Approach the curve carefully, as there is a depression precisely at the turn-in point. Dismiss this disruptive force at your own peril. Wait for the weight of the car to lean on the front left tire, then quickly, but smoothly—always smoothly—coax the steering wheel clockwise. The silky surface arcs gently toward an abrupt rise in the pavement, where a sudden rise coincides with the tarmac serpent tightening its coil.
There have been plenty of times in my life that I can look back and just shake my head in disgust and confusion. Of course, many of those times can be chalked up to life experience, like learning not to pick up guys at dive bars. Some of those incidences are mandatory to produce a well-rounded adult, however; some of those situations that we get ourselves into can give us more education and wisdom than any book or instructor ever could.
Having just spent the Monterey auction/car-show/race week on my Triumph Thruxton, I can vouch for the advantage of two wheels in what is essentially an extended period of highway gridlock. The California law enabling motorcycles to “split lanes” in stationary traffic means that you never really get stuck, just slowed down.
There’s nothing like a little LSD to change your perspective: Limited, adj.: restricted in size, amount, or extent. Slip, v.: an act of sliding unintentionally for a short distance. Differential, n.: differing or varying according to circumstances or relevant factors.
I don’t need some guy who looks like Newt Gingrich telling me that I can’t drive my car the way I want to—and where I want to. I especially don’t need some lady who looks like Wilma Flintstone telling me that I’m the reason our grandchildren aren’t going to have fresh air to breathe. We live in an amazing country, a country full of opportunities, options, and outlandish—sometimes overwhelming—luxury. We enjoy a land of freedom, enterprise, and open roads. Who has the right to tell me when and where and how I can drive my car?