Monday, September 23, 2019

Sport Touring: The Congruence of Origin and Destination

 
It's 0718, the solar rays invade my space and awaken me as a reminder that a new rotational cycle has begun.  I reluctantly acknowledged and subconsciously begin preparations.  The physical movements are ingrained and automatic, effortless indeed.  I know what I wish to do today yet the fine details evade me.  I slowly make my way down the staircase to the garage inspect my steed and make peace with the world, a necessary psychological contract with destiny.  Before embarking on an adventure both rider and steed must refuel and thus a mandatory petrol stop is on the agenda, along with a stop at the de facto home of Tournament of Roses Parade.  There is an alluring mystique to Surfing early morning when the sun rays are just cresting the Angeles Crest National Forest  Range, unapologetically radiating and replenishing the spirit. 
 
I have imagined this range in my dreams and doubtful moments, now here it welcomes me with a subtle morning breeze, low humidity and exquisite ambient temperature.  The message registers, and the neurons begin to fire up and activate, a delightful experience indeed.  As I sit on a sidewalk table at a CafĂ© on Colorado Boulevard, the incongruence of the moment confounds me, and thus questions arise.  I sit and observe the Red, White and Blue unfurl, the visitors, the outdoor residents and time slowly drift away.  Time calls my name and I answered and followed, destination due west north.  There is a gem of super slab that traverses east-to-west at the foothills of the Angeles Range onward, today I will Surf it and beyond.
 
The physical destination is near yet the realm I seek is vast and afar, before entering such realm I must Surf the congested arteries of a mega-metropolis that defies logic and common sense, while speeding through time and space at 70mph. I'm in.  The guidance and need of a cell phone or gps is forsaken for the full experience of the present and the probability of the unknown.  The road signs guide and confirm my arrival, the road narrows to a two lane road, the elevation is slight yet discernable.  The buildings are replaced by dry plant matter on slopes battered by constant heat dangerously awaiting one spark to reaffirm its presence and reclaim its territory from invading human species.
 
The Waltz begins, rider/steed and road.  The road leads this dance unabashedly, challenge its dominance and you will be ejected on a stretcher.  The Rhythm calls for variable speeds and graceful right and left turn lean angles, this road rewards diligence.  From the de facto home of the Tournament of Roses Parade to Bouquet Canyon in search of the ever evasive moto-bliss.  I once asked, if you were granted exactly what you wish for, would you know what to do?  I do, I know where I am and where  I need to be.  My name is Fredo, I am a Tarmac Surfer and this is my reality, exponentially beautiful Reality.
 


A respite from the Unknown
 
 
 
When all else fails simplify, one is greater than zero
 

Sunday, September 22, 2019

Sport Touring; Time and Distance at the Intersection of Home and the Unknown


It is Friday morning, I have a goal in mind and I will achieve it, so as long as it all follows the desire sequence.  However, let's digress for now and follow me on a short tour.  I once said (circa 2011) something to the effect that: should I happen to find a befitting steed of Bavarian origins I may just procure one.  Time it seems will conspire in favor or otherwise, and yet the the systematic path to reach the objective will remain in focus and today it seems it is that day.   I have been thinking and plotting this trip for a few days now, it is rather a simple far from extraordinary affair.  On a Sunday morning I set out North due Northwest toward Solvang, CA.,  a holdover place that mimics a Danish town in a setting that is rather Moto inviting. The weather it seems will take the Moto enthusiast and add the mandatory confounding variables as a sort of icing on the adventure.  The weather calls for a cloudy overcast sky with a low probability of precipitation.  And that low probability of rain varies depending on how high one climbs.  The ride starts as most, full of trepidation.  

The first 100 miles/160km are uneventful illuminated by bright solar rays, it all seems well and predictable until a bright orange sign near Santa Barbara CA, indicates and suggests caution over the hill as fog and rain disguise what are normally green hills, now covered in a thick shroud of dangerous road conditions.  The visibility is limited the inattentive cage drivers plentiful.  There are immediate decisions to be executed. Shall one pull over and remain in place awaiting more favorable conditions and try to mitigate what could lead to finality?  I have made my peace with the world before mounting my steed, thus I will forge ahead.  There are limited tasks at hand, those being roll the throttle, and enjoy the Ride. After a few miles of intense, shifting and braking the sky rewards the rider with an intrinsic terrain.  The scene is full of rolling hills, majestic greenery and smooth tarmac, I have been awaiting these circumstances for some time now.  And now as I ride at 55mph/km, lean left and right completely immersed in my environment, I smile.  

Now back to that Friday morning, that encapsulates 18 years of patiently awaiting the arrival, the arrival of the mechanical steed from  Bavaria.  There is an old marketing slogan that states that  good things come to those who wait,  I fully disagree and instead I would argue to start pursuing, stop waiting and start existing in the present while being prepared to absorb the toll of achievement, for nothing is free of cost.  As Pablo Picasso once said, "Every act of creation is first an act of destruction". I have arrived home to California on a Bavarian steed, thus created a new path.  My name is Fredo, I am a Tarmac Surfer and this is my Reality, Exponentially Beautiful Reality.