if the bike was anchored by its front end and shaking its rear back and forth; all I could manage to do was not think about it and stare up the street where I wanted to be, all the while musing at how snappy the entire motion really was. I thought that if I hadn’t trained myself to hang onto the bike with my knees and thighs pressed up against the tank and keeping my upper body loose, I probably would have been bucked off. Yikes! I don’t remember really, but muscle memory must have modulated the throttle enough to keep it under some semblance of control until I cleared the sand and made it all the way past the offending vehicle and back into my lane. I found myself turning around in my seat, looking at the dude in the truck, as soon as the rear was back in line and behaving itself. That’s the second time today that someone really envied me my lane space and decided to take it over.

Earlier, on the way to the mall, I had to use the shoulder to get away from another moron, this one of the female persuasion in a huge SUV. Lady, if you can’t see over the damn steering wheel, you should consider downsizing. Seriously.

Thank god for 193 horses and 83 foot-pounds of torque. I freaking love this bike!

Tomorrow I’m going to get my foils done and I’ll have my newly renewed Girl Card ready for Tuesday’s photo shoot with Papa Razzi. Go Team PLD!


4 Comments on “Nails To Put On The Screws”

  1. chesshirecat says:

    Oh…sand. 😦 Glad you didn’t lose it…Happy the Pirate decided not to walk the plank… πŸ™‚

    • Miss Busa says:

      I have a feeling the wording should be “happy the Pirate didn’t decide to make you walk the plank” LOL That was so uncool. But I had plenty of practice riding around in the stuff at JenningsGP, because Mr. Slow setup my pit area in the back-forty in the grass, because that empty concrete pad two down from the track entrance wasn’t good enough. He didn’t want to back into it. LOL He’ll never live that one down.

  2. Ms XX Fast says:

    I would never let him live that one down either. I like being right near the track entrace, my tires stay warmer becuse I head out last minute, actually usually when others have entered the track and then I also pick up less CRAP from the ground.

    I am glad that you handled it. That must have been scary. I would have been putting my leg down dirtbike style and stayed on the gentle throttle before I knew it. (I’ve got to stop doing that!)

    And YAY for nails and hair!! I haven’t had a pedi in forever 😦 I understand why you are doing it, for the pics. Can you imagine me just 4 years ago I was implanted up, hair doen all the time, nails, heels, texting friends in Europe on my iPhone while sipping a half-caff, full-fat Caramel Macchiato with an extra pump at Starbucks in Beverly Hills, and wearing enough silver Tiffanys to kill an entire army of werewolves had I melted it down to bullets?? Now it’s antiseize and shoprags as accessories. And I spend all my money on racing. What the hell happened??? Oh yeah, I remember what happened. I got some wild hair up my ass and now I am suffering the consequences.

    • Miss Busa says:

      Well… I can’t say I’ve ever been that “high society” classy! Shit, I don’t think four years ago we would have gotten along. I dunno… I have very few female friends… I guess I’m just too well… “out there” for them. I make male friends rather easily, though.

      “enough silver to kill an entire army of werewolves” ROFL

      If we are “suffering” then all I have to say: Suffering is way too much fun!!! Whodathunk?!? I’m broke-ass and all my money, free time and efforts are going into racing. Gawd. Why in the hell do I have to be a racer. A track day junkie should have been enough, but nooooo…

      Oh, I remember… they won’t let you pass like you wanna on a track day. Screw that. Bad enough to get stuck behind a line of slow asses and not being able to pass… but not being ALLOWED to? Blech. Child’s play…


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