Long ago aboard my Zook, a three cylinder twostroke GT 550L. Bike and I were on Glendora Mountain Road, a not then famous road in the coast road outside the Los Angles basin. Nice warm clear day. I was riding the road slowly; just enjoying the open road and the sights and solitude.
I saw in my mirrors two dots. These dots grew rapidly and then in a flash were abreast of me and gone. Two riders, each on an R 90S. The bikes were fully tricked out with speed goodies. I estimate that the total value of these rider's leathers exceeded that of my bike. My Zook was factory stock, down to the IRC tyres. They flashed past and disappeared ahead around a curve. I pondered. . .
Bear in mind that this was prior to my revelation of the moral issues involved with high speeds. I pondered and concluded that I'd been going slowly long enough. Then two downshifts to get the engine in it's powerband. Then the engine coughed and spat a bit before it cought. Then acceleration began in ernest. All the time I had pondered; all the time the bike was spitting mung from its plugs; all the time it took to get up to speed, the Bimmers were still hauling the mail. No way could I catch them.
But I did. And the three of us did a six wheeled ballet at speed on what is now known to be a good racer road. It was fun beyond description. Then we slowed as we came to a T intersection. They pulled off the road. As the first one walked back to me, taking off his helmet, he said this, "Man! You know how to ride!" I replied that they didn't have to tell me that, I kept with them and they were bats from Hell. We had a short conversation and parted ways. They headed left and up while I went right and down. Time to get home to make dinner for mom and I.
Temporary feeling, but a good one.
