Commentary

If there's one race event that I anticipate more than anything throughout the year, it's the Isle of Man TT. To put this in perspective: if John McGuinness and Valentino Rossi were together, I'd shake the throttle hand of the 16-time TT winner first.

With June halfway over, my plans for purchasing a 2011 Ducati 848EVO by summer have suddenly vanished. Well, unless I hit the lottery by the Summer Solstice this Tuesday. But since I no longer play the lottery, this is 100-percent doubtful thinking.

On a short, early-morning ride today aboard the VFR, a few bugs hit me - both physically and psychologically.

The first few as I traveled my self-described "Mountain Course" were physical bugs, which spotted the Arai's visor with cream-colored splats, followed by some greens and reds.

The pain shot straight from the groin to the upper chest as I accelerated off a long, left-hand sweeper on my personal "Mountain Course."

The night before leaving, I had four words written down on a pocketsize notebook: five days, four nights. That's how my solo-motorcycle trip began last week for AMA Pro Road Racing at Mid-Ohio.

I then poked around Google Maps for an hour or so, jotting down various roads I've never traveled.

Throughout my 31 years, only two incidents prevented me from piloting a motorcycle for extended periods of time - a rod in the femur (car accident, ‘94) and some ripped and torn ligaments in my throttle thumb (street motorcycle accident, ‘09).

The last time the three of us were in the same car together was during our music days, probably heading to Philadelphia to play a show about five years ago.

East Coast Motojournalists constantly struggle with one major problem - obtaining test bikes.

My options: either fly out to California and ride a bike back (actually not such a bad option), or find press fleets here on the East Coast, hopefully in relative distance to my hometown in Northeastern Pennsylvania.

Three days after the due date, the Repo Man was knocking at my door. Well, not my physical address' door, but rather my electronic-communication door.

The events began unfolding from their weary slumber Friday afternoon. While stumbling through one of my bookshelves, searching for Valentino Rossi's autobiography, "What if I Had Never Tried It," I came across a book of essays from a philosophy class I took years back, the compilation titled "The Meaning of Life."

Since about the age of 25, the whole New Year's Resolution thing slowly faded in the same continuum as my metabolism.

I'd make a resolution, and like the story of so many others, it would disappear from obtainment, usually by the time the snow melts here in Northeast Pennsylvania.

Over the weekend, the fiancée and I visited the New York City Progressive International Motorcycle Show, an event I look forward to every January.

In the past few years, motorcycles have done more than fulfill my needs for pleasure and speed - they've also acted as health barometers.

When testing new motorcycles, judging the worthiness of a bike's Antilock Braking can become quite enjoyable.

The ultimate ABS system will act almost undetectable, and the ultimate test of such a system involves the fun factor of trying to lock up the wheels at high speeds, both on dry and wet pavement.

Back in the Middle Ages, the Italian poet Dante Alighieri wrote "Beauty awakens the soul to act."