Bike Night and Windscreen Races

Bike Night with the Victory Motorcycle Club (VMC) at Legends on Rte. 66 in Glendora this week was something to relish. There was good food at the 50s-60s style hamburger joint which is in full Rte. 66 décor.  With friends, acquaintances becoming friends, and fellow motorcycle enthusiasts it was a wonderful way to break up the week.

 

I was greeted to Legends by others who'd gotten there early at a table with maps spread out while Kevin talked about his upcoming group ride to Sturgis and possible changes to the itinerary. He received tales of past rides by several riders and envy from the rest of us. Bike night is an ideal place to talk over rides coming up, rides of the past, and anything that you would think that you'd like to do to your bike. I’m a conservative rider and have kept my ride pretty much stock but the more I go to bike night the more I’m considering performance enhancements.

 

I ate my well-prepared chicken strips at a table with Ken, Dale, and Rhoda as she impressed us with her injury recovery regimen and resiliency while she received praise and encouragement in kind. The shared experiences at the table expanded my personal view if riding while the sense of community at the event as folks went from table to table and then around the bikes gave me a good sense of inclusion. These are good people.

 

The ride home was punctuated by a brief tropical rain shower, just strong enough to have the drops coalesce on the windscreen sparkling like rubies until I leaned into a left turn and they magically changed to diamonds in the lights of the oncoming eastbound traffic of the 210 freeway. Once the droplets hit critical mass by joining together they would race up to the edge and leap like lemmings into the air, some to land on my face shield to repeat the process and some to complete the journey to earth unless I was being tailgated where they would meet their doom on the clown's radiator. 

 

VMC at Temecula Demo Ride - 2013
Decisions decisions

 

A Grayscale Ride

All but the brightest stars had faded out and the moon was chasing a sun that had not yet risen. Color rendering for the landscape was not quite an option; everything was emerging from the dark of a canyon-side home to grayscale. I turned on a small garage light and was treated to a halo of color that only gave definition to a clutter that defies my every attempt to tame it; with a silver bug on the asphalt driveway and a black Victory inside the garage there was only a brief sharpening of the grayscale morning.

 

I looked across the street to where I knew my red Forester was parked and convinced myself that I was seeing the hint of red and a promise of sunlit hues to come. Or, had I not just fooled myself into this with the knowledge that my car is red? Even when I backed the Cross Country down the driveway while pumping the brakes could I not have been seeing a white car reflecting the brake light rather than having the light confirm what I thought I already knew of the car across the street? At this hour of the morning my time would have been better spent getting into the zone of vigilance for the ride rather than those esoteric thoughts of what I know or think I know.

I turned off the garage light and pulled down the door and returned the scene to its black and gray tints, walked down the driveway, and threw my leg over the bike and saddled up. I turned the key and lit up street with a javelin of light and rode through the neighborhood twisties toward a swim and then to a day of work. The headlight was less effective at lighting up the tarmac as it was in providing a cone of revelation for the pallet of colors that the sun would confirm within the coming minutes.

Riding into work allows me to experience the adventure of the journey and to have my day revealed to me rather than act like an automaton behind the wheel while listening as a deranged radio station tries to be relevant and entertain me.

Keep the iron side up and let’s ride!