Cirrus clouds on a sunny day
Photo source: http://www.raggedcastle.com

Even if you are used to Northern California weather, you would have wondered if you had been transported to Seattle had you been here the past few weeks. Rain, grey skies, damp. ugh. But April brings sunshine and daffodils, right? How about sleet, hail, and snails.

Out of sheer desperation to ride, I suited up for the morning trip to Berkeley. I expected to get wet, not soaked. I should have been wearing the bumble bee rainsuit over my rainproof gear. Previous morning rides were gambles that the rain would arrive later in the morning. Three times I found the dry window between storms. Today, no such luck. Riding in the rain is a choice, and you takes yer chances.

The panniers on the GS make the bike a bit hippy; I've stopped lane sharing because my spatial judgment isn't good enough. That morning visibility was limited by the back spray from car tires and density of the rain. The car in front of me moved over a couple of times to allow me to slip by, but I stayed behind. I heard an unmistakable rumble over my right shoulder and watched a beemer with a bright orange rain-suited rider zip between the lanes at a good clip. "Idiot", I mumbled to myself.

My friend Dennis later gave me insight into the rider's motivation. The rain just added to the normal hazards of the morning commute. Pick any annoyed cage driver who is going to be late for work. She's on her cell phone, calling the office, and isn't looking at the road while she's punching in the phone number. When she looks up, she sees a sea of red brake lights in front of her, and steps on the brakes. But it is raining and the car's stopping distance will suffer somewhat from degraded traction. What will become of that motorcyclist in front? Moto-sandwich? A distinct possibility. Maybe it would be safer to be in-between lanes.

It was raining so hard I now know what "Aerostich crotch" is (not dry). I hung my gear to drip-dry in the shower and went back outside to pick snails off the daffodils that haven't bloomed yet.

I just returned from my first major solo ride - not very far, just 816 miles round trip. North Valley Aikikai held its opening ceremony on Saturday. The chief instructor, Lee, and her husband Eli studied at the same dojo that I train at in Berkeley. Lee, her family and students created a beautiful space for the dojo. Now the mat, the walls, the ceiling and the space within have been purified with the energy of all the teachers of our group and the sweat of all the people who squeezed onto the mat to train together on Saturday afternoon.

The trip south on Friday was a simple ride down Highway 101 to Santa Monica to visit family. I left before dawn to get out of the Bay area before traffic. When the scent of "horse" filled my nose, I knew I was approaching Morgan Hill, the southern end of my mental model of the Bay area. I have driven this road in a car many times over the years. Besides new commercial development, there are many more vineyards south of Salinas and north of Santa Barbara now. At least they are green, and don't add more visible concrete to the landscape. If there has to be development, bring on the noble grape.

As all of you know, I have a poor sense of direction, and for some reason, once I'm rattled because I'm lost, maps only serve to narrow the possible interpretations of the various mistakes I'll proceed to make. So when I was able to get from Santa Monica to Panorama City in the expected amount of time, with only one missed turn, I was very happy indeed. What made me even happier is that all those little trips here and there in the rain for past few months have paid off, I felt confident on this monster of a bike. The shocks have settled. My boots have less contact with the tarmac than I had on the SprintST, but as long as I can avoid stopping on a steep hill, I'm okay.

While on Sepulveda Boulevard in Van Nuys, not once but twice some guy in a crosswalk stopped in his tracks and looked over the bike, glanced at me, and told me how great the bike was ... completely losing track of the fact that he was standing in a crosswalk with the light about to turn green. The power of BMW design or the effect of living in "La La land"? Other pleasing moments happened fairly frequently - sightings of women riders, mostly on sport bikes, mostly wearing leather. Mmmm.

When I watch other riders on the highway or on the track, what they do that I wish I could do is that effortless body shift that leans the bike in the turn. The bike and rider glide around the turn like a pair of grey squirrels spiraling up around the trunk of a tree. Carolyn at CalMoto told me when I bought the bike that somewhere around 2500 miles, the bike would get "a whole lot" faster. She was right on the mark. A few weeks ago while riding to Berkeley I got into a mind set on the bike that I've never been in before, not on this bike or any previous bike. There's nothing special about lane markers, just a painted dashed line, or a linear sequence of "Bott's dotts", right?

When you were a child, did you lie down on the grass and watch the clouds overhead? Did you play a game of perception with yourself - who is moving, you, or the clouds? Could you make the clouds be still? On that ride to Berkeley, my perception of "speed" on the GS was that instead of me passing by stationary lane markers, I mean, they are either painted or epoxied on the tarmac, my perception was that the bike and I were standing still and the lane markers were moving. This was a momentary perception and one that caught me completely off guard.

When I told friends that I was taking the 101 route to southern California, people warned me about King City. The town has a sequence of sweepers that invite triple digit speed. Hapless high-speed travelers who think they are just gonna blow through King City like Danica Patrick (or Parnelli Jones) supplement the town coffers thanks to vigilant local law enforcement. On the trip home, with this one exception, the GS and I started testing our wings.

We had one little scary moment where a freeway detour put me on an unexpected rather steep hill in a line of traffic with a potential stop at the top of the hill. I made a decision and continued up the right side of the lane without stopping. Eventually I am going to make a fool out of myself and get stuck on an uphill because I have had to come to a complete stop. Getting the bike going again with only toe-contact with the ground is going to take skill that I don't have right now. Yes, I had the same problem with the SprintST. Now the problem seems bigger. I get a little sick in my stomach every time I realize I haven't taken the time to go practice on hills.

The glory of the ride home was the dry road all the way. I didn't mind the chilly fog, I didn't mind the CHP cruiser who kept traffic under control for nearly 30 miles while we waited patiently for him/her to reach the end of his/her "territory". I've found a groove with the bike; I've figured out how to line up my shoulders and hips in preparation for leaning into a curve, I barely had to press the handlebars at all. The SprintST moved so easily. I didn't have it long enough to become conscious of how I moved on it. Now the GS and I can move together with that same balance of "no effort" and "focused intent". I hope I can hold on to this - it felt great.

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I will have a surprise for you all in May.