How well we are conditioned to see what we expect to see. I heard about a study done a few years back where people were shown a short video tape, and told to count all the brown objects. Afterwards, they were asked how many brown objects they had seen, and for the most part, their response was reasonably accurate. Then they were asked how many blue objects they had seen. Blank stares. Nobody had been looking for blue objects. The video tape was played again. There were just as many blue objects as brown objects.

Just a couple weeks ago, I was one of those invisible blue objects. I was on Central Expressway, a two-lane in each direction main road. It was late afternoon, just before rush hour, so there was still daylight. I was in the left lane. A woman in an SUV who had stopped at a stop sign shot across the road and cut in front me, causing me to brake hard. She then signaled to get in the right lane. I was so dumbstruck by her apparent oblivion that I didn't get annoyed for several moments. Did she misjudge my closing speed? Did she not see me at all? She wasn't on a cell phone. Since she had so conveniently moved over to the right lane I decided to at least let her know of my existence. I pulled up next to her and looked at her hard for a few seconds. Our eyes met. She sensed my displeasure. She didn't get that she had cut me off. Still, she dropped back several car lengths, I didn't see her again.

Why didn't I blast her with my horm when she was in front of me? All too often when someone leans on their horn, people in both directions jam on their brakes. Seconds after the tire screeching you hear cars crunching. Pressing my bike's horn button might relieve my own pressure build-up, but it could also cause an accident right after I've avoided one.

I doubt that my eye contact with her had any constructive effect. How could I have conveyed to her that her merge was poorly judged? Did my action just convince her that motorcyclists are jerks? My only conclusion is that she misjudged my closing speed, and then was surprised and confused that I gave her the "What is the matter with you?" stare. I wish I had a better answer.

* * *

Several years back a friend of mine went through menopause. We were having lunch at Su Hong and all of a sudden she starts fanning herself with the menu, begging my pardon for needing "a moment". Beads of perspiration formed on her flushed forehead which she blotted away in a most lady-like manner. After a few moments the heat wave subsided and we resumed our conversation.

I haven't experienced heat flashes like that during the day. For a while, I experienced them at night. That lasted only about two months. In the latest development, I'm thinking that if I could just collect all the heat flashes together, I wouldn't need to bring my electric vest on the end-of-March ride to San Simeon.

My heat flashes are much milder than what my friend experienced. Even so, I'm trying the time-honored Black Cohosh herbal tea to reduce the symptoms. Just imagine talking to a colleague in the office, and suddenly needing to remove your jacket, and wish that you could remove your shirt and flap your arms around as well. Oh yes, right in the middle of your brilliant argument, enough heat is escaping from your collar that you can't finish your sentence and all that really matters for several moments is getting a glass of water. Or two. The flashes are happening about once an hour, 24 / 7.

Couldn't I just plug into the building's heating system and spin the meter backwards for a few seconds? Or for that matter, wouldn't it be cool to have a switch on my heated vest the would specify whether to transmit energy from the battery to provide heat to me, or, in the other position, absorb heat from my body, translate the heat in to energy and return it to the battery? Come on all you inventors out there, get on it!

Road Rider in San Jose is one of the few motorcycle supply stores around here that is open seven days a week. In the parking lot you'll find representatives of just about every motorcycle sub-culture, Harley Road Kings, Beemer GSs, vintage Triumphs, brand new Ducati 999s, rice rockets of every type, and scooters too. As long as what you ride has two wheels, you and your ride are okay.

We're having a heat wave right now. The last three days have been in the high 70's to the mid 80's. Ornamental trees are in bloom and allergy sufferers are in misery. There's a purple bloomer near my house with remarkably fragrant flowers. Peter, my other half, is a runner. On his way home he stopped by to take a closer look at the flowers and discovered that the flowers were aswarm with buzzing bees, big hummer carpenter bees, bumble bees, hornets, and honey bees. Apparently, as long as you have two sets of wings and you're into pollen, you're okay in our local ecumenical floral parking lot.

Ever since I brought the Sprint home, I have felt unworthy of it. This feeling manifested in hearing horse-like "nickering" sounds in the engine noise, the kind of sounds that domestic animals make when they are exasperated with their humans. It is true since November of last year I've been riding conservatively; everything about this bike is different from the CS. The riding position is more aggressive, the tires are Michelin and I'm used to Dunlop, there is so much power available that it scares me. So I've been taking it easy trying to get through the winter rains without embarrassing myself.

Last weekend was the first major distance ride of the year, a trip to San Simeon which is on the Highway 1 coast. It was a two-day trip with stops in Moss Landing, Big Sur (Nepenthe), a night tour of Hearst Castle (recommended), a stay at Ragged Point Inn (recommended), and some great roads: Santa Rosa Creek Road, a gnarly little road that dumps you out onto Highway 46, a section of two-lane road that runs along the San Andreas fault, and the section of Highway 25 between Highway 198 and Hollister. Sunday afternoon rain was threatening so Dennis and I made a mad but futile dash to get home dry on 101. The entire trip was 430 miles, door to door.

The best part for me and the Sprint was Highway 1 and the "gnarly little road". Highway 1 has all those tight twists and turns and the lovely ocean views. I don't look to the right very much because you go where you look and over the cliff wasn't where I wanted to be.

The gnarly little road reminded me of a goat trail I rode a long time ago. It was narrow, really a one lane road whose pavement had seen better days. We crossed through a flooding creek. We climbed a small hill whose surface was contorted enough to look like stairs. I gassed it in between the two stairs and just about wheelied the bike - the front end came up and I heard a voice in my helmet that wasn't mine saying "do not lean back, lean forward". That whole section of the ride was one bump after another, and what a blast! I appreciate the bike's suspension much more now. Still, I spent Monday popping ibuprofen tablets.

Passing cars with 118 horsepower is a heckuva lot easier than passing with only 52 horsepower on comparably heavy bikes. And I now know how it can happen that you are driving on a country road and you see a motorcyclist coming at straight at you on your side of the road, and a head-on crash seems inevitable because the SUV next to the bike seems oblivious.

Mr. SUV had ignored a good dozen opportunities to pull over and let the four of us pass. He had not slowed down an iota for any of the first three passers. He had not increased his speed either; I guess I should be grateful for small favors. I moved into position to pass, saw plenty of clear road, and started my pass. Almost immediately an oncoming car crested. The bike could have finished the pass, but I couldn't. I pulled back behind the SUV, waited for the car to pass, and went for the pass again. This time I childishly indulged in expressing my disgust with his lack of cooperative driving by leaning on my horn. So much for self-control. If I had a third arm, I would have been giving him the universal hand gesture of contempt as I passed.

My passing speeds touched the 110 mph mark, so if we take into consideration that 7% speedo optimism, my actual speed was in the triple digits several times in the course of two days. The only indication that the Sprint is putting out any effort at all at this speed level was the noticeable increase in fuel consumption. On the sections with the midsized sweepers more than once I knowingly went into 30 mph corners on the gas, leaned over, only to realize I was dealing with a decreasing radius turn. I scared myself pretty good two times. That, plus all the maneuvering on the goat trail has given the bike a different idea of its rider; it is no longer nickering at me.

Next longish ride will be a business trip at the end of April - a conference in Pismo Beach. It will be a four-hour no sight-seeing single-minded run down Highway 101, and good practice for what I need to work up to, 500-mile days. Peter and I have decided that we are going to ride cross-country this year.

Lane-sharing or lane-splitting, whatever you want to call it, it is risky. Vigilance is the name of the game, and light, quick response is how you play it. And my vigilance wasn't up to snuff yesterday on the bottom of the 80 overpass in Emeryville. Both lanes of traffic were slowed to 25 mph, maybe less. I was coming up the middle. A car on my left pulled out without signaling, scraping my left panier and pushing me into the side of the semi-truck next to me.

I didn't realize that the Sprint's rearview mirrors are on swivel mounts. Instead of the mirror ripping off the bike, the mirror's mounting arm swiveled out with a loud ratcheting noise. I pulled the bike sharply to the left and got on the gas. The truck probably didn't even feel my impact.

Once under power the bike stabilized immediately. Any thought of stopping to get the license number of the car that hit me was countermanded by my desire to stay upright and get out of that metal sandwich. SInce I couldn't reach it, I rode the rest of the way to Berkeley with the mirror arm sticking out in front of the bike, like a hand stretched out to the gods. The bike has scrapes on the left panier and the right mirror, and my back muscles are sore, probably from pulling the bike hard to minimize the impact with the truck. We're both fine.

Yes I will probably avoid that merge on to the overpass for a while. No, I'm not going to stop lane-sharing. Yes, I will crank up the antenna sensitivity on the vigilance, clearly I need to pay more attention.

I've had a couple days to reflect on what happened. My track experience is likely responsible for my lack of panic. I vaguely remember a comment from a classroom session about using power to straighten up the bike. As for not being rattled by the ping pong impacts, I can't why say I didn't freeze, I'm just glad I didn't.

We're now into Spring, and we're all a little crazy happy to be out there riding again. Be careful you guys. Be careful.